Soldier of Rome- Rise of the Flavians

by James Mace

  “Ah,” the general said, holding up one finger before walking over to the table. He picked up a small pouch and fumbled through it. He then shrugged and tossed it to the praetorian. “There’s ten gold aurei in there, along with another thirty or so silver denarii. That should be enough to procure a decent wagon; one that the wheels aren’t about to fall off of or with a bunch of holes in the covering tarp. If there’s anything left, treat yourself and your mates to a debauched evening, with the emperor’s compliments.”

  “Yes, sir!” the praetorian said, quickly leaving the hall. He was in a state of disbelief as he looked through the pouch, hurrying down the corridor. Five of the gold aurei would be more than sufficient to purchase the finest wagon in the city, along with the beasts of burden. What the guardsman did not know was Antonius Primus was an outstanding general and military leader, but he was absolutely terrible with money. Indeed, the man who had ‘won the empire’ could not be trusted to properly invest a single bronze sesterce, and had no concept of the rather handsome sum he had so freely given to the praetorian.

  Chapter XXXVI: Innocence Slain

  Rome

  29 December 69 A.D.

  ***

  Over a week had passed since Vitellius’ death and Primus’ assumption as imperial regent. After looting the palace of whatever struck his fancy, he had the place sealed up and his wagon laden with treasure sent by ship to Ephesus.

  It was now evening, and the regent was poring over the numerous bills and other documents the senate demanded he see to. He only signed two. One approved the awarding of Triumphal Regalia to Mucianus for his success in Moesia. The other ratified the consulships for the following year. Vitellius had intended to hold a joint consulship with his son-in-law, Valerius Asiaticus. Of course that was now impossible, what with both men dead. Primus had decided to take the simplest course of action by endorsing the consulship in favor of Emperor Vespasian, along with his son and heir, Titus. Of course, with both men away from Rome for the foreseeable future, Primus reckoned Mucianus would seize a suffect consulship, once he arrived in Rome and took over as regent. And while it would have been easy for him to steal the other consulship for himself, Primus found the thought of being Mucianus’ colleague nauseating.

  There was a loud knock on the door. Rubbing his tired eyes, Primus tossed the rest of the documents to the side of his desk. He knew who was at the door, and he was about to issue what was arguably the most important, yet unpleasant order of his short regency.

  “Come!” he barked.

  The door opened, and Junius Priscus stepped in. Though demoted from his position as praetorian prefect, Primus had allowed him to remain with the Guard as a tribune.

  “Beg your pardon, sir, but the guardsman you asked for is here.”

  “Show him in,” Primus said, with an impatient waving of his hand.

  The tribune turned into the hallway and nodded to the waiting man, who quickly stepped into the room and saluted.

  “Guardsman Statius reporting, sir,” he said, with his eyes fixed straight ahead.

  Primus stood and returned the salute before addressing Priscus. “Leave us.” Statius was one of his men, so this confused the tribune. However, he knew better than to argue. As he left and closed the door behind him, he conjectured that the imperial regent had a final mission for the praetorian’s most ruthless member.

  “Stand at ease,” Primus ordered. He read from a sheet of parchment that he’d kept in the middle of his desk. “Guardsman Tiberius Statius Doro. Age, forty-two. Years of service, ten in the legions, fourteen with the praetorians.”

  “Yes, sir,” Statius confirmed. His service record was public knowledge. Why Vespasian’s regent would wish to see him was a mystery. He could only surmise that Antonius Primus had a task requiring his special set of skills.

  “You’ve had quite the… exceptional year,” Primus said slowly.

  “I think we all have, sir,” Statius replied, his gaze still fixed straight ahead.

  “I hear from General Paulinus that you fought beside him and the unfortunate Sabinus atop Capitoline Hill.”

  “I did what I had to,” the guardsman remarked. “And I do regret not being able to save Sabinus. He truly was a noble Roman, even if he did kowtow to Vitellus right up until the end.”

  “His death, while tragic, certainly makes things less complicated for the emperor,” Primus said, in an offhanded remark referring to the age difference between the Flavian brothers. It was a statement that under normal circumstances he would never utter in front of a mere praetorian guardsman.

  “Well, I hope you know that I did everything I could to save him,” Statius emphasized once more.

  “Of course,” Primus concurred. “And I see here your request for discharge and retirement from the Praetorian Guard. You do realize with Vespasian having eliminated all potential rivals he will likely reward his loyal guardsmen. There will be a substantial donative given to steadfast soldiers, such as yourself, who remain in his service. And yet, this request is that you be discharged immediately. Why?”

  “My reasons are personal, sir,” Statius replied. “I’m not as young as I once was, and my injuries from that ill-fated expedition to Maritime Alpes still trouble me. I simply wish to take what is mine and leave Rome. But I cannot do so without fulfilling my obligations to the Guard.”

  “Yes, desertion would be an unnecessary crime to add to murder.”

  The guardsman was stunned at Primus’ assertion, and he finally met the regent’s cold stare. It stood to reason that there were many who knew about his killing of Galba’s heir, Licinianus. But after all the butchery that had transpired over the past year, did anyone even care?

  “I did what was expected of me by the emperor who you and Vespasian both swore allegiance to,” he stated.

  “Perhaps,” Primus concurred. “Though you also had a hand in the death of your own centurion during Galba’s overthrow. And there are at least five others who have been slain by your hand, including the noble Cornelius Dolabella. Of course, I do not expect to see any written orders regarding this, as that would make Otho, and later Vitellius, culpable. And there was the very real possibility that you were acting on your own, without orders. Make no mistake, I could give a bucket of shit who you killed in the name of what emperor. However, Mucianus will be assuming the regency from me as soon as he arrives in Rome, and he will be scrutinizing the names of praetorian guardsmen whose actions have been unscrupulous, to say nothing of criminal.”

  “Why are you telling me this, sir?” Statius asked. “If Mucianus is determined to purge the praetorians of every last one of us who were willing to do the previous emperors’ dirty work, what do you care?”

  “I don’t,” Primus confessed. “It matters not if he discharges the entire Guard and has the most heinous among you strangled on the Gemonian Stairs. And your crimes, my good praetorian, are by far the worst of any. You see, I know you, Guardsman Tiberius Statius Doro; far better than you think I do. You are highly educated, taught yourself to read and write while serving in the legions. You hold more influence over your fellow rankers than any of the officers, especially since the reinstatement of Otho’s praetorians. And yet you have declined promotion no less than five times.”

  The right side of Statius’ face twisted into a grin of subtle defiance. “To be honest, I always felt it was safer that way. And don’t think I ever shirked in my responsibilities. Nor did I ever disobey orders.”

  “No, your service record is quite impeccable,” Primus remarked. “The Rampart Crown was a nice way of capping off your time in the legions. And I see you always obeyed orders, especially if the price was right. Oh, yes, I know exactly how much you were paid for each one of your assassinations. A praetorian, doing his legally-binding duty, would not need to be paid a stipend of a thousand denarii for a single execution. That you were paid by members of the imperial court to slay enemies and perceived enemies of the state, without trial or any sense of justice, is what cond
emns you as a murderer. Or at least it will in the eyes of Mucianus, unless I can make these damning reports disappear.”

  “I am resigning from the praetorians because I am done with killing,” Statius persisted. “Did I take bribes and commit murder? Of course I did, why should I deny it? So what do you want from me?”

  “In a moment,” Primus said smoothly. He looked back to the document in his hands. His next words made the guardsman feel as if he’d been stabbed through the heart. “You have a daughter, Gaia Stacia Vorena. Ten years old…”

  “Nine,” Statius interrupted. “And you would do well not to make any threats towards her. Juno’s cunt be damned, I don’t give a shit if you are Vespasian’s regent.” In that moment, once his daughter’s name had been invoked, he no longer cared about protocols or courtesy towards senior officers. He felt as if Primus were toying with him, and he felt his hand twitching against the pommel of his gladius.

  “Stay your hand, my good praetorian,” the regent said, noting the motion. “I am not here to threaten you. I have summoned you here to offer you a deal.”

  “You want someone dead,” Statius said, through clenched teeth. He sighed in realization. There could be no other explanation as to why the Regent of the Empire had called him to a private meeting, and then read off the detailed list of his previous crimes. He also knew who it was Antonius Primus wanted killed.

  “I want peace within the empire,” Primus said earnestly. Despite his own unscrupulous nature, he was tired of fighting against his fellow countrymen and longed for stability in Rome. “And we cannot have a definite peace so long as Emperor Vespasian is forced to suffer rivals. Think of it like when the Divine Augustus had Julius Caesar’s son, Caesarean, killed. He declared, ‘there can be only one Caesar’.”

  “Yes, but Caesarean was seventeen,” Statius countered. “You want me to kill a boy of six!”

  “A boy who will grow into a man one day. And no doubt he will demand vengeance for his father, while claiming his right to the throne. If your sense of duty, the large donative in this pouch, or the warrant I am about to give you authorizing this necessary—albeit hateful—task is not enough to sway you, then consider what will happen to your daughter, should her father be arrested and tried for murder.”

  Statius closed his eyes and took a series of deep breaths through his nose. He had acted without scruples so much over the years, that one would think he was a soulless killer. And yet, what Antonius Primus was asking, no, demanding he do, was unthinkable. His guts churned. In that moment, he would have rather drawn his gladius and slashed his own neck. Were it not for little Stacia, who he felt was the only good left in his world, he might have done so.

  “When this is done,” he said slowly, his voice full of venom, “I retire.”

  “You have my word,” Primus replied earnestly. “There will be no record of your previous acts, you will be given a sizeable donative, and yes, you will be honorably discharged and retired from the Praetorian Guard.”

  Statius nodded and made ready to leave, not even bothering to salute. As he reached the door, he looked over his shoulder. “Just one question. Does Mucianus know what you are doing?”

  “Of course he does,” Primus asserted. “He could have easily made his way to Rome by now; however, he has left it to me to tie up some of the more… distasteful loose ends. He refuses to get his own hands dirty, so he leaves it up to me. And I, in turn, have tasked you with performing the heinous deed. But don’t worry, it is my name history will recall in this affair, not yours.”

  A squad of praetorians had been tasked with guarding the former empress, Galeria, and her family. As her son-in-law, Asiaticus, was dead, that only left her pregnant daughter, Vitellia, and her young son, Germanicus. Galeria had been given leave by Primus to bury her husband, while Lucius’ wife, Triaria, had disposed of his remains.

  A pair of guardsmen stood outside the main entrance to the house and were surprised when Statius approached them.

  “Statius, what gives?” one of the men asked. “You’re not our relief.”

  The guardsman said nothing, but handed the warrant from Primus to the praetorian, whose eyes grew wide.

  “Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered. “I am sorry, mate.” Like most praetorians, he had often viewed Statius with a mixture of admiration and contempt, but his heart sank as he read what his fellow guardsman had been ordered to do.

  “Stand aside and let me get this over with.”

  “Here, I’ll come with you in case there’s trouble.” He let his companion read the order.

  “Bugger me,” the other praetorian muttered.

  Statius then took the warrant, and with his fellow guardsman, stepped into the house.

  Two minutes later, the sound of a boy’s terrified screams were heard, followed by a piercing cry of agony. The praetorian standing outside the house suddenly found himself sweating. He removed his helmet and wiped his brow. He felt ill. As Statius and his companion walked quickly out of the house, the souls of all three men were torn by the wailing screams of a mother’s anguish.

  The servant gazed nervously at Antonius Primus, who tossed and turned in a fitful slumber. The young woman took a deep breath and gently shook him by the shoulder.

  Primus immediately bolted upright, his eyes wide. He gasped and then shook his head quickly as he tried to compose himself. “Damn it all,” he swore, when he realized it was still the middle of the night. “Why in the name of Mercury’s balls are you disturbing me at this hour?”

  “Forgive me, master,” the slave said, with a timid bow. “A praetorian guardsman is here and demands he sees you at once. He is a rather brutish fellow and would not be turned away.”

  Primus nodded, knowing right away who it was and why he was there. He waved the servant off and quickly donned a tunic he’d left draped over a chair. Before leaving his bedchamber, he opened a small chest on top of a desk and checked the contents within.

  Statius’ expression was grim, his eyes glowing with anger. He thought for a moment that he might break his teeth, so harsh was his scowling bite. His gladius was still drawn and slick with blood; the sight of which terrified the slaves at the imperial palace. One poor servant stood next to him holding an oil lamp, trembling in fear. He took a deep breath through his nose as he saw Primus walking down the corridor. A slave walked beside him, a couple of steps back, carrying a small chest.

  “Guardsman Statius,” the regent said. “I take it your duty is done.”

  “It is done,” the praetorian said slowly. “Check the corpse if you’d like. Or you could just step outside; I’m sure his mother’s screams can be heard all throughout the Seven Hills.”

  “Cease with the bloody theatrics,” Primus scolded. He then saw the crimson streaked blade. “And put that damned weapon away!”

  Statius did as he was told and then stood glaring at Primus.

  “I know it was unpleasant,” the regent said, with a touch of genuine sympathy. “But at least now it is over. There are no more loose ends, no wayward heirs to try and claim the throne from Vespasian. Here, take this.” He opened the chest and pulled out a scroll, which he handed to the praetorian. Statius read the parchment as Primus stood silently by.

  Guardsman Tiberius Statius Doro,

  Having dispensed with your duties, and after many years of exemplary conduct and service to the empire, you are hereby discharged honorably from the ranks of the Praetorian Guard, and granted the due pension of five thousand denarii. You are hereby free to leave the emperor’s service, with his thanks for your long years of duty and sacrifice.

  By the authority of Emperor Titus Flavius Vespasian, signed,

  Marcus Antonius Primus

  Regent of the Empire

  “And here is a little added donative for your troubles,” Primus said, tossing a small leather pouch to the guardsman.

  Statius gave a curt nod and quickly left the hall. As he stepped out into the night air, his feelings of revulsion were suddenly replace
d by ones of relief. He resolved to take his daughter and leave Rome that very night, for he could no longer stand the sight of the city. He also decided to sell his armor at the first available opportunity, though he would keep his gladius for protection. He looked down at the signet ring on his left hand. For a moment, he thought about tearing it off and throwing it into the Tiber, but then decided he should keep it. It would serve as a memento of his past life; a reminder of the great evils he had done, in what he once thought was service to the empire. He would spend the rest of his days seeking atonement, while praying that his daughter would never know of her father’s wicked deeds.

  During the second week of January, Mucianus finally arrived in Rome. The winter storms across the eastern Mediterranean prevented Vespasian from departing Egypt. It would be some months before Rome could even catch a glimpse of her victorious emperor. Mucianus was immediately recognized as the new imperial regent, while also being granted many honors for his service on the Danube. It was not lost on Primus, or anyone else for that matter, that the senate heaped greater accolades upon his colleague for quelling a barbarian incursion along the Danube, than they did on him for winning the civil war.

  On the evening after his triumphant return to Rome, Mucianus found Primus in the formal dining hall of the imperial palace. And while there were a few senators present, most of the guests were military officers.

  “Ah, Mucianus!” Primus said, quickly standing up from his couch. His face was a little red, and he appeared to have had several cups of wine already. He waved him over to an empty couch. “Come, join us for this wonderful feast! The larders here are absolutely stuffed with delightful delicacies! That corpulent twat, Vitellius, certainly knew how to eat well.”