Soldier of Rome- Rise of the Flavians

by James Mace

  “I would speak to you in private first,” Mucianus replied.

  “But, of course,” Primus acknowledged with a nod. He then addressed his guests. “Forgive me, my friends. I’ll be back in a while. Musicians, play on!”

  Since he still did not know his way around the palace, Primus simply found the nearest unoccupied room with a table and a pair of chairs. He was grinning inanely, though he promptly became serious when he noted Mucianus’ sober bearing.

  “What, am I in trouble?” Primus asked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “The emperor sent this to me,” Mucianus said, ignoring the question as he handed Vespasian’s signet ring to Primus.

  “So he did,” Primus replied, turning the ring over in his hand. He shrugged. “I knew my tenure as regent would not be for long, and that it was you he intended to have rule in his stead.”

  “You never would have been regent in the first place had you not so brashly attacked the Vitellians without waiting for reinforcements,” Mucianus replied, a trace of irritation in his voice.

  “Was it brash? Yes,” Primus admitted. “Had I failed, I would have nailed myself to the damn cross. But it worked. I routed their entire bleeding army and chased them all the way to the streets of Rome! And yes, before you berate me, I will confess the lads got a little out of hand.”

  “Plundering is something we do to barbarians and rebellious provinces, not Roman cities,” Mucianus chastised. “And least of all to the capital itself! What happened at Cremona was inexcusable; however, I cannot fault you for what happened here. I will admit that your strategy worked. If the Vitellians had surrendered once they knew they could no longer win, it would have saved the city a lot of needless suffering.”

  “So you’re not here to beat me like an errant schoolboy,” Primus said with a grin, which Mucianus finally matched.

  “Well, I did rush to the city as fast as possible,” he replied. “I feared the entire palace, as well as the treasury would be completely stripped by the time I arrived.”

  “Oh, come now,” Primus replied, feigning hurt feelings. “I am shocked, shocked I tell you, that you would accuse me of pilfering from the imperial palace!”

  Mucianus raised an eyebrow.

  Primus threw his hands up in resignation. “It was only one wagon of trinkets that no one will ever miss. Alright, and a paltry number of slaves to haul it all back to Ephesus for me. As you saw, I did not completely raid the stock of fine silver. Not that the emperor would have minded.”

  “Even if you left nothing but a wooden bowl for Vespasian to take his meals from, he would not care,” Mucianus acknowledged.

  Primus chuckled, “I sometimes think he’ll have his camp bed placed in the royal bedchambers, as he won’t be able to sleep properly otherwise.”

  “And it is the emperor’s business we must oversee,” Mucianus said, becoming serious once more. “I understand the senate has fallen into its typical bickering factions, all seeking to gain favor with the new administration.”

  “It’s been a fucking nightmare,” Primus acknowledged. “Vespasian gave his amnesty a little too freely, I think. The defeated Vitellians, now that they know they’re not for the execution square atop the Gemonian Stairs, have become embittered about everything. And even our own factions have fallen into squabbling with each other. I swear, nothing ever gets accomplished. The senate is supposed to rule. About the only thing they have agreed upon is that you be granted Triumphal Ornaments for your victories in Moesia. Oh, yes, and they voted to recognize Vespasian as emperor while ratifying the start of his reign as 1 July, although that was really never in doubt. And now I know why I never missed being in that fucking chamber after they exiled me.”

  “Primus, old boy,” Mucianus said, shaking his head. “You are an outstanding general, and one of the bravest soldiers in the whole of the empire. However, you are the worst financier and senator I have ever met.”

  “And I’m an even worse regent,” Primus retorted, tossing the signet ring back to Mucianus. “You can have the bloody thing for all I care.”

  “I don’t wish to be regent for any longer than I have to,” Mucianus asserted. “If not for the wreckage of instability the last year of civil wars has left the government, Rome would not require a regent. As it is, given the turbulent seas that preclude travel, I do not expect the emperor to leave Alexandria for at least another month or so. And even then, I advised him to first pay visit to some of the larger eastern metropolises, to secure them in their loyalty. It will likely be June, possibly later, before he even arrives in the capital. At which point, Rome will have been without its rightful emperor for over a year.”

  “And in the meantime, it is up to us, or rather you , to ensure the government is working as smoothly as possible before he arrives,” Primus observed. “So what needs to be done?”

  “Firstly, we must deal with Vespasian’s youngest son,” Mucianus replied. “Domitian was hailed as ‘Caesar’ as soon as he came out of hiding. But he is not emperor, and he needs to have it spelled out to him. As long as his father and brother both live, he never will be Caesar. All the same, he is Vespasian’s son, and he is of age, so the emperor will want to get some use out of him.”

  “So make him your co-regent,” Primus remarked. “Keep him firmly under your wing, and then let the emperor decide what to do with him after he finally returns.” He then addressed an issue which had vexed him ever since the fighting ended. “With all of the food shortages brought on by the war, which is compounded by all of the soldiers now encamped near the city, we need someone to better manage grain rations.”

  “I’ve already considered that,” Mucianus said. “I’m relieving Arrius Varus of his command of the Praetorian Guard and appointing him prefect of the grain supply.”

  “He won’t like that,” Primus mused.

  “I don’t give a damn whether he likes it or not,” Mucianus retorted. “He can look at this as a demotion if he chooses. Or he can get it through his head that we need someone of his energy and resourcefulness to ensure the people are fed, rather than serving as a glorified bodyguard. And don’t worry, I’ll add in a few incentives to make him see reason.”

  “And what about me?” Primus asked. “The senate may have restored me to my place among them, but you know as well as I, that is not where I belong.”

  “Agreed. And I think the sooner you are out of Rome the better.”

  “Great, so make me a governor somewhere,” Primus said, with a laugh.

  “That’s always a possibility,” Mucianus concurred. “Hispania Tarraconensis has been terribly mismanaged ever since Galba left. Perhaps we can persuade the emperor to grant you governorship of the province. In the meantime, I think you should go to Vespasian. You can stop off in Ephesus to enjoy some of your newly-won plunder along the way.”

  “You’re too kind,” Primus said, standing up from his chair. “Well, if you will excuse me, I am going to celebrate one last night of debauchery in the royal dining hall. You can evict me from the palace in the morning.”

  That he had won the empire without ever leading his men into battle deeply troubled Vespasian. He was a fighting general, who had always deplored the idea of leading his men from the safety of well behind the battle lines. To have sent entire armies to fight on his behalf, while he remained in Judea and Egypt, was abhorrent. Still, he did what he had to do. And as his most recent injuries, including from when he took an arrow to the foot at Jotapata, reminded him, it was time to let the younger generation do the actual fighting. Vespasian had also turned sixty back in November. He refused to allow himself to feel old, but the pains brought on by years of campaigning and numerous wounds told him otherwise.

  It was now early February. Word of his army’s final victory had finally reached him in the east. Vespasian would at last sail from Alexandria, and over the next few months tour the eastern provinces before finally returning home. While his armies continued to celebrate their general’s rise to emperor, the conquero
r himself sat alone in his chambers with little more than a small oil lamp to see by. There was a knock at the door, and though he did not answer, it was soon opened by his son.

  “Forgive me if I am disturbing you, Caesar,” Titus said, with a short bow.

  “ Caesar ,” Vespasian replied, shaking his head slowly, almost in disbelief.

  Titus noticed a small item he was turning over in his hands. “What have you there?” His father placed what appeared to be a crude carved wooden animal on the desk.

  “I think it was supposed to be a horse,” he replied, trying to force a smile.

  As he saw the carving, Titus immediately understood the reason for his father’s somber demeanor. “I remember when Domitilla made that for you,” he said. “What was she, six?”

  “Seven,” Vespasian corrected. “She later said it looked more like a mule. Fitting, given the years I spent trading the unruly beasts.” He gave a soft chuckle at the memory. A short silence followed before he asked, “Has it really been more than a year since she departed this world?”

  “More than two, actually,” Titus replied.

  Vespasian nodded slowly. “And do you remember what I told you, when we first received word about her untimely death?”

  “You said there would be a time for mourning my sister,” the young legate answered. “But that we had our duty to perform, and that we could not allow even the gravest personal tragedy to undermine our commitment to our soldiers and to Rome.”

  “That duty has been unrelenting,” Vespasian observed. “No sooner did we corner these Jewish rebels, then all hell broke loose in Rome. This last year we have been consumed with trying to save the empire while containing the Judean seditionists. But now, I think it is finally time that we can mourn your dear sister.”

  “Yes, sir.” Though Titus had long since shed his tears in private for Domitilla, his father’s deportment told him the old general had not.

  “Tomorrow I leave for Rome,” Vespasian said. “I will be taking Mucianus’ advice and stopping off first in Cyprus, Ephesus, and Athens before returning home. So starting tomorrow, until the end of my days, I will be once more consumed by duty. But you know what I wish for?” Titus shook his head as his father paused and took a deep breath, emotions nearly overcoming him. “For this one night, I wish to be neither general nor emperor, but simply a father…a father who still loves his daughter.”

  Titus nodded in understanding and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He could already see the tears welling up in his father’s eyes, and he did not wish to be there when his pent up sorrows of the past two years finally overcame him. Vespasian needed this one night alone, that he may finally heal from the terrible tragedy that no parent should ever have to endure.

  Once outside the room, Titus signaled for the guard beside the door to follow him. At the main entrance to the governor’s palace, he located the decanus in charge of the current watch.

  “The emperor is not to be disturbed tonight under any circumstances,” Titus said sternly.

  “Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied.

  “Any issues, regardless of the emergency, you come find me,” the legate added. “Unless the palace is burning down, no one is to see the emperor this night, and I mean no one .”

  “Understood.”

  The next day, Vespasian left Alexandria without fanfare or grand speeches. Even Tiberius Alexander was unaware of his departure until Titus met with him over breakfast. It was a rather pleasant morning, and the two men enjoyed their meal out on a palace balcony, overlooking the harbor.

  “A pity,” Alexander said, “I would have liked to see the old general off.” A glare from Titus let him realize his slippage of the tongue. “Beg your pardon, though I think even Vespasian is struggling to think of himself as emperor.”

  “Him more than anyone else,” Titus noted.

  “I hope he becomes accustomed to it soon,” Alexander remarked. “There will be no rest for him, even though the civil wars are finally over. I did reassure him that I have matters well in hand here. Grain shipments have resumed, and the people have been compelled to see reason regarding the new taxes imposed.”

  “Strangling a few riotous ringleaders will do that,” Titus observed. “Still, Rome’s internal wars may finally be over, but the empire is most certainly not at peace. Those damned traitors, Julius Civilis and Julius Sabinus, still control much of Gaul and Germania Inferior. Did you know they are attempting to establish an independent Kingdom of Gaul?”

  Alexander laughed at the absurdity, then said, “A pity that treacherous bastard, Sabinus, bears the same name as your late uncle.”

  “Well, he’s of no relation to us,” Titus asserted. “My brother-in-law is massing a large force to deal with the situation. I do hope the rebels come to their senses, especially the faithless legions that rallied to their cause, lest we be required to butcher another damned province!”

  Alexander and Titus would become well acquainted over the coming months. Vespasian had sought to reward the Prefect of Egypt for his stellar service to the empire, in no small part for being the very man who compelled the eastern legions to declare him emperor. Vespasian had therefore decided to elevate him into the senatorial class of Roman society. He knew Alexander was an accomplished military leader, with much strategic savvy, who was also a logistical genius. As such, he was named as Titus’ chief-of-staff for the upcoming campaign in Judea. With all that transpired during the Year of the Four Emperors, it was easy to forget there was still a rebellion to suppress. There would be no peace within the empire until the fall of Jerusalem.

  Chapter XXXVII: Rise of the Artorians

  Ariminum

  12 February 70 A.D.

  ***

  The breeze coming off the sea felt warm and pleasant in contrast to the dark feelings that plagued Gaius. He stood on the balcony of the villa that served as his temporary home. The new governor for Ariminum had allowed the optio to stay on the second floor of his personal villa near the crossroads of the Via Aemilia and Via Flaminia. This was done out of deference to the deceased Lucius Artorius. It was prudently never mentioned that the two Artorian brothers faced each other on opposing sides at the Second Battle of Bedriacum. Gaius had come ostensibly to be with his sister-in-law, though this had proven to be rather awkward. Laura was still young enough to bear children, and it was only natural that she would eventually look to remarry. Though she had loved Lucius, she knew she could never move on while she remained at Ariminum. She left within two weeks of her brother-in-law’s arrival.

  Four months had passed since his terrible injury, and Gaius was slowly regaining use of his right arm. His hand still trembled slightly and at times felt numb, though he could now hold his gladius without dropping it. His upper arm bore a wide and rough looking scar. Even after all this time, there was a lot of yellowish discoloration beneath the skin. Granted, it was a marked improvement over the deep purple that had enveloped his arm prior. He could not fully bend his elbow before the muscles stiffened up, but this was also slowly improving. He knew he was almost to the end of his convalescent leave, and he would have to prove himself still able to fight on a battle line if he were to save himself from being discharged as unfit.

  As he gazed over the balcony on a brisk morning, he saw a rider approaching wearing a dark cloak and red tunic. Even from a distance, he knew immediately who it was, and it brought the first smile to his face in over a month. He was further glad to see the rider stopping her horse just outside of the governor’s villa.

  “Aula!” he called down.

  She threw back her hood. “Hello, Gaius.” She looked up at him, smiling. “It was raining most of the way up here, and I am nearly soaked! Of course, now that I’ve arrived, the sun has decided to grace us.”

  Gaius laughed and made his way down the stairs. A servant had opened the front door for Aula. Her hair was damp and disheveled, but otherwise she had her perpetual smile and warm demeanor about her.

 
“I had to drop off a series of dispatches to the governor,” she said. “He told me you were staying here.”

  “For the time being,” Gaius replied. “That is, until this damned arm decides if it’s going to ever be of use to me.” He grimaced as he held up the injured limb. He forced a grin and embraced Aula, awkwardly wondering if he should kiss her. Even after all this time, he still did not know for certain what their futures would hold.

  “Vespasian is undisputed ruler of the Roman world, in part thanks to you,” Aula said, as they walked through the gardens.

  “I was just one on the battle line among many,” he replied.

  “I heard about how you disabled the Vitellian scorpions and ballistae,” Aula added. “Even if they don’t know your name, all of Rome knows of your valor.”

  “Valor,” Gaius replied. “My brother was valiant. It was by the cruelty of the fates that he fought for the wrong side and paid for it with his life.”

  “Fate had nothing to do with it,” Aula retorted. She shook her head, her tone softening. “I am sorry, Gaius. Like my parents, I have always been skeptical as to any belief in the gods or fate. But whether or not they exist, we make our own path, not them. Lucius chose to serve Vitellius, because he felt it was his duty. And it was not fate that killed him.”

  Her words were harsh, but Gaius knew he need to hear them. And so he simply nodded. “I know. I was echoing my mother’s words. She would rather believe the gods took Lucius from her, rather than accept that one of her sons helped bring about the death of the other. Neither of us recognized each other that night. Had one of my legionaries not brought Lucius down with his javelin, it is highly probable he would have felled me with his sword.”

  “What will you do now?” Aula asked, quickly changing the subject.

  “I’ve been given until the end of this month to get my strength back,” Gaius replied. “I will return Judea and help our lads end that horrid rebellion.”