by David Blixt
* * *
Neither hero nor villain at heart, Vitellius was an indolent cynic. Sarcastic and vindictive, but not ambitious, he was subject to whatever winds blew him.
It was Rome's great misfortune, then, that the winds propelling him now came from such men as his generals, Caecina and Valens, and his brother Lucius. Vitellius left decisions of war and state to them, while he buried himself in the soft comforts and luxuries he had always craved. He had more honour than he had ever desired – he had been a general, and hailed Imperator. That he was now Caesar was beyond belief – and, in truth, frightened him.
There was one order he did issue right off. He commanded that all astrologers be banished from Rome and Italia. They had to be gone by the Calends of October. The nation's astrologers retaliated by predicting he would be dead by then, thus proving themselves more vindictive than skillful. However, there were some who said that he would be dead by the new year. Whether this was hope or prophecy, no one would afterwards say.
So while Vitellius attended the races, cheering loudly for his beloved Blues, the plan to meet the Flavian army was formed by Caecina and Valens, victors of the war against Otho.
Unfortunately, these two men had been feuding ever since Caecina had attempted to filch all the glory in his two disastrous solo attacks. Shocked to discover that Vitellius genuinely did not care about the running of Rome, both tried to fill the void. For, though he did attend the Senate and continued as he always had to throw out sharp barbs and wry statements, Vitellius was exceedingly disinterested in affairs of state. While this was disappointing to the two men who had chosen him, neither was willing to overlook the possibilities spread before them. Each had tried to put their cat's-paw into office as consuls, praetors, quaestors, and prefects. Someone had to run Rome, and each man was determined it should be him.
In the end it was determined that Caecina would advance north and block the alpine passes so that Mucianus' overland force would arrive to find Italia barred to him. Meanwhile, Valens would remain in Rome with a strong army in case he was needed to go secure the grain supply in Africa, or else if Mucianus landed somewhere to the south.
Caecina was not pleased with this, not pleased at all, as it left his rival in Rome to whisper in Caesar's ear. Valens was pleading his age, and a touch of the summer sickness that often afflicted Romans. Caecina began to make plans.
The first of these was to call upon the house of Titus Flavius Sabinus. His pretext for the visit was to demand soldiers from the City Cohorts. An impossible request, as he was demanding legionaries from Old Sabinus to march north to fight Old Sabinus' brother.
When Old Sabinus refused, citing the need for the city's safety, Caecina shrugged, and managed to let slip a few choice facts: “We need soldiers who are already paid, as Vitellius doesn't have the funds to pay out those he already has. And he's transferred fifteen thousand from the legions into his new Praetorian Guard. I'll have barely sixty thousand men going north. I hope no one tells your brother how small my force is.” With that seed firmly planted, he departed, having made his first overture to the other side.
But chaos was still churning the tides of men. The capricious goddess Fortuna wrecked the plans of both sides by bringing yet another player onto the board. As if to amuse the spirit of the great Julius Caesar, whose name was the object of these wars, the new player's name was Mark Antony.
XXII
POETOVIO, PANNONIA
23 AUGUSTUS 69 AD
Born in Tolosa, a city in Gaul, Marcus Antonius Primus had been exiled by Nero for admittedly illegal behavior – embezzlement. To be precise, he had been convicted for witnessing a forged will that had been lodged with the Vestals.
Even before Nero was dead, Antonius had written to Galba, casting himself as a victim of Nero's evil whims. Willing to overlook minor offences in return for support, Galba had recalled him, restored him to senatorial rank, and made him a junior legate of the newly-formed Seventh Galbiana. This was the force that had marched with Galba from Hispania, and that Galba had imprudently sent away after his arrival in Rome. Had that army not been removed to Pannonia, had it remained near Rome, there would have been no Othonian revolt, and it would now be Galba and Vitellius struggling for primacy.
After Galba's death, Antonius had offered to aid Otho, but Otho died before the offer reached him. Thus the forty year-old soldier found himself in the unenviable position of being in charge of an army and having offered his support to the losing side. A precarious perch from which the slightest wind would topple him. Unless he learned how to fly.
Then came word that Vespasian had placed his tile in the bowl. This news was conveyed by a letter. In every region across the Roman world, an assembly of officers, notables, and representatives of the soldiers was convened to hear it read. In Pannonia, the province along the Danube river, this amounted to a gathering of some two hundred-odd men, from two provinces and three legions. They listened as the herald read out the blunt announcement direct from Vespasian himself – there was no mistaking the plain, unvarnished clarity of the language:
I, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, consular and victorious general, having been hailed Imperator by the combined legions presently in Judea, Syria, and Aegypt, do here accept the burden of the title Princeps, and the honour of the title Caesar. I ask you, my fellow Roman soldiers, to support me in restoring order to the Republic. Long live Rome!
Men stirred, talking amongst themselves. Upon the speaker's platform, the most senior men were just as eager to discuss this latest ballista ball.
“He doesn't mention any name but his,” observed Aurelius Fulvius, legionary legate to the Third Gallica. “Why not just say he wants us to fight against Vitellius?”
“Because he's worried about the next man who declares,” said his second-in-command, one Gaius Dillius Aponianus.
Fulvius laughed. “Who would be such a fool?”
“We don't seem to be lacking fools at present.” This reply came courtesy of one Tampius Flavianus, governor of Pannonia, a wealthy man who was neither relation nor friend to Vespasian.
“I like 'victorious general,' ” observed his fellow governor, Pompieus Silvanus, in charge of neighbouring Dalmatia. “Making the point that Vitellius has never led men in battle. As if that might sway us.”
“It's a point well taken,” murmured Vedius Aquila, legionary legate to the Thirteenth Gemina, which had fought for Otho and been defeated. The last two months had seen them digging ditches and constructing amphitheatres, and it rankled that Vitellius had never so much as laid eyes on them.
“The Republic?” asked Fulvius. “Whenever men talk about restoring the Republic, I hear the phrase 'dictator' ringing in my shell-like ears.”
“I, for one, admire this letter,” said Cornelius Fuscus, a gambler at heart who had resigned his senatorial status to go into business, and now managed Rome's financial interests in this region. “It's the mark of a true Caesar. 'Let the dice fly high!' ”
“Don't be a fool,” said Silvanus. “This isn't brave. It's unpatriotic. Not to mention, suicidal.”
It went like that, with the old men and senators grumbling doubtfully, and the young men and soldiers expressing guarded enthusiasm for Vespasian's cause.
Then, after every other man had spoken, Antonius Primus opened his mouth. He spoke loudly, gaining the attention of all those in the open square. “You may all do as you please. For myself, I am writing to Titus Flavius Vespasianus Caesar Imperator Princeps Senatus at once to declare my full support and allegiance!”
All eyes turned upon him, some admiring, some aghast.
“Vitellius?” he demanded of them. “Truly? Can you see that fat turd sitting in the Senate, overflowing the curule chair, lording it over us while he licks the grease from his fingers? Is that a Caesar? Is that a man? And who will rule for him? For one thing is certain, he won't be giving the orders. Just as his adherents did his generaling for him, they'll do his governing for him as well. Shall we have another
set of Galba's pedagogues? Do we Roman men fancy being lorded over by men like Valens and Caecina? I do not.”
“Are you serious?” asked Silvanus, trying to keep his voice low. “We just ended one civil war.”
“We did not end a civil war,” answered Antonius at once, his voice still carrying. He had a honeyed tongue, a way of imbuing his words with passion when passion was in him. “Badly led by the wrong men, we lost an engagement. But the right man has arrived at last. Can you imagine Vespasian letting some other man give orders in his place? Can you imagine even his brother intimidating him into doling out favours?”
“He lacks the blood,” said Fulvius.
“But not the steel!” quipped Antonius at once, to rousing cheers from the representatives of the ranker soldiers. “We are presented with two sides of the Roman coin. On the one, a jowly, inebriate, pleasure-loving fool, bloated by fine food, who, after leading an army for two months and winning no battles in person, is now hailed Caesar. On the other side, we have a Roman general with more campaigns than I can count, a man who has suffered the injustice of Nero's displeasure, and also the reversals of fortune that forced him to run a business.”
“Raising mules,” snorted Flavianus.
“He is, in short, a man capable of both command and finance, with neither the appetites of a Vitellius or the artistic failings and mercurial temper of a Nero or an Otho. He is a Roman, of the old sort. I like that he comes from a farm. The first Roman soldiers were farmers. They understood the land. So I am declaring myself for Vespasian. Who's with me?”
One young man, Gaius Mansuetus Junior, was among the first to cheer, and the loudest. It began with the soldiers then, when they saw which way the wind was blowing, the senators and officers added their voices. Thus did three legions and two provinces change their allegiance, thanks to the voice of one man.
The decision made, the leaders all adjourned to the governor's palace to discuss what should be done. Along with the letter for all to read, there was a second missive with orders should any legion come over to Vespasian's side. But the orders were deliberately vague, to keep the Vitellians in the dark, for certainly some legions would attempt to curry favour with the current Caesar by passing this along. So all the men in Pannonia knew was that Mucianus was coming with a large force of men, though if by land or by ship was unclear. Meanwhile Vespasian's fleet had sailed to box up Italia and prevent the Vitellians from either escaping or gaining reinforcements.
Predictably, the noblemen present favoured waiting for Mucianus to arrive in Italia. “We should post guards along the mouth of the Alpine passes,” advised the governor, “to be certain Vitellius can't bar their entry into Italia, if they're coming this way. Then, however he comes, we join Mucianus to amass an unbeatable army and descend upon Italia. If we do that and nothing more, in five or six months we'll have achieved victory, and likely a bloodless one at that.”
But Antonius Primus was not one to abide other men's plans. “An attack now would devastate them. Victory has made them lazy and complacent. Haven't you heard? They're not even keeping to their camps – they're off in the towns, enjoying the spoils of the war they think they've already won! And who can blame them, after living in Germania for years. They're like pigs in acorn mush. They can't imagine a battle any time before next year. But if we give them six months, they'll be back in proper order. These are the Aladudae, the Germanica, the Italica, and the Rapax we're talking about. Solid legions with years of hard service fighting barbarians, loaded with honours. And what if they send for aid? In six months, legions can arrive from Hispania, Gaul, and Britannia. Not to mention more Germanic legions that might still be loyal to Vitellius. It we give them months, it will take years to displant them. Whereas if we move now, we can utterly destroy them.”
“Boldness is commendable,” said Flavianus, restraining his real thoughts. “But it is not always wise.”
“Neither is dithering,” countered Antonius. “What happens if Vitellius marches north while we're holding the Alps for Vespasian? We'll be the ones trapped. And they have ships too, to unload soldiers in Dalmatia and take us in the rear. Inaction is far more dangerous than action.”
Again, Antonius swayed them and won the day. Thus the three legions began the preparations to march.
* * *
Throughout September, news of all this washed over Rome in waves, extinguishing any small kindling of hope for the new Caesar. In the palace, the Vitellians were dismayed because now Vespasian's forces would definitely enter Italia this year – there was no way Caecina could reach the Alps in time.
But Mucianus wasn't happy, either. Antonius did not have an overwhelming force. Without Mucianus' troops, the Vitellians would certainly give battle. Vespasian's hopes for a bloodless war died, sacrificed to Antonius' own ambitions, his hunger for glory.
Antonius pressed through the Alps, stringing Third legion along behind him to guard it and keep it open while he pressed on with the Seventh and Thirteenth. He made his base at the alpine mouth, in the city of Verona.
Caecina reached the area too late to stop their arrival, but with his vastly superior force he could have fallen on the city and stopped them from fortifying it. But instead Caecina left two legions behind at Cremona, and set up camp near the town of Hostilia with just the Fifth Alaudae, far enough from Verona to prevent any kind of hostility. Here he put his fury into his pen, writing angry letters denouncing Antonius and the others for abandoning their legal Princeps.
“What in Hades is he waiting for?” demanded Antonius of Vedius Aquila, now in command of the Thirteenth. “He's giving us all the time in the world!” Indeed, so much time that another defiant legion had joined them, the Seventh Claudia, under the legate Aponius Saturninus.
The letters from Caecina grew stranger. They began speaking vaguely of Vitellius and had praise for Vespasian's service in the war with Judea. Antonius wrote back scathing insults for Vitellius and heaped praise upon Vespasian. Yet the letters kept coming. It wasn't until the fifth of these baffling missives that the code was noticed. Disillusioned with Vitellius, Caecina was offering to defect and bring his whole army with him.
“Why?” demanded Antonius.
“I've heard he had a falling out with Valens,” observed Saturninus. “It's Fabius who has the ear of Vitellius. Caecina has been cut out. Clearly he's sore about it.”
“Clearly,” said Antonius, amused.
But convincing an army to change sides was a delicate business. Caecina also had a partner – Bassus, commander of the Vitellian fleet. They both meant to defect, but had to lay the groundwork first. Hence the delays.
While Caecina was writing his sixth letter, two more legions arrived to reinforce Antonius. The Eighth Augusta came first, under the command of a man named Lupus. Second came Governor Flavianus himself, along with the bulk of the Third Gallica. He'd deemed the Alps secure, leaving only a small vexillation behind.
These new arrivals necessitated an expansion of the camp at Verona. But while the Seventh Galbiana were building a new rampart, they mistook some returning cavalry as Vitellian soldiers and attacked. They whirled around and grabbed Governor Flavianus, whom they accused of collaborating with Vitellius, betraying both poor dead Otho and the living Vespasian, and abandoning his duty in the Alps. Saturninus and Antonius both tried to intervene, but the men wanted the traitor dead. In the end the governor of Pannonia was thrown in chains and locked in a cellar of a Veronese bathhouse.
Baths came into play again the next day, as did mutiny. Suddenly a letter was circulated among the legionaries of the Seventh Claudia, a letter purporting to be from Saturninus to Vitellius, pledging allegiance. That the letter was an obvious and absurd forgery was of no matter. The men of the Seventh already mistrusted their commander, who had been lukewarm to this enterprise. Now they clamoured for his head. The Pannonian legions did the same, backing up their brother legionaries against their duplicitous leaders. Antonius tried his best to control the men, but in the end it
was Saturninus' choice of residence that rescued him. He had set his billet in a fine villa just outside Verona's walls, and when his men came hunting for him, he skipped to the bath-house attached to the palace and hid in the hypocast. Both he and Flavianus were hurried out of Verona under cover of night, sent to Vespasian in far off Judea, there to plead their case.
Thus Antonius Primus found himself the most senior man among the five legions that were now gathered at Verona. There was no one to gainsay him. So long as Mucianus did not arrive, he would have this war to himself.
* * *
18 OCTOBER 69 AD
Unfortunately for Caecina, his partner in treason decided to defect without him, and in a most craven manner. Admiral Bassus called all his fleet captains together to discuss it, then failed to arrive himself until the decision was made. Thus he was able to claim the credit with Vespasian without running any risk.
Having had his hand forced, Caecina called all his officers together in the middle of the morning, when all the legionaries were about their duties outside the camp. He talked of their dire straits – how with the fleet gone, Vitellius an indolent imbecile, and the whole of the East and likely Hispania and Gaul lost to them as well, they would be wisest to abandon Vitellius while there was still time.
The commanders were easily persuaded. They tore down the images and banners of Vitellius and took an oath of allegiance to Vespasian. Then they waited for the bulk of the army to return at dusk to inform them of the change.
When the legionaries of the Fifth Alaudae heard what had happened, it was as if Hades had erupted from the earth. After a dreadful silence, their chief centurion raised his voice. “Have we fallen so low, then? Is that what we are, that we are willing to hand over our swords and spears without even a fight? Without a single wound? And to legions that we've already beaten once this year? Did we not shed their blood on a field not far from here? And now we bow to them, pass under the yoke for them? What answer shall we give our sons when they ask what we did in this war? What, are we slaves, that these fine senators buy and sell us like so much cattle? No, not cattle – whores! Is that what we are? Are we whores? These men here, our general and his legates – they've accepted money from Vitellius Caesar, and honour, and fame, and land, and now they've wrung him dry, they mean to sell him out, and use us to do it! Is that how far we've fallen? Is that who we are? Well, is it?”
