The Last Roman (The Praetorian Series - Book I)

by Edward Crichton

  ***

  The praetorium, no bigger than a small classroom, was crammed with people. Its sole resident, Legate Lucius Livius Ocella Sulpicius Galba, had not only the longest name I’d ever heard, but was also one of the ugliest men I’d ever seen. He had a bumped nose, a double chin, busy eyebrows, and a receding hairline. Ugly wasn’t even the worst adjective one could use to describe him, but his eyes contained an intelligence and determination that demanded respect.

  His looks weren’t the most intriguing thing about the man, however, and were the last thing on my mind when I realized he was actually Servius Sulpicius Galba, the Galba, the one who became the first emperor during the year of four emperors in 69 A.D. after the fall of Nero. I tried to remember what little I had learned about the man from my Intro to Roman History course at Dartmouth.

  Born Servius Sulpicius Galba, he took the name Lucius Livius Ocella from his step mother who had raised, cared, and loved him. He didn’t officially reclaim his birth name until after he became emperor, as short lived as that had been. He’d been a praetor once before, and had served as consul, and I assumed was taking on another command position now. He was known for his excellent generalship in Gaul, Germany, Africa, and Spain, and I thought I recalled he had become governor of the entire Iberian peninsula later in his life, prior to becoming emperor. I didn’t know why he was in northern Italy now, or why there was even a legion stationed in northern Italy for that matter, but I assumed he had a reason.

  The only other fact I knew about the man was that when Caligula died, he had been called upon by his friends to make a bid to take over. He declined and had served loyally during Claudius’ reign. He seemed well at ease around Caligula now, and it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that Caligula had observed him on campaign as a child.

  To either side of Caligula, who now rested comfortably in Galba’s bed, stood Marcus and Gaius, his dutiful caregivers for the past few days. Continuing clockwise around the room came Marcus Varus, Centurion Quintilius, myself and the rest of the team, and standing near the entrance was a tribune from one of the two Praetorian cohorts from Caere, Marcellus Pullo. Continuing along the other wall from the entrance came Galba’s retinue. First came two slave scribes, a junior magistrate, the legion’s primus pilus, or “first file”, who was the first and foremost centurion in the legion and served as the prestigious 1st cohort’s 1st century’s centurion.

  Interestingly, I had always thought primus pilus translated as “first spear.” I always thought that pilus was another derivation of pilum, or spear. It wasn’t until today that I learned it was a common mistake even in the Roman world.

  Who knew?

  To round out the group were the praefectus castrorum, the camp prefect, and five tribunes, some of whom were used for military use, others as administrators, and one who was appointed directly by the Senate, their eyes and ears in the legion. Lastly, standing by his desk next to the bed in which Caligula rested, was Galba himself, looking very angry, and rightfully so. The story we had just told him was not one that inspired confidence in the loyalty of mankind.

  “That diseased rat of a man!” He screamed, pounding his fist on the table. “He isn’t fit to lick the shit from Pluto’s boots, and to think I once called him a friend. And you!” He continued, pointing an accusing finger in Quintilius’ direction. “I suppose none of this is your fault. You damned high and lofty Praetorians, with your fancy togas and leisurely detail, with less loyalty than a rabid dog! How is it that you let this happen??”

  Caligula answered for him. “Do not blame Centurion Quintilius, my friend. Without his loyal Praetorians, most of whom lie dead at this moment, I would not be here. It is obvious that Claudius has been planning this for months, maybe even before it was decided that I would succeed Tiberius. We are quite lucky. I had planned a trip to my family’s island estate on Capri. Had I been there, it would have been far easier for him to seize power, but the unexpected arrival of these individuals delayed that trip,” he finished, pointing toward me and my squad mates.

  And another piece of the puzzle falls into place. Had we not shown up, Caligula would have gone to Capri and been poisoned there. That would match up with history’s record of where and when he got sick. Claudius wouldn’t have tried a grand assassination attempt, because all he would have needed to do was let nature take its course, and be appointed emperor himself once news arrived that Caligula had died from a mysterious illness. He never thought that Caligula would actually survive the poisoning, only to return as a total nutjob.

  Instead, Caligula had gained newfound allies. Us. Allies who were far more powerful than anything Claudius could ever imagine, and he went ahead with his poisoning plans anyway, this time with a backup plan. He had recruited a small army to do his dirty work for him should the poison plot fail. The mob itself must have been formed around those who felt Claudius was overlooked and slighted when Caligula took over. Its size was probably augmented with people distrustful of us time travelers. There wasn’t a soul in the city who didn’t know of us, or what we could do. During those runs Helena and I took, we didn’t just run into adoring fans, but also shady groups of men who would have stabbed us right then and there if they’d had the chance.

  “Ah, yes. These curious looking people,” Galba remarked dismissively, sounding just as Caligula had during our first few encounters. “You have explained their exploits, and I have no reason to doubt you, but I find it hard to believe you so easily trust those who won’t even tell you the place of their birth.”

  Caligula chuckled. “You can trust them, Legate. We’ll need them. Now, how are we to reclaim my empire?”

  Galba sighed. “Claudius couldn’t have picked a better time to start a civil war. Africa and the East are quiet, although Jewish rumblings may bring trouble in the future. Germany is quiet as well and I’ve just received word that an expeditionary force of Britons have run back to their island. I’ve had word of lightning strikes and a man’s head spontaneously exploding as though the gods were involved. Very odd, but it allows us the freedom to focus on Claudius. Now, as for this legion, it was to go north to Germany, to help alleviate the loss of Quinctilius’ three legions thirty years ago.”

  “But why are you here? Training a fresh legion?” Caligula asked, dumbfounded. “I recall commissioning the inception of this legion, but you were not assigned its commander. You have lead veteran men in battle throughout Germany and Spain. This is a demotion, and I never would have authorized it had you been ordered.”

  “I volunteered,” Galba replied with a shrug, “and the Senate approved. After the incident in the Teutoburg Forest, I knew I couldn’t let the fate of a legion rest on their commander alone. Rome’s legions are the finest military forces the world will ever see, but I felt I could make them better. That’s why I volunteered to train this legion, to make them the best. I’ve seen my share of combat, and I’m sure I will see more, but for now I’ve decided to turn my attention to training.”

  From what I knew, Galba had been a notorious disciplinarian, and a strict drill master. He would train good legions to replace those lost in the north.

  When Publius Quinctilius Varus, no relation to my ancestor, Marcus Varus, at least as far as I knew, had been stationed in Germany in 9 A.D. he was taken by surprise and ambushed by Germanic tribes during what was later known as the Battle of the Teutoburg Forest. He had been killed and his three legions annihilated. Only a handful of men survived, literally only enough to count on a hand or two, and their trio of standards were stolen, a very embarrassing moment in Roman military history. I’d read theories claiming the loss of those three legions was one of the earliest precursors to Rome’s downfall centuries later. An audacious claim, but definitely one worth considering.

  “Unfortunately,” Galba continued, “I am not finished, and this legion, the XV Primigenia, hasn’t completed its training yet. It was scheduled to be pressed into service next
year, but in my opinion, can be rushed into deployment now. We have a full complement of legionnaires, as well as auxilia, and my command staff is well seasoned. My first file, Maximus Nisus,” he pointed toward a stern looking man who nodded in greeting, “served under Tiberius and started his career under Agrippa. We are not lacking experience from them, but the boys are untried. With your two Praetorian cohorts, we can muster around twelve thousand fighting men. If Claudius manages to contact your remaining Praetorian cohorts, he can field around six thousand, along with gods only know how many auxilia and levied troops from Rome itself. It is difficult to say, but we would be hard pressed to take the city even if we had multiple legions under our control. We must plan carefully.”

  Galba looked around the room to make sure everyone was paying attention before turning to Caligula. “There is also the question of whether or not to involve other legions. I would recommend against it. Should word of a coup spread, a series of civil wars may erupt, and that could end very badly for all of Rome. I suspect Claudius understands this as well and will do nothing until he has eliminated you.”

  “I approve of your thoughts, Legate,” Caligula assured. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “Well, sir, as you know, we are nearing the end of the campaigning season. My suggestion is to wait until spring. We train the boys as hard as we can during the winter, and then lay siege to Rome, and hope for the best. That would be our best strategy.”

  Ah, the armies of the past. Not a war was fought between November and March and any war in progress practically called for an armistice until spring rolled around again.

  “I concur, Legate. Make your preparations. We’ll try to sneak some information out of Rome in the meantime. But for now, if you will, please make accommodations for my friends here,” he said, again, pointing in our direction.

  Galba grunted. “Very well. We have a few understaffed officers’ tents they can use.”

  Vincent held up a hand. “We appreciate the offer, sir, but we have our own shelters. Just give us a spot.”

  Galba grunted. “So they speak Latin. Interesting. Fine. Take some room behind the praetorium, next to the forum.”

  “Thank you.”

  Caligula laughed. “Galba, old friend, you may want to watch them. If they make camp like they do war, I’m sure you will be most interested.”