[Gaius Valerius Verrens 05] - Enemy of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  She could have argued. She was his woman. This was his child inside her. He should stay with her. But the courage and certainty in his voice left the words unsaid. Instead, she kissed him on the cheek. ‘May Christus be with you,’ she said quietly. But he was gone.

  The sight of her father’s ancient freedmen attempting to look warlike might have seemed comical but for the determination on their faces. She nodded gravely and followed them from the villa. Led by two young slaves armed with bows they made their way through the gardens and up into the olive groves behind. The caves Lupergos had provisioned were at the bottom of the south slope by the river. Olivia had planned to take the well-worn path, but if the raiders had come through the trees they were just as likely to approach the house from that direction too. Better to stay under cover in the grove. After the recent rains the ground was treacherously slippery and the going slow. Before they’d travelled two hundred paces they heard confused shouts, barked commands and then the first screams. A moment later one of the barns burst into flame and the earth beneath the olives was transformed into a confusion of unearthly shadows. More screams of mortal agony followed and she flinched because they were much closer now. The two slaves exchanged a glance and without a word dropped their bows and ran off up the hill. Granta and Cronus seemed paralysed by the desertions and she slipped past them.

  ‘Come,’ she said crossly when they still didn’t move. ‘Enough of this foolishness.’ Granta shot her a look of embarrassment and took the lead, the spear held threateningly in front of him.

  Soon the bulky shoulder of the hill sheltered them from the direct light of the flames, but a dull glow allowed them to keep their bearings. Granta increased his pace only to freeze a moment later. As Olivia watched, the old man sank slowly back to merge with one of the olive trunks. Hardly daring to breathe, she and Cronus silently emulated the movement. Three rows of trees separated Olivia from Cronus and a shadowy figure ran between them, only to be catapulted forward with a terrible shriek. Olivia pushed her fist into her mouth to keep from crying out. A second figure appeared and hauled a spear from between his squirming victim’s shoulder blades. The dark silhouette straightened and the head swivelled to study the darkness. Whatever he sensed must have satisfied him because when she looked again he was gone. Granta waved them forward, but Olivia’s legs would barely carry her.

  A sudden image of Valerius gave her renewed strength. Lupergos knows what to do, he had said. Keep yourself safe, stay calm and he will join you. If you become separated just follow the contour of the hill until you hear the river. The caves are at the bottom of the slope to your left. Stay quiet and do not move, no matter what you hear.

  Granta halted so abruptly that Olivia almost walked into his back. It was a moment before she heard the sound of stealthy movement all around them. The whites of Granta’s eyes shone like ivory as he turned to face the threat. Cronus would be doing the same behind her. Oddly, she felt very calm as she slipped the knife from its sheath. Whoever was making the sounds began to close in and she placed the point firmly against her breast. Her only regret was for the unborn child in her womb. She began to pray, the words soft as the wind whispering through the trees. ‘Our father …’

  A stocky figure holding a sword stepped from the shadows.

  XL

  Could it have been an hour already? Valerius fought to still his nerves as he waited in the bright sunlight outside the temple walls. How many thousands of lives depended on what was decided just a few feet away? He consoled himself that he’d done everything he could to bring about this moment when sanity should prevail. Now it was up to the two men whose voices were a distant murmur. When the negotiations were completed the Emperor and Titus Flavius Sabinus would leave the precinct separately, along with their witnesses – Sabinus had chosen Cluvius Rufus, the former governor of Hispania. If Sabinus acceded to his demands, Vitellius would abdicate within two days and place himself under the city prefect’s protection. He winced at a stab of pain from his injured wrist. The wound had proved less serious than it felt at the time, but it still throbbed beneath the cloth bandage that one of Sabinus’s servants had applied.

  If all went to plan Valerius was to take word of the agreement to Marcus Antonius Primus. He’d also carry a letter from Vitellius which, as his last act as Emperor, commanded the Praetorians to lay down their arms and allow Primus to pass. Yet everything depended on whether two men who despised and distrusted each other could come to an accord.

  Nearby, Serpentius kicked moodily at the stony ground and studied the gilded ivory relief on the rightmost of the big double doors. It showed a battle scene full of sword-wielding soldiers in armour and strange helmets, carving the arms and heads from cowering naked barbarians. ‘What did you say this was again?’

  ‘I told you. The Celts took the Greek shrine at Delphi and the Greeks didn’t like it, so they marched up the mountain and slaughtered them.’

  ‘No need to be so testy,’ the Spaniard muttered, squinting and studying it more closely. ‘They don’t look like any of the Celts I killed in the old Taurus.’

  ‘It happened four hundred years ago and the sculptor had probably never seen a Celt, or a Greek for that matter.’ The doors creaked and began to swing open. At last …

  Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Augustus needed the help of his companion to descend the creamy marble steps, but he moved with surprising speed between the statues flanking the temple precinct. Valerius cursed under his breath as his old friend approached the gate. Vitellius’s face glowed pink beneath the chalky mask of his make-up and the deep-set eyes glittered. His gait and every sinew of his obese body signalled suppressed fury. Failure.

  By the time he reached Valerius the Emperor was struggling for breath, though whether through his exertions or anger wasn’t clear. His first words confirmed Valerius’s estimate of his temper.

  ‘How am I to trust a man so ruled by his fears? He had the insolence to accuse me of trying to have him killed, this … this … renegade whose assassins have stalked my every footstep since I first donned the purple. A man who lives only through my benevolence.’

  ‘The terms?’ Valerius walked by his side to where the specially reinforced chair and its six mute Nubian bearers waited.

  Vitellius stopped abruptly and turned to him, nostrils flaring. ‘Not even half, and that so meagre in detail and so reluctantly furnished as to be worthless. He gives me numbers, which are far below my own estimates, and dispositions which are as unlikely as they are unmilitary. If he is to be believed he can barely protect himself, never mind my family. No list of senatorial supporters, so I can gauge the true worth of his support, and thereby the likelihood of the people following them. No token of his esteem that might show proof of his goodwill.’

  Valerius closed his eyes. It was worse than he had feared. Sabinus had probably told the truth about the numbers, but Vitellius’s fears had exaggerated them for so long the reality could never match his expectations. Valerius understood the ways of spies; knew how they indulged their masters’ fantasies by providing them with what they wanted to hear. He cursed Sabinus for his parsimony – a fine diamond brooch for Galeria and a colt for Lucius might have changed the tone entirely – and for his veracity, a poor trait in a negotiator with so little to offer. Yet surely there could still be hope?

  Vitellius’s guards formed up around the litter and Valerius had to push his way through as the bearers set off towards the Clivus Palatinus. ‘The names mean nothing,’ he said urgently as he trotted alongside, the rhythm of his feet over the cobbles making his words sound disjointed. ‘You cannot expect Sabinus to present you with the heads of his friends on a silver platter. He is protecting them – you would do the same. In any case, if you are the man I think you are, you already know every senator who supports him, especially the ones who claim not to.’ The golden curtain twitched and he gave thanks he had the other man’s attention. ‘Give me two days and I will track down every cohort and century Sabinus commands. I
will give you their true capabilities, the strengths of their commanders and their present dispositions. If I can do that, and convince you of Sabinus’s sincerity, will you agree to another meeting?’ The curtain twitched again, but otherwise there was no response. As the chair reached the top of the slope Valerius made one final attempt at reason. ‘Do not let your anger rule you as his fear does him, Aulus. There is no other way. I have seen these streets flowing with blood once before. Do not let history say that is Aulus Vitellius’s legacy.’

  A sharp word of command brought the bearers to a halt. The curtains drew back and he found himself face to face with the Emperor. ‘Very well.’ Vitellius glared. ‘If you can satisfy me that Sabinus is truthful and sincere, I will meet him again. Report to me when your investigation is complete.’

  Valerius stepped aside as the Nubians moved to the trot. He watched the litter bounce off down the hill with the escort of Rhenus legionaries pushing through the crowds like a ship’s ram. Serpentius appeared at his side and Valerius greeted him with a resigned smile. ‘I would rather face a charge of Parthian Invincibles than spend another day in Rome,’ he told the Spaniard. ‘But we don’t have any choice. Come, we have work to do.’

  ‘I think we can disregard the vigiles as a known quantity.’ Valerius frowned. ‘We’d have had word if Sabinus took three thousand night watchmen and firefighters off the streets. In any case, even properly armed they don’t have the training or experience to take on a single cohort of Vitellius’s Praetorian veterans without being slaughtered.’

  It was almost noon, and Serpentius nodded thoughtfully as he lay on a bed of the lodging house Vitellius had provided, just off the Forum Boarium and fortunately upwind of the slaughter pens. ‘That leaves us with the urban cohorts, and they’re a different animal altogether. I’ve seen them at work breaking up the bread riots a few years back. They might only have been up against beggars, shopkeepers and drunks, but they knew how to handle themselves. Hard men who’ve done their time in the legions up on the Danuvius and in Syria.’

  ‘And under Sabinus’s direct command,’ the Roman agreed. The cohortes urbanae had been formed by Augustus to augment the Praetorians who acted as the Emperor’s bodyguard and Rome’s last line of defence. Over the years an intense rivalry had grown between the two codes. The four cohorts each contained a thousand men commanded by a tribune, and were responsible for maintaining public order.

  ‘But they’re not in their barracks out at the Campus Martius,’ the Spaniard pointed out. ‘So where are they?’

  ‘From what I could see, Sabinus has at least half a cohort at the villa in case the Praetorians come knocking on his door. He must have the rest hidden away somewhere Vitellius has no chance of getting to them. Without them, Sabinus has no influence in Rome and they both know that.’

  ‘I was thinking I might have a sniff around the crossroads bars out by the Campus Martius,’ the Spaniard reflected. ‘Whores like to talk and there must be a good chance some of the regulars are sweet on the girls and will have let them know where they are.’

  ‘That’s worth a try.’ Valerius signalled his agreement with a grin. ‘While you’re romancing the ladies and getting drunk, I’ll check out the villa. That half cohort is getting its rations from somewhere and Sabinus must have a way of contacting the others.’

  They agreed to meet back at the mansio at dusk.

  Valerius stationed himself at the end of an alley on the street where the half cohort had its main guard post. It helped that the soldiers only had eyes for those approaching the roadblock and had little interest in anyone outside their perimeter. Still, it was dreary work. He fought boredom as the hours passed, watching the comings and goings with half an eye as his mind turned to his parting from Domitia.

  His first instinct had been to get her away from the Sabinus villa and out of reach of Domitianus. It was Sabinus himself who urged caution and to Valerius’s surprise Domitia agreed. Where in Rome would she be safer than in a house guarded by five hundred soldiers? Even if the worst happened and Vitellius fought till the last, Sabinus would maintain a defensive ring of iron around the Esquiline. Defensive, he stressed; he would give the Emperor no reason to attack.

  The city prefect had seen Valerius’s cold glance towards Domitianus, skulking away with his face bloodied and a fine pair of black eyes already developing. He will not touch her, Sabinus had pledged, or I will kill him myself, for the honour of my family. Domitia’s eyes had sought Valerius. Where would they go in a city filled with dangers? What security could he offer? The answer was none. She would be a burden to him, she was saying. First save Rome, then save Domitia Longina Corbulo. That is your duty.

  He wanted to tell her that he loved her and that he would do anything to be with her, but everything stayed trapped inside. He prayed that his eyes conveyed as much as hers, but the thought struck him that he might never know.

  A flicker of movement down by the guard post returned him to the present. A man in civilian clothes presented something to the officer of the watch. When he’d been waved through the newcomer strutted up the street towards Valerius. Despite the lack of uniform something about the way he carried himself said soldier. Valerius waited till his quarry was past before slipping into the street twenty or thirty paces in his rear. Their route took them up towards the Porta Esquilina, the city’s east gate, then right along the road that ran inside the city walls. This was an old commercial district, the Vicus Corvius, named for the merchant family who’d once owned it and a place of workshops and warehouses.

  As Valerius watched, the man darted right into a side street. The Roman stepped up his pace and reached the entrance in time to see him disappear into an enormous brick-built horreum, one of the warehouses that stored the city’s grain supply. And who was in charge of that grain supply? He smiled because the answer was the Prefect of Rome. This was Sabinus’s secret hideaway for the urban cohorts. Where better to conceal three thousand men in a teeming city than the gigantic barns that could easily double as barracks? Better still, the horreum was perfectly positioned to allow the city guard to pour out and surround Sabinus’s villa. Or storm down the Esquiline Hill and take the Golden House, the Forum or the Senate. He had what he’d come for.

  Within moments of leaving the horreum, Valerius was cursing his stupidity. Of course they’d have watchers. He risked a glance over his shoulder to take a first look at his followers. In the van, Titus Flavius Domitianus was instantly recognizable by the battered nose and blackened eyes. He’d clearly neither forgotten nor forgiven the beating Valerius had given him. Unless Valerius guessed wrongly, Vespasian’s son was hiding a club or a sword beneath his cloak. The bruisers accompanying him looked like the toughest and ugliest the urban cohorts could provide. His eyes flickered to the right and left seeking some sanctuary, but there was no help to be had among the shops and houses. Only the fact that the street in front was crowded with people walking in the same direction gave him hope. If he could only stay ahead …

  The quickest way back to the Forum was through the pottery workers’ district and past the Porticus Liviae. As he reached the public gardens dedicated by Augustus and named for his wife, he could hear a growing hum, like a swarm of bees somewhere in the distance. A shoulder that felt as if it was made of marble nudged him unexpectedly from the side and he turned with a muttered curse.

  ‘Trouble seems to follow you around.’ Serpentius grinned and a surge of relief washed over Valerius. Nine to two might seem poor odds, but he would take them any time with the former gladiator at his side, even unarmed. ‘Here, keep this under your cloak.’ The Spaniard slipped something from the sack he was carrying and Valerius laughed aloud as his fingers closed on the hilt of a gladius. Now let them come.

  ‘I didn’t get much information from the bars or the bar girls,’ Serpentius said cheerfully, ‘and no one seemed to be around at the barracks, so I thought I’d break into the armoury so that it wasn’t a complete waste of time.’

  ‘I’m gl
ad you did.’ Valerius kept half an eye on Domitianus, who appeared to have recognized the Spaniard and was keeping his distance. ‘Judging by all this,’ he nodded to the thickening crowd around them, ‘the pot is coming to the boil.’

  ‘Aye.’ Serpentius gave him a significant look. ‘It seems that the Emperor has some kind of announcement to make.’

  ‘What? He can’t …’

  The Spaniard’s savage face turned solemn. ‘The word on the street is that Narnia has fallen and General Valens is dead. Primus and his legions will be here in three days.’

  XLI

  Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Augustus felt an unnatural emptiness as his household slaves helped him don the black toga of mourning. Like the only living thing at a feast of spectres, his was a world filled with shadows and blurred outlines; an eerily silent world, for no person dared speak in his presence. Hours earlier he’d been the most powerful man in an Empire of forty million souls – an Emperor under siege, but an Emperor still. Now? Now he was nothing. When the courier brought confirmation of Valens’ death and the surrender at Narnia, he had felt like a moth pinned alive to a board. His mind ran in circles, his heart thundered in his breast and his wings had flapped, but never a twitch had he moved. Then, as true comprehension dawned, the old Aulus Vitellius died, the life draining from him as effectively as from a man who has cut his own wrists. What remained was a shell. A body without a soul, a life without purpose. No railing at the vagaries of fate for Aulus Vitellius, though Galeria achieved enough for both as poor Lucius cowered in the corner. Whatever happened, he must save his family.