He would have elaborated on the thought, but a voice from behind him interrupted the conversation.
‘There’s a rider coming in from the east! I can hear his horse!’
The three men hurried to the gateway, stepping through the wicket gate and staring out into the darkness.
‘Bring more torches! Call out the Guard!’
Men hurried to carry out Hramn’s command, bathing the ground around the gateway with the soft light of a dozen freshly lit brands, and in the city behind them the street echoed with the sound of dozens of men’s booted feet hurrying to their posts. After a moment’s wait, during which the noise of Hramn’s men died away to an almost perfect silence as they found their positions and stood ready to fight, every man strained eyes and ears for any clue as to what lay behind the slow clopping of an approaching horse.
‘It can’t be an attack, we’d be already deaf from the noise of men falling over in the dark and gagging on the smell of the shit running down their legs.’
The men around the gate laughed at Draco’s loud observation, the veteran having walked up behind them during the Guard’s rush to their posts, and Hramn turned back to look at him with a wry smile.
‘Ever the diplomat, eh Prefect?’
‘He’s probably right though, judging from what I saw at the Old Camp.’
Hramn spun back to see the speaker leading a horse appear from out of the night’s gloom into the circle of light. Dressed warmly, he was armed with a cavalry sword on his left hip, while the beast was laden with a pair of heavy saddlebags. The centurion of the guard looked at his superior expectantly.
‘Want me to challenge him?’
‘There’s no need, Centurion. I know this man.’
Both officers looked at Kivilaz in surprise.
‘You know him?’
‘Indeed he does!’
The horseman came to a halt a dozen paces from the gate, holding up his hands to be clear that he intended them no harm.
‘Apologies for disturbing your evening, gentlemen, I had hoped to arrive in daylight and cause a little less excitement, but I was delayed on the road. This blasted animal has gone lame, so I had to walk the last ten miles.’
Kivilaz walked forward and held out a hand.
‘Gaius Plinius Secundus. Well met, even if it’s taken you a month or so longer to make an appearance than I expected!’
Later, with the Guard dispersed back to their various lodgings and Plinius installed at Draco’s table, warm, fed and with a cup of wine in front of him, the Roman cocked an interrogatory eyebrow at Kivilaz.
‘So you expected me to arrive before now?’
The Batavi noble nodded.
‘It seemed obvious to me that you would be the man chosen to carry the message from the east.’
Hramn shook his head in puzzlement, looking at each man in turn and frowning at their shared secret.
‘Obvious that he would be the one to carry the message from the east? What message from the east? And how is it that you know each other, when I’ve never heard his name before?’
Kivilaz smiled knowingly.
‘The dubious advantage I have over you, Decurion, is that I spent two months imprisoned in the palace on the Palatine Hill, waiting for Galba to complete his march in triumph from Hispania, and then, once he’d arrived in Rome, waiting some more for him to get around to pronouncing his judgement on the insignificant matter of a tribal noble accused of treason. Which took longer than you might imagine. For one thing, he had weightier matters to consider, such as the decision as to who he should appoint as his heir, and whether or not to not pay the praetorians the donative they had been promised in his name. And for another, there was a judgement to be made as to just how blatantly he could be seen to reward me for apparently having sided with Vindex in his ill-fated rebellion in Gaul. And during that time I received precious few visitors other than my jailers who, decent men though they were, were unlikely to be the source of either conversation or indeed information as to events in the outside world. One very welcome exception was a man by the name of Cerialis, who was kind enough to visit me on several occasions and bring a variety of books to keep me entertained throughout the long weeks of my captivity. I put it down to his regard for a brother at arms fallen on hard times, until he organised a dinner party to celebrate my acquittal. A dinner party at which I found myself seated next to this august gentleman …’
He gestured to Plinius.
‘And that, pleasurable though it was, was the moment at which I realised that Cerialis’s friendship was motivated by something more than his desire to do right by a former soldier who had fallen foul of Rome’s jealousies. So tell me, Plinius Secundus, what is the nature of your message from Judea?’
The Roman smiled cheerfully.
‘Vespasianus won’t be in Judea by now, he’ll be on his way to Egypt.’
Kivilaz nodded slowly.
‘Egypt. Then the rumours are true. He means to claim the throne, and to hold Rome’s Egyptian breadbasket as a lever with which to crowbar Vitellius out of power.’
Plinius took a sip of his wine.
‘The message my friend Cerialis received implied that his father-in-law’s mind was not yet entirely made up. If Otho had succeeded in defeating the German legions then I suspect he would have declared at once, given the man’s total unsuitability and his murder of Galba, but Vitellius’s victory and Otho’s suicide have given him pause for thought. After all, a man would need to be very sure of his supporters before declaring war on the man who controls the military forces of Germania, Gaul, Hispania and Britannia. The eastern legions on their own are nowhere near strong enough to challenge that large an army.’
‘That’s a fact. But it’s a simple enough piece of mathematics, isn’t it? Without the Danubian legions any such attempt at power would be doomed to fail, especially as Vitellius’s army is now blooded in battle and therefore a different proposition than it was a few months ago.’
Kivilaz fell silent and stared at Plinius for a long moment before speaking again.
‘Let me put the pieces of this puzzle together for my brothers-in-arms, since I have the advantage of having had several months to ponder this question.’
He turned to Hramn and Draco.
‘Plinius Secundus here carries a message from Gaius Petillius Cerialis, my unexpected friend during my captivity in Rome and, coincidentally, the son-in-law of Titus Flavius Vespasianus, Rome’s general in the war with the Jews. And …’ he paused, stressing the import of what he was about to say, ‘quite possibly, the only man left alive in the whole empire with the stature to challenge Vitellius for the throne.’
‘Which means that a message from Cerialis is in truth a message from Vespasianus?’
Kivilaz nodded at Draco.
‘Exactly. And which means that even entertaining the idea of hearing what it is that Plinius has to say means that we are likely to become accessories to treason.’ He laughed softly. ‘That’s not a problem for me, of course. I’ve been accused twice and escaped by the skin of my teeth on both occasions, and I am perfectly sure that once Vitellius has no further need for my support he’ll bow to the vengeful urging of his centurions and give me my moment to savour the bitter taste of Roman justice. There’s a tree somewhere not yet felled that will host my body’s last hours, once the emperor no longer needs to placate our people. But it is a problem for you both. To listen to this request for our assistance is to countenance treason, and we all know where that path might lead. So think carefully before Plinius here continues, although you should be equally clear that to reject his message is to place yourself on the side of the Romans, and if you do so then by rights you should promptly denounce us both to Vitellius’s legatus at the Old Camp.’
Draco shook his head angrily.
‘A year ago I would have been troubled by the prospect of turning my back on an ally, but I have faced an armed officer of their army intent on murdering a prince of our tribe.’ He looked l
evelly at Plinius. ‘I will listen to what you have to say, sir.’
All eyes turned to Hramn, who looked back at each of them in turn.
‘You need to ask? My command disgraced, my tribe dishonoured …’
He waved a hand in silent assent, and Kivilaz nodded to Plinius, who sipped at his wine again and then began to speak.
‘Titus Flavius Vespasianus sends his regards to the tribe that fought alongside his men so bravely and effectively at the battle of the Medui, and throughout the long summer that followed. He remembers the Batavians with fondness, and says that never has he seen such skill or bravery before or since.’ He paused, looking around at them. ‘I can add some colour to those words, gentlemen, having enjoyed the man’s hospitality on more than one occasion. His after-dinner remembrances of the campaign in Britannia still feature your auxiliary forces in pride of place. These words are genuinely meant from a man who still harbours the utmost respect for your people.’
Kivilaz nodded.
‘And we thank him, through you, for these kind words.’
Another sip of wine.
‘Flavius Vespasianus finds himself in a difficult position, gentlemen. He is, and always has been, a loyal servant of the emperor of the day, demonstrating his devotion to the empire throughout the reigns of three men whose imperium was not always exercised in the most responsible manner. There have been times when he has been forced to withdraw from public life as the result of misunderstandings, accidental and deliberate, but unlike many of his fellows he has never used public office for personal gain. Indeed, he managed to restore his personal fortune only by trading mules, with the result that his peers took to calling him “mulio” to his face, despite his having been the governor of North Africa, a position that could have made him rich had he chosen to abuse it in the customary fashion. Titus Flavius Vespasianus, gentlemen, is a good honest Roman at a time when such probity is in scare supply. And as a good Roman he is appalled at the state of affairs that he sees from the east. Nero hounded to the point of suicide. His successor cut down in the street by men sworn to his service in the pursuit of their own wealth, who then handed the empire to a fool with no more capacity to rule the world than any other man of his age, indeed a good deal less than some. Augustus may have ruled the empire from much the same age as Otho, but Otho was no Augustus. And now we are ruled by Vitellius, a man incapable of orderly rule, a man so cursed by the gods that when his father saw the infant’s horoscope he tried to prevent his son from entering public service.’
Plinius looked around the table with a sober expression.
‘A man whose legions spread chaos and debauchery wherever they go, victimising innocent Roman citizens for their own pleasure, or worse, profit. Can we really trust a man like that, a slave to his own gluttony and vice, a man infamous since his youth for surrendering to the sensual temptations of the flesh, to rule the empire with the necessary discipline and virtue?’
He paused, slowly shaking his head.
‘I think not. Gaius Petillius Cerialis thinks not. And most importantly, Titus Flavius Vespasianus thinks not. He has the support of the legions of the east. He has the support of his colleague Mucianus, governor of Syria, and of Primus, who commands in Pannonia. And we believe that he will soon have the support of the Danubian legions as well, and thereby have sufficient strength to match Vitellius.’
Kivilaz nodded.
‘And, if your friend Vespasianus does declare himself emperor, the empire will therefore be split neatly into two halves, east and west, and the stage set for a confrontation between the two. With Vitellius’s main weapon being the legions from Germania.’
‘Exactly.’
The two men exchanged a knowing glance.
‘But then you knew most of this before my arrival, I expect?’
Kivilaz smiled slowly.
‘I’ve made it my business to learn as much as I can as to the current state of affairs from the meagre sources I have available to me here at the edge of the empire. And I’ve looked into you, Gaius Plinius Secundus. My sources tell me that you were a decent enough man when you had command of the cavalry wing based in the Old Camp, neither too familiar nor too distant from your men, and that you were a dedicated and honourable soldier. And if I remember rightly from that night in Rome, you even wrote a book about horsemanship while you were there?’
Plinius smiled.
‘Indeed. On the Use of Missiles From Horseback. A fond memory, of a time when I could immerse myself in the study of such an arcane subject.’
He shook his head wistfully.
‘But when the trumpet calls all men must declare themselves as their conscience guides them. And my conscience calls me to the cause of Vespasianus.’
Draco leaned forward, locking stares with the Roman.
‘So we know that you are a decent man, who follows the dictates of your ethics. And I see your small smile to hear such language from the mouth of a barbarian, so don’t even think of patronising me for my skill with Latin. I spent the best years of my life listening to men spout just such words to the emperor Claudius, and for the most part it was clearly self-serving bullshit. But I do remember Vespasianus’s time as a consul, and how he was forced to retire after falling foul of that poisonous bitch Agrippina. Why the emperor ever thought to marry her was beyond me, but a man can only sometimes go where his prick leads him, I suppose. Your friend Vespasianus seemed a decent enough man then.’
Plinius nodded.
‘And he remembers you, Prefect Draco, and asked to be remembered to you, if the chance arose. He hasn’t forgotten the favours you performed for him back in those dangerous days.’
Draco inclined his head in recognition of the point.
‘And with all those nice things said, let us be very clear. You have come to ask the Batavi to rise up against Rome, I presume, and give Vitellius something more to worry about than dealing with a revolt from the east? You want to force him to fight on two fronts, and tie down the army on the Rhenus so that he can take no further reinforcement from here.’
‘You have discerned my purpose with the utmost clarity.’
The veteran opened his hands questioningly.
‘And what is it that you and your friends think is going to tempt the Batavi to destroy the fruit of a one-hundred-year-old relationship with Rome? Why should we risk the enmity of a people who, when the fighting is done and a single emperor rules, could grind my people flat with the greatest of ease? The centurions who command in the Old Camp already want my prince Kivilaz’s head, and if we were to ally with Vespasianus they’d be baying for our blood even louder than before. Why shouldn’t the Batavi simply ride out this storm, and let the coin land whichever side up fate decrees?’
Plinius leaned forward to match the older man’s questioning posture.
‘Titus Flavius Vespasianus recognises that your place in the empire might be uncomfortable, if the war that is almost certainly to come results in a Vitellian triumph. But he asks you to consider what you might achieve by being on the side of the victor in the event that his forces overcome those of Vitellius.’
‘And what might that be?’
The Roman’s smile was hard and businesslike.
‘Ask yourself what you would like it to be, and, within the bounds of your own territory, you have your answer.’
Rome, August 3rd AD 69
‘How is he?’
The duty praetorian tribune thought briefly before responding to his superior’s question.
‘Angry, Prefect. Hurt … And scared, I’d say.’
Varus nodded thoughtfully, looking at the door behind which the emperor was discussing the latest development with his closest council.
‘I’d say he has good reason. This news puts the entire matter in the balance. Who’s in there with him?’
‘His brother Lucius. Celsus, Simplex, Atticus, and the two legati augusti, Prefect.’
‘Oh, joy. Not just his idiot brother but the maniac Valens and his
faithless colleague Caecina as well.’
He took a deep breath, remembering only too well the fact that it had been the combination of Valens and Caecina, the victorious generals at Cremona, and the emperor’s hot-headed brother Lucius, who had driven through the decision to replace the twelve defeated praetorian cohorts he had inherited from Otho’s guard commander with twenty new cohorts, all drawn from within the victorious army’s legions. His advice that this would severely weaken the strength available to defend the empire, among rumours that the apparently undecided Vespasianus had decided to make a bid for the throne had been proven sound only weeks later, but now another body blow had been delivered to the emperor, and from the quarter it had been the least expected. He opened the door and stepped into Vitellius’s council chamber, a relatively small space with room only for a table around which there were eight chairs. Guardsmen stood in every corner, men deemed worthy of such intimacy with the imperial person in order to provide him with constant protection, which less than a year before would have been provided by the German Bodyguard.
‘Ah, Alfenus Varus, I’m glad you could join us.’
Varus bowed, ignoring the acid in the emperor’s voice.
‘My apologies, Caesar, I was inspecting the city’s defences when the messenger from the Danubius arrived, and it took me a little time to return to the palace and make myself presentable.’
In truth he had spent a good portion of the time considering the implications of the latest news to rock the palace foundations, readying himself for his emperor’s inevitable rage and apparent paranoia.
Betrayal: The Centurions I Page 31
