Rome’s Fallen Eagle

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘Thank you, Sabinus, but I’ll make my own decisions about where my family live.’

  Gaius looked at him, his eyes suddenly hard. ‘No, Vespasian, you must get Flavia her own home; until she has her own household to terrorise she will make my life a misery.’

  He was serious; deadly serious. Vespasian had never heard him use that tone before. ‘I’ll do it as soon as I get back to Rome, Uncle, I promise.’

  ‘No, dear boy, I’ll do it for you as soon as I get back to Rome; this situation cannot continue.’

  ‘But what shall I do for money?’

  ‘You’re commanding a legion subduing a new province: slaves and plunder, dear boy.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘I am; now let’s go and watch our glorious Emperor-General show everybody how it should be done.’

  ‘G-g-gentlemen, that army is all that stands between us and C-C-Camulodunum,’ Claudius announced, pointing an unsteady hand at the poorly armed ragged mass of prisoners lined along the far bank of a stream. ‘How many would you say there are, Plautius?’

  Plautius scanned the paltry number. ‘At least ten thousand, Princeps,’ he replied, doubling what he knew to be the truth.

  Claudius twitched with excitement. ‘Excellent. I shall crush them within the hour. Plautius, what were my battle orders?’

  Plautius flicked a subtle glance at the officers present. ‘I believe you wanted the Praetorian cohorts in the centre with the four cohorts of the Eighth and then the Fourteenth on the right, the Twentieth on the left and the Ninth held back in reserve.’

  ‘My b-b-brother-in-law’s legion in reserve? That won’t do. Corvinus must be on the right flank in the place of honour; the Fourteenth will be my reserve.’

  ‘Corvinus no longer commands the Ninth, Princeps, he’s awaiting trial by you for disobeying orders.’

  ‘Disobeying what orders? That’s the first I’ve heard of it. Why didn’t you tell me about it, Narcissus?’

  Narcissus cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t know, Princeps.’

  ‘You’re meant to know everything and keep me informed. Plautius, why didn’t you tell him?’

  Plautius shot the freedman a venomous look. ‘I er … I sent a despatch but it must have gone astray.’

  ‘Indeed it must have, because I’m sure that had Narcissus known about it he would have ordered my brother-in-law released, whatever he had done.’

  ‘But he tried to take Camulodunum without you, Princeps, and leave you nothing to conquer.’

  ‘That is most serious, Princeps,’ Narcissus interjected, with a rare look of exaggerated shock on his face. ‘Why would he have tried to steal your victory? Was he trying to set himself up over you?’

  Claudius chuckled. ‘No, he’s not like the jealous senators who are always plotting; he’s family. He was just being impetuous like my darling wife; you can tell that they’re brother and sister. Well, no matter, he didn’t succeed and there still is an army for me to beat and a town for me to capture, otherwise I wouldn’t have been sent for, would I, Narcissus?’

  Narcissus was momentarily lost for words.

  Despite enjoying the slight twitch at the corner of Narcissus’ mouth as he realised that to damn Corvinus he would have to admit to Claudius that this battle was a farce and Camulodunum had already surrendered, Vespasian felt a chill. ‘The idiot’s going to let him go,’ he whispered into Sabinus’ ear.

  Sabinus chewed on his lip. ‘And I don’t suppose our part in arresting Corvinus will go unnoticed.’

  ‘Well, Narcissus?’ Claudius pressed. ‘Has Corvinus stolen my victory?’

  ‘It would seem not, Princeps.’

  ‘Then why is a member of the imperial family being detained? Have him brought here immediately, Plautius; the Ninth will take the right flank and my Messalina’s brother will command it and share in my glory. The rest of you, get to your posts, I’m eager for battle.’

  With no legion to command Vespasian sat watching the farce with Magnus, at the head of Paetus’ cavalry, which had escorted him from the coast. To the right of them the senators sat on chairs viewing the proceedings as if at a race day in the Circus Maximus.

  ‘It just goes to show that you can be too devious for your own good,’ Magnus commented as they watched the lead cohorts of the VIIII Hispana advance across the stream and make contact with the fraudulent army of Britons beyond, ‘and everybody else’s, for that matter.’

  ‘Except for Corvinus’ good,’ Vespasian reminded him as the first screams of the wounded echoed over the field. ‘He’ll come out of this as a wronged hero in Claudius’ eyes.’

  ‘And he’ll be after you.’

  Vespasian shrugged. ‘We’ll be far apart; once Claudius leaves I’ll go back south to the Second, and the Ninth will stay here and then head north up the east coast next season.’

  ‘That’s if Plautius stays in command.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll still be in command,’ Pallas affirmed, riding up behind them and once again taking Vespasian by surprise. ‘I’m sure that Claudius would like to get rid of him at the moment but he’ll soon see sense once Narcissus and I explain to him that appointing another general would mean two men requiring public acknowledgement back in Rome; best to keep praise limited, don’t you think? After this, Claudius can return to a triumph and then when Plautius comes back, in four years or so, Claudius can show the people that he’s an inclusive emperor by magnanimously awarding an ovation to someone who’s not a member of the imperial family; for obvious reasons, that’s not something that one would want to do twice.’

  Vespasian shook his head with regret. ‘Won’t you ever stop scheming, Pallas?’

  ‘How else can a mere freedman wield power? I’m nothing without Claudius; my fortune is bound up in him remaining emperor, and with this battle we’ve secured that for the near future.’

  ‘At the cost of the lives of a few thousand British prisoners,’ Magnus muttered as the Praetorian cohorts drove the centre of the British line ever back.

  ‘I’m told that they were given the choice between crucifixion and chancing their luck with a weapon in their hand. It’s a small price to pay for having the Senate witness the Emperor lead legions in battle; and an elderly emperor at that.’

  ‘Ah! So that’s your next worry,’ Vespasian said, ‘Claudius dying. Surely you just attach yourself to Claudius’ son?’

  ‘That would be a foolish move; the boy’s only two and will lose his mother as soon as we can contrive it. If Claudius is lucky with his frail health he might live another ten or so years but he’ll die before his son reaches manhood; so who would be regent? There are no acceptable choices left; the bloodline is almost dry. The Senate will never accept being ruled over by a child and Republican sentiments will come to the fore again, which will put them in direct opposition to the Praetorian Guard, leading to chaos. I’m afraid the boy is destined to be a Tiberius Gemellus; he will never be emperor and will be killed by whoever succeeds Claudius.’

  ‘And you know who that will be, I suppose.’

  Pallas raised a knowing eyebrow. ‘If Claudius is lucky and lives for ten years, then yes, and you would do well to follow my lead when you return to Rome because I intend to pick the winning chariot in this race. I’m telling you this as a friend: when Messalina dies watch whom I cultivate and you’ll understand.’

  ‘You’re as mysterious as ever, Pallas.’

  ‘I learnt from my late mistress Antonia that it doesn’t do to be too open with your plans.’ A huge cheer erupted from the Roman formation, which quickly transformed into a chant of ‘imperator’. ‘Well, that was quickly done, come gentlemen, it’s time to join our glorious Emperor on his victorious entry into Camulodunum.’

  The legionaries of the XIIII Gemina stood to rigid attention, lining the sun-hardened-mud main street of Camulodunum, keeping the local population back as Claudius entered their town.

  Although not big by Roman standards, Camulodunum was the largest settlement in t
he south of the island and even boasted a scattering of brick-built public buildings. Its few thousand inhabitants lived mainly in round huts in family groupings and, similar to Mattium in Germania, there did not seem to be much thought put into civic planning away from the main street and marketplace.

  Surrounded by a sturdy palisade, three times the height of a man, almost a mile in circumference and protected on its northern side by a navigable river – its lucrative trade route to the Northern Sea and on to the Rhenus – it would have been a formidable town to take by storm and Vespasian, riding behind Claudius, felt a certain relief that they had not been obliged to.

  The local populace gasped in awe as Claudius entered their town; two massive beasts, the likes of which had never been seen before in Britannia, pulled their new master’s chariot. Large and lumbering and draped in purple cloth, with huge ears, long swaying proboscises and fearsome tusks sheathed in gold, the elephants impressed the people of Camulodunum more than the display of military might that followed behind them.

  The legionaries of the XIIII Gemina hailed their Emperor as he passed with yet another chant of ‘imperator’, drowning out the townsfolk’s rumble of astonishment at the contrast between the magnificent animals and the malformed man whom they drew. No amount of purple or gold could make Claudius look imperial; standing unsteadily in the chariot as it bumped along the rough street, with one hand grasping its side whilst the other was held aloft, palm out, acknowledging his ovation, he struggled but failed to control all the tics that afflicted his twisted body.

  Immediately behind the imperial chariot rode Narcissus and Pallas between Aulus Plautius and Sentius Saturninus, both of whom smouldered with indignation at being publicly accompanied by freedmen. Vespasian and his fellow legates followed behind them in icy silence. Then came the senators, walking with sombre dignity, ignoring the stares and the pointing that their attire elicited as the people of Camulodunum caught, what was for many, their first sight of a toga. Finally, in marched the Praetorian cohorts followed by the senior cohort of both the XX Legion and the VIIII Hispana, joining in the chant of their comrades lining the way.

  Vespasian glanced to his left at Corvinus; his face was set in the same expression that he had worn for the last two days since Claudius’ mock victory: smug, self-satisfied.

  ‘Worried are you, bumpkin?’ Corvinus sneered, catching Vespasian’s look.

  ‘Why should I be? I was just protecting the Emperor’s interests.’

  ‘The Emperor’s interests? Bollocks. Since when was Narcissus the Emperor? I know exactly what you were doing; and I know exactly how to prevent you from meddling again next time our paths cross.’

  ‘Thankfully that won’t be for a while, Corvinus; you’ll be in the north and I’ll be in the south.’

  ‘Wrong, bumpkin, I’ll be in Rome. I’ve got what I need from this campaign and have no desire to carry on commanding the Ninth when my officers are so untrustworthy, so I’ve had a quiet chat with my dear brother-in-law, a couple of quiet chats, actually; he’s agreed that I should return to Rome to look after his business in the Senate and be close to the family. Talking of family, in that second chat I had with Claudius I made a suggestion – as a concerned uncle, you understand – about the future wellbeing of his son. I think you’ll find it very amusing.’

  ‘Nothing that you do amuses me.’

  ‘We’ll see, bumpkin, we’ll see.’

  Vespasian turned away and edged his horse closer to Sabinus. Up ahead the imperial chariot had reached the marketplace, again lined with legionaries. The mahouts steered their charges to one side, revealing, at the far end, eleven British Kings and chieftains, amongst them, Verica and Cogidubnus, kneeling in submission in front of an empty curule chair; their swords lay on the ground before them.

  Pallas and Narcissus dismounted and hurried over to their master as the mahouts brought the elephants to a halt; helping him down, they guided him to the chair.

  ‘Follow me, gentlemen,’ Plautius ordered, swinging off his horse and handing the reins to a waiting slave. He walked over to stand behind Claudius, facing the men who were about to pay homage to the physical embodiment of Rome’s power.

  Vespasian took his place beside Plautius with Sentius and the other legates; the senators gathered behind them as the Praetorian cohorts marched in and filled the remainder of the marketplace, leaving the legionary cohorts backed up along the road.

  A hush fell.

  Vespasian stood, waiting for something to happen; eventually Narcissus cleared his throat, meaningfully, looking at Claudius.

  ‘Ah, y-y-yes,’ Claudius spluttered, sitting as upright as he could in the backless chair, ‘of course. Who speaks for the Britons?’

  Verica raised his head. ‘Every man here speaks only for himself and his tribe but our words are the same: we accept Rome and we bow to her Emperor.’

  ‘C-c-come forward and receive Rome’s friendship.’

  One by one the Britons came forward, shuffling on their knees, their swords held out before them resting on the palms of their hands. Claudius bade each in turn to rise and confirmed him in his position of king of his tribe or chieftain of a sub-tribe under Rome.

  Vespasian read the shame on each face. The ceremony was a public humiliation of these proud men. Cogidubnus caught his eye, as he rose to his feet before the Emperor, with a look of bemused disbelief at the form that the power of Rome took. Vespasian inclined his head fractionally and the King of Vectis, shaking his, backed away and returned to his place.

  Verica was the last to subject himself to the ordeal; once he had submitted there was a stir amongst the Praetorians off to the left. Claudius struggled to his feet, helped by Pallas and Narcissus, and turned to face the senators as a Praetorian centurion approached him holding an imperial Eagle.

  Claudius gave a lopsided smile and taking the shaft held it aloft for the senators to see. ‘Members of the Senate, do you know what Eagle this is?’

  There were mutters but no replies.

  ‘This is the E-E-Eagle that none of you would have seen for thirty-four years. This is the Eagle that just three months ago I presented to my loyal troops in gratitude for the suffering that they were willing to undertake in coming to this island. This, Conscript Fathers, is the Eagle of the Seventeenth. I, Claudius, have raised the last fallen Eagle of Rome and I ask you to return to Rome with me and place this Eagle where it belongs: in the Temple of Mars.’

  The senators burst into loud and enthusiastic cheering and applause.

  Vespasian looked at his brother. ‘And what were we doing whilst Claudius was bravely raising this fallen Eagle?’

  ‘Surviving, brother.’

  ‘We return to Rome together,’ Claudius continued, ‘but first we must organise this new province that I have won for Rome, the province of Britannia. This shall be its capital and here I shall build a temple in my honour. For his help in aiding me in this great victory, I name Aulus Plautius as the first Governor of Britannia and I award him the right to wear Triumphal Ornaments. Come forward, Plautius, and once again receive your Emperor’s thanks.’

  Stiff and formal, Plautius approached Claudius and was again embraced; this time Claudius whispered a few words in his ear and when he turned away the general was clearly burning with indignation. Plautius paused and then held his head back. ‘Conscript Fathers, I must offer my thanks to you for persuading our Emperor to make this long journey and come to my aid. Without his leadership and strategic and tactical abilities our cause would have been lost and we would have been thrown back into the sea.’

  The senators applauded this sentiment, enjoying the implication that they had played a decisive part in the conquest of Britannia, whilst neglecting the fact that it was very far from over.

  Vespasian glimpsed Pallas and Narcissus exchange a look between them; although it was fleeting it hinted at the immense satisfaction that they were both feeling. ‘They’ll have made Claudius the darling of the people when all this is reported back
in Rome,’ he muttered to Sabinus. ‘And the Senate get to reflect in his glory because they’re the ones who begged him to come.’

  ‘And they’re the ones who will return the Eagle with him; it makes me feel queasy.’

  ‘Yes, it’s terrifying; if a man like Claudius can be kept in power by his freedmen, who knows what we might get next?’ Vespasian’s mouth twisted in distaste.

  Claudius handed the Eagle back to the centurion. ‘I shall also award the right to wear T-T-Triumphal Ornaments to C-Corvinus, the brother of my darling wife, whose role in the conquest has been crucial throughout.’

  Vespasian’s shook his head in disbelief. ‘Crucial?’

  Corvinus went forward; his face was a picture of subservient gratitude as he received the Emperor’s embrace.

  ‘How did he go from treason to Triumphal Ornaments?’ Sabinus muttered, not bothering to hide his outrage.

  ‘By coming from the right family, brother. Magnus was right: people from families like ours are wasting their time.’

  ‘And Triumphal Ornaments will also go to the three subsidiary legates; firstly, Hosidius Geta whose bravery at the Afon Cantiacii saved his cavalry from capture by the enemy. Despite being surrounded and severely wounded, he led his men to safety.’

  Aulus Plautius did little to conceal his opinion of this version of the events that Claudius had been given, and Geta did little to conceal the fact that his general’s opinion did not concern him in the slightest as he returned from Claudius’ embrace.

  ‘And then my loyal Flavians, hard-working, honest and happy to toil in the shadow of greater men for little reward, come forward.’

  Vespasian submitted to Claudius’ clutches, receiving yet more unwelcome kisses. ‘Thank you, Princeps.’

  Claudius held his shoulders and looked him in the eye. ‘I hope that I will still be able to refer to you as my loyal Flavian when you return to Rome.’

  ‘Always, Princeps.’

  ‘I’ve been told that you have an infant daughter and a son a few months older than mine?’