‘If I wanted you dead, would I feed you first?’ Valerius had a feeling the answer might be yes. Vitellius would find it amusing. A frown creased the German Emperor’s pink features. ‘Your presence here poses me a dilemma. The fact that you introduced yourself as Publius Sulla, of fond memory, tells me this is not a private visit to take up my previous generous offer. On the one hand, I am pleased to see my old friend. On the other, I fear that his arrival might be somewhat inconvenient, perhaps even dangerous.’ Valerius allowed himself a smile, but Vitellius didn’t match it. The governor of Germania picked up the grilled carcass of a small bird, discarded it and chose a larger one, cramming it into his mouth and chewing vigorously to the accompaniment of crunching bones. He swallowed, belched and took a draught of wine before continuing. ‘The oak-headed arrow fodder of my personal guard are very capable, but I know that whatever is said in front of them will sooner or later reach ears which, in this case, I would rather it did not. Better to be able to carry out our discussions in an atmosphere of mutual trust and part friends.’ The deep-set, pale eyes turned icy and were matched by his voice. ‘I am aware that Otho has been trying to get messages to me which have been intercepted by generals who do not wish to trouble me with their contents. I take it you are here on behalf of the man who sits upon the throne that is rightfully mine?’
Valerius didn’t reply immediately. Vitellius’s words had ignited an unexpected flare of hope. He might have airily dismissed the couriers who weren’t reaching him, but it left the question of just who was in control: the Emperor, or the men who led his armies. There was also the question of trust. If Vitellius didn’t trust his guards, it meant he didn’t fully trust their officers, and by extension those same generals who were keeping information from him. Equally, the fact that the guards were prepared to spy on the man they were meant to be protecting indicated a lack of trust in Vitellius on the part of the soldiers he supposedly commanded. And there lay the dilemma for Valerius. Even if he could convince his old friend, did the man have the power to halt the avalanche he’d set in motion? He felt Vitellius’s eyes on him, growing ever more impatient, but he ignored them. This was too important to rush. The legions of Germania had elected Aulus Vitellius Emperor, but had it been by popular consent, or at the instigation of their officers? He had an image of a chained bear he had once seen in the street, its owner encouraging it to dance with lashes of a whip. Was Vitellius the bear or the man holding the chain?
At last, he spoke. ‘Marcus Salvius Otho greets you. He chose me to carry his message because he knows of our friendship and is certain you would never believe I would advise you to act against your best interests.’
‘Hah,’ Vitellius growled. ‘Then that is his first mistake. He does not know Gaius Valerius Verrens as I do. If you have a failing, Valerius, it is that you’re too honest and too loyal. You will act in the best interests of Aulus Vitellius? No, Gaius Valerius Verrens will act in the best interests of Rome, because Gaius Valerius Verrens is wedded to a sugar-dusted image of Rome that has nothing to do with the sewer-breathed reality, and Aulus Vitellius may burn in the deepest pit of Hades if it suits Rome’s purposes. So do not feed me an onion and tell me it is a peach. I have tasted enough things in my life to know the flavour of ox manure.’
The words struck like a slap in the face from Vitellius’s jewelled fingers. Valerius felt the blood surge to his cheeks as he experienced a rush of anger that wouldn’t be constrained by the armed men lining the walls. ‘And what is Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator’s vision of Rome?’ He tried to keep his voice level, but the words emerged with the speed and venom of sling pellets. ‘Is it the women and children, every one a client of the Empire, lying in a burned-out town on the Aarus river? It was only the first of many we encountered in the lands of the Helvetii. You asked me if I was hungry. I was hungry when I came here, but not when I saw what we were to eat, because your roasting pig reminded me of a babe I saw not a week ago lying in the ruins of its home, with its mother’s blackened bones beside it.’ He struggled for words as his head filled with the images he’d seen. ‘I hope you enjoyed your pork, Aulus. I would have choked on it.’
‘That was none of my doing.’ The fat man didn’t respond to the anger in Valerius’s voice. ‘We needed supplies. The Helvetii would not give us them. Caecina said they must be taught a lesson.’
‘It was done in your name,’ Valerius countered, each word fighting its way through clenched teeth. ‘This is Marcus Salvius Otho’s message to you. “Tell him I will give him anything short of the crown. He can name his price. He may govern any province that takes his fancy. I will share the consulship with him. I will pay off his soldiers and his generals.” You have unleashed the wolves of the North, Aulus. Unless you find a way to call them back, what happened to the Helvetii will happen to Romans from Augusta Taurinorum to the very gates of the Rome. Whatever you have heard about Otho, he is an honest man. He means what he says. I would stake my life on it.’ He saw the look in Vitellius’s eyes as he spoke the last sentence and knew, as if there had ever been any doubt, that he had done just that.
‘I must think on this. There are other factors here of which you know nothing. Other lives are at stake. Even if I was minded to give up my claim to rule Rome, which I am not, do you think I could snap my fingers and call back my legions? Those men hailed Aulus Vitellius Emperor and Aulus Vitellius in turn pledged himself to them. What sort of weak fool would I look if I dithered at the first bank? Britannia and Gaul have declared for me. Caecina and Valens are halfway to Rome with close to fifty thousand men, and very soon I will join them. There is nothing to stop us but a handful of auxiliaries. Where are Otho’s legions? He has only his palace guard, the Praetorians whose loyalty he has bought, and the mob—’
For all the decisiveness of his words, Vitellius sounded like a man attempting to persuade not the person opposite but himself, and from somewhere Valerius found the courage to interrupt. ‘He was hailed Emperor by the Senate and people of Rome,’ he said.
‘He murdered an old man and stole the purple for himself.’ Vitellius’s voice hardened again. ‘That alone should condemn him. The Senate supported him because it was support him or die. The people? What do the people know? All they care about is their bellies. Otho is not worthy of the throne of Rome.’
The last words were almost a snarl and Valerius caught the other man’s mood. ‘Yet he sits on the throne of Rome and you do not. If Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator wants the purple he will have to walk over the bodies of a hundred thousand innocents to take it. Could you bear that, Aulus? Could the man who gave up his fortune to feed the starving of his African province use dead children as his stepping stones to the Palatium? If he could, he is no longer the man I called friend.’
Valerius found himself on his feet, chest heaving as if he’d just survived a battle. Vitellius’s bodyguards moved to surround him with their swords drawn and a wild look in their eyes. The German Emperor slumped forward in his chair like a man awaiting the executioner’s axe. For a moment, Valerius’s fate lay balanced on the razor edge of a gladius, but before a blow could be struck Vitellius raised himself and waved his aides away.
‘Enough, for now.’ His voice emerged as a tired croak and he shook his head as if something had torn inside him. ‘We will talk again tomorrow.’
Valerius hesitated, on the verge of … no, he would not apologize. Two legionaries appeared and he didn’t resist as they led him away. They were almost at the door when Vitellius stopped them.
‘You have tested my friendship, my patience and my hospitality, Gaius Valerius Verrens. Tonight, as you ponder a foolish old glutton’s ridiculous dreams, I ask only that you remember this. His only ambition is the same as your ambition: to make a better Rome. And if he had your certainty he would already be garbed in purple, no matter how many innocents it took to make it so.’
As he was escorted back to the room he shared with Serpentius, Valerius felt as if an arrow had pierced his he
art.
XXXII
‘Will he do it?’ Serpentius lay back on his bed in the governor’s guest quarters with his hands clasped behind his shaved head.
‘If he were his own man, his instinct would be to come to some sort of accommodation with Otho, but …’ Valerius sighed, exhausted by the confrontation of the previous evening. ‘He is like the driver of a runaway chariot. He has his fists on the reins, but he has long since lost control of his destiny. His lead horses are making the decisions and all he can do is hang on and pray the outcome isn’t fatal.’
The Spaniard grunted acknowledgement. ‘In the kitchens they whisper of him as the Emperor of the dinner table, because the only important decision he ever makes is what he’s going to have to eat on a given day. The real power is Valens. Two months ago, during the Vindex business, he tried to bully Verginius Rufus into making a claim for the throne, but Rufus knew it could be his death warrant. When Galba made Vitellius governor of Germania Inferior, Valens must have felt he was being presented with a bull with a ring through its nose.’
‘You’ve been busy.’
Serpentius grinned. ‘So far, I’m an honoured guest. I’ve been fed and entertained and a plump, pretty slave girl from over the river pumped me for information in a way I didn’t object to at all. She seemed pleased with what I gave her, though it wasn’t information, and in return she told me the lie of the land here.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘Valens persuaded the legions upriver to hail Vitellius as Emperor and the governor had no way out. The way she told it, it was like one of those tarts who wave a perfumed veil in your face. Next thing you know, you’re flat on your back and your purse isn’t where you thought it should be.’
Valerius rose and splashed his face with water from the basin by the window overlooking a courtyard patrolled by Vitellius’s personal guard. ‘Then the answer to your question is no. He will not accept Otho’s offer, because he cannot. Valens and Caecina are the men making the running and Valens won’t stop until he’s handed the seal of the Praetorian prefect, which will as good as put his hands round Vitellius’s throat.’
‘So where does that leave us?’ The Spaniard pulled back the curtain to check no one was listening outside the doorway. ‘If we’re doing no good here, we should get out while there’s still time. My little plump partridge showed me a passage to the slave quarters and I hear that not every soldier on the Rhenus likes the way things are going.’
A weary smile flickered across Valerius’s scarred features. ‘You may go with my blessing, but this is a game of power; the kind of game I used to play on campaign with Corbulo. Otho already has very few pieces on the board and it would be against my oath to deprive him of even one. I think there may still some good to be achieved here. What was that you said about soldiers?’
Serpentius scowled, disgusted that Valerius would even suggest he might desert him. ‘About two dozen men and four centurions of the Twenty-second up at Moguntiacum objected when the young pup Caecina ordered them to pull down Galba’s statues. They’re being held in chains and the word is that their tent mates aren’t too happy about it.’
Valerius nodded thoughtfully. ‘That might be useful to know …’
A servant’s face appeared in the doorway. ‘Gaius Valerius Varens, the Emperor wishes you to join him to break your fast.’
Vitellius was in the room they had occupied the previous night, already feasting on an array of fruits and meats and spooning honeyed porridge from a wide bowl. His eyes were puffy, but whether that was from the wine he’d consumed or lack of sleep wasn’t apparent. He looked up when Valerius entered.
‘Forgive me, Valerius, but I find that thinking gives a man an appetite.’ He waved ringed fingers in an invitation to begin and returned to his plate. Valerius picked at the food, knowing he should eat more – who knew how this day would end? – but his stomach was churning as in the moments before an attack. When Vitellius was done, the household slaves cleared the bowls from the table.
In the long silence that followed, the German Emperor played with a great jewelled ring on the middle finger of his right hand while he contemplated Valerius with baleful grey eyes that contained no hint of his thoughts. Eventually, he sighed and shook his head.
‘You have caused me a deal of trouble, Gaius Valerius Verrens.’
‘Only because I wished to save you from more, and worse.’
Vitellius nodded slowly, the great jowls wobbling in rhythm with his movements. ‘I apologize for my harsh words of yesterday. It says much for our friendship that you and your Spanish wolf were prepared to come here, even if your mission was a misdirected one.’ Valerius started to protest, but the other man raised a hand. ‘Hear me out, before you say what you must. Last night I mentioned that other lives were at stake, and that is true. I have set events in motion … no, let us be entirely truthful … the gods have set events in motion, of which they have placed me at the heart, and over which I have no power and little control. You were right to bring me word of what has taken place in my name. It is an unworthy Emperor who begins his reign with massacre and rapine, and I will do what I can to make amends for what has happened and to ensure such things do not occur again.’ Vitellius paused and Valerius saw what might have been a hint of regret in the deep-set eyes. He remembered a time in Africa when this man had wept over the bodies of starving children and wondered how it had come to this. Vitellius nodded as if he too was remembering those times, but both men knew there was no going back now.
‘Marcus Salvius Otho’s terms are generous, and you may thank him for me. I have a message for him in return, but first I must explain to an old friend why I cannot accept them. Yesterday we spoke of honesty and loyalty. Most men look at Aulus Vitellius and see a fat man whose only ambition is to get fatter. When they look at Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator, Emperor of Rome, they will see a fat man whose only ambition is to get rich. But you know better, Valerius. When I said our ambitions for Rome were the same, I spoke the truth. A strong Rome, a prosperous Rome, a Rome untainted by the stain of corruption.’ A shadow crossed his eyes and Valerius knew he was thinking of his two lieutenants, but it quickly passed. ‘I hope and pray that you see your own honour and loyalty mirrored in the fat man who stands before you.’ His lips twitched in a sad half-smile. ‘You see, I become poetic in my emotion. Seneca would never have approved. Still,’ he levered his enormous frame to its feet, ‘I will stand. I owe my loyalty to the men who hailed me Imperator on the field outside Moguntiacum. The men who now march on Rome in my name. In all honour, I could never desert them. There was never any possibility that I would turn back, even if I could. I hope you see that now.’
Valerius nodded, unable to speak for the duck egg that seemed to have lodged in his throat. Vitellius waddled to a cabinet set by the wall and stooped awkwardly to open it, and Valerius’s heart sank at the sight of the polished rosewood box. Vitellius smiled when he saw his guest’s reaction. ‘Yes, Divine Caesar’s sword. A sword unsullied and untarnished. A symbol, if you like, of the Rome we both wish to see. In a month five cohorts of the Twentieth Valeria Victrix will arrive from Britannia to join me. One of Rome’s most feared legions, I hope you will agree?’ Of course Valerius agreed; how could he not? He had served in the Twentieth as a beardless tribune. It had been the men of the Twentieth who formed the fearsome wedges which smashed into the great mass of Boudicca’s army, and the men of the Twentieth who led the slaughter that followed. Their reputation was well earned, and Valerius had watched them earn it from Suetonius Paulinus’s side. He didn’t realize that Vitellius was still speaking until he heard his own name mentioned. He looked up to find the other man’s eyes on him and his hand on the hilt of Julius Caesar’s sword.
‘I said that, unfortunately, the Twentieth’s commander’s loyalties are less certain than his men’s. He has decided to stay in Deva to await events. Since those events are likely to be fatal to his career, the Twentieth will soon be in need of a new legate. I can think of no better m
an to lead them than Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome.’ For a moment Valerius’s head seemed to be filled with thunder. He saw an eagle glittering proudly above an avenue of polished helmets. His eagle. Glory and fame awaited the man who led the Twentieth. It was already a formidable instrument of war; how much greater an instrument could it be in his hands. A gladius at the heart of Rome’s enemies. Her shield against those who would harm her. The spear point of her military power.
‘I cannot.’ The words almost stuck in his throat, but they had to be said.
Vitellius continued as if they hadn’t been spoken. ‘All you need to do to make it so is to place your hand over mine and make the oath to Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator.’
Valerius looked down at the plump fingers on the jewelled hilt and remembered another man’s hand on another sword. That man had died because he refused to visit all this on Rome, and had he still lived Aulus Vitellius would never have dared lift a sword against his Emperor. A Corbulo does not have the luxury of choice … only duty.
‘I cannot,’ he repeated. It was said with regret, even sorrow, but there was also a savage conviction in the younger man’s voice that made Vitellius blink. ‘I have already given my oath to one Emperor. As long as he lives, I will abide by it.’
Vitellius’s eyes half closed and in that second Valerius thought he detected a hint of unsheathed iron in the hidden depths, but it was gone before he could be certain. An expression of pained regret twisted the German Emperor’s features and he withdrew his hand from Caesar’s sword.
Sword of Rome Page 23
