Avenger of Rome gvv-3

by Douglas Jackson

  Valerius had seen the effortless way the younger tribune commanded his men and the respect the wild Numidian auxiliaries accorded him, and he had no doubt it was true. Titus explained that his father, the general, had just arrived in Alexandria to gather his forces for the response to the unrest in Judaea. Vespasian blamed the rebellion on the incompetence of the previous commanders, who had embarked on a campaign of brutality and military ineptness which first enraged and then encouraged the citizens of the province.

  ‘They have a taste for Roman blood now,’ Titus said. ‘Between them Florus, the Judaean procurator, and Gallus, the propraetor, managed to lose the best part of the Third Gallica when they became trapped in the palace at Jerusalem. They should have chopped off the head of the snake then and there, but they waited too long. When they did counter-attack, Gallus was too timid and the Twelfth Fulminata lost their eagle in the retreat. Now my father is preparing to retake the province and I am to be his aide. You were fortunate that I was exercising my Numidians when they came across your young tribune. It is remarkable that he survived so long.’

  Valerius smiled. ‘He is a remarkable young man.’

  ‘I have already dispatched a courier to Alexandria with news that the lady Domitia is safe, and my father will send word direct to Antioch. General Corbulo will be relieved to hear the news. Now I must escort you to my father. He will be very interested to hear your story.’

  They rode on in silence and at a sedate pace suitable for Domitia’s camel-borne litter, which was further down the column. Valerius had seen little of the general’s daughter since the rescue, other than an uninterested exchange of glances as they ate with Titus on the evening before their departure from the beach. The night they had shared seemed unreal now, a true moment of madness that could never, should never, be repeated. Yet he still felt himself drawn to her in a way that went beyond the first shock of the physical.

  A rider galloped up with a message for Titus. The general’s son thanked the trooper and turned to Valerius. ‘The lady Domitia Longina passes on her thanks for your efforts in keeping her alive and hopes to give them personally once she has recovered from her injuries. She too is remarkable. I have been impressed by her resilience. She seems more upset by the loss of a slave than by anything she has suffered herself. A rare combination of beauty, courage, virtue and devotion, don’t you think?’ Valerius started at the word ‘virtue’, but there didn’t seem to be any hidden meaning in the young soldier’s words. He almost missed what Titus said next. ‘Lucius is a very fortunate man.’

  Titus noticed his incomprehension. ‘Her betrothed. Lucius Aelius Lamia. We served together in Germania. She tells me they are to be married when she returns from her visit to her father.’

  Valerius felt as though someone had hit him with a hammer. Why hadn’t she told him? He should have been jealous, or angry. But the truth was his only emotions were relief and a sense of release. Would it have made any difference if he had known? Probably not. But now he knew it would never happen again.

  ‘Yes. He is a very fortunate man.’

  XIX

  The Elder Titus Flavius Vespasian had set up his headquarters in an annexe of one of the royal palaces close to Alexandria’s harbour. Staff officers and couriers came and went with the flurried regularity of ants from an anthill, beneath giant fans which shifted the overheated air in the great marble hall, but barely cooled it. At the centre of a sweating mass of clerks the red-faced general barked his orders and demanded up to date information.

  ‘How many ships do we have to transport the two legions and their auxiliaries from Alexandria to Ptolemais?’ The answer patently didn’t please him. ‘Not enough, but it will have to do. We had two thousand transports when Claudius invaded Britain, but we were landing on a hostile shore. Unless the rebels decide to invade Syria this will be different.’

  Valerius stood with Titus while an aide interrupted the general to announce their presence.

  Vespasian barely paused between sentences and waved Titus towards a nearby doorway. ‘His private apartments,’ the young soldier whispered. Valerius hesitated, but Titus ushered him forward. ‘He will want to hear what you have to say.’

  The general’s offices were in a sumptuous corner room with a view of the harbour and they only had to wait a few minutes before Vespasian bustled in. He was in his late fifties, with the substantial belly that came with success and middle age, a fine nose and a grim-set mouth in a face that had long forgotten how to smile. Only in the eyes and the youthful energy was there a hint of the man he had once been, and Titus now was. The two young men saluted, Valerius rapping his wooden fist against the leather breastplate of his borrowed uniform, but the general ignored them as he took his seat behind a desk of pale marble.

  ‘Wine,’ he shouted. Seconds later the servant who had been hovering behind a nearby screen appeared with a jug and three embossed silver cups. Titus waved him away and poured the wine, which was white and surprisingly cool. Valerius’s lips barely touched the rim of his cup, but the general took a deep draught and sighed with pleasure.

  ‘Annius has been recalled to Rome, so I want you to take temporary command of the Fifth Macedonica until Corbulo can send us Marcus Bolanus,’ Vespasian told his son.

  Valerius saw Titus’s face harden, an unusual reaction for a soldier who had just been given an appointment for which other men might wait a lifetime. ‘That means…’ The young man recognized his father’s warning glance and kept the rest of his thoughts to himself, but Valerius could guess what they were. Annius Vinicianus was not only the legate of the Fifth Macedonica but Domitia’s brother-in-law, the husband of General Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo’s eldest daughter. His recall might have some innocent purpose, but at a time when the Empire’s very foundations were still shaking from the effects of Piso’s conspiracy it could just as easily result in arrest, torture and death.

  ‘Whatever it means is between Annius and the Emperor,’ Vespasian said firmly. ‘We have a war to prepare for. I can’t ignore politics, but I will not let them divert me from my main purpose. We must be ready to move as soon as possible.’

  He paused and stared at his desk. When he looked up it was as if he was seeing Valerius for the first time. ‘And you are the young man who saved Corbulo’s daughter?’

  Valerius straightened. ‘Sir!’

  ‘Then I must commend you, although I’m not certain what her father will make of shipwreck and pirates.’ He shook his head at the thought. ‘His notions of discipline are somewhat different from mine.’ The tone changed and Vespasian’s eyes narrowed. ‘Verrens? You are to be his second in command?’ Valerius nodded.

  Vespasian glanced at his son. ‘Leave us.’ Titus hesitated, with a look of puzzlement at Valerius, before he walked from the room. When they were alone, the general rubbed his hand across his forehead and let out a long breath.

  ‘First, you should be aware that I know of your secondary commission from the Palatium.’ Valerius’s head came up with a snap, but Vespasian raised a hand before he could speak. ‘Do not deny it. Let it be sufficient that I know, and that if I know, General Corbulo also knows. Second, let me say that I need Corbulo. No, let me go further. The Empire needs Corbulo in command of the Armies of the East.’

  Vespasian walked to a large table over which was laid a map of the eastern Mare Nostrum from Cappadocia in the north to Egypt and Africa in the south.

  ‘Here, Judaea.’ He pointed to an area in the centre of the map. ‘Lost to Rome for the moment thanks to those fools Florus and Gallus. Better that the pair of them had fallen on their swords, but they do not have the wit even to do that. A rat’s nest of rebels from Galilee in the north to Jerusalem and Masada in the south. Fortress cities on the coast at Caesarea, Jotapata and Ashkelon, now in Jewish hands, and Roman bones bleaching in the streets of all of them. I will restore Judaea to Rome, with Corbulo’s help, but what Rome will not currently recognize…’ Valerius listened with ice water in his veins. If Vespasian knew of
his mission why was he being told this? The general read his expression and the thin lips came as close as Valerius guessed they ever would to a smile. ‘… and what I cannot change is that General Corbulo has problems of his own in Parthia, where he believes King Vologases is ready to take advantage of his brother Tiridates’ absence to return Armenia to Parthian rule. Corbulo knows how much a Parthian’s word is worth. When he was given command in the east it was clear that if Parthia controlled Armenia she would quickly become a threat to both Cappadocia and Syria. Vologases’ ambitions have remained unchanged for ten years. Corbulo recognized that when he crossed the Euphrates and took three legions into the very heart of Armenia, stormed three of Tiridates’ fortresses in a single day and went on to burn his capital at Artaxata. Armenia remained under Roman rule for four years before Parthian treachery obliged him to intervene again. Corbulo forced the Parthians out of Armenia, not once, but twice. Vologases sued for peace and agreed that Tiridates should rule as Rome’s subject, but now, with Tiridates in Rome and Judaea alight, he sees yet another opportunity.’

  He paused and took another drink from his cup, and the grey eyes scoured Valerius’s. ‘You understand that I am taking you into my confidence, tribune? I do it for a purpose. It is my instinct that Gaius Valerius Verrens serves Rome and my certainty that Rome’s best interests are served by stability in her eastern commands. Let me be frank. What I will say next I do not say in criticism of a fellow general, but as one officer giving another proper notice of what awaits him at his next posting. General Corbulo has been in the east for twelve years. Long enough to form friendships and alliances which may be of benefit to the region, but might be misconstrued elsewhere. Am I making myself plain?’

  Valerius kept his face expressionless. The legate seemed to be confirming everything that Suetonius Paulinus had implied, but Vespasian’s next words surprised him.

  ‘Yet for all this Caesar has no more loyal general than Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo. You will form your own opinions when you reach Antioch, but I ask you to bear this simple fact in mind in all your dealings with the general.’ He paused and stared out to the ships waiting beyond the breakwater, choosing his next words with particular care. ‘Of course, if your own inquiries should conclude otherwise, you must act as you see fit. Nevertheless, you have a unique opportunity to influence the outcome of your own investigation, and for the good of the Empire. I see you doubt me. Let me explain. One of the most important functions of a good officer is to say what needs to be said, whatever the consequences and even if his commander does not want to hear it. It will not make him a popular officer, but it will make him a valued one. General Corbulo’s staff have been with him for a long time, perhaps too long, and I fear they have forgotten this lesson. His inclination will be to attack Vologases, and his inclination may well be militarily correct, but it will not be right. It would be seen in certain quarters as impertinent. A sign of independence at a time when independence has deeper meaning. A good officer,’ the grey eyes burrowed deep into Valerius’s skull, ‘would be doing his commander a service if he pointed out this simple fact.’

  Valerius’s first thought was that he was being drawn into a trap. If Nero had personally ordered the inquiry into the workings of Corbulo’s headquarters, as Paulinus had insinuated, every word he had just heard and every suggestion implied was an act of treason and an invitation to bow his head before the executioner’s sword. He had known the moment of decision must come. Well, this was it. A sensible man would stand up and point out that he had no choice in the matter, that he was the Emperor’s agent and would do his duty. Yet he hesitated. A small voice in his head told him there were undercurrents here he could not see and did not understand. Titus Flavius Vespasian was the direct appointee of the Emperor. A trusted adviser with intimate knowledge of Nero’s court. Where was the profit in entrapping a lowly tribune on his way to do the Emperor’s bidding? A conspirator — and Valerius had ample experience of conspirators — would never have been so direct; there would have been subtle hints and cryptic asides, certainly an offer of advancement or reward and perhaps even the threat of extreme consequences if that offer was not accepted. Vespasian had spoken with the eloquence and passion of a man who believed everything he said, and with each unguarded word he heightened the odds of condemning himself. The message behind the words was that if Corbulo invaded Armenia without the Emperor’s direct order he would be exceeding the authority granted by Nero, and in the present political climate that course of action was likely to have serious consequences which would, in turn, weaken the eastern armies. Yet, if that were the case, why had Vespasian himself not already taken steps to stop Corbulo?

  The general read Valerius’s look as if he could see into his mind.

  ‘I have known Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo for many years, as a colleague in the Senate, as a military commander, sometimes as a friend and sometimes as a rival. Our careers have had certain parallels. We shared our first legionary commands on the Rhenus frontier and he was of great help to me when I was preparing the Second Augusta for the invasion. Later I was able to help him in certain difficulties he had with Divine Claudius. Circumstances dictated that while his military career flourished, I was never able to repeat the successes of Britain. These are troubled times for the Empire.’ Vespasian’s voice took on a doleful tone and Valerius knew he wasn’t talking only of the Judaean revolt, the unrest in Germania and the whispers from Gaul. Nero’s revenge on the Pisonian conspirators had torn the heart out of the Senate and this man would have lost friends, and even though close to the Emperor would undoubtedly have come under suspicion himself. ‘If I offered this… advice… as a friend, it might be dismissed as a provocation. If I offered it as a fellow officer it would be interpreted as an insult. His successes and the — let us not be coy about it — reverence in which he is held by those he leads make him a difficult man to persuade. No, he might listen to a member of his staff, if that man were courageous enough to speak out, but I doubt anyone else could divert him from his path.’

  No signal had been given, but the light clink of armour told Valerius that Titus had returned. Vespasian took another draught from his cup and stared at the map. Titus went to stand by his side. Valerius knew he was being dismissed. He also knew when he was outmatched.

  ‘In that case it would be better if I left as soon as possible,’ he said.

  Vespasian nodded absently. ‘There is one more thing.’ He approached so close that even his son couldn’t hear what he whispered. ‘Tell General Corbulo that, whatever he decides, I will support him.’

  Valerius didn’t know what to make of this cryptic message, but he nodded. Titus affected not to notice the exchange and accompanied him to the door. ‘A courier will be leaving for Antioch by fast galley in two days, escorting the general’s daughter, and you will be welcome to join him. In the meantime, I will see that all the equipment you lost in the shipwreck is replaced.’

  Valerius thanked him. ‘But perhaps the lady Domitia would like to take a few days more to recover and travel in a little more comfort?’ he suggested tentatively.

  ‘No.’ Titus smiled. ‘She is eager to be reunited with her father. Her passage has already been agreed.’ Valerius returned the smile, but his heart sank at the thought of sharing a cramped ship with Domitia for another three days. Titus’s expression changed and his handsome face turned serious. ‘You may be surprised by what you find in Antioch. Sometimes men who serve for long periods in the east can become set in their ways. Be very careful, my friend, and do not expect a warm welcome.’

  Only later did he realize that there had been a moment of decision — a hesitation — during his interview with Vespasian, and that if the decision had gone against him he would never have left Alexandria alive.

  XX

  Rome

  Everything was on fire. Everywhere he looked the flames crackled and roared and consumed: apartments of wood and wattle, warehouses filled with oil and wool and timber, even the great marble temp
les which had seemed so solid and safe and invulnerable had burned. And flesh. So much flesh. The smell of roasting meat filled his nostrils in the same way the screams of the doomed filled his ears. He tried to shut it out, but it was as if the screams were inside his head. He saw a gap and ran for it, but before he could reach safety a wall of fire blocked the street. He could feel himself burning.

  ‘Mother! Make it stop.’

  But Mother couldn’t stop the flames even if she had wanted to. Because Mother was dead. At his hand. Or if not at his hand, by his will; like so many. They came to him now, all those he had called friend and lover and, yes, even brother. One by one they pierced him with their accusing eyes and he did not know which was greater, the pain of their contempt or the agony of the fire that was melting his flesh from his bones like wax dripping from a candle. He remembered a pillar of writhing flame, a blackened skull with burning eyes, and a name: Cornelius Sulla. So this is what it had been like.

  He opened his mouth to scream and flames filled his mouth and his nose and he felt them flash down his throat, incinerating his lungs and exploding his heart. He raised his arms to the heavens in a last despairing gesture and before his eyes shrivelled in his head he looked out over the Rome he had created, the sea of fire that was his gift to his people, and saw a fiery orb arc across the sky, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. A falling star? No. A fallen god.

  ‘Tigellinus!’

  He shot bolt upright with the sweat dripping from his face as if he’d just emerged from the baths. ‘Tigellinus!’ The waking scream echoed the unanswered one from the dream. The dream which had seemed so real that he could still feel the raw agony of the flame shooting down his throat. Running feet. Not Tigellinus, but the slaves who served his bedchamber. For a moment he wondered why Poppaea wasn’t at his side, then he remembered that she was dead. Dead more than a year, along with the child.