The Pillars of Rome r-1

by Jack Ludlow

  ‘How much of an enemy to you is Vegetius Flaminus?’

  ‘He is an enemy of the Imperium of Rome, Aulus, and sometimes my likes and dislikes coincide with that. Besides, you mean rival, not enemy, and he is certainly not that.’

  ‘Private letters? It smacks of chicanery.’

  ‘Only if the truth comes out, which it will not, since I will return your correspondence to you as soon as you come back to Rome.’

  ‘You know I will burn them?’

  ‘Aulus, my old friend, you have no idea how you would shock me if you did not.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The battle was reaching its climax. Marcellus Falerius, wooden sword in hand, had allotted himself the role of Scipio Africanus, while Gaius Trebonius had been given the role of Hannibal. Marcellus commanded his troops to open their ranks just as the slave appeared. He tried to ignore him — the man was interrupting their war game — but that proved impossible. When the slave, tired of waving at him, walked straight between the opposing armies locked in the mock battle of Zama, completely ruining, in the shape of the Calvinus twins, the encircling movement of Marcellus’ cavalry, he had to call things to a halt.

  ‘Your father has asked you to come to his study, Master Marcellus.’

  ‘Not now!’ cried the boy.

  The slave just looked at him; with a father like Lucius Falerius, to state the immediacy of the summons would be superfluous.

  ‘Ignore him, Marcellus,’ cried the acting Hannibal. ‘If you go now the Carthaginians will win.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Just tell your father this fellow forgot to call you.’

  ‘What a thing to say, Gaius. How can you make a suggestion like that and call yourself Roman?’

  Trebonius stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry. ‘Right now I’m a Carthaginian.’

  ‘I don’t think even they would sink so low as to inflict punishment on an innocent slave.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Marcellus,’ said another boy. ‘Who cares about slaves?’

  Marcellus just fixed him with an icy stare, and adopting what he thought was a proper Roman posture, a pose that they had named his Horatius look, he followed the slave towards the back door of his house.

  ‘Look at him,’ snorted one of the Calvinus twins. ‘You’d think he had a broomstick shoved up his arse.’

  ‘Louder,’ said Gaius Trebonius, since the other boy had made sure that Marcellus would not hear him.

  ‘No fear. Let’s get on with the fight. I’ll be Africanus now.’

  The boy took his place at the head of his small band of troops and issued his first command. ‘On guard. Open ranks and prepare to receive elephants.’

  Marcellus stood before the parental desk. Just turned nine, he was, even at that tender age, expected to confer with his father about all his recent decisions and come to a conclusion that pleased him, which Lucius never tired of telling his son was part of his training. His father was enlightening on the history of Rome, in a way that no Greek tutor could match, so it was not always a trial. He had been a power in the Senate, or close to it, for so long that he was steeped in knowledge of the leading personalities of the Republic, all the way back to the Tarquin kings. Such knowledge provided Lucius with his two guiding concepts; the first being that Rome should never again fall under the tyranny of a monarchy, with the caveat that he was no Athenian democrat, being equally opposed to sharing power with all and sundry. To his way of thinking, only those of the right class had the foresight, combined with the lack of avarice, to rule wisely. That was his second, and seemingly stronger, principle, one, as a patrician himself, he was prepared to sacrifice even his life to maintain.

  As a dutiful son, far too young for independent thoughts, Marcellus shared his father’s prejudices, so he too thought that the corn dole had made matters worse instead of better, dragging more people into Rome than the city could comfortably accommodate. He would scoff, just as derisively as Lucius, if anyone suggested that Rome’s Italian allies should be allowed citizenship, or to plead in the courts against what they saw as the rapacity of her senators. The Republic was not greedy, merely victorious, a power more beneficial to the world than any that had existed before, something for which the conquered should be grateful. Because of Rome, these inhabitants of Italy enjoyed peace and prosperity while that unique and august body, the supreme forum of magistrates, better by far than any king, embodied in themselves the law that made Rome work.

  Lucius sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach, and smiled at his son. ‘Now, boy. We have a problem in Illyricum. I believe I told you of it the other day.’

  ‘Yes, father.’

  ‘Never mind the “yes, father”,’ Lucius replied. ‘Tell me about it.’

  Marcellus tilted his head back and spoke like a soldier delivering a report, a pleasing pose. It took no great leap of parental imagination to see the boy a little older, talking in the same voice, and in the same posture, to a military superior.

  ‘Following the outbreak of a rebellion a consular army of two legions, plus auxiliaries, has been in the province for four years. In that time it has engaged in no proper battle. Despatches from the commander Vegetius Flaminus state that the war is of a scattered nature and that the rebellious provincials will not congregate in enough strength to offer an opportunity to our troops.’

  Marcellus looked down at his father, who merely said, ‘Go on, boy.’

  ‘He further stated that he wished to avoid exposing the legions to piecemeal engagements since this was more likely to reduce his forces than those of the rebels. Other letters from the province include numerous requests from the citizenry for something to be done, since their crops, cattle and mining concessions are under constant attack from marauding bands. They also hinted at certain irregular activities on the part of the governor.’

  ‘I think you’ve forgotten something,’ said Lucius, as Marcellus paused again.

  ‘Forgive me, father.’

  Lucius sat forward, fixing his son with a steely look. ‘You really must pay more attention, Marcellus. If you miss such important points as the one you’ve so conspicuously left out of your report, you cannot hope for success in public life. In every case to be examined or pleaded there are salient points. Remember those, elaborate on them, and the rest becomes easy.’

  ‘Yes, father.’

  ‘None of this, or the conclusion we reached the other day, makes any sense, if you don’t include the fact that the Dacian tribes are raiding across the border, in strength, and fighting alongside the Illyrian rebels. Why does not the governor move to intercept them? What steps has he taken to gather intelligence that would allow him to do so? Without Dacian support, it should be easy to contain a few bands of Illyrian malcontents, should it not?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And what did we conclude?’

  ‘You were of the opinion that Vegetius was sitting doing nothing, lining his pockets with bribes, content to avoid an engagement of any sort, especially one that may result in a check to his ambitions here at home. That forceful and swift action would have crushed the rebellion long ago.’

  His father replied patiently. ‘What I said was this. That Vegetius was unwilling to fight, more interested in using his proconsular powers to amass a fortune. Once he’d achieved that, he would come back to Rome intent on using that fortune to advance his political career. Since he is neither a friend nor a political ally of mine, that is not an outcome I welcome. So the nub of the problem is not what he is doing in Illyricum, so much as how his inactivity will one day impact here in Rome. You see the point?’

  With Marcellus nodding, Lucius was wondering what someone like his son would make of a man like Vegetius Flaminus, a flabby individual, carefully barbered, and with an insatiable love of money. He had the reputation of being a bully and like all of that breed would lord it over the weak while wilting before anyone of strength; altogether a poor specimen. The house of Flaminus was an anc
ient one, but with the male line faltering adoption had been necessary to keep the name alive; common enough, and in some cases it had been spectacularly successful, but to Lucius it was a chancy business. It carried the risk that a noble family would bring into its protective fold someone like Vegetius, bred originally into a clan with an old Roman name, but no money to maintain their patrician status.

  The reports told him that most of Vegetius’s junior officers hated him for both his indolence and his peculations, but more for the man’s utter lack of any trace of a backbone. He was a poor general who had let his legions go to seed, an administrator who sold his prerogatives rather than undertaking them, a man whose sole concern seemed to be for the comfort of his person and his belly. But he had friends, which was why he had been gifted the prized sinecure of Illyricum after Aulus Cornelius relinquished the post. It was a measure of the limits of Lucius’s power that other factions in the Senate had to be accommodated, and having previously so favoured his own candidate, it had been politic to pacify those who opposed him by allowing their man the succession. Lucius sighed inwardly, saddened by the fact that all the good work Aulus had done was now in pieces. People who wondered why he toiled so long and hard had only to look at a man like Vegetius Flaminus, the nature of his appointment and the result, to see just how much still had to be done to protect the Republic. Not all Rome’s enemies were external ones.

  ‘Now, Marcellus,’ he said, dragging himself back to the subject at hand. ‘Having all this information at your disposal, you rise in the Senate to suggest a course of action, knowing his friends will speak on his behalf and that anything extreme could be voted down. What do you say?’

  Marcellus, who loved the more relaxed atmosphere when his father talked of Roman history, hated these sessions, for he could never get them wholly right. ‘Something must be done to either make Vegetius pursue the war, or he must be relieved.’

  ‘That’s obvious, boy. What I want is the means to achieve it.’ Lucius waited for the youngster to speak. Marcellus stared at a point above his father’s head, knowing that in his anxiety his mind had gone blank. ‘My patience is not inexhaustible.’

  ‘A commission,’ said Marcellus panicking. It was the only thing he could think of and his heart sank. His father would forbid him to rejoin his friends playing outside; for such a miserable, catchall answer, he would be sent to his room to study. The actual response took him by surprise.

  ‘Excellent! Now having suggested this, and with due eloquence persuaded your fellow senators to support you, who would you send?’

  ‘Forgive me, father, I doubt I have the knowledge to answer such a question.’

  Lucius finally smiled. ‘A wise answer, Marcellus. You’ve done well today, but let us address that problem in the abstract. The whole question must be approached in two stages. First the commission must be agreed, without naming the members. That will pass easily, since the friends of Vegetius Flaminus will seek to get themselves appointed. Then we muster our forces, pick a time when they’re unavailable, and make sure that at least some of the commissioners are people of the right sort. So we come to the next question Marcellus. The person empowered by the Senate to head the commission must be what?’

  ‘A person with enough authority.’

  ‘You’re partly right, after all the authority of the Senate will travel with him, but it is often a good idea to send someone who has authority in his own right. Now, what qualifications does this powerful person require?’

  ‘Would he need to be a client of yours?’

  Lucius shook his head in slow disgust, unhappy that his son had reminded him that he was not all powerful in such cases, so diverse were the aims, needs and views of the members it was like trying to shape a particularly stupid form of quicksand. Certainly he had more clients and supporters than anyone else, but care had to be exercised in the marshalling of such forces and keeping them happy as individuals and groups was a full time occupation.

  ‘I could get them to appoint an obvious client of mine, but the motion would face challenge at the next fully attended session. Understand Marcellus, that men who might back me in a crisis will readily vote me down in an area that is not seen as serious, some for no other reason than to show that they have a degree of independence.’

  Marcellus now shook his head.

  Lucius showed an unaccustomed degree of patience. ‘Well, look at it this way. Since the matter under review is both military and civil, it would help if he were a successful soldier. That takes care of the military side. What would he need for the civil side?’

  Marcellus, not really having a clue, pulled out of his memory one of his father’s most frequently used words. ‘Experience.’

  ‘Excellent again, boy,’ cried Lucius, genuinely pleased.

  ‘Is there such a man, father? Someone who is the perfect choice.’

  Lucius resumed his stern expression. ‘Learn this, Marcellus, and learn it well. However many qualities a man has, he is never perfect. The Senate must send to Illyricum, not perfection, but the most suitable man they can find. That man was here today.’ Lucius stood up and turned his back on Marcellus, reaching into the cupboards for a new set of scrolls. ‘In fact he says he saw you.’

  ‘Who is he father?’

  ‘Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus. Not perfect as I say, but he’s a very successful soldier and he was the previous governor of Illyricum. People say that the excesses of the man who succeeded him have sparked the rebellion. Apparently Aulus was much admired by the locals for his fairness, though I daresay he made a fair amount of money out of the place.’

  Marcellus had heard of Aulus, had even studied his campaign in Macedonia. The man was a legend. ‘If he defeated the Macedonians in battle as well, he sounds like a great man to me.’

  Lucius still had his back to his son, so he did not see the gleam in his eyes. ‘No, my boy, he hasn’t the makings of a truly great man. I can tell you that I know him better than any person alive, and he has any number of Achilles’ heels.’

  As he spoke those words Lucius recalled Aulus’s words about Brennos. Caution, in Rome’s defence, was something that had paid dividends in the past and perhaps Aulus was right. It would do no harm, and cost little, to keep an eye on this Druid. He checked himself, having already begun to compose a cautionary despatch, and dragged his mind back to the present. The interview with Aulus had partly amused, and partly annoyed him, for he found it hard to sit opposite his one-time friend and not feel betrayed by the man, while he knew from the look in his visitor’s eyes just how much his emotions differed from the tone of his voice. Aulus would gladly give up his eye teeth for a true reconciliation, but that was impossible; if he could not make matters good with a lie, the truth would not bring them closer, for idealistic Aulus would never accept that sometimes only pragmatic solutions would serve, never accept that such idealism was sometimes an abdication of responsibility.

  It had not turned to hate on either side. Aulus was not given to that and he did not have time for such a useless passion and yet, as they had sat there, he had felt they were still inextricably bound to each other; he could not ignore Aulus and neither could Aulus slight him, for they shared too much past; indeed the bond they had formed as boys was still unbreakable. There was that prophecy of course, the remembrance of which only came to Lucius when Aulus was present. It was distant and toothless now; age and experience had made Lucius even more sceptical than he had pretended to be that night.

  Even with his son present he again felt lonely; how he longed to sit with someone he trusted absolutely, someone who would dispute with him and test his own internal assertions, yet at the same time understand his motives and thinking. Aulus should have been there for that, but he had detached himself so forcibly as to forfeit any position of trust. At least his famed independence would make him ideal to sort out the mess created by Vegetius Flaminus, and if he abided by that which Lucius had asked, he would, in his natural unwitting way, help to make good the damage
he had caused so many years before.

  Then Lucius reminded himself he had his son, too young now to fulfil that role, but who would grow to be first his companion, then his colleague, and finally his successor. With that in prospect he had no need of his old friend.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘Aulus Cornelius will do for the task in hand, notwithstanding his myriad faults.’

  Marcellus did not dare to disagree openly with his father, even though he knew him to be wrong. How could a man who looked like Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus possibly be prey to faults?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Fulmina was getting older and was finding it harder and harder to control Aquila; not, it has to be said, that she had ever tried very hard, for the gods had spoken through her dreams, as well as the musings of the old soothsayer Drisia. A simple soul, Fulmina believed that fate was pre-destined, hers as well as that of the boy, so the gods would take care of Aquila without her going out of her way to chastise him. And really, the things he got up to were those that all youngsters of his age indulged in, just more so. Now ten summers old he was taller than his peers by a good head, stronger by far and leagues-away the most daring. He climbed trees faster, swam quicker and fought better without ever being a thug. Other mothers, who needed their sons to help in the fields were given to complaining heartily when Aquila, freed from such labour by Dabo’s deliveries of household necessities, turned up and tempted them off to play in the woods.

  Many days he was left to his own devices, which did not please him much. It was no fun following wild boar tracks alone; it could be tedious laying still on your belly for hours watching the weasels come and go from their burrows, often with a dead rabbit or bird in their mouths. Besides, there was greater danger in being alone; boar with young could kill if provoked; you had to listen out too for wolves in winter, though the bears were rarely seen now. They had long since retired from this cultivated part of the world and moved into the forests, higher up the mountains that stood tall and majestic to the east. The occasional big cat would come hunting in the lowlands and they were the most dangerous of all.