by Allan Massie
'You're right,' I said, 'he's finished, almost before he's started.'
It amazes me that I could have been so certain. But then, you must admit, my dear Tacitus, that, till I miscalculated in a manner that I now find explicable, if not pardonable, I showed a rare ability to judge men. Galba himself had outlived his abilities. He showed no understanding of the world in which he found himself: that claim to command soldiers, not to buy their loyalty, was sufficient evidence. And the men with whom he surrounded himself were third-raters. There was indeed no future in Galba; he was an actor waiting to be howled off stage.
The question is,' Titus continued to fondle my cheek, in an absent-minded manner, as if the touch of once-desired flesh stimulated his mental processes. 'The question is,' he repeated . . . and then laughed. 'For the moment, my dear, the question that really concerns me is whether we should have another bottle of wine.'
Later in the evening he spoke of the Jewish Revolt. It fascinated him, while the struggle for the succession here in Rome seemed only to fatigue him. 'Little men,' he said, 'with no conception of the meaning of Empire.'
'I don't understand that myself,' I said. 'I mean, it seems to me that we sort of stumbled into Empire, acquired it even in a fit of absence of mind, with no desire other than immediate gratification, and perhaps the chance to grab the spoils of Asia.'
'There is that,' he said, 'but there's more to it also; and that's why I view the likes of Galba and Vitellius with such contempt; and know that, if we bide our time and keep our nerve, they will trouble us for only a little.'
As I listened I felt what I had not known in Titus before: a strength of will was now added to his keen intelligence and charm. It even frightened me to think of what had passed between us, for I saw that, if the memory of this were ever to embarrass him, he would rid himself of me without compunction.
He said: 'We are in danger of slipping back into the old politics when men competed for glory as well as office. Augustus destroyed Republican virtue, as men chose to call this strife. Tiberius suppressed it. The feebleness of his successors has allowed it to flourish again, like a noxious weed. I should not complain, since I shall be the beneficiary of this new, or rather renewed, struggle to get to the summit of riches and power over things. I have no doubt of that. But when I myself reach the top, I shall act like Augustus. And I shall do so for no selfish reason, but because Rome requires it. I have seen our greatness in the East, and I know that when Virgil had the gods promise Aeneas 'limitless empire', they promised what was good for the world. But now, here, we slide back into the sterile contest between factions, indifferent to the civilising mission of Rome.'
Then he spoke of the Jewish Revolt, and of the Jews themselves. They were, he said, a remarkable people, remarkable for the intensity and narrowness of their views. They held, he told me, that they were the chosen people of the one true god. It was nonsense, of course. Everyone knew that the gods were many - or none; and that they aligned themselves with different races and individuals, quarrelling among themselves, if the poets were to be believed. He smiled to show that in his opinion such credulity was fit only for children. And yet he couldn't but admire these narrow bigots of Jews. 'There is,' he remarked, 'something splendid in their obstinate stupidity.' They made, too, for worthy adversaries. Naturally, Rome would crush them. 'I shall destroy their temple myself,' he said, 'but only because their monotheism and intolerance have no place in our Empire - as I understand it. All the same I can't but admire them, they die so well.'
So we talked, long into the night. The city fell to a murmur beyond us. Titus, drinking two cups of wine to every one I drank, exposed his deepest thoughts and ambitions to me. Yet, as the night wore on, and the first shafts of light awoke the morning sky, I felt him grow away from me. He had experienced what I had only imagined. He was hard and foreign to me. I was glad when, a day or two later, he left Rome and returned to his Jewish War. The last thing he said was: 'I've stopped my uncle's meddling in my career. That's what I came home to do. Remember, I rely on you to keep me posted - and try to keep my little brother out of mischief.'
XII
You will have, Tacitus, your own version of the events of that January, and I have no doubt it will be more favourable to Galba than my memories. All the more reason to offer you what will not please you. A historian should not be a partisan of one party in the State.
What will you say of Otho, I wonder?
I can't imagine you will find much to praise there.
Yet Otho was not wholly contemptible. I have that from my mother who had known him as a young man. She used to say that there was nothing malicious in his wildness; that his manners were naturally good; and that his wit was delightful.
The family was distinguished, boasting descent from the old Etruscan royal house. Of course, I know that the further back you go, the more distinguished ancestry usually becomes. But people seem to have accepted them for what they said they were, even though our Otho's father, Lucius, was reputed to be the bastard son of the Emperor Tiberius, whom he resembled in appearance. Our Otho -Marcus Salvius - was born while Tiberius was still alive, in the year that Camillus Arruntius and Domitius Ahenobarbus were Consuls. His father frequently rebuked him for wildness - he used to stalk the city at night with a gang of friends and toss any drunks or disabled men they encountered in a blanket, just for fun. When his father died, leaving him already in debt - for the father was as good at wasting money as the son, though he did so by silly investments rather than extravagance - the young man pretended to have a passion for one of the Empress' freedwomen who was ugly as sin and twenty years older than he was. Naturally this made him an object of mockery: he didn't care. It had secured him entry to the inner circle of the Empress Agrippina, and so he was able to become a bosom friend of her son Nero. It was difficult to say which of them showed a greater talent for debauchery. Yet my mother has always said that Otho was essentially good-hearted. And her judgement is to be respected.
The day Nero had fixed for the murder of Agrippina, Otho provided a distraction by hosting a lavish luncheon party. This doesn't mean that he necessarily knew of Nero's proposed crime. It could be coincidence. Certainly Agrippina had never ceased to show her liking for Otho.
Later Otho went through a form of marriage with Poppaea Sabina, who was already Nero's mistress. I put it like that because that was the way people used to describe it. But, in my opinion, Otho and Poppaea were really in love. Only they couldn't escape Nero. Certainly, I have heard that from the first night Otho bedded Poppaea he conceived a violent hatred and jealousy of the Emperor; Poppaea was beautiful as whatever you like, and not a woman any man of spirit would willingly share, especially with a creature like Nero.
He even tried to keep Nero from Poppaea, and so was charged with adultery - his partner being his own wife. Absurd, isn't it? Given your views, Tacitus, you should have some fun with this situation.
Whether because he still had some affection for him, or because he feared other consequences, Nero didn't have Otho murdered. Instead he despatched him to Lusitania as Governor - and forbade him to take his wife with him. There was nothing Otho could do but submit and, though he may have been distressed to abandon Poppaea, he was quite happy to leave his creditors behind. Lusitania wasn't a disagreeable posting, even for a dandy like Otho; and by all accounts he governed the province with restraint and good judgement.
He was one of the first to join Galba in revolt, probably because he had never forgiven Nero for kicking Poppaea to death. (She was pregnant at the time, but I am assured that the child couldn't have been Otho's. Or Nero's for that matter; he was sterile by then, a judgement of the gods whom he had outraged, some say.)
No doubt another reason for adhering to Galba was that an astrologer had assured Otho that he was destined to be Emperor and he thought also that Galba, being old, could be persuaded to adopt him as his successor. What he hadn't reckoned on was that, first, as soon as he returned to Rome, he would be beset by
his creditors demanding payment of loans swollen huge by unpaid interest; and, second, that neither Icelus nor Laco supported his claim.
I don't know what their objections were, and can assume only that they thought Otho hostile to them, or too strong-minded to be controlled by them.
That then was the situation when word came during the first week of January that the German legions had rejected Galba, and had asked the Guards to choose an Emperor.
The word straightaway went round that Galba intended to strengthen his position by associating a younger colleague with him in the Empire. After all, he was held to believe, it was only his age that caused men to hesitate to commit themselves to his cause. Once the succession was assured they would naturally do so. He was encouraged in this belief by Laco and Icelus, whose own continued power depended entirely on his, and also by the Consul T. Vinius, a man of inordinate ambition, with a reputation for double-dealing. The question was: whom would the old man select?
Everyone discussed the probabilities. Domitian was so carried away by the excitement that, absurdly, he even put himself in the aged Emperor's way, addressing him in a flattering poem (written unfortunately in limping hexameters, for, unlike me, he had never benefitted from our rhetoric master, and could not turn an elegant verse). When I told him, roundly, with that candour which has always been my wont, that his hopes were ridiculous, since, in the first place, Galba had no reason to choose him and, in the second, even if by some miracle he did so, then his father Vespasian would not permit him to assume so dangerous a role, he bit his lip till the blood started from it, and his tongue flicked out to lick the blood away.
I mention this incident, trivial as it was, merely to remind you, Tacitus, that those January days were ones when even the most absurd and outrageous of possibilities seemed, to many, not improbable.
Had Galba had his wits about him, or even had he been left by his courtiers in possession of such wits as remained to him, he would have selected Otho, without whose support and help he would never have been able to seize the purple. But, as I say, Laco and Icelus disliked Otho. Some claim that they resented the fact that one so effeminate in manner and certain habits as Otho (he was, you will recall, accustomed to shave all his body-hair, and scented himself like a Corinthian brothel-boy), should have been indifferent to their charms. But I think this nonsense. The real reason was that they were determined to choose a successor whom they could control as they controlled Galba; and they knew that Otho would not permit this. The Consul T. Vinius did favour Otho, but, finding opinion against him, kept his views to himself, an act of prudence which would cost him dear; nevertheless he opened secret negotiations with Otho.
My source for this information is, or rather was, Flavius Sabinus. Later Titus confirmed what his uncle had said.
Otho fully expected that Galba would select him; and he had reason for his confidence. This led him to give assurances to his creditors that he would soon be in a position to satisfy them. Which promise added to his subsequent desperation.
Now Laco and Icelus produced their candidate: Gnaeus Licianus Piso. You know all about his ancestry, which was distinguished, so there is no need for me to dwell on it. No doubt he would have made a fair enough choice, being, as I remember you saying once, 'a young man, but in appearance and manner one of the old school' - if, that is, anyone still cared for the old school, or if anyone had heard of this Piso. Few had, though he was the nephew of the Piso who had been the figurehead of the conspiracy against Nero.
I was indeed an exception, for Piso, before he went into exile for fear of Nero, had been a friend of Lucan, with whom I used to see him at the baths. He had many admirers there, for he was tall, well-built, with close-cut black curly hair, high cheek-bones, a flat stomach, and long shapely thighs. Only the small, pursed-up mouth spoiled what would otherwise have been perfect beauty. Lucan used to say that the mouth was the true indication of his character, for Piso (he said) was of a chilly and secret nature. 'As far as I know he's never been in love with anyone, except himself,' he once said.
'But he's a friend of yours nevertheless?'
There are friends and friends,' Lucan said with a smile. 'I've known him all my life and I can't dislike him, but . . . Besides our mothers are great friends, so we've lots in common.'
This then was the young man - still young, for he was only thirty or thirty-one - whom the aged Galba had selected as his companion in Empire. There were those who, noting the resemblance in physical type between Icelus and Piso, supposed Galba would take him into his bed also. But that was nonsense. Piso had far too much pride and self-esteem to be willing to satisfy Galba's senile lust. As it was, the whole thing was done with the utmost formality, as was Galba's style, and he decided to adopt the young man.
So, he took him by the hand, and said, 'If I were a private citizen and were now adopting you according to the Act of the Curia before the Pontiffs, then it would be a high honour to me to introduce into my family a descendant of the great Pompey and of the no less to be honoured Marcus Crassus . . .'
(This, by the way, was the first time I had ever heard anyone suggest that Marcus Crassus, who carved up the State at Luca with Caesar and Pompey and whom my great-great-uncle by marriage Mark Antony always used to call 'that fat booby', was worthy of any special honour; but let that pass.)
'Likewise,' Galba continued, 'it would be a signal honour for you to add to the nobility of your family the honours of the Sulpician and Lutatian houses.'
Yawn, yawn was the general reaction to this speech. I know, my dear Tacitus, that you have a tenderness - a tenderness which I find touching - for the old nobility; but, speaking as one of far nobler birth than yours, it didn't take the indifference displayed by those who heard Galba's words to persuade me that the day of that sort of aristocracy was dead. Frankly, in the New Rome, nobody at heart cares a damn who your ancestors were. We may be better or worse for this, I can't tell. But that's how it is. If you pretend otherwise in your History, you will be lying to your readers.
Then Galba went on to explain that, in adopting Piso, he was following the precedent set by the Divine Augustus, who had 'placed on an eminence next his own first his nephew Marcellus, then his son-in-law Agrippa, afterwards his grandsons Gaius and Lucius, and finally his stepson Tiberius Nero'. If I had been Piso I wouldn't have found this catalogue of heirs, all but one of whom never succeeded, of any comfort; but Piso looked so much as if he took his elevation, which he had done nothing to earn, as his due, that the thought probably never occurred to him.
Then Galba proceeded to give his new son advice about the trials of his new position.
'Hitherto you have been tested by adversity; now you must confront the keener temptations which prosperity brings you. You will be assailed by adulation, by that worst poison of the heart which goes by the name of flattery, and by the selfish interests of individuals.'
All this was no doubt very true - or might have been. Piso inclined his head. No smile flickered across his face. He was perfectly respectful.
Galba raised both arms aloft and cried out in a louder voice so that the crowd which had gathered round could hear his words:
'Could the vast and mighty frame of this Empire have stood and preserved its balance without the direction of a single controlling spirit, then I, on account of my lineage and my deeds, might have been thought not unworthy of restoring the Republic in its pristine splendour. But, alas, this cannot be. Therefore we have been long reduced to a position in which my age can confer no greater good on the Roman people than a worthy successor, your youth in its turn no greater than a good Emperor. Under Tiberius, Gaius and Claudius, we were the inheritance of a single family. Now we have made a new start, a renewal of Rome, and the choice which begins today with us will be a substitute for Republican freedom.'
Then he went on to explain how it was not the legions that had revolted against Nero, but Nero himself who, by reason of his profligacy, cruelty, self-indulgence and neglect of duty had proved
himself unworthy to rule.
Nero, in short, had betrayed himself, and those who had rebelled against him were innocent of any disloyalty. This was quite a clever suggestion for it was intended to render any refusal to acknowledge the legitimacy of Galba's position out of order, Galba being, unlike Nero, virtuous. It was, I'm sure, prompted by T. Vinius.
Finally, to allay any doubts, he said grandly that Piso must not be alarmed if, after a movement which had shaken the whole world, a couple of distant legions had not yet resumed their duty and acknowledged his authority.
Piso certainly showed no sign of alarm, nor of elation either. Did it, I wonder now, cross his dull conventional mind that in accepting the gift of Empire from the aged Galba, he was entering a dark wood from which he might not emerge?
These formalities being completed, Galba resolved that he should lead his new son to the camp of the Praetorians that they might learn, even before the Senate, of how their Emperor had arranged the succession. No doubt that decision was wise, being an admission that the Praetorians, and not the Conscript Fathers, had the power to make and unmake Emperors. Nevertheless it cast a dark ironic shadow on Galba's pompous and all but Republican pronouncements.
Domitian and I resolved to follow in their train.
It was only an hour after noon, but darkness was already imminent. Black clouds hung over the city, shifted only by a sullen gusty wind, which then however blew up still more dark and heavy successors. Even while Galba spoke to Piso the palace had been illuminated by shafts of lightning; thunder rolled like the noise of battle round the hills. Heavy rain prevented departure for the camp for at least half an hour. Some said that the thunder and lightning were evil omens, and that Galba should put off the address to the soldiers till the morning. Others recalled how, as legend has it, the night before great Julius' murder had been as wild as, but no wilder than, this afternoon; and what did that portend?
