by Allan Massie
But when he went into the Forum and mounted the rostra to declare that he had abdicated, and intended to lay aside the emblems of Empire in the Temple of Concord, the protests of the crowd who anticipated his words, for rumour had preceded him, restrained him. Then finding his way blocked by the throng he returned to the palace.
All was now confusion. Nobody knew whether Vitellius was still to be considered Emperor or not; he cannot have known himself. It was a miserably cold day, snow threatening. Yet the streets and the Forum were thronged with citizens, each relaying, believing or disbelieving, every fresh rumour. Some of the Senators and equestrians who had come to pay court to Flavius Sabinus had second thoughts and melted away, afraid that they had already compromised themselves. Others remained, because they in their turn feared that they had committed themselves too deeply to be able safely to withdraw.
Then we heard of the enthusiasm which a section of the mob -none knew how large - had displayed for Vitellius. It was reported, too, that certain cohorts of the German legions which had remained based in the city had obeyed commands to arrest Flavius Sabinus and the other leaders of our party.
Domitian now displayed an energy I had never seen in him before. His face was flushed, his voice loud. He roundly told his uncle that, since strife within the city was now certain, he must get his retaliation in first. Those were his exact words: 'Get our retaliation in first.'
'What do you mean?'
'You must seize Vitellius - you should never have let him walk free - and, then, attack and disarm those forces which remain loyal to him.'
Flavius Sabinus sighed.
'It's been my endeavour to prevent blood from being shed in the city,' he said. 'Now you urge me to let loose unimaginable horrors. No, we shall continue to play the game coolly. Vitellius will think of what he has to lose and may yet retain.'
Domitian's discontent was obvious, but he was powerless to change his uncle's mind; and, though I agreed with his judgement, yet I could not but be pleased to see Flavius Sabinus constant in his determination to do all he could to avert an outbreak of violence and killing in Rome. But his efforts were vain. Some of our men came under attack from the adherents of Vitellius, who were more numerous, and so scattered ours, killing several. It was clear that the chance of a peaceful settlement was now remote. Accordingly, Flavius Sabinus gathered his troops and followers, and we withdrew to the Capitol, as the part of the city most easily defended.
Night fell, and there was no attack. But apprehension held us fast. It snowed, and the visibility was so poor that we were afraid that the enemy might come upon us unawares. But the storm which made us anxious, for the snow was accompanied by high winds, deterred them. No doubt their commanders, in as much as there was any direction of their forces, feared that to attack in such conditions would result only in confusion.
Flavius Sabinus had no sleep. Nor had any of those among us who could be said to have constituted his staff. All night we debated our position, interrupted only by reports from the sentries who had been posted, and who more then once gave the alarm which indicated that an attack was being prepared, evidence of their own nervous state and of the difficulty in discerning what was happening, on account of the snow which fell steadily till just before dawn.
Flavius Sabinus resolved to make a last appeal to Vitellius which might avert hostilities. His letter went through more than a few drafts.
Eventually, it read more or less as follows. (You will understand, Tacitus, that I quote from memory, but, since I was one of the chief authors of the final draft, you may suppose that I remember it well.)
'Vitellius: there has, it would seem, been no more than a show and pretence of abdicating the Empire. If not, why, when you left the rostra, did you go (as we are informed) to your brother's house, which overlooks the Forum, and where your presence was certain to enflame the mob, rather than retire to your wife's family house on the Aventine? That would have been in accordance with the terms of our agreement. But then you withdrew to the palace, and soon after a body of troops appeared on the streets, armed and proclaiming their loyalty to you. I myself, in the person of my soldiers, came under attack. That is why I have now established myself on the Capitol, which is however surrounded by your men. If you now repent of your agreement, it is not against me, whom you have so treacherously deceived, that you must contend, nor against my nephew Domitian, who is still only a youth. What would you gain by killing us? Rather, you should put yourself at the head of your legions, and fight my brother's army for the Empire. That would determine the fate of Rome.'
A senior centurion, Cornelius Martialis, was deputed to carry the letter to Vitellius. I volunteered to accompany him. He smiled at that. 'Shows you're young, sir, if you don't mind my saying so. When you're my age, you'll know that volunteering's best left to others.' Still he was pleased to have my company, and respected the courage of my decision.
Taking advantage of the half-light of the winter dawn and a renewed flurry of snow, we slipped out of the Capitol by the hundred steps that lead down the flank of the Tarpeian Rock. Our outposts had seen no sign of enemy forces for several hours, but could give no assurance as to our safe return. As we made our way off the hill, using such shelter as the trees and bushes could provide, we could see soldiers crouched round braziers or lying by them wrapped in their military cloaks. 'Dozy buggers,' Cornelius said. 'But not many'll be eager to die for Vitellius, that's a comfort.' We crossed the Forum, and made for the Palatine.
We're too early. Vitellius'll never be up yet. We've time for a wet and a bite to eat.'
Though I doubted whether Vitellius would even have gone to bed, and was certain he would not have slept, I allowed myself to be persuaded, and we turned into a wine-shop - of the kind that serves night-workers - for a mug of wine and a hunk of bread, 'to put heart into us'.
Approaching the palace, I was conscious of the extent to which Vitellius' control of the State was ebbing. Though a number of soldiers were to be seen, it was impossible to tell whether they were on duty. There was no regular guard, only a doorkeeper who was half-drunk. When we offered to present our credentials, he gave a vast yawn, and thumbed us past him. In the atrium all was confusion. People were hurrying to and fro, but more as if they thought it wiser to be seen to be on the move, than for any purpose. Four slaves passed by us; they were carrying trunks out of the palace. There appeared to be nobody in charge or on duty. Then I recognised a stout soft wheezy fellow with an olive complexion; this was Asiaticus, the former slave, catamite, and pimp. I called out his name, and he responded in a manner that contrived to be both obsequious and insolent.
'The Emperor? I'm not sure he knows whether he's that or not, poor dear man. You've a message for him? You want to see him? Well, much good may it do you, ducky.'
Cornelius Martialis drew his sword and jabbed it under the creature's jaw. A little gout of blood stood out on his neck.
'Take us to him, or I'll ram this through your throat.'
Asiaticus put up his hand and pushed the blade aside.
'Not very diplomatic, are you, ducks. 'Course I'll take you to the poor man. Just don't expect too much.'
Vitellius was in his dressing-gown. Asiaticus greeted him with a repulsive familiarity, which brought a smile to the pseudo-emperor's flabby lips. Cornelius presented him with Flavius Sabinus' letter. He read it, or rather let his eyes wander over it, and then tossed it aside.
'Have you no answer?' the centurion demanded. 'Am I to tell the general you received his letter with contempt?'
'The question is, sir,' I said, 'whether you intend to stand by the agreement that you made, an agreement that ensures your own safety and well-being as nothing else can, or whether you have torn it up, and choose to trust to the fortunes of a war you cannot win, which will bring ruin on all your family.'
Vitellius dabbed his eyes with a towel, blew his nose, and gestured to Asiaticus who, knowing his master's habits, at once put a mug of wine in the outstretched hand. Vitell
ius, in the manner of drunkards, drained it at one swallow, and then said, 'This is all foolishness. Whatever I say now doesn't matter. I know that. Tell your general that I would abide by our compact if I could. I had every intent, every intention, of doing so. But the soldiers would not let me, and I could not resist them. They chose me as Emperor, they have chosen that I cannot abandon the title, though I'm aware that everything is now futility. Tell your general that, and that you have seen a deeply unhappy man, whom the world has treated harshly.'
Then he dismissed us, telling Asiaticus to lead us out of the palace by a secret passage, which would enable us to avoid the soldiers, for, he said, 'I've no wish to have your blood too on my hands.'
'You see, sir, he's finished, and he knows it,' Asiaticus said. 'You'll be safe now. Perhaps you will remember that I have done you a service.'
'Oh,' I said, 'I doubt if that will be necessary. You're the type who will survive anything, and I can't imagine you haven't already made your preparations. Indeed, I'm only surprised to find you still here.'
He laid his hand, his fawning hand, on my sleeve.
You're so certain a chap like me can't have any decent feelings, aren't you, any sense of duty, or any affection? Well, you're young, ducky, you can't be expected to know much. But that poor dear man has been my only benefactor, and now I'm the only person he can be himself with. It wouldn't be right if I was to run out on him. But I can't expect you to believe that.'
He made me ashamed. I remembered Sporus and how he had spoken of Nero.
Martialis said, 'Take your hand off my officer, you bugger. Shall I run him through the guts, sir? The earth would be a cleaner place.'
'No,' I said, 'there'll be enough killing today. No need to start so early in the morning - with a non-combatant too.' I lifted Asiaticus' flabby paw from my sleeve. ‘It'd be a kindness to everyone,' I said to him, 'if you could persuade your master to die as a Roman should.'
When we reported the failure of our mission, Flavius Sabinus thanked us gravely for the attempt we had made and the dangers we had run. His manner was perfect. No one could have guessed the depth of his disappointment. Then he gave orders that the defences were to be looked to, offered up a prayer to the gods, and drew me aside.
'Have a care for my nephew,' he said, 'and prevent him from exposing himself rashly.'
Vitellius has no wish for battle,' I said. 'He would have been happy to keep the agreement he made with you. I felt sorry for him.'
'Be that as it may, Vitellius counts for nothing. He's like a cork bobbing on a sea of blood.'
For a little we waited. The snow had stopped falling, and a thin sun was breaking through the clouds. Obedient to the command I had been given, I looked for Domitian. That is why I was not at first aware that battle was now upon us. It was only when I heard cries coming from the flank of the hill on the side overlooking the Forum that I knew it. Meanwhile I could not find Domitian. This distracted me. I knew that Flavius Sabinus was anxious to secure his nephew's safety, not on account of any affection he had for him - though this was not indeed lacking - but principally because it was necessary for his own self-esteem, his sense of his own virtue, that no harm should come to his brother's son. But Domitian, at the first intimation of the attack, had concealed himself in the house of a servant of the Temple of Jupiter. There he assumed the linen vestment of an acolyte, a serviceable disguise. All this I learned later. Meanwhile, searching ever more desperately for him, I did not arrive at the scene of the encounter till the Capitol was ablaze.
The Vitellianists were now swarming up the hill, while our men were distracted by the flames. The fire has been caused by the assailants who had hurled burning brands on to the roof of a colonnade and had then, when the defenders were driven back choking in the smoke, burst through the gate that was now undefended. Meanwhile others had rushed the hill to the west of the Tarpeian Rock, from which side our men had been drawn by the first attack. In short, all was confusion; and this was caused by the inadequacy of our troops, who were too few to guard every possible route by which the hill might be mounted. Despairing of finding Domitian, I drew my sword and ran towards the Tarpeian flank. Here there was fierce hand-to-hand fighting. We had the advantage of the ground, but they had the advantage of numbers. The fire in our rear also alarmed our men, some of whom even before battle was fully joined, were more eager to find a means of escape than of resistance. I found myself at the side of Cornelius Martialis, already wounded in the shoulder by the thrust of a javelin. Blood ran down his sword-arm as he tried to parry the attacks of three German auxiliaries. I thrust at one under his shield, and he fell. But even as he did so another ran up against me, swinging his long sword. Without a shield, for I had had no time to arm myself properly, I could not parry the blow, and so ducked under it. My foot slipped on the bloody stone and I tumbled over the body of the man I had just killed. It may be that my fall saved my life, for, thanks to the steep declivity of the hill, I found myself rolling over and over, till I came to rest in the middle of an oleander bush some twenty feet or more below. For a moment I lay there, catching what I might have thought to have been my last breath. I say 'might have thought' for, in truth, I remember no thought. When I screwed my head round, expecting to see my assailant bearing down upon me, it was instead to discover that he had turned his attention on the centurion, who was again faced with three of the enemy. As I struggled to free myself from the bush, I heard that most terrible of battle-cries, 'It's every man for himself, run, lads, run.' I looked up and saw Cornelius Martialis fall. Then, shaking myself like a dog emerging from water, I took to my heels, down the hill, out of the battle. I have no pride in this, no pride either in the slashing blows I delivered at two soldiers who tried to bar my way. One of them fell, his face laid open by my sword, the other stumbled and, like me, a moment earlier, slipped, and lay unharmed but panting. I had no time to deal with him, but careered down the hill. When I reached level ground and looked back, all the buildings of the Capitol were ablaze. An old woman looked at me.
'If I was you, sir,' she said, 'I'd get rid of that bloody sword.'
Perhaps her advice was good. I did not take it.
Instead I remained, gazing in horror at burning Jupiter Supremely Good and Great, founded by our earliest fathers as the seat of Empire. The Capitol, unviolated even by the Gauls centuries before in the days of the Republic, was now destroyed by the madness of the struggle for Empire in a battle fought on behalf of a creature who had had the purple forced on him by the legions, and who had given only one proof of sound judgement in his life: his understanding that he was not fit for the office he was not permitted to relinquish.
I sheathed my sword and, assuming such an air of unconcern as was possible, made my way by a route which took me past the temple that Augustus had raised in memory of his beloved nephew Marcellus towards the river, and across it to my mother's house. I was surprised to find, half a mile from the scene of battle, citizens going about their lives as if it was a time of peace.
No harm had come to my mother or to Domatilla. I advised them to keep the house, notwithstanding the lack of tumult in the streets that side of the river.
'It may be,' I said, 'that Domitian will come here himself. I don't know where he is now.'
'But he's alive, he's all right?' Domatilla said.
'I've no reason to think otherwise. I'm going in search of him now. If he comes here, don't let him leave. He might be as safe here as anywhere. It'll only be a matter of days before your father's army is in the city. But these days will be dangerous.'
'And my uncle?'
'I don't know. I don't know whether he escaped, whether he was killed, whether he was taken captive. Everything over there is in indescribable confusion.'
"We could see the flames,' my mother said. 'To burn the Capitol. It's worse than Nero. It's a judgement.'
'Perhaps,' I said.
When I left, my mother refrained from any expression of anxiety. She did not tell me to avoid d
anger, for she knew that in Rome that day danger and duty were joined as in marriage. But before I departed, she took my sword and cleaned it of the dried blood.
I was surprised to discover it was not yet noon.
XXXVII
Tacitus will know, without my telling him, how Flavius Sabinus and the Consul elect Atticus surrendered and were led in chains before Vitellius. He may deem their surrender inglorious, believing that a soldier should die sword in hand. That is often the view of men who have studied war at a distance and have little experience of battle themselves. In any case I believe that Flavius Sabinus yielded when he saw that the few troops that remained with him were sentenced to death if he did not do so. It is said that Vitellius would have spared his life, if he had been brave enough to do so. But the mob, composed partly of legionaries, partly of auxiliaries, partly of citizens - Senators among them - and partly of the most degraded rabble, howled for more blood; and Vitellius dared not deny them. So died a man for whom I had great respect, a man who had served Rome in more than thirty campaigns, and who throughout this terrible year had alone among men of distinction sought peace, preferring diplomacy and negotiation to war. Had he succeeded, Rome would not have suffered the disgrace of seeing the Capitol in flames, and the lives of many men, some worthy, would have been spared.
Domitian did not share my regard for his uncle. In later years I have heard him say that if his advice had been followed Vitellius would never have gone free after signing his act of abdication; and that the battle on the Capitol, from which he had by his own account escaped only with difficulty, meeting great danger with audacity and ingenuity, was the consequence of his uncle's cowardice and unpardonable folly. Actually Domitian's escape, unlike my own, was ignominious. Yet, though I had fought my way out, and might be judged to have had nothing with which to reproach myself, I experienced shame, like a stabbing knife, when I learned of what had befallen Flavius Sabinus. I felt like a deserter.
