Vespasian: Tribune of Rome

by Robert Fabbri

  They continued climbing for a little over an hour, the stronghold looming larger and larger until its details could be clearly seen. The dark-brown walls, which Vespasian had assumed from a distance were wooden, were in fact stone, hewn from the mountain upon which it stood. Vespasian was impressed.

  ‘Lysimachus, one of Alexander’s generals, seized Thracia and became its king in the chaos that followed his death. He built the fort three centuries ago, to guard his northern borders from the incursions of the even more savage northern Thracian tribes, on the other side of the Haemus Mountains. They used to come over the Succi Pass, which is about ten miles to the north, to plunder the Hebrus valley. The fort stopped all that; they couldn’t take it and couldn’t advance without fear of being cut off by it.’

  ‘Why didn’t Lysimachus just take the Succi Pass and hold that?’ Vespasian asked.

  ‘It’s too high, very difficult to keep a fortification supplied up there.’

  As they were talking, movement up at the fort, now just over a mile away, caught their eyes. The gates swung open and people began to emerge.

  ‘Now, that is strange,’ Paetus commented. ‘If they were mounting an attack they would have sent their cavalry out first, and we’d be running for our lives back down to our fortifications. But I can only see infantry.’

  Vespasian stared hard at the ever-growing crowd swarming through the gates. ‘There are women and children amongst them as well, I think.’

  ‘You’re right. It looks like they’re surrendering. I’d better get a message down to the general.’ Paetus turned and gave a swift order in Greek; four of his troopers peeled off and headed back down the mountain.

  The last stragglers appeared through the gates, which then closed behind them. At least three thousand people were heading towards them. At their head were two men riding mules. The taller of the two, an old man with short cropped white hair and a long white beard, held an olive branch in token of surrender. Next to him rode a figure that Vespasian recognised immediately.

  ‘What in Jupiter’s name is he doing here?’

  ‘Nothing in Jupiter’s name. That’s Rhoteces, one of their priests. You know him?’

  ‘I’ve watched one of his ceremonies. He enjoys sacrificing Romans.’

  ‘I’m sure he does. Nasty little bugger. He turned up about seven days ago and since then Poppaeus has been sending him back and forth to the Thracians negotiating their surrender. Looks like he’s been partially successful.’

  The old man stopped ten paces away from the two Romans and raised his olive branch above his head.

  ‘I am Dinas, the chief of the Deii,’ he cried, so that as many of his followers as possible could hear him. ‘I have come with as many of my people who would follow to throw ourselves at the mercy of Rome.’

  ‘You are welcome, Dinas,’ Paetus replied equally loudly. ‘We shall escort you down to the camp.’

  It took a couple of hours for the slow column of warriors, women, children, old and young, fit and infirm, to reach the gate in the fortifications. During that time Poppaeus, alerted to their imminent arrival, had formed up five cohorts each of the IIII Scythica and V Macedonica on the ground between the fortifications and the main camp.

  It was an impressive sight, designed to cow the supplicants as much as deter any of their number who had thought to make a break for freedom once they had passed through the gates.

  The gates opened and Paetus, with Vespasian at his side, led his cavalry through and halted in front of Poppaeus. The little general sat on a pure white horse in front of the parade. He was dressed in all the finery that befitted his rank – a polished silver muscled cuirass, a long, deep-red woollen cloak spread carefully over his horse’s rump, bronze greaves and a bronze helmet with silver inlays on the cheek-guards topped with a tall plume of red-dyed ostrich feathers. Behind him, dressed in equally ornate armour, sat an effete young man of twenty on another white horse. Around his head he wore a circlet of gold.

  Paetus saluted. ‘General, Dinas, the chief of the Deii, has offered his surrender to Rome.’

  ‘Thank you, prefect. Take your men and form them up on our right wing, out of the way.’

  Paetus showed no sign of offence at the curt response, and wheeled off to his position.

  The Thracians filed slowly through the gates spreading out left and right. Some, intimidated by the show of Roman force in front of them, fell to their knees and begged for mercy; the more stouthearted stood in grim silence to await their fate. When all were through and the gates shut Dinas, accompanied by Rhoteces, approached Poppaeus on foot and offered him the olive branch. Poppaeus refused it.

  ‘People of the Deii,’ he called in a loud, shrill voice that carried over the field. Rhoteces translated his words into the language of the Thracians, in a voice just as shrill. ‘Your chief offers me your surrender. I cannot accept it unconditionally. You have rebelled against your King, Rhoemetalces, a client of Rome.’ He gestured to the young man behind him. ‘This act has caused the deaths of many Roman and loyal Thracian soldiers. It cannot go unpunished.’

  A low moan came from the massed Thracians.

  ‘At my order my soldiers could attack and take all your lives. But Rome is merciful. Rome does not even demand the life of any one of you. Rome demands only that you give up two hundred of your number. Half will lose their hands and half will lose their eyes. Once this is done, I will accept the olive branch. You have a half-hour to decide before I give the order to attack.’

  A wail of deep anguish rose up from the crowd. Poppaeus turned his back towards them to show that he could not be moved.

  Dinas bowed his head and returned to his people. He started to address them in their own language. Meanwhile some legionaries under Aulus’ command brought forward five burning braziers and five wooden blocks, and set them up on the ground in front of the Thracians.

  Vespasian watched from his position on the right flank as the late-afternoon light faded. Thirty or so old men and half as many old women had stepped forward voluntarily. Dinas was now walking through the crowd blindfolded, touching people at random with his olive branch. Most of those he touched walked to join the waiting volunteers, but some had to be dragged screaming to their fate. Only children were reprieved. Eventually two groups of victims stood in front of the braziers and blocks.

  Dinas came forward to join them. He called to Poppaeus.

  ‘We have done as you have asked, general. I shall lead my people and be the first. Take my eyes.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Poppaeus looked to Aulus. ‘Centurion, you may begin.’

  Aulus gave the command and two legionaries held Dinas’ arms firmly behind his back whilst a third pulled a red-hot poker from the fire and approached the old chief. It was over in an instant. Dinas’ back arched but he made no sound. He was led away, walking with his head held high, the two blackened empty sockets in his face still smouldering. His people were silent.

  Five men were then brought forward and forced to kneel in front of the blocks. Legionaries secured ropes around their wrists and pulled their arms forward so that they lay flat on the smooth surfaces, their hands gripping the edges of the blocks. Other legionaries held their shoulders, pulling them back. All five rebels turned their heads away as five more soldiers brought their swords slicing down through their wrists. Howls of pain erupted from the men as they fell back, blood spurting from their fresh stumps, leaving their hands still gripping the blocks. The women in the crowd started to scream and wail.

  Pitch-soaked flaming torches were quickly thrust into the wounds to cauterise them, and then the men were dragged away.

  The screaming and wailing escalated as five old men and women were brought forward to the braziers. Vespasian watched in steely silence as the red-hot pokers flashed. Five more victims were being dragged forward to the blocks when, from behind him, Vespasian heard Magnus’ voice shouting over the noise.

  ‘Sir, sir, you need to come at once.’ Magnus pulled his horse to a
sliding halt next to him.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Vespasian asked, pleased to have his attention diverted from the grisly spectacle.

  Magnus drew closer and lowered his voice.

  ‘Asinius has just arrived in the camp; he wants to see you immediately.’

  Vespasian looked at his friend astounded. ‘Asinius, here? How?’

  ‘The normal way, he rode. Now, are you coming or not?’

  ‘Yes, of course I am.’

  Vespasian turned to Paetus. ‘Prefect, I have some urgent business to attend to, if I may.’

  ‘Of course, dear fellow, I only wish that I could join you. The mutilations are always my least favourite part of the circus back in Rome. I normally take the opportunity to stretch my legs until something more to my taste comes on, like the wild beast hunt. I love that. Off you go.’ Paetus waved him off.

  *

  The sun had sunk behind the Rhodope range, leaving the camp in deep shadow while simultaneously causing the gathering low clouds to burn amber and golden with its dwindling light.

  Magnus led Vespasian to a large tent close to the praetorium that was always kept free to accommodate visiting dignitaries. It was guarded by two of the eleven lictors that provided Asinius’ official escort as a proconsul on his way to his province. Vespasian and Magnus were admitted immediately.

  Asinius was sitting on a couch with his feet immersed in a bowl of warm water and a cup of wine in his hand. A couple of travel-stained slaves hovered in the background with linen towels and jugs of steaming water.

  ‘Vespasian, we shall talk in private.’ Asinius dismissed the slaves. Magnus, taking the hint, left with them. Asinius motioned Vespasian to sit on a folding stool opposite him. ‘You are no doubt surprised to see me here.’

  ‘A pleasant surprise, sir, I have much to tell you.’

  ‘All in good time. I will first tell you what brings me to this arsehole of the Empire.’ Asinius drained his cup and refilled it from a jug on a low table next to him. ‘Poppaeus’ much-exaggerated report of victory over the rebel tribes prompted the Senate to vote him triumphal honours. A little prematurely, it would seem, seeing as I hear that he is only now receiving the surrender of a small portion of the rebels who are still defying Rome up in their stronghold. Nonetheless, it has been done. The Emperor was only too pleased to confirm the honours, on condition that Poppaeus returns to Rome immediately for the investiture. I believe that Tiberius is anxious, as always, to part a successful general from his victorious army and get him back to Rome where he can keep an eye on him. Pomponius Labeo will take command in his stead.

  ‘I was due to leave Rome for my province Bithynia – I had hoped for Syria but an ally of Sejanus unsurprisingly received that particular goldmine. The Senate requested that I make a small detour and bring the good general the happy news of his award in person. They felt that an ex-Consul bringing the news would flatter his ego as well as taking the sting out of his recall.’ Asinius took another slug from his cup and then, remembering that his guest was without one, gestured to Vespasian to help himself.

  ‘In normal circumstances,’ he continued, ‘I would have wriggled out of such an onerous task, but your brother Sabinus brought something very interesting to my attention. Two months ago men bearing an imperial warrant took three chests from the mint. Between them they contained fifty thousand denarii. The warrant stated that the money was to be used to pay the legions here in Thracia. Not very unusual in itself. However, Sabinus noticed from the records that it was the second such payment in as many months. He was suspicious, so he cross-checked the amount of denarii minted that month with the amount of silver bullion in the treasury. Your brother has an eye for book-keeping, it would seem; whoever taught him should be proud.’

  Vespasian smiled, thinking of the long hours that he’d spent forcing his unwilling brother to master the basics of accountancy; his efforts had evidently not been in vain.

  ‘Something amuses you?’

  ‘No, Asinius; please carry on.’

  ‘When Sabinus checked the bullion he found that there were exactly fifty thousand denarii too much, but the treasury’s accounts balanced and there were no records to prove that the chests had been taken. In other words it was as if that money had never existed; perfect for secretly financing a rebellion. I thought therefore that bringing the Senate’s message to Poppaeus would provide me with the opportunity to trace those non-existent chests.’

  Asinius paused and refilled his cup.

  ‘Someone must have replaced the silver,’ Vespasian surmised.

  ‘Indeed, but who has access to that amount? Sejanus is not yet wealthy enough to give that much away.’

  Vespasian thought for a moment. ‘Of course, Poppaeus!’ he almost shouted. ‘Paetus mentioned that Poppaeus’ family have made fortunes from silver mines in Hispania. He must have used his own silver to finance that chest.’

  ‘Poppaeus is Sejanus’ agent?’ Asinius exclaimed, unable to believe what he was hearing.

  Vespasian then related everything that had happened since he and Magnus had arrived in Thracia, and all that Queen Tryphaena and Corbulo had told him.

  ‘How can I have been so stupid?’ Asinius mumbled as Vespasian finished. ‘It all makes sense now. Sejanus and Poppaeus have managed to create a crisis that cannot be traced back to them. Poppaeus will claim that he sent the recruiting officers to Thracia because he needed more troops to defend the Moesia’s northern border, and was therefore acting in the best interests of the Empire. There is no written or material evidence that links either of them to the money used to bribe the chiefs into rebelling. There is no money missing from the treasury. Poppaeus has acted quickly to contain the rebellion, while meanwhile Sejanus’ agents bribe other tribes into revolt, threatening our land route to the eastern provinces. Poppaeus comes out of it as a hero and Sejanus has what he needs, another distraction from his manoeuvring in Rome, and for what price? Free silver dug out of the mountains of Hispania. Brilliant.’

  ‘But why did they go to the trouble of converting that silver into coinage? Why not just use raw silver?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps they judged that coinage would be harder to trace than bars of silver. There are, after all, very few families with access to silver mines.’

  From outside came the sound of troops marching back into the camp and being dismissed.

  ‘There is one person who could link both of them to the money.’

  ‘I know, Rhoteces the priest, but how could we find him? And even if we could we’d have to get him to Rome to testify before the Senate, and then it would be the word of a barbarian against those of the Praetorian prefect and a governor.’

  ‘He’s here.’

  ‘Rhoteces here? Why?’

  ‘He’s been acting as Poppaeus’ intermediary with the rebels.’

  Asinius laughed. ‘That priest’s duplicity knows no bounds – first he gets them to rebel, then he persuades them to surrender. What can he be hoping to gain?’

  ‘It makes no sense to me either.’

  ‘I think we should talk to the slippery little shit. Perhaps he can tell us the whereabouts of the other chests. I’m sure you and Magnus could manage to bring him here without too much trouble. Meanwhile I’m going to let Poppaeus know that I’ve arrived and wait to see what he does. How he chooses to see me, whether in private or officially, will say a lot about how secure he feels.’

  Vespasian found Magnus waiting outside, amidst the hubbub of the cohorts returning to their billets. The legionaries’ brightly polished iron armour and helmets reflected the flickering flames of the torches that had been lit along the Via Principalis and the Via Praetoria. The men’s mood was upbeat, having just witnessed the surrender of a quarter of their enemies. The ensuing battle, should it come, would be so much the easier.

  ‘And so Asinius wants us to bring Rhoteces to him for questioning,’ Vespasian informed his friend, having brought him up to date.

  Magnus grinned. ‘Th
at will be a pleasure, and I look forward to slitting his throat after.’

  ‘Who said anything about killing him just yet? He might prove to be useful.’

  ‘Stands to reason, though, don’t it? If Asinius leaves him alive, he’ll go blabbing to Poppaeus that he knows about the chests, and then Poppaeus will have to kill Asinius to protect himself.’

  ‘You’re right. Still, it’s no bad thing, I suppose. But first we’ve got to find him.’

  ‘That’s easy, I saw him come back with Poppaeus; they’re in the praetorium. But he ain’t going to be easy to grab, he seems to have got himself a bodyguard of four of the Thracians who surrendered today. We’ll need a bit of help.’

  ‘Whom can we trust?’

  ‘Corbulo’s a possibility, but he may feel that he has more to gain by staying loyal to Poppaeus than throwing his lot in with Asinius. Gallus we don’t know well enough, so that leaves Faustus. I’m sure that if you told him that his general was happy to see him killed then he’ll come along, and bring some trustworthy lads with him.’

  ‘Let’s hope you’re right. You stay here and keep an eye out for that priest.’

  A short while later Vespasian rejoined Magnus, with Faustus and two hard-looking legionaries from the first cohort.

  ‘He hasn’t come out yet, sir,’ Magnus whispered. ‘Evening, Faustus, come for a bit of revenge?’

  ‘Cocksucker! Necrophiliac! Goat-tosser!’ Faustus had kept up an almost constant stream of abuse under his breath since Vespasian had informed him of Poppaeus’ treachery. He had been only too pleased to help deal with the priest.

  A few moments later Rhoteces stepped out of the praetorium surrounded by his new bodyguard. They walked at speed along the Via Principalis towards Vespasian and his comrades, who crouched in the shadows as the priest and his retinue passed.