Vespasian: Tribune of Rome

by Robert Fabbri

  This was greeted by more enthusiastic cheers. Poppaeus’ expression hardened as he realised that he had been outmanoeuvred. Asinius waited for silence before continuing.

  ‘Your general’s efforts have been justly recognised. The Senate has voted him triumphal honours and the Emperor has been pleased to confirm this award to his remarkable and trusted servant.’ His voice betrayed no hint of the irony in his words.

  The roars of approval for this echoed around the field. Asinius caught Pomponius’ eye and motioned him forward. Vespasian followed, forcing his mount through the heaving mass of legionaries to the base of the rostrum.

  Asinius gestured for silence again.

  ‘General Poppaeus is required to leave for Rome at once to receive his just reward for his faithful service.’ Asinius turned and smiled at Poppaeus, who stood transfixed with anger but impotent as Asinius worked the crowd. ‘But the Emperor has replaced him with a good man, a brave man, a man many of you know. Soldiers of Rome: the Emperor gives you Pomponius Labeo.’

  Pomponius was lifted from his horse by the men of his legion and helped, with some difficulty, on to the rostrum. He embraced Poppaeus, who remained helplessly rooted to the spot as his moment of glory was hijacked. Pomponius turned to the crowd, which once again fell silent.

  ‘Poppaeus has today won a great victory and his reward is indeed just. I shall do my utmost to lead you as well as he has done. He can return to Rome in the knowledge that his men are in good hands. I shall make sure that your cries of “Imperator” will follow him. They will echo around the Senate in tribute to his deeds here today. No one in Rome will be unaware of how you, brave soldiers of Rome, have honoured him. This I swear by Mars Victorious.’

  As the cheering broke out again Vespasian could see a shadow pass over Poppaeus’ face as he realised that he had gone too far in accepting the accolade that was now reserved only for members of the imperial family.

  Asinius joined Pomponius at the front of the rostrum and again asked for silence.

  ‘Soldiers of Rome, your parts in this victory have not gone unnoticed, neither will they be unrewarded.’

  As he spoke, Magnus and the other seven lictors pushed their way to the rostrum and lifted on to it two heavy chests. Vespasian recognised them as being larger than, but otherwise very similar to, the one he had seen at the Caenii’s camp.

  With a dramatic flourish Asinius threw the lids open, to reveal them full to the brim with silver coins. The colour drained from Poppaeus’ face and his mouth opened and closed in a vain effort to say something that would stop the nightmare.

  ‘The Emperor and Senate have decreed,’ Asinius continued smoothly, enjoying his enemy’s mortification, ‘that, in recognition of your valour in defeating the Thracian revolt, a bounty should be paid from the imperial treasury to every legionary and auxiliary.’

  At this news the cheers of the men erupted into a cacophony that outdid all their previous efforts. Vespasian kicked his horse through the crowd until he reached Magnus.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ he asked, dismounting.

  Magnus grinned. ‘If you think that it’s my life’s savings, then you’d be wrong, but if you think that it’s Poppaeus’ other two chests, then you’d be right.’

  ‘Where did you find them?’

  ‘They were just sitting there, in Poppaeus’ quarters, when I broke in to get the letters. It seemed such a waste leaving them, so I nipped back to Asinius who kindly lent me a few of his lictors to help liberate them – though not before I helped myself to a couple of bagfuls to cover our travelling expenses, if you take my meaning?’

  ‘I think I do.’ Vespasian laughed, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

  Asinius had started to speak again. ‘My duty here is done and I shall now resume my journey to my province. It has been an honour to bring you your Emperor’s reward. I am sure that General Poppaeus will wish to distribute it immediately, before he returns to Rome. Centurions, fall your men in here, on this field of victory, and they will all return to camp richer. Hail Caesar.’

  As he moved to the edge of the rostrum, where Vespasian and Magnus waited to help him down, Poppaeus caught him by the arm and looked at him with an expression of unbridled hatred.

  ‘You will pay dearly for this,’ he hissed.

  ‘My dear Poppaeus,’ Asinius replied smugly, ‘whatever do you mean? I have the distinct impression that you are the one who is paying dearly.’

  Walking back to the camp Asinius was in a fine mood. His lictors cleared the way through the thousands of troops hurrying to form up as fast as was possible on the corpse-strewn field into their centuries and cohorts, in order to receive the promised largesse. They cheered him as he passed and he waved back, all the while talking animatedly with Vespasian and Magnus.

  ‘Your man did a commendable job last night, Vespasian,’ he said, slapping Magnus on the back. ‘Not only getting the letters, but also stealing Poppaeus’ war chests; that was a coup that I hadn’t dreamt of. It made Poppaeus’ rout complete. I trust that he is not distributing the full contents of the chests?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Magnus replied. ‘A small percentage was deducted for expenses.’

  ‘Very good, you deserve it; I have to admit to helping myself to a few handfuls to distribute to my lictors.’

  ‘What of the letters, Asinius?’ Vespasian asked.

  ‘Magnus managed to get a half a dozen letters that implicate Poppaeus and Sejanus in this Thracian affair. I despatched Rhoemetalces with three of them before dawn, he should be well on his way to Philippopolis by now. From there Queen Tryphaena will send them to Antonia, who will add them to the growing collection of evidence that we shall lay before Tiberius when the time is right. I think that, in the meantime, the other three will prove to be enough of a deterrent to prevent Poppaeus and Sejanus from hauling me up in front of the Senate on treason charges.’ He patted a leather pouch that hung around neck.

  ‘What are you going to do with that priest, then?’

  ‘Oh, I think that I’m going to give him back to Poppaeus as a little going-away present,’ Asinius chuckled. ‘I reckon they deserve each other, don’t you?’

  ‘I think Poppaeus will judge that he’s too dangerous to keep alive.’

  ‘I do hope that you’re right.’

  They had reached Asinius’ tent and he stopped to bid them goodbye.

  ‘I shall be leaving immediately. I have no wish to be here when Poppaeus returns and finds that his letters are missing, and much less to find myself as his travelling companion when he leaves later on today. If you take my advice, Vespasian, you should make yourself scarce until he’s gone and Pomponius is fully in command.’

  ‘I will, Asinius. May the gods go with you.’

  ‘If I believed in them I’m sure they would. Good luck and I’ll see you in Rome in four years or so.’ He gripped Vespasian’s forearms with both hands and then turned to Magnus.

  ‘Thank you, my friend, I owe you a debt that I shall not forget.’

  ‘I’ll come and see you in Rome when I need a favour.’

  ‘It will be my pleasure; until then, farewell.’

  Keeping four of his lictors to guard his person, and leaving two to guard the entrance, Asinius dismissed the remaining five to prepare for their return journey, and went into his tent.

  ‘Well, you heard him,’ Vespasian said, heading off to his quarters. ‘Let’s get out of here for a day or two.’

  ‘Suits me fine.’

  They had not gone ten paces when the clash of weapons and a scream stopped them in their tracks. They turned just in time to see the two guards rush into Asinius’ tent.

  ‘Fuck!’ Vespasian gasped, drawing his sword as the unmistakable sound of two bodies slumping to the ground came from within the tent. The other lictors had heard the commotion and were running back, swords drawn. With no thought of tactics Vespasian, Magnus and the five lictors crashed through the entrance of the tent.

  ‘Stop right
there or he gets hurt, nastily,’ Hasdro shouted. He had his sword across Asinius’ throat and, with his left hand pressing hard down on his head with a vice-like grip, forced the proconsul to his knees. His three Praetorian companions stood in front of him, amongst the bodies of the lictors, warily pointing their swords at Vespasian and his comrades, two paces away. Behind him was Poppaeus’ secretary, Kratos, holding three letters. Slumped in the corner was the semi-conscious Rhoemetalces.

  ‘This is an interesting situation,’ Vespasian said, breathing hard. ‘We outnumber you, so how do you imagine you’ll get out alive?’

  ‘I’d say that it’s quite straightforward.’ Hasdro’s black eyes gleamed malevolently and a smile played on the corner of his mouth. ‘The proconsul gives us what we want, then, in return for his life, you let us go.’

  ‘Don’t let them—’ A fist to the side of his face silenced Asinius.

  ‘One more word and I’ll have your nose off,’ Hasdro spat, shaking his bruised hand. He tugged at the leather bag around Asinius’ neck, snapping the strap, and threw it at Kratos. ‘Check them,’ he growled.

  Kratos quickly pulled the letters out of the sack and flicked through them. ‘They’re all here,’ he confirmed, adding them to the three that he had already retrieved from Rhoemetalces.

  ‘Burn them all, so that idiot master of yours doesn’t lose them again.’

  Kratos threw the letters on to the brazier.

  ‘Save them,’ Asinius shouted as they burst into flames. He thrust his throat forward on to the edge of Hasdro’s sword and forced it along its length. Blood sprayed across the room as the blade sliced through the soft flesh. Hasdro looked with horror at the quivering body of his now useless hostage as it fell, gurgling, at his blood-drenched feet.

  ‘Now!’ Vespasian cried lurching forward. He crashed into the nearest Praetorian, grabbed his right wrist and forced his sword into the air. With a lightning thrust he pushed his blade up into the vitals of the startled man and, feeling hot blood squirt down his arm, twisted it through his bowels. The Praetorian doubled up, pushing Vespasian on to his back. The shriek of pain, so close to his ear, almost deafened Vespasian as he fought to withdraw his entangled sword. Magnus flew past him and hurled himself on to Hasdro, who slipped in Asinius’ blood. The pair crashed to the ground, grappling and wrestling with each other, their swords useless at such close quarters. Behind them the lictors descended on to the last two Praetorians, who went down under a welter of stabs and thrusts that continued even after their lives had been expunged.

  Vespasian managed to kick himself out from under his howling victim, leaving his sword lodged in his lacerated abdomen. In the corner of his eye he caught the blur of Kratos darting for the exit.

  ‘Get him alive!’ he barked at the lictors as he retrieved a discarded sword. He stepped up behind Hasdro, who now sat astride Magnus closing his huge hands around the struggling boxer’s throat. Vespasian drew his sword arm back. Magnus’ eyes focused briefly on the movement. Hasdro turned, the look on his face showing that he knew what to expect. With a powerful, clean sweep Vespasian cleaved his head from his shoulders, sending it spinning through the air in a spray of blood. His severed long black hair slithered down his back. His torso fell on to Magnus, disgorging its contents from its open neck onto his face.

  ‘Was that necessary?’ Magnus spluttered, heaving the corpse aside. ‘I was just about to turn him.’

  ‘Better safe than sorry, I thought,’ Vespasian replied, amazed at what he had just done. ‘It seemed from where I was standing that you were having a little difficulty.’ He held out his hand to help up his friend, who looked like he had been the victim of a particularly grisly sacrifice.

  Vespasian looked down at Asinius, who lay motionless, his eyes staring lifelessly at the brazier in which the precious letters were now no more than charred fragments.

  ‘Shit!’ he exclaimed as he realised how devastating their loss was. He looked over to Rhoemetalces who was sitting bolt upright in the corner, staring at Hasdro’s severed head.

  ‘What happened? I thought that Asinius sent you off hours ago?’

  The young King pulled his gaze away from the macabre object and replied, with difficulty, through his swollen mouth. ‘He did, but they came after me and caught me. They killed my escort and brought me back here to wait for Asinius. They knew about the letters. Kratos got here to verify them just before Asinius came back. Then you arrived, that’s all I know.’

  Vespasian turned to Kratos, who was cowering in the firm grip of two lictors. He placed the tip of his sword under his chin.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘I saw that my master’s quarters had been broken into, there was a slash in the tent and the chests of silver were gone, so I checked his correspondence and some was missing. I suspected Asinius immediately so I informed Hasdro.’ Kratos spoke quickly in his anxiety to give as much information as possible, knowing that his life was at stake. ‘We came here to Asinius’ tent and found Rhoteces, the priest, tied up in the sleeping area. He had overheard Asinius send Rhoemetalces off to Philippopolis.’

  ‘But Rhoteces didn’t mention the letters.’

  ‘No, we just assumed that he had gone with all the letters. It was the logical thing for Asinius to have done.’

  ‘Where is the priest now?’

  ‘Gone.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘He went with Hasdro and his men to catch Rhoemetalces.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Vespasian jabbed his sword forcing the terrified secretary’s head further back.

  ‘I swear I don’t know! When I came back to check the letters that were found on Rhoemetalces he wasn’t here any more.’

  ‘He ran off after they caught me,’ Rhoemetalces croaked from the corner. ‘He wanted to kill me, but when Hasdro refused he galloped off. Hasdro didn’t have the time to chase him; when he found that I only had half of the letters he wanted to get back here and find Asinius, to retrieve the rest.’

  A glimmer of hope came into Vespasian’s eyes; the situation was perhaps retrievable if they acted quickly. He smiled as he looked at the cringing Kratos. ‘So apart from us you are the only person that could tell Poppaeus when he discovers that his letters are missing that they’ve been destroyed, aren’t you?’

  Kratos gulped. ‘Yes, but I won’t, I swear on my life.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Vespasian thrust his sword up through Kratos’ chin and into his brain. His eyes popped wide open in surprise and then his body went limp.

  ‘Let’s get out of here before the army and Poppaeus get back,’ Vespasian said, wiping the blood off his sword on the secretary’s tunic. He looked at the lictors. ‘Take your master’s body and ride as fast as you can to Philippopolis. You can cremate him there, but do it quietly. Then, when you get back to Rome, go and see the Lady Antonia; I shall make arrangements for your loyalty to be repaid. Rhoemetalces, you go with them to help; we need to make sure that Asinius’ death is kept secret for as long as possible.’

  ‘Why?’ the King asked, getting painfully to his feet.

  ‘Because when Poppaeus finds that the letters are missing, he’ll come straight here, where he will find six of Asinius’ lictors, his secretary Kratos, Hasdro and his mates all dead. But he won’t find Asinius or the letters. He’ll assume the worst and will have two choices: suicide; or go back to Rome and hope for the best. Neither of them will be very attractive to him. You must get your mother to write to Antonia and tell her everything. If Antonia can make Poppaeus believe that she has the letters, she may be able blackmail him into feeding her information about Sejanus, and Asinius’ sacrifice won’t have been in vain.’

  ‘But what happens when Poppaeus finds out that Asinius is dead?’

  ‘It won’t matter, as long as he doesn’t find out he died here, which he will if he comes back to find us still talking about it. Now go!’

  The lictors quickly picked up Asin
ius’ body and covered it with a blanket. Vespasian led them hurriedly through the deserted camp to the horse-lines where they strapped the corpse onto the back of a horse. In the distance the hubbub of the army receiving its bounty could be clearly heard.

  As he watched Rhoemetalces and the lictors race out of the camp, taking with them the evidence that could put Poppaeus’ mind at ease, Vespasian felt an overwhelming sense of relief; he was in a game of very high stakes and, although the victory was not complete, he was still alive. He remembered the words he had overheard his mother saying: ‘He will have the Goddess Fortuna holding her hands over him to ensure that the prophecy is fulfilled.’ He would make a sacrifice of thanks to Fortuna to ensure her continued protection. He looked at Magnus and smiled. ‘Quick, my friend, let’s go,’ he said, jumping onto a horse.

  ‘Where to sir?’

  ‘Firstly to find some water to clean you up and then, like Asinius said, we make ourselves scarce for a couple of days until Poppaeus is well gone.’

  ‘Suits me fine, but what then?’

  Vespasian shrugged and kicked his horse forward. ‘Who knows? Whatever the army wants, I suppose.’

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction based upon the histories of Suetonius, Tacitus and Cassius Dio. Most of the characters are real; of the principle ones the exceptions are: Magnus and his mates, Rhoteces, Hasdro, Faustus, Atallus, Coronus, Kratos and Pallo. As this is historical fiction and not history I have taken some liberties with a few of the characters. There is no evidence, to my knowledge, that either Corbulo or Paetus served in Thrace whilst Vespasian was there; however, as theirs and the Flavian brother’s offspring inter-marry I thought that it would be a good time to introduce them into the story. I must offer my apologies to the descendants of Poppaeus; his intrigue with Sejanus is purely the work of my imagination and there is no reason to suspect that he was ever more than the reliable but unremarkable man that Tacitus describes him as; indeed, had he been more than that it would have been most unlikely that Tiberius would have kept him in position for so long or had awarded him triumphal ornaments in AD26 for the defeat of the Thracian rebellion.