Soldier of Rome- Reign of the Tyrants

by James Mace

  The Tenth Legion had been encamped northwest of Jericho for several weeks. Located just twenty-five miles from Jerusalem, Vespasian was reluctant to move any of his forces closer to the Jewish holy city, lest the warring factions become distracted by the presence of imperial soldiers and decide to put their differences aside. His intent was to allow them to kill as many of each other off as possible, before committing his legions to the final siege. The people within the conquered cities attempted to go about their lives, though all lived in fear of the imperial soldiers, as well as the zealots who now controlled Jerusalem. As for the legionaries themselves, there was little for them to do except drill, improve their camps, and patrol the streets of the cities. It was following one such patrol, which Gaius had personally led four of their squads on, that he received the news he’d been waiting for.

  “Your leave was approved,” Nicanor said, handing the optio a small, folded parchment. “Here are your orders. You are to report back to Caesarea no later than the first of July. The Tenth may not still be in Jericho then, but the clerks will no doubt be able to tell you where to find us.”

  “Thank you,” Gaius said, his palms sweating as he accepted the orders. “I cannot tell you how much this means to me.”

  “Do what you need to, old friend,” Nicanor said. He chuckled and added, “I’ll make certain we don’t take Jerusalem without you. Give your optio’s staff to Julius. He’ll assume your duties while you’re away.”

  Gaius hurried back to his tent and began to cram his personal belongings into his pack. He took three extra tunics, socks, his traveling cloak, his shaving kit, and a few personal belongings, including a faded medallion his mother had given him years ago. He had recently sold a number of chalices and other items that he’d plundered during many of the sieges the legion had conducted, so he had much in the way of extra coin. He left his armor, helmet, and shield, though he carried his gladius. He delivered his optio’s staff to Tesserarius Julius and, after a few words of instruction, mounted his horse and began the trek to Caesarea.

  The roads had long since dried and become dusty once more, and it took Gaius just two days to reach the port city. As Centurion Nicanor had warned, a local merchant vessel demanded a shameful fifty denarii for the optio and his horse to take the short, two day journey to Salamis. The ship was transporting wine casks to the island, and as these took up all of the hold space below decks, Gaius was compelled to remain on the top deck for the duration of their journey.

  Though the voyage was relatively short, it was also extremely tedious for the optio. He also had a tendency to become violently seasick, whenever land was out of view. Originally an independent kingdom, and later one of the Greek city-states, Salamis was located on the eastern edge of Cyprus. The relatively flat terrain outside the city was mostly farm fields, while its port boasted a vigorous fishing industry. Gaius walked his horse down the long plank, and set about the task of finding his son.

  He had no idea where to begin looking. Since Verinia’s father had been a spice merchant, he reckoned he would start there. It was late afternoon when he arrived at the city forum which was crammed with vendor stalls. As he started to ask questions, a few told him to ‘piss off’, if he wasn’t there to buy anything. It took some time, but eventually he met someone who knew Verinia’s name and description.

  “There’s a spice plantation about four miles west of the city,” a middle-aged woman told Gaius. “She rarely comes to the markets anymore, but that is where you will find her.”

  Gaius did not ask any further questions. He simply mounted his horse and began to make his way out of the large market complex. He assumed the plantation was owned by Verinia’s father who, doubtless, would be enraged to see the soldier again. Gaius did not care. There would be no driving him away this time, not until he saw his son.

  The plantation stood out against the backdrop of steep mountain faces to the west. The fields were vast and numerous, with hundreds of slaves and overseers toiling in the late afternoon sun. The manor house itself was set just off the main road. A large open gate led into the outer courtyard. Gaius dismounted his horse and walked through the stucco arches. It was here he found her.

  “Hello, Verinia.”

  His voice startled the young woman, and she jumped in surprise. She squinted for a moment, as she apprised the soldier who stood before her.

  “Dear gods,” she whispered, her eyes growing wide. “Gaius?”

  He gave a broad smile and started walking towards her.

  Verinia looked nervously over her shoulder as a loud fit of boyish laughter came from the house behind her. Gaius stopped and stared at the side door, where a little boy came stumbling down the short steps. He tripped and fell hard, though instead of breaking into tears, he laughed even harder as he pulled himself to his feet.

  “Is that...” Gaius started to say.

  “Please, Gaius!” Verinia quickly interrupted. “You should not be here!”

  “I should not be here to see my own son?” he asked, indignantly. Whatever Verinia thought of him now, all he cared about was the little boy who ran up to his mother and wrapped his arms around her leg.

  “Wow!” the boy said, looking up excitedly at the soldier. “Who is he, mama?”

  Before Verinia could answer, a man’s voice called from within the house. “Verinia! I finished early, and...”

  The voice of the well-dressed man, in his early thirties, stopped as he stepped into the small courtyard. “Can we help you, soldier?” he asked. He saw the horrified expression on Verinia’s face. “I hope my wife or my son have not caused any trouble.”

  “No,” Gaius replied, quickly shaking his head. “I am not here on military matters.”

  “That’s a relief,” the man said, with a sigh. “We don’t see many imperial soldiers in these parts, least of all legionaries. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “This boy,” Gaius said, nodding towards the child who still clung to his mother’s leg. “He is your son?”

  “Adopted...but yes.” The man shook his head, puzzled by the question. “I’m sorry, but if you are not here in any official capacity, then why, may I ask, are you here? Who are you?”

  Verinia stood transfixed, absolutely aghast at seeing her past laid bare before her husband. While Gaius wished to spare her any indignity or embarrassment, there was no backing down for him.

  “An old friend,” he answered. “One who wishes to see his son.”

  Verinia’s eyes closed hard, and she gritted her teeth, as she failed to fight back the tear that ran down her cheek. Her husband did not notice. Instead, he gave a sad smile of understanding.

  “I see,” he said. “As I understood it, you are supposed to be dead.”

  “Wishful thinking by some,” Gaius replied.

  In a move that surprised everyone, the man held open the door to the house. “Won’t you please come in?”

  Verinia picked up her son, who was sucking on his fingers, while smiling at Gaius. The optio found he could not take his eyes off the child. This was the reason he had taken leave, and why he had spent a month’s wages to take a miserable journey by merchant ship to the isle.

  The master of the house offered him a cup of wine which Gaius accepted, as they sat in the modest dining hall.

  “Verinia’s father told me you were a tribune,” the man, whose name was Marcus, said. “And that you were killed in a horse riding accident.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Gaius replied. “My father is a member of the equites, but I was merely a young decanus then. And as you can see, I am very much alive.”

  “Verinia’s family had just come to Cyprus,” Marcus continued, ignoring the remark. Clearly he was wrought by a sense of betrayal, hearing that his father-in-law had deceived him. “I had just recently inherited my father’s rather large spice farm, and so it was natural that we should become business acquaintances. I was also recently widowed, having lost my wife when she miscarried our child. That Verinia was appare
ntly also recently widowed, with a child of her own, made it a natural match.”

  He was now staring at his wife, whose face was pale, her eyes red.

  “My love,” she said. “I never meant to deceive you.”

  “So what this soldier says is true, then,” Marcus said, nodding towards Gaius.

  “Please,” Verinia pleaded. “Father felt that no one respectable would have me...”

  “You could have told me,” Marcus said sternly, his gaze boring into her. He then looked to Gaius. “What is it that you want? Regardless of who sired him, young Marcus is my son now.”

  “I’m not here to try and take him away,” Gaius reassured him. “That was never my intent. He was but a few days old the last I saw him. I had to know what became of him.”

  “And now you know,” Marcus replied. Though sympathetic to the optio’s plight, he was clearly angered by all he had just learned. “Know this, Marcus is well-loved, and he wants for nothing. I cannot fault you for coming here, but now that you know he has a future, there is nothing more for you.”

  “And I will take my leave,” Gaius said, standing and making his way towards the door. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.” He then gave a curt nod towards Verinia and left the house.

  As he rode away from the plantation, he not once looked back. Over the past four years he had been tormented over the thoughts of what might have happened. He supposed he should have been happy, knowing that his son was loved and well taken care of, but instead he felt empty inside, a hollow sense of indifference.

  It was now early June, and support for Galba was growing within the western provinces. The Army of the Rhine still remained in Gaul, yet they obstinately remained outside of the fray. Titus Vinius had assumed command of Legio VI, Victrix, in eastern Hispania, on Galba’s orders. And while Vinius, Laco, and the now imprisoned Icelus in Rome, were those with the most profound influence over the presumptive emperor, there were two others who were having an ever larger impact on the game that was now being played for the imperial throne.

  The first was Otho, who had taken the liberty of handing over all the gold and silver he could scrounge from his province of Lusitania. He was certain Nero could not survive this next phase of the rebellion, and had finally committed all of his resources to securing Galba’s rise to become Caesar. He took things a step further, by providing Galba with the tools and specialist smiths necessary to take the raw gold, silver, and copper, and begin minting his own coins. And as a last token of support, though one which Galba took as more of an insult than a gift, Otho presented him with a number of slaves. These were fit and elegant young men and women, who Otho said were those worthy of serving an emperor. The reason the presumptive emperor deplored the gesture, was because these were slaves who were chosen for their beauty, rather than their ability to work. Still, Galba did at one point express his gratitude towards Otho, for helping him acquire the financial resources necessary to secure the throne.

  The other man who became a predominant player in the game was a patrician named Aulus Caecina Alienus. Quaestor for the small province Baetica, on the southern tip of Hispania, he was responsible for all financial matters within the region. In his early thirties, he had a respectable record of military service, yet it was in matters of coin where he excelled. And while Otho gave Galba much of the necessary means to produce coin, Caecina was able to simply divert already existing funds into the usurper’s coffers.

  “This will fund my soldiers for some time to come,” Galba noted, when Caecina showed him a detailed report of all the funds he had transferred into Galba’s war chest.

  “The men will doubtless be expecting some sort of donative, once all of this is over,” the quaestor said. “It has been customary following the rise of every new emperor.”

  Galba, who was never one for smiling in the first place, scowled at this last remark. “I do not buy the loyalty of my soldiers,” he retorted. “They should think themselves fortunate to serve under me, and they will be happy with the coin they are allotted. Otherwise, I will go very hard on them.”

  “There is other news,” Otho interrupted, sensing a growing tension between the two men. “General Rubrius Gallus has abandoned Nero. And Petronius’ legions in Pannonia and the Danube have refused to move from their barracks.”

  “And what of Verginius?” Galba asked.

  “Still in Lugdunum,” Otho answered. “He hasn’t moved a foot.”

  “I’ll not fault him for his indecisiveness, but neither shall I reward him,” Galba remarked. He then looked to Caecina. “Once Nero is dealt with, you will relieve Verginius of his command of Legio IV, Macedonia.”

  “Thank you, sire,” Caecina replied, with a bow.

  Galba waved for him to leave, and the quaestor excused himself.

  As Caecina left, Cornelius Laco stepped into the chamber.

  “Sire,” he said, with a bow.

  “Any news from Rome?” Galba asked.

  “Only that your freedman, Icelus, remains imprisoned on Nero’s orders. I take it you already heard about Gallus?”

  “I did,” Galba replied. “He’s a venerable military leader, and I will be glad of his services. Was there anything else?”

  “Yes,” Laco said, handing Galba a letter. “This came only an hour ago.”

  “It’s from Commander Nymphidius of the Praetorian Guard,” Galba read, squinting hard before handing the message back to Laco, who read it for him.

  “He states that Nero’s grip on reality grows ever more erratic,” Laco said. “And that Tigellinus has been weakened by stress and other ailments.”

  “Probably guilt, from all those whose lives he ended while lining Nero’s coffers,” Otho scoffed.

  Galba said nothing, though he shot Otho a look that told him he should keep quiet. He then nodded for Laco to continue. There was a pause, while Laco broke into a broad grin.

  “He says the Guard is yours.”

  Chapter X: Dynasty’s End

  Rome

  8 June 68 A.D.

  The Julio-Claudian Dynasty

  Nero’s grip on power was slipping rapidly, and he was now contemplating fleeing the capital. Despite Verginius’ victory over the rebellious upstart, Julius Vindex, the rebellion now forming under Servius Galba had only grown in strength. Members of the senate now met openly, discussing the possibility of removing Nero from power. The emperor had finally realized the severity of the situation, and valiantly offered to ride forth and meet the enemy in person. His gallant attempt at rallying the senate and people quickly dissipated when he talked, not of defeating the rebels in battle but of winning their hearts with his music and poetry. In a single speech, he transcended from noble leader of the people, to one afflicted by utter insanity. There was now only one obstacle that stood in the way of openly declaring their emperor an enemy of Rome.

  Nymphidius had called for every member of the Praetorian Guard, not on duty, to parade before their headquarters building. Only the current duty cohort at the palace, along with a century of guardsmen who were patrolling the streets, were absent. The prefect stood atop a dais with the praetorian tribunes behind him.

  “Soldiers of the Praetorian Guard,” he said, “the time is upon us, when we must rise up and make a stand for our beloved Rome.”

  These opening remarks drew a number of confused stares and mutterings amongst the ranks. All were very much aware of the growing rebellion under Galba, as well as the senate’s paralyzed sense of inaction. Yet, none of them had so much as heard a whisper as to what role the Guard would take in the coming crisis.

  “All of us have sworn to protect the emperor at all costs, with our lives, if necessary,” Nymphidius continued. “Our oath is our sacred bond, that we can never abandon our emperor. It therefore saddens me, my brothers, to tell you that we have not abandoned the emperor, but that he intends to abandon us! I have it on good authority that Emperor Nero plans on fleeing to Alexandria, without so much as a single guardsman in his entourage
. I ask you, brothers, how do we serve an emperor who deserts his post and forsakes us?”

  Centurion Densus stepped forward in an attempt to speak for the assembled mass of guardsmen. “Sir, we serve the emperor and are loyal to him, even unto death. Should he desert the capital, he will be abandoning his people. And if he is deposed, what then becomes of us?”

  “The Praetorian Guard exists to protect the emperor,” Nymphidius replied. “But it is the senate who ratifies a man’s right to become emperor. I have spoken with the consuls of Rome, and they have told me they intend to declare Nero an enemy of the state. Furthermore, they wish to ratify Servius Sulpicius Galba as Rome’s rightful ruler. The only thing stopping them is their fear of us, that we would oppose them with violence in order to protect the man who has abandoned them.”

  Everything Nymphidius said was a complete fabrication, for he had met with no one from the senate but was, instead, taking matters into his own hands. Neither of the consuls, nor any of their colleagues, knew that one of the praetorian prefects was suggesting to his men that they abandon Nero. It was by seizing the initiative that Nymphidius hoped to secure his place within the new order, once Nero was deposed and Galba installed as emperor. There were still many doubtful grumblings amongst the guardsmen, so the prefect decided to use the one means of persuasion that would not fail.

  “I can speak on behalf of Galba, regarding the donative that is due to the imperial guard upon the assumption of a new emperor.”

  These words immediately silenced any grumblings from the guardsmen, and all now listened intently.

  “Should Nero desert his post as Emperor of Rome and should the senate legally sanction Galba’s right to become Caesar, I promise you, on his behalf, a donative of seven thousand five hundred denarii each.”

  Several thousand voices gasped at the promise of such a substantial sum. Praetorian guardsmen were the highest paid of any professional soldiers within the imperial army. Their annual wages of seven hundred and fifty denarii were triple that of a legionary. And now, Nymphidius was promising them an additional donative of ten-fold this number. No one bothered to ask where this money would be raised, though it was widely known that Galba was by far the single wealthiest member of the Roman senate. Perhaps he intended to pay them this donative out of his own coffers? Such generosity could purchase the loyalties of even the most stalwart of Nero’s supporters.