Soldier of Rome- Reign of the Tyrants

by James Mace

  As the guardsman stumbled to his feet, the auxiliary trooper hurled his lance at their fleeing quarry. The long stabbing spear was not designed for throwing, and it wobbled awkwardly in a low arc, skipping across the marble flooring before entangling itself between Licinianus’ legs. As the young man tripped and sprawled onto the floor, he tried to pull himself up to his feet only to feel the crushing weight of the armored praetorian slam into the small of his back.

  The prince was tackled to the ground, with Guardsman Statius grabbing him by the hair and smashing his face into the stone floor. The commotion got the attention of both servants and priestesses within the temple. They converged on the foyer appalled at what they were witnessing.

  “To hell with this,” Statius said. With unnerving speed, he drew his gladius and jammed it into Licinianus’ neck.

  The young man tried to cry out but could only sputter, as dark torrents of blood gushed onto the floor. One of the Vestal acolytes screamed. Others gasped in horror.

  “Come on, Faelan,” Statius said. “Help me drag this pile of shit out of here.”

  They each grabbed an arm and dragged the body through the doors to the temple; a wide streak of blood trailing behind them. The stricken prince was still thrashing as he desperately tried to cling to life. Once outside, his killers slung his body down the stone steps. He lay struggling for a few moments, before a final gurgling escaped his ruptured windpipe. Then he was finally still.

  “Oy!” Statius called to a patrol of praetorians walking the Forum. “Take this and toss it over with the others. We have to go make our report to the emperor.”

  “Bugger me,” one the praetorians said, holding his torch over the body of Licinianus. “That will certainly make Otho happy!”

  “Wait a moment,” Faelan said. “The emperor specifically said he wanted his head.”

  “So he did,” Statius replied, with a bored sigh. He descended the steps and proceeded to hack through the slain man’s neck. Once the head was severed from the shoulders, he grabbed it by the hair, now slick with blood. “Here, let’s use your lance again.”

  Hours later, after Otho had finally gone to bed, the long and brutal day drawn to a close, the Roman Forum was left quiet as a tomb. Blood-soaked corpses of the slain were littered throughout. The only living persons in the large Forum were a handful of praetorians, and a few members of the urban cohort patrolling the area, keeping an eye out for any who would dare to retrieve the bodies. From a legal standpoint, these were viewed as executed criminals, and would be left to rot over the next few days. Eventually, they would be taken by the city watchmen to be tossed unceremoniously into the Tiber.

  Following the pleas of Lady Vinia, Otho wished to show some restraint and at least a modicum of mercy. And so, around midnight, one of the city criers was escorted into the Forum by a squad of Praetorian Guardsmen. Among the escorts was Guardsman Statius who, much to the new emperor’s bemusement, refused any sort of promotion as a means of reward. Otho had given him and Trooper Faelan a bounty of nearly a thousand denarii for ‘great service to the empire’, upon presenting the head of Licinianus. Statius had been granted an additional five hundred denarii, for aiding Otho in the lead-up to the overthrow of Galba. In addition to feeling a measure of pity for the slain, Rome’s newest emperor understood that leaving corpses within the Forum would be rather disruptive for business, not to mention rather unnerving to the people.

  The crier stepped up to the speaker’s platform, and as was the case whenever an official bulletin was posted, he first read it aloud, regardless of whether or not anyone was within earshot to hear it. Copies were then posted throughout the forum on notice boards.

  By order of his imperial highness, Imperator Otho Caesar Augustus, the bodies of those criminals, slain during the execution of the traitor, Servius Sulpicius Galba, are not to be disposed of in the River Tiber. In his mercy, the emperor is giving all families leave to retrieve the bodies of their loved ones, without fear of reprisal or punishment.

  Furthermore, in the spirit of forgiveness and reconciliation, all freeborn citizens who may have been deceived by the cast-down usurper will be shown clemency. Only those within the tyrant’s inner circle will face the punishment of banishment, with all death sentences commuted. Let us, then, look with hope towards a new age for Rome, that we might go forward together, as Romans.

  Signed on this night, the 15th of January, in the 822nd year after the Founding,

  Marcus Salvius Otho Nero Caesar Augustus

  Emperor of Rome

  Vinia did not wait for the crier to finish reading the edict. She, along with a pair of servants bearing a wheeled cart and torch, walked towards the Gemonian Stairs. Atop one stone monument, they saw the mutilated head of Galba covered in flaking blood, and already attracting swarms of flies. Unlike the unfortunate citizens who had been slain that savage day, the usurped former emperor’s head and corpse would be left where they lay for the time being.

  Most of the bodies of the slain lay near where the deposed emperor had fallen. Yet Vinius was by himself, lying contorted at the base of the stairs where countless criminals had been thrown following execution. Though Vinia had never been close to her father, she still wept at the sight of his bloody, twisted body. His head was turned unnaturally over his right shoulder, eyes wide, and mouth partially open.

  Vinia turned and nodded to her servants. She then pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, as her father’s body was carried to the waiting cart. Slaves tried to contort the stiffened corpse into something more dignified before covering it with a canvas tarp. The only other sound heard was the hammering of nails, as copies of the edict were hung on the various notice boards throughout the Forum.

  Roman Noblewoman

  The following morning would be met with trepidation, though the few brave souls who ventured into the Forum would soon spread the word that families could come and retrieve their slain loved ones. Only Galba’s and Licinianus’ decapitated corpses were left where they lay, as none dared to claim either. In the coming days, the scene of carnage would be swept away and the blood washed from the paving stones. The Roman Forum would be crammed with vendors and shoppers once more. Within a week, none would ever guess that an Emperor of Rome had met his ghastly end within the empire’s very center of commerce.

  Otho was surprised at how deeply he slept the night after his rise to power. Though he had not gone to bed until well after midnight, he rose just after sunrise feeling surprisingly well-rested. The ever-present Onomastus was there, ready to help his master into a bath before he breakfasted. As Otho ate his meal of boiled eggs and fruit, the porter beat his staff onto the floor three times.

  “The noble consul, Lucius Salvius Otho Titianus!” he announced.

  Otho sat upright as his brother entered the dining hall, grinning broadly and holding his hand up in salute.

  “Hail, Caesar!” he shouted, before walking over and embracing Otho.

  “And to you, Consul of Rome,” the emperor replied.

  “I am glad to see you up and rested, for we have much to do this day. The senate will wish to know your intentions, as well as what your personal priorities are.”

  Otho sat in contemplation for some time. He had a few issues in mind, though the sheer magnitude of policies and daily protocols that required his attention would soon become overwhelming. In the coming days, he would find himself deferring to his co-consul and inner circle of advisors more often than not. But on this morning, his first since becoming Caesar, Otho was ready to plunge headlong into the lifelong task of ruling an empire.

  “I will need to see a review of the imperial finances,” he said.

  “But, of course,” Titianus replied. “I took that as a given, so I brought some of the latest reports with me.” He snapped his fingers and pair of slaves brought in a large wicker basket piled with parchments and scrolls. “To put it simply, Nero was a spendthrift and Galba a miser. If we are to maintain a level of stability, we will need to be
somewhere in between.”

  “Yes, well, not all of Nero’s spending was bad,” Otho said, defensive of his former benefactor. “The Domus Aurea is a thing of beauty, and I think it needs to be completed. It will serve as a fitting memorial to a ruler that the people loved.”

  Later that morning, Otho and Titianus sat in the consuls’ chairs within the senate chambers. They had arrived early, and watched with interest as their colleagues filled into the large hall. The assembled senators were mostly quiet as they took their seats. They waited for their new emperor to speak, before they began the business of the day. Unlike his initial meeting with the senate, Otho now wore the flowing purple and gold robes over his toga, with the crown of laurel leaves atop his head. The fathers of Rome had named him emperor, and he needed to look the part.

  The chamber was much fuller than the day prior, many of Galba’s former favorites showing themselves once more. Their enemies were already plotting to see if Otho would exact retribution against them. His first decrees of the day surprised them all.

  “Call forth Senator Aulus Marius Celsus,” the emperor ordered.

  This was echoed by porters and clerks, and soon the former Galbian supporter was escorted into the chamber. His hands were chained, four urban cohort troopers surrounded him. His face was bruised, and his hair disheveled. He had been treated cruelly by the soldiers who had captured him and only Otho’s orders, which put an end to the killing of freeborn Galba supporters, had saved his life. He now stood before the new Caesar, ever defiant and ready to face whatever justice his past loyalties brought down upon him.

  “Aulus Marius Celsus,” the emperor said, rising from his chair, holding his consul’s baton in both hands. “You were a member of the tyrant Galba’s inner circle; one of the closest, I might add, aside from this three pedagogues.”

  “Yes, I was,” he announced proudly. A rebellious smirk crossed his face. “As were you.”

  This brought an immediate gasp from several senators. A series of low conversations erupted, as many were shocked by this blatant display of insolence. Otho simply smiled and held up his baton, silencing the senators.

  “As I recall, there was a distinct difference between your sense of loyalty and that of the other members of the usurper’s council. Even those closest to Galba; Vinius, Laco, and the former slave, Icelus were loyal out of purely selfish motives. Their fealty was just enough that they could control the pretender, using him to fatten their coffers, cast down their enemies, and increase their own power and influence. The wretch, Icelus, even managed to get himself illegally elevated into the equites. And Galba’s choice for imperial prince, Licinianus, was nothing more than a despicable lackey, whom they also felt they could control.”

  Otho felt a trace of remorse at naming Vinius among Galba’s faithless followers. Though the old consul had earnestly tried to help him legitimately claim the throne, he had been among the most hated of Galba’s inner circle. Any posthumous defense of him would be politically detrimental to Otho.

  “The loyalty you held for Galba was different,” the emperor remarked. “There was no personal, selfish motive. Nor did you flee when all of his most adamant followers lost their courage. Yours was the type of loyalty that even an enemy can respect. The soldiers who captured you may have mistreated you in their fits of passion, and for that you have my deepest apologies. And yet, even they have expressed their admiration for you.” He then ordered the guards, “unchain him.”

  Celsus was in a state of complete surprise as his guards removed the shackles from his wrists.

  “What are you saying?” he asked in disbelief.

  Otho waved to one of the clerks who read from a scroll, which the emperor had written personally.

  “Aulus Marius Celsus, you are hereby granted a full and unconditional pardon, for any and all associations with the regime of the usurper, Servius Sulpicius Galba.”

  “I am free to go?” he asked, hesitantly.

  “You are free to go,” Otho said reassuringly. “However, I would like to offer you a choice. You are an experienced general, and we will soon have need of good military leaders. Your loyalty and honesty is a rare commodity, and it would be a shame for us to lose it. If you wish to leave Rome that is your choice, and may the gods go with you. If you wish to stay, I offer you a place within my inner council at the imperial court. I have need of men like you...Rome has need of your services. What say you? Are you willing to serve me with the same level of fealty that you did Galba?”

  Celsus did not even hesitate, but stood tall and stated, “I am Aulus Marius Celsus, senator of Rome, general in the imperial army and your obedient servant, Caesar.”

  This was met with an ovation, one that appeared to be directed at Otho, for his pragmatic clemency, but really it was in respect and awe of Celsus’ candor and staunch courage. As Celsus was escorted from the chamber, it was Senator Nerva who next addressed the emperor.

  “Caesar,” he said, “you have dealt with Marius Celsus both justly and humanely. Cornelius Laco has not yet been found, but there is still the matter of Galba’s freedman, Icelus. He was captured in the Forum and awaits your judgment.”

  “On the night of the tyrant’s overthrow, I made a promise,” Otho responded. “I swore, after Licinianus, no freeborn supporters of the usurper would face the death sentence. Icelus is not freeborn, but a vile former slave who, in his arrogance, dared to assume the mantle of Rome’s lesser nobility. He is not worthy of the justice that a plebeian could expect, let alone one of the rank which he declares for himself, yet has no right to hold. Crucify him.”

  Since every senator present felt the same level of loathing for Icelus and his presumptive arrogance, not one word of reproach was uttered when the emperor sentenced him to the excruciating and ignoble death by crucifixion.

  The remainder of the day was spent reviewing the lists of suffect consulships for the coming year. While two consuls were elected for each year, there were usually a series of suffect consulships lasting two to six months doled out to worthy senators, particularly those in line for a governorship or military high command. As Galba and Vinius had been the elected consuls for the year and were now dead, there would only be suffect consuls occupying the chairs for the remainder of the year. Though the former general, Verginius, was mildly surprised Otho had inserted him into the list, which shortened the terms of the other designees, he understood that the emperor hoped this would help placate the mutinous Germanic legions. Despite their anger and frustration at his refusal of the imperial laurel crown, the Rhine army still held much love and respect for their former governor-general.

  As part of his reconciliation attempt, Otho ordered the senate to respect those appointments made by both Nero and Galba. Among these involved the very man the emperor had pardoned earlier that day, Marius Celsus. He was one of the designees for the July and August suffect consulships. Flavius Sabinus, and the unrelated Caelius Sabinus, were selected for the two months prior.

  And though he had been unable to address any of the numerous financial and administrative issues which would soon overwhelm him, Otho left the senate later that day rather pleased with himself. He rode in a litter as he was escorted back to the palace by a company of praetorians. He would have time for a thorough massage from one of his slaves, and a light supper before his meeting with his inner council. It was they with whom he would discuss some of the more sinister issues that did not need to be heard in the light of day upon the senate floor.

  A little over a mile to the east of the palace, where the Aqueduct of Claudius turned north along the intersecting roads, a century of guardsmen were undertaking the distasteful task of carrying out the emperor’s latest death sentence. Veturius, who had replaced the slain Densus as centurion of his unit, was overseeing the crucifixion of Galba’s freedman, Icelus.

  Crucifixion was among the cruelest punishments within the Roman Empire. It was considered so vulgar that it was an unlawful sentence for a freeborn citizen. Those convicted o
f capital crimes were often strangled instead. Only slaves and non-citizens could be given this horrific punishment. It was rarely used anywhere near Rome, though fairly common on the fringes of the empire, particularly in the east.

  Soldiers had dug a deep, cylindrical hole which the main post would be dropped into. Icelus, whose robes were tattered and bloody from the brutal flogging he’d been subjected to beforehand, was unceremoniously laid upon the cross. His arms were stretched to the point that his shoulders felt they were coming out of their sockets, before they were tied to the cross brace.

  “Consider yourself lucky we don’t nail you up,” a praetorian said, before spitting in his face.

  After his legs were tied to the pole, he was hoisted up in the air, the long pole dropped into the hole with a hard jolt that threatened to break his arms. The former slave, his breathing labored, was in a terrible state of discomfort.

  “At least we let you wear your rings,” Centurion Veturius said, with a wicked laugh. These had been given to Icelus by Galba, as a sign of his new status as a member of the equites. The praetorian officer then added, “Should you survive three days up there, your sentence will be considered complete and we’ll cut you down.”

  “You will?” Icelus said, his voice already a whisper.

  “It’s Roman law,” Veturius stated. “Of course, there have been ten, maybe twenty people over the last eight hundred years to survive being crucified. Most likely, you’ll be begging us to come break your legs by tomorrow afternoon, so that you can hurry up and die.”

  “Three days,” Icelus whispered to himself, shaking his head weakly. Three days without food or water, his lungs slowly being deprived of air.

  He could only hope that death came quickly. That was the cruelty behind crucifixion. While almost no one ever survived three days on the cross, neither did they perish quickly, most lasting a little over a day. The other harsh aspect of being crucified was the utter humiliation they were subjected to during their final hours of life. Being hung up along one of the busiest thoroughfares leading in and out of the city, Icelus’ suffering would be compounded by the abject scorn of thousands before he finally expired.