Enemy of Rome

XI

The first thing Valerius noticed was that Aulus Caecina Alienus had dispensed with the exotic Batavian war gear that so endeared him to the German legions the previous spring. The young general wore a simple belted tunic and appeared to be reading a document on the campaign table in front of him, but Valerius sensed he was concentrating less on the words than on preparing himself for the meeting ahead. Cohort standards from the three legions Caecina and Valens defeated at Bedriacum lined the walls, and Valerius recognized the face of Aulus Vitellius on several of the pieces of statuary. On the far side of the tent hung a curtain that must conceal the entrance to the general’s living quarters. The only other furniture was a pair of couches arranged by a low table.

Caecina looked up and Valerius instantly recognized the handsome, fine-boned features he’d last seen at Placentia. The only change was in the eyes. Six months ago they had been over-bright, like a man constantly on the brink of ecstasy; now they appeared hooded and wary. A year younger than the messenger standing before him, Caecina Alienus had been, in quick succession, a favourite of Emperor Galba, one of Rome’s youngest legionary commanders, a disgraced embezzler of public funds, one of the two men who persuaded Vitellius to fight for the purple, and a victorious general and consul of Rome. Was he about to add ‘betrayer’ to the list for the second time?

‘You have a message for me from Rome?’

Valerius reached for the pouch at his waist. He felt the guard behind him tense and his hand slowed as he unhooked the flap and retrieved the leather case with the message from Primus. A seal of red wax, so blurred as to be unidentifiable, proved it was unopened. He stepped forward and placed it on the table in front of Caecina. The general looked at it for a long moment. Valerius sensed that this was the moment of no return for the man behind the desk. Pick up the message and he was committed to whatever intrigue he had contrived with Primus. Of course, there was another option. Valerius went cold as he found himself the focus of the dark eyes. How much simpler, and perhaps safer, to leave things as they stood and rid himself of the evidence. Valerius saw the tip of the legate’s tongue flick out to moisten his lips before he reached for the tube of dark leather. His decision made, Caecina confidently sliced through the soft wax with a knife and pulled back the leather fold. Valerius slowly released the breath he’d held since the other man’s first words.

Caecina took his time over the document. It was in code, but it was his code, and long use brought familiarity. Of course, it couldn’t be used again, because he’d revealed the fundamentals to Primus during the negotiations of the past few weeks. As he read, he felt his legs weaken and was glad he was sitting at his desk. He had it all. Do what he had committed to in the earlier letters and he would be treated with honour by his former enemies. And there would be greater rewards to come, he was certain. Could he do it? He’d done it before when he’d persuaded the legions of Germania Superior to revolt against Galba in those terrible days after word arrived that Caecina was to be stripped of his command. Yes, he could do it. His mother once told him he could charm the birds from the trees and the clouds from the sky. He would charm these rough plebeian soldiers. The key was the centurions and junior commanders in direct contact with their men. Most of them would do anything as long as it could be portrayed, however implausibly, as patriotism. Convince them that their … that Rome’s best interests lay in ousting the fat man in the Golden House, promise them a suitable donative and they would follow him into Vespasian’s arms. The senior officers would be more difficult to persuade, of course — they held their own loyalties — but presented with a situation beyond reversal they would have no option but to comply. Or die. The two legions at Cremona, Twenty-first and Fifth Alaudae, were another matter, but he must harden his heart. They would join him or be crushed.

He read on and the name Valens leapt out, sending a chill through him.

By the gods, how he hated the man. All the glory of Bedriacum, the heroism and the blood and the victory, tainted by that malevolent, skeletal presence forever whispering in the Emperor’s ear. It had all seemed so simple with the fat man on the throne and the promise of a broad-striped consul’s toga. Then the whispers started to trickle down to him. Caecina couldn’t have won without Valens. He was in trouble until the old soldier pulled his eggs from the fire. Valens is a fighter, the true hero of Bedriacum. Caecina looked good, but he didn’t have the stomach for a real fight. He’d seen the way Valens looked at him. It was only a matter of time before one of them had to go. Caecina understood he was outmatched by the man who had personally cut the head from Gaius Fonteius Capito. When the news arrived that Vespasian had been hailed Emperor by the legions of the East it had come almost as a blessed relief. He had a choice. He could choose the perilous path that might lead to life, or certain death. He chose life.

For the moment, though, Valens didn’t feature in his calculations. That would continue to be the case if he acted swiftly.

‘General Valens is still indisposed and will be unable to join us for another few weeks.’ The lie came easily and he accompanied it with his most charming smile. By the look on the tribune’s face the news would be around the whole camp within the hour. Caecina turned to Valerius. ‘This says that you also have an oral message for me?’

Valerius bowed. ‘For your ears only, lord.’

‘You may leave us.’ Caecina directed the order at the other two men. ‘I must consider my reply. A one-handed man is no threat to me in my own camp.’ The tribune hesitated and the young general smiled. ‘Your concern for my well-being is admirable, Aurelius, but unnecessary. He is unarmed and your swords are only a shout away. Clear the area apart from my personal guard. I don’t want any slaves tittle-tattling about my business.’

When they were alone, Caecina fixed Valerius with the unyielding stare of a python studying a trapped rabbit. The Roman had noticed him darting occasional glances towards the curtain that separated the main tent from his living quarters. Now the reason swayed into the room and her slanted, gold-flecked eyes never left Valerius. She stopped and tilted her head as if she needed to see him from a different angle.

‘I recognize you.’ Valerius heard Caecina’s intake of breath. ‘He was at Placentia,’ she continued. ‘The negotiations when that odious little general was so rude to you.’

Salonina Julia was even more beautiful than Valerius remembered, with the face of an Egyptian queen and a body that moved with the natural fluidity of a cat. The last time they’d met those slanting eyes had been full of promise, despite the situation. Now all they held was suspicion.

‘The hand,’ Caecina exclaimed. ‘Now I remember. But why would I forget such a face?’ He smiled. ‘You have lost weight, I believe.’

‘Defeat does that to a man, as you may discover to your cost.’

‘You should cut his throat.’ Salonina said it as if she was telling a servant to snip the head from a wilting rose. ‘But first give him to me for an hour and we will see if that clever tongue has any more to offer.’

The look that accompanied the words sent a shiver through Valerius, but Caecina rose from his seat and frowned. ‘You don’t think I was defeated at Placentia?’

Valerius shrugged and tried to ignore Salonina’s stare. ‘You walked away from a fight you couldn’t win without unacceptable casualties. You won the battle you needed to win and with it you won the war.’

The legate grinned at his wife. ‘A proper soldier. I like him.’

‘I still think you should cut his throat,’ she said sourly, taking a seat on one of the couches.

‘Why didn’t I take Placentia?’ Caecina asked. ‘I had enough men.’

‘General Spurinna’s defences were too strong for a direct attack on the walls. You might have had a chance if you’d battered the gates with your heavy catapults.’

‘But you burned them in the amphitheatre as I remember. That was very clever. And you destroyed my battering ram. I was annoyed.’

‘A soldier does what he must to win.’

‘And at Bedriacum I won.’ Caecina smiled at the memory. ‘You were at Bedriacum? I’m curious. Where were you in the battle line?’

Salonina sniffed to let her husband know she was bored with this military talk. Caecina ignored her and Valerius gave him his answer. ‘I commanded the gladiator detachment in the second rank of the Adiutrix.’

The other man’s dark eyes widened a fraction. ‘Where the Twenty-first lost its eagle.’

Valerius nodded, not caring to elaborate on the memory of that glorious but ultimately futile action.

‘And I ordered that all the gladiators should die. And they did.’ Caecina’s gaze drifted away as he sought some lost memory. ‘All but one, a dangerous savage who slaughtered everyone who faced him. I remember it now. A man with a wooden hand butchered on the bloody sands in the arena at Cremona. The Emperor was most put out. In his cups he would bemoan the death of a friend. What was the name he used? A martial name, I think. Yes. Valerius.’ The general fixed the one-handed Roman with that same python’s stare. ‘I saw you die.’

‘Not every gladiator who bleeds on the sands of the arena is a dead gladiator.’ Valerius quoted his friend, the deadly fighter Serpentius.

‘So,’ Caecina’s face broke into an unexpected grin, ‘the man I could not kill.’

Salonina laughed. ‘There is still time.’

But Valerius understood that a decision had been taken and control had shifted. He turned to meet her dark eyes and for the first time she saw something in the scarred soldier that sent a thrill of fear through her breast. ‘The question is can your husband deliver what he has offered?’