Enemy of Rome

XII

‘His message is that if you give him three days he will convince every man at Hostilia to join Vespasian’s cause.’

Valerius saw Marcus Antonius Primus’s dark eyes gleam as the general listened to the report of his meeting with Caecina. After two days in the saddle Valerius had trouble staying upright. His face was a mask of shadows and stubble, dust caked his clothing and he stank of the acrid reek of hard-ridden horse. But exhilaration blinded Primus to the weariness of his messenger. Clearly, all he saw was a vision of himself riding into Rome at the head of ten legions and the craven Vitellius kneeling before him in supplication.

Valerius closed his eyes and continued in a voice that rose and fell with the waves of exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him. ‘He can make no such promises for the two legions at Cremona, but his gift to you is the information that they are lacking replacements and short on artillery. With your forces combined he believes the commanders have no alternative but to surrender Placentia and Cremona to you. The road to Rome will be open.’

‘Does this upstart provincial truly believe he can betray an Emperor and then ride beside me at the head of my troops?’ Primus shook his great head in disbelief. ‘He’s fortunate to be given his life and the promise that I will ask Vespasian to consider allowing him to keep his estates. How did his mood seem to you?’

Valerius struggled with the interview’s sudden change of direction. It all seemed so long ago. ‘Nervous.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps even excited.’

‘No shame or remorse?’ Primus laughed. ‘Not that it makes him any less of a man. He did not tell you about the Ravenna fleet?’

‘No.’

Primus realized for the first time how tired his messenger was. ‘Sit, man, before you fall down.’ He waited until Valerius slumped on to a couch. ‘They declared for Vespasian four days ago. If he’d marched against us he would have had to leave behind a sizeable force to guard against an attack on his supply lines. That must have focused his mind if nothing else did.’

‘It would explain why his guards reacted the way they did when I said I’d handed over a message at Ravenna,’ Valerius admitted. ‘They thought someone had sent me to assassinate Caecina. It may have made him nervous, but I think the information is known only to his personal staff.’ He remembered the confident certainty in Salonina’s face as he had left the tent at Hostilia. ‘Experience tells him Vitellius hasn’t the strength or the will to defeat Vespasian, but, more important, he fears Valens, and perhaps that’s why Valens isn’t here.’

Primus nodded thoughtfully. ‘In either case we can’t afford to trust him. If he wanted to desert Vitellius all he needed was to gather a few personal guards, ride out from the camp and head east. Why put his neck on the line by trying to bring his legions with him? Mars’ arse, even I know he would probably have given us a whipping if he could combine his forces. I’d hoped to surprise him, but now …’

‘Now he is our ally.’ Valerius unconsciously echoed the army commander’s thoughts. ‘But do we think he’ll keep his word?’

‘No.’ He felt Primus’s eyes on him. ‘And that is why we will not wait to join forces with Caecina’s army. I will march on Cremona at first light and either my legions will force the surrender of Twenty-first Rapax and Fifth Alaudae or we will destroy them. Then let the bastard change his mind. Glico!’ An aide appeared in the doorway. ‘Send word for my legionary commanders.’ The man disappeared and Primus stared at the map of northern Italia that dominated one wall of the room. His tone changed to one almost of concerned comradeship. ‘Get some rest, Valerius. I need you close and sharp in the morning.’ He hesitated, his eyes homing in on the ground between Bedriacum and Cremona. ‘It was the gods’ will that I did not have you killed, Gaius Valerius Verrens, and it is fate that has brought you to my side. You will guide me over the ground that consumed Otho and together we will share in the fruits of victory. Whatever happened between us is in the past, do you understand? All debts are paid.’ He turned, but Valerius was already fast asleep on the couch, his eyes closed, his scarred face relaxed and almost boyish. For a moment, Marcus Antonius Primus felt an unlikely affection for the man who had ruined his career and sent him into exile, but he quickly pushed it aside. He was a soldier. A commander. In the days ahead he might have to sacrifice Gaius Valerius Verrens and a thousand more in the name of victory and he could not afford to hesitate. If he succeeded, Vespasian would award him the triumphal regalia, if not more. He would be the governor of somewhere that would make him a fortune, not the dusty little shithole up on the Danuvius that Galba had handed him. Later, perhaps quite soon, he would wear a consul’s toga.

He shuffled through the papers on his desk until he found the one he’d been reading before Valerius had returned from his encounter with Caecina. Titus Flavius Caesar Vespasianus Augustus greets his loyal friend and comrade Marcus Antonius Primus … Primus smiled at the method of address which, for all its fulsomeness, contained a none too gentle reminder of the Emperor-elect’s authority and his own subservience. Several lines of outright flattery followed, hanging like ribbons on a thorn tree; pretty decorations, but they didn’t take away the sting. He read down to the passage that was the letter’s true purpose.

‘Your Emperor exhorts you to hold the strategic outpost at Aquileia and there maintain your position until the arrival of the legions commanded by our faithful friend and comrade Gaius Licinius Mucianus. This disposition and the steadfast defence of the city will deny our enemies the opportunity to meet our Pannonian and Moesian legions from a position of strength. Our command of the Egyptian corn reserves and the wealth of the East places the armies of Vitellius at a grave disadvantage. In time, his troops must be forced to capitulate for want of pay and provisions and in the face of the overwhelming combined forces at our disposal. Your Emperor understands that, in war, it is sometimes sweeter to advance in pursuit of glory than to take the road of prudence, but he is certain that you will accept his advice that the latter is the more fitting, and the most sensible, strategic option. In paying heed to this advice you will help bring about a great victory, one shorn of the usual accompaniment of blood, tears and penury, and you will have the thanks of Rome, its people and the Empire, and, of course, your Emperor, Titus Flavius Caesar Vespasianus Augustus.

Advice? Primus almost laughed aloud. He was soldier enough to know an order when he read one. But he was already beyond Aquileia and the agreement with Caecina had placed him in a position of paramount strength. One more effort and he would win the war before Vespasian was even aware it had been fought. Something wriggled its way across the inside of his skull and his euphoria faded. Were the gods reminding him of the price of defeat? But he would not be defeated. Before they marched he would sacrifice a white bull to Mars and ensure that the omens for victory were favourable in the extreme. He glanced at the map fixed to the wall. Three days’ easy marching and he would reach Cremona with a force of five legions against the city’s defence of two. When they heard that their commander had pledged his oath to Vespasian, the legates of Twenty-first Rapax and Fifth Alaudae would have no option but to surrender.

The rugged plebeian features of the Emperor swam into his vision; the face of a provincial butcher, but for the rather handsome aquiline nose. A quick victory and all would be forgiven. Defeat was unthinkable. Primus smiled. He had nothing to fear.

Because Aulus Caecina Alienus had placed victory in his hands as if it were ordained by the gods.

‘Wake up.’ Valerius felt a hand on his shoulder, but he decided he’d sleep for another hour. He deserved it after all those hours in the saddle. It was only when the hand shook harder that he sensed the motion beneath him and realized he was back on a horse. He opened his eyes and squinted into a low sun that shone from his left flank. ‘The general’s called a conference,’ Serpentius said quietly. ‘And you’re wanted.’

The Spaniard handed his friend a water skin. Valerius splashed a handful of the lukewarm liquid on his face and wheeled the mare back down the column to where Primus’s staff were setting up his command tent. Gradually, the details of the morning came back to him. The legions had worked through the night to be ready for a dawn departure. Their supplies and heavy weapons were part of a precisely structured train that crammed thirty miles of the Via Postumia. It had taken a gargantuan effort and the troops didn’t hide their bewilderment when a cohort from each legion was told to gather for the sacrifice of a white bull that would cost at least another hour. Primus, on the other hand, counted it time well spent when the wonderful omens for the coming battle filtered back to their parent units.

From the position of the sun Valerius estimated they must have been on the march for less than four hours. What would make Primus call a halt so soon, after all the urgency to get started?

He had his answer the moment he entered the tent, when Primus’s senior aide drew him to one side.

‘One of our patrols captured a courier on the way from Hostilia to Rome. At dawn this morning Aulus Caecina Alienus was arrested for treason. The legions at Hostilia are breaking camp and marching for Cremona. If they link up with Twenty-first Rapax and Fifth Alaudae they’ll outnumber us more than two to one.’