Enemy of Rome

XIII

Hostilia, the previous night

‘You are the backbone of my legions. The sword blade that runs through the cohorts and centuries of this great army.’ Aulus Caecina Alienus addressed the hundred senior centurions he had invited to gather in the principia of the Fourth Macedonica’s temporary camp. They were mainly men from the Rhenus legions he had led from Germania to win the Empire for Vitellius; men he had rewarded personally with crowns of grass and gold, torcs, phalerae, and other honours. They were also the greatest recipients of plunder from Placentia, when it had eventually fallen into Vitellian hands, and the other towns they had won along the way. Yet despite their allegiance to the man who now sat in the Golden House in Rome, they too had their grievances, for anything they won had been lost when Vitellius had announced his reforms to the army. Now the honorariums from selling leave tickets and dispensations from work details they had counted on to augment their pay were no more. Many of them had expected these extras to pay for the houses and land they planned to buy for their retirement, and were relying on another campaign to recoup their losses. Unfortunately, they had discovered that a civil war was a sad disappointment for a soldier when he fought on the side of the state. He’d plied them with substantial amounts of unwatered wine from his best vintages and they were ready to listen to anything he had to say.

‘We officers give commands,’ Caecina continued with his flattery, ‘but you are the guarantee that those commands are obeyed. You have fought well, given more than any man can be expected to give, and now I expect you to give more.’ He heard the muffled groans, interspersed with demands for silence, and took strength from them. ‘The legions of Germania are rightly hailed as the elite of the Empire’ — in the theatrical pause that followed the words were greeted with broad grins and shouts of hurrah — ‘and soon you must prove it again. The legions we will face in the coming days — Roman legions — are the Pannonian and Moesian legions who have held the line of the Danuvius for a generation. Only six months ago they destroyed the might of the Roxolani, leaving not one man alive to return to his homeland. For a generation they held back the Dacians and the Quadi, the Cotini and the Marcomanni. They too believe they are the elite of the Empire.’

‘Only five legions,’ a voice came from somewhere in the pack, ‘and some of them have marched six hundred miles.’

‘Who won at Bedriacum?’ another demanded.

Caecina raised a hand for silence.

‘You won at Bedriacum, and deserved your triumph,’ he paused again to let them bask in the glory of their victory, ‘but we fought only two legions. And yes, now we face only five legions when we number many more. But think on it, comrades: how many of your legions are at full strength? How many of you have been asking for replacements for months, but not received them? How many of your best soldiers now serve with the Praetorian Guard, your centuries and your cohorts weakened at the behest of the Emperor who now demands victory of you?’ He allowed the self-evident truths to make their mark and sensed the rumblings of discontent running through them. ‘Can that be right? Of course, we will win, but how many more must die because of the failings and jealousies of others? And when we defeat the five legions of Pannonia and Moesia, when the battle is over and we count our wounded and our dead comrades in the thousands and the tens of thousands, what then? Will your Emperor send you on leave to enjoy the fruits of victory or into retirement to reap the rewards of your long service? No. He will keep you in arms, because Titus Flavius Vespasian has already dispatched more legions to oppose us, the legions of Syria and Egypt and Cappadocia, the legions of Corbulo. Even that will not be the end, for Hispania and Lusitania and Gaul also stand against us.’

It was a blatant lie, but Caecina rationalized that if he prevailed it would become truth and no longer matter. He shook his head. ‘None of this would signify if we were led by a Caesar, or an Augustus. But we are not. The man who calls himself your Emperor sits in Rome counting the money that you, the legions of Rome, won for him, and feasting on the plenty that you, the legions of Rome, cannot enjoy. It is with a heavy heart, my friends, that I now tell you that the Ravenna fleet, which controls the seas to our rear and the supply convoys that use them, has pledged its allegiance to Titus Flavius Vespasian.’ There had been rumours of the defection; now he watched the shock of their confirmation ripple through them like a summer breeze on ripe corn. ‘Who knows how long our dwindling supplies last before we go hungry? What will we do once our javelins are spent and our ballista bolts fired? The man who now marches against us …’

‘I thought he was still in Alexandria?’ It was the same voice from the back. Caecina smiled as three or four of his supporters closed in on the potential troublemaker.

‘Yes,’ he nodded regretfully as if a favourite uncle had stolen the last piece of duck at a family dinner, ‘but that is only because he has pledged not to shed the blood of one Roman in his name. He wishes only to further the cause of the Empire.’ He sought them out with his gaze, the dark soulful eyes roving across the hardened soldiers arrayed in front of him. ‘Because he does not believe the man we follow is worthy of the name Emperor. Because he feels that Aulus Vitellius has undermined his legions and betrayed his soldiers. I ask you a question. Does any man here believe that if his legion is under threat, Aulus Vitellius will come to his aid?’

‘Only if I can’t finish my rations.’

Caecina waited until the laughter died down. ‘We have fought together and shed blood together. We have seen our friends die; or, worse, seen them live with wounds that no mortal man should be asked to bear. We have seen farms burned and families impoverished. Your homeland has been ravaged by civil war until it has nothing more to give. Who among you would ask it to suffer more if an alternative could be found?’

One man, a centurion on the brink of retirement, stood up and asked a question that had been carefully rehearsed hours earlier. ‘But what is the alternative, legate? What must we do to avoid more bloodshed and sacrifice?’

Caecina studied the speaker with a face lined by torment, while inside his heart soared at the perfectly choreographed opportunity he had created. He began softly, and like a true actor allowed his voice to rise with every word. ‘It grieves me to say, but I do it for my soldiers, and my people, and for the Empire which I hold so dear. Say it I must. We can ask ourselves who is more worthy of our trust. The man who has abandoned us, or the man who is coming to save Rome? The man who can barely hold a sword, or the man who carried his blade against the traitors of Britannia and Judaea? The man who has taken your money, or the man who has pledged to give fifteen thousand sesterces to every legionary who lays down his weapons in the cause of healing the wounds of the Empire?’ He saw instantly that he had them. ‘It is my sad duty, my friends, to tell you that Aulus Vitellius has proved unworthy of Rome. We must place our trust in Titus Flavius Vespasian to ensure that the Empire has a future.’

The room erupted as he reached his climax and he heard a startled yelp as the dissenter at the back was pounced upon and dragged through the curtained doorway. Centurions from the Fourth, carefully salted through the crowd, shouted ‘Down with Vitellius! Down with the traitor to the Empire!’ and matched their words with action, toppling the statues and emblems of the Emperor that lined the walls of the tent.

Caecina watched for a while, revelling in his power and wondering at the ease with which men could be manipulated, even strong men like these. Eventually, he raised his arms for silence. ‘Return to your legions, and relay my words and their import to your men. Supplies are low and the Ravenna fleet will no longer support us. Your commander believes it is in their best interests to pledge our oath to Vespasian and fifteen thousand sesterces to every man.’

Accompanied by growls of assent the men filed out and Aulus Caecina Alienus retired to his private quarters. He was tempted to slump on one of the couches until the shaking in his legs died down, but he knew he must inform Primus of his success, so he took his place dutifully at the desk.

Salonina glided through the curtained doorway to the sleeping area and their eyes met as she swayed towards him. He felt an overwhelming rush of desire that was multiplied as she approached and kissed him on the lips.

‘You were masterful, husband,’ she whispered, the front of her gown gaping to expose her breasts as she leaned towards him. He reached out to brush his hand against them. Tempted. She smiled, but her look said ‘Later’ and he returned to the letter. The sounds of the outer camp came to him, seemingly magnified by the blood rushing like lava through his veins. A moment of utter silence as if the man and woman in the tented room were the only people in the world, followed by a roar. He had won.

In the hour before dawn, Caecina was still working on the letter and Salonina emerged from the curtain to greet her husband with a kiss. As their lips met a disturbance erupted outside the tent, followed by a sharp cry much closer. They stared at each other, both mirroring the other’s puzzlement. Caecina leapt to his feet and motioned his wife to leave. Before she could move, the door flaps were thrown back and the tent filled with fully armoured legionaries, their short swords bared and glinting in the light of the oil lamps. Aulus Caecina Alienus slowly subsided into his seat.

He sat frozen as a tall man in the scarlet sash of a legionary legate pushed through the troops towards him. Caecina’s heart sank as he recognized Fabius Fabullus, the legate who had served him so well at Bedriacum and should have been with Fifth Alaudae at Cremona. Fabullus’s eyes bulged and his purple face was twisted into a grimace of almost apoplectic fury.

‘General.’ Caecina made to rise, but rough hands held him down. Fabullus stood two paces in front of the desk as if to advance any further would drive him to physical violence.

‘Aulus Caecina Alienus, you are hereby placed under arrest on charges of treason and inciting treason. When the time is right you will be taken before your Emperor to receive the justice you deserve. Think yourself fortunate that I do not stand back and allow my men to tear you apart as was their intention.’

Caecina wondered that his heart didn’t explode in his chest. How could he possibly bear it? To have been so close and have it snatched away like this … Two men hustled forward and he closed his eyes as he heard the rattle of chains. The cold iron against his skin made him flinch and he had to force himself not to cry out as the fetters closed painfully on his flesh.

‘Were you really so deluded as to believe you could buy and sell your soldiers like slaves and present them to our enemy? Did you think the honour of the Rhenus legions had fallen as low as your own? These men,’ Fabullus indicated the soldiers who’d accompanied him, ‘fought and their comrades died at Bedriacum to place Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Augustus on the throne of Rome. They will not abandon him without taking a wound. We have already defeated the legions the usurper Vespasian arrays against us. They know us and they fear us, which is why we will defeat them again when we meet. The sounds you hear are the sounds of the camp breaking. At first light we will march to Cremona to link up with Twenty-first Rapax and Fifth Alaudae. Then we will see whether that dog Primus has any fight in him.’ The jailers finished their work and stood back. ‘Take him away.’

They pulled Aulus Caecina Alienus to his feet and as the former commander of the armies of Vitellius was hustled out his eyes met those of his wife. His last thought before she disappeared was that he had gone from glory to defeat and despair in the time it took to exchange a kiss.