Enemy of Rome

XXVI

‘Caecina Alienus is a traitor to Rome.’ Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Augustus’s powerful voice echoed from the walls of the Senate House and he accompanied his words with a contemptuous wave of the hand that won cheers from the packed benches. ‘He is a betrayer and a coward. By his actions he has threatened the stability of the Empire.’

Looking down on his senators from his golden throne, Vitellius acknowledged inwardly that the Empire’s stability at the time of Caecina’s gross betrayal was questionable at the very least. Still, he didn’t let the thought alter the expression on his pendulous, sweating countenance.

‘I applaud the decisive action taken by our loyal officers of Fifth Alaudae. The betrayer is made captive and will be held until he can be brought before this house, tried for his perfidious crimes and put to death in a manner fit for a traitor.’

More cheers and a few gruesome suggestions as to the technical details of that death, including some from senators Vitellius would gladly see sacrificed in Caecina’s place. He’d long suspected Caecina’s weakness, his ambition and his want of loyalty, but this? A full-scale attempt to defect to the enemy with the legions under his command? Was the man mad? Vitellius had made Caecina a consul of Rome. When the war was won, Caecina might rightfully have expected to be handed a province that he could pluck like a plum. A province that would enrich his family for generations. Of course, he would never be heir; Valens would not stand for it. In any case, he’d made it plain the Empire would go to his son when he was ready. But surely that was not enough to cause Caecina’s defection? Why had he given it all up? The question had plagued Vitellius since news of the betrayal arrived. Now the possible answer turned the glistening beads of sweat on his forehead into a stream that dripped from his cheeks to soak into the folds of his toga. Did Caecina know something that Vitellius did not? Was the enemy so strong he was certain he could not win? No, he would not accept that. Valens insisted the legions in the field outnumbered those of Marcus Antonius Primus by two to one. Victory was certain as long as those legions were commanded by the right man. But Valens was struck down by illness and Vitellius had had no choice but to send Caecina. He’d issued strict orders to the young general to delay until Valens joined him. Instead, the deceitful bastard had taken the army north. Yet a further contradiction now perplexed him. Caecina had placed his legions in a position of strength, at Hostilia, where they threatened Primus’s flanks. With one swift move across the river he would have forced the arrogant swindler to run back to Pannonia with his tail between his legs. So why, on the very brink of victory and eternal fame, did he turn against those who elevated him? Vitellius could only think it was some want of character; a genuine cowardice or a lack of self-confidence in a man who appeared confident to the point of caricature. And then there was the wife, Salonina. Galeria Fundana had identified her as a scheming, conniving bitch on their first meeting. He pictured the slim, lithe figure lying naked in bed whispering into the traitor’s ear. Well, he would have her head as well.

He realized belatedly that he was the focus of an expectant hush, and, with the glare of a man who’d been contemplating his adversary’s awful death, resumed his onslaught. ‘We have taken steps to ensure the renegade’s absence will have no effect on our campaign against the misguided rabble sent to their deaths by the arch-traitor Vespasian. Our faithful and honourable subject, the ever-victorious General Gaius Fabius Valens, is even now on his way to take command of our Army of the North. With ten legions — yes, I say ten legions — he will crush Vespasian’s rabble to dust.’ He saw some concerned looks and knew they were asking themselves why it required ten legions to defeat a ‘misguided rabble’. To explain might be seen as a sign of indecision, but a moment of enlightenment dawned. ‘Once they have stamped out the rebellion on Rome’s soil they will move into Pannonia and Moesia and restore our authority in those provinces. They will provide a base to advance on to Syria, Egypt and Africa and wipe out the stain on Rome’s honour that is Titus Flavius Vespasian.’

It was a masterstroke. If there was one thing the venal, corrupt and arrogant occupants of the cushioned marble benches of the Senate understood it was ambition and revenge. The applause almost lifted the roof off that venerable building. For the first time, more so even than on his triumphant, nervous entry into the city, Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Augustus truly felt like the Emperor of Rome. They followed him into the street and cheered him through the Forum, and the mob who had congregated on the steps of the basilicas and temples joined them. But by the time Vitellius was carried by his bearers to the steps of the Golden House the familiar emptiness had returned. Not emptiness of spirit, emptiness of stomach. Success was clearly good for the appetite. He visualized the banquet he would order his cooks to prepare and a groan of pure pleasure began in his stomach and sang from his throat. Which left only one decision: what delicacy would fill the time until the first course arrived?

He frowned as he passed in the shadow of the enormous statue depicting the man he still considered his predecessor — Galba and Otho hardly counted, did they? He really must make a decision. A martial expression, certainly. A victor’s expression. He would have the head removed tomorrow.

When the guards escorted him through the doors to his private apartments his heart almost skipped. How proud she would be. His secretary would already have conveyed news of his triumph in the Senate. Nothing could spoil his day.

The look on Galeria’s face brought him up as if he’d collided with a buffalo. For a moment he thought his heart had stopped. ‘Lucius?’ Mutely, she shook her head, pointing to the corner of the room, where a grey-faced messenger wrung his hands in terror.

‘A … A …’

‘Speak!’ Vitellius flinched at the threat of violence that contaminated the word. I am a gentle man, he thought. What is happening to me? ‘Please,’ he said more soothingly, ‘speak. Take your time, boy.’

The messenger swallowed and eventually found the words he sought. ‘A rebellion, Caesar. Rebellion in the north.’

Vitellius laughed incredulously and looked to his wife. ‘Rebellion? Of course there is a rebellion, but even now our armies are taking steps to crush the usurper Titus Flavius Vespasian.’

‘Not that rebellion.’ Galeria’s voice had a frightening, haunted quality. ‘Rebellion on the Germania frontier. That one-eyed monster Civilis has incited the Batavians to rise against the legions. Fire consumes the Rhenus frontier and the barbarians east of the river flock to join him.’