Enemy of Rome

LII

‘You are found guilty of treason against the state.’

A murmur rippled through the crowd in the Forum. Every man had heard the overwhelming evidence against Gaius Valerius Verrens, enemy of Rome. How he had conspired with Aulus Vitellius to incite a civil war. How he had encouraged the sack and burning of the great city of Cremona. How he had, by trickery and deceit, delayed and confused the movements of the army of General Marcus Antonius Primus. How he had personally led the attack which resulted in the destruction of the sacred Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, and how he had, with Aulus Vitellius, ordered the murder of Titus Flavius Sabinus, Prefect of Rome.

‘I will speak for you,’ Primus had said, when he visited Valerius in his cell in the carcer, ‘but I cannot protect you. You are entitled to a trial in the Senate by reason of your rank, but Domitianus says he will not defile its stones with your presence. Until his father arrives from Alexandria, he is the ruler of Rome, and he is determined that you shall die. I have never seen such malevolence.’ When it came to it, the evidence had been so conclusive that Primus had shaken his head and covered his face with his hands. Only Gaius Plinius Secundus had spoken up for Valerius.

Now, Domitianus’s malevolent eyes stared with satisfaction at the bound figure standing filthy and dishevelled in the space between the two rostra. Vespasian’s son sat on a dais in front of the Senate House, surrounded by Primus and the generals who had saved Rome from the predatory clutches of Aulus Vitellius. Valerius met his enemy’s eyes without flinching, unbowed despite his week-long incarceration and the certainty of death, determined to show no fear in front of the mob who crowded the steps of the temples and basilicas. He tried to ignore a right hand that throbbed as if it still existed, and the gash in his left knee that felt as if it was on fire. Domitia’s face swam into his head and he wondered where she was, or if she had even survived. His jailers had delighted in telling him how the Flavians had hunted Vitellius’s supporters through the streets and slaughtered them, urged on by those who had hailed him only days earlier. Surely Serpentius would have found a way to get word to him? Valerius had searched for the Spaniard among the crowds, but his ravaged features were nowhere to be seen.

Domitianus rose, his broad-striped toga hanging on his thin frame, and looking less like a ruler, however temporary, than a schoolboy making his first speech. He waited until the last whisper had faded and every eye was on him before he spoke. ‘There can be only one sentence for such outrages.’ He spoke in a high and grating voice that quivered with nervous energy, but it echoed in the silence and every man waited on his next words. ‘That sentence is death.’

If Domitianus expected a roar of approval, he was disappointed. In his plea for leniency, Pliny had skilfully made play of Valerius’s past military service, his gold crown of valour and status as a Hero of Rome. He had mentioned sacrifices, and every man could see the mottled stump of the condemned man’s right wrist, and the honourable scars he carried from his service in Africa and Parthia. The lawyer had also cast what shadows he could on the evidence, and not every man in the Forum was fully convinced of the accused’s guilt. Among the spectators were off-duty legionaries from the Seventh Galbiana and they formed little pockets of unease. Domitianus ignored them.

‘A traitor’s deeds deserve — demand — a traitor’s death. Gaius Valerius Verrens will be taken from this place to the Circus Maximus and crucified …’ A rumble went through the crowd at the dreaded word, the ugliest and most humiliating of deaths. A few men shouted ‘No’, but Domitianus continued with barely a hesitation. ‘… before the people of Rome he betrayed by his actions. He is hereby stripped of his rank, his lands and his possessions.’

Valerius waited until the sentence was complete before he spoke. He had walked hand in hand with death many times and did not fear it, but the means Domitianus had devised made him shudder. A quick end under the blade of an executioner’s sword or even a criminal’s at the end of a rope he had expected, but the cross?

‘Condemn me you may, Titus Flavius Domitianus.’ The shouted words echoed round the marble columns of the Forum in a voice powerful enough for all to hear. ‘And kill me you may, but I will not bear being called a traitor in silence.’

Domitianus waved a hand to the nearest guard and the soldier raised his club, but a voice called out, ‘No, let him speak.’ The cry was taken up by others, till hundreds echoed the demand. Domitianus glared at them, but he waved the guard away.

‘Very well, the traitor may speak,’ he ground out, ‘but know that words will not save him.’

‘Everything I did, I did for Rome,’ Valerius continued. ‘When Marcus Salvius Otho sent me as emissary to Aulus Vitellius I went willingly, because I believed I could persuade him from war.’ He shook his head. ‘I was wrong. A shift was under way that no one man, not even Vitellius himself, could halt. So I took up arms against my old friend and I was proud to fight beside the First Adiutrix at Bedriacum. Was that the act of a traitor? You have been told that Vitellius deliberately freed me to spy on Marcus Antonius Primus, and that I attempted to delay him. I am no spy, but it was Titus Flavius Vespasian’s wish that Primus should wait, and the general himself would tell you that if only he would speak.’ Primus glanced nervously at Domitianus, but he stayed in his seat. ‘It was Marcus Antonius Primus who sent me to Rome to persuade Aulus Vitellius to surrender and save needless bloodshed, and his plan would have succeeded if one man,’ he let his eyes settle on Domitianus, ‘just one man, had had the courage to step forward and accept the sword of Caesar from his hand. When Rome needed a hero, those who could have saved her instead fled to the Temple of Jupiter and left her to her fate.’ The speech seemed to have drained the strength from him, and Domitianus gave a thin smile as his enemy’s head dropped. But Valerius drew a long breath and his chin came up as he somehow found the will to continue. ‘Perhaps I deserve to die for what happened in the sacred precincts of the temple, though neither I, nor any other, knows who cast the fateful brand. And for taking up arms against my former comrades. But I am no traitor. I swear it on the life and honour of Gaius Valerius Verrens.’

‘Condemned from his own mouth.’ Domitianus couldn’t suppress a sneer. ‘Let the sentence be carried out.’

Valerius made no attempt to resist as they came forward to bind him. He tried to put what was to come out of his mind, looking over the heads of the crowd to where a procession of men on horseback were approaching down the Argiletum. The leader wore a breastplate worked with gold and the glittering plumed helmet of a Roman general. His old enemy Gaius Licinius Mucianus had come to watch him die.

Mucianus forced his horse through the crowd to the dais and dismounted, throwing the reins to one of the guards. Primus darted a look of alarm as his rival approached Domitianus and saluted, earning a wary nod of recognition in return.

‘I bring greetings from your father, the Emperor,’ the general announced, ‘and from your brother Titus. Your father sends word that he will return to Rome once his business in Judaea is completed and you have had sufficient time to arrange an appropriate welcome for him. He confirms your position in sole charge of the city as acting Prefect of Rome.’ He turned to survey the scene around him as if noticing the thronged Forum for the first time. ‘What is happening here?’

‘Your timing is good.’ Domitianus smiled. ‘I am having this criminal put to death. You will no doubt enjoy the spectacle.’

Mucianus studied the prisoner and frowned as he recognized Valerius. ‘My timing is indeed propitious.’ He turned to an aide and the tribune ran forward with an open scroll. ‘I carry a pardon for this man signed by the Emperor himself.’ He handed the scroll to Domitianus. The newly appointed Prefect of Rome took it with shaking fingers, and when he came to the end of the document he raised his head with a look of puzzled amusement.

‘But this is a pardon for a previous sentence of death, for cowardice in the face of the enemy.’ He laughed. ‘The Senate has convicted Gaius Valerius Verrens on the most vile charges of treason and I have just sentenced the traitor to death by crucifixion.’ The sallow face creased into what he obviously believed was a benevolent smile. ‘However, in recognition of my father’s regard for the man’s past service, I hereby commute the sentence to a merciful beheading. Send for the executioner.’

‘Sir,’ Mucianus stepped forward urgently, ‘may I respectfully advise …’

‘You may not,’ Domitianus snapped. ‘I will have his life.’

Mucianus continued to whisper to Vespasian’s son, and Primus attempted to join the conversation, but Domitianus waved him away.

Strong hands pushed Valerius to his knees and he raised his head to see the bull-shouldered executioner walking towards him, a long cavalry spatha twirling expertly in his right hand. He recognized the brick-red peasant face of the man who had been within a heartbeat of removing his head four months earlier in a grassy Pannonian field. The soldier’s face split in a wry grin and he shook his head. ‘You should have run, son, and just kept running,’ he whispered.

‘Just make it quick,’ Valerius said.

‘You know the drill, lad. Head up and keep it still. Makes it easier on both of us.’

Valerius did as he was instructed, the wall of faces on the far side of the Forum a flesh-coloured blur. As a hush fell over the sacred space he took a final breath.

In the pause before the blow fell he was distracted by a slight movement at the corner of his eye. A wall of white entered his vision, moving from left to right, and his astonished eyes registered a procession of Vestal Virgins from the Temple of Vesta a few dozen paces up the Via Sacra. One face stood out at the centre of the little group and his heart stopped as he realized he was looking at Domitia Longina Corbulo. Domitia stared directly ahead, acknowledging neither the crowd nor the man kneeling in the centre of the square. Suddenly he knew.

‘Strike,’ he hissed at the legionary. He tensed for the stroke, but it never came.

‘Strike,’ he repeated, loud enough for every man to hear.

But the executioner was looking to Titus Flavius Domitianus for the signal, and Domitianus only had eyes for Domitia Longina Corbulo, who detached herself from the procession and serenely approached the platform, where a space miraculously appeared at his side. Their heads bowed together and Valerius watched in despair as a one-sided discussion took place. Eventually, Domitianus nodded gravely and stood, his face a picture of bewilderment.

‘I have taken the advice of my generals. The sentence is commuted to exile.’ He blinked and his eyes focused on Valerius. ‘You will leave Rome within twelve hours and never set foot on the soil of Italia again … on pain of death.’

Valerius bowed his head and understood for the first time that there were worse fates than death.