Sword of Rome

XVI

The nature of the other priority taking up Galba’s time became clear the next day, with disastrous consequences for the new Emperor and for Rome. Titus Vinius — who to Valerius’s astonishment turned out to be one of Otho’s new friends, thanks to the young senator’s timely offer to marry his daughter — sent word. The scribes were to write later that the omens were bad, that thunder crashed and rolled and lightning split the sky, but the day Valerius remembered was one of those still winter miracles, with pale blue skies and barely a hint of breeze to stir the standards of the Praetorian Guard as Servius Galba Caesar Augustus announced his choice of heir.

He and Serpentius joined Otho as he rushed to the Castra Praetoria just in time to be present when the man in whom he had placed his trust, his loyalty and his life shattered his dreams and destroyed him politically and financially. By rights, the Senate should have been told first, before an announcement to the people from the rostra in the Forum, but Galba hoped the honour he paid the Praetorians might make up for the thirty thousand sesterces a man he had robbed them of. As Serpentius said later, it was a ‘true measure of the idiot’s judgement’.

They watched from close to the gateway as the Emperor took his place on a reviewing platform on the Praetorian parade ground, part shadowed by the great red-brick barracks that lined the walls. Five thousand men of the Guard stood silent and motionless in their ranks. At Galba’s side waited a dark-haired, unsmiling young man of medium height with the soft, careless features and empty eyes of those born to rule. He was of an age with Valerius and his face stirred a memory. A memory of a family graced with power and riches for generation after generation, but one in which the aptitude for survival appeared to have become extinct. A father and a brother executed by Claudius. Another brother murdered by Nero, and this one until recently exiled for his part in his family’s intrigues. Valerius shook his head. Why him? And why now? The Praetorians listened in mute puzzlement as the Emperor began the speech that would become the suicide note for his rule. Of all the men at the Castra Praetoria that day, Servius Galba Caesar Augustus and the young man at his side were among the few unaware of that fact.

Galba began with a long preamble extolling the virtues of the Praetorians before he came to the point. ‘A man reaching the twilight of his lifetime needs an heir, and never more so than when that man is Emperor. Rome requires firm leadership. History tells us that to ensure such leadership requires a man of special character and impeccable ancestry. A man young enough to provide a prolonged period of stability, yet old enough to make the kind of mature decisions that face any great ruler.’ Valerius glanced at the man beside him, thinking that Otho might have been listening to a eulogy about himself. The handsome face remained emotionless, but his eyes glinted like sword points as he stared at the two figures on the distant platform. Galba’s voice grew in strength as he continued. ‘I present to you Lucius Calpurnius Piso Licinianus as a young man of great stature. A young man who was born to rule. The blood of the triumvirs runs in his veins. The blood of Pompey the Great and Marcus Linius Crassus, the men who saved Rome from the scourge of Spartacus. Perhaps not the blood of Caesar, but with the strength of a Caesar, and the wisdom of a Caesar.’ He paused and won a few cheers from the tribunes and the centurions in the front rank, but from the mass of troops behind there was only sullen silence.

‘One last chance, old man. Now is the time to offer them their money.’ Valerius wondered if he had imagined the hissed words that emerged from Otho’s lips.

But there was no offer of reward from Galba, just a long list of the Piso family’s accomplishments, their consulships, the temples they had endowed and the great games they had sponsored. Throughout it all, the expression on Piso’s face never altered from self-satisfied complacency. He had held no public office, not even a lowly quaestorship, yet now he was being offered control of the greatest Empire the world had ever known, and he accepted it as his by right.

‘Patrician, politician, soldier and citizen,’ Galba continued. ‘We all want the same for Rome. Strength and stability, prosperity and peace …’

‘What about glory?’ The voice came from somewhere at the back of the Praetorian ranks and was quickly followed by a second. ‘Aye, and what about loot?’

‘There will be glory enough for all in the new Rome,’ the Emperor promised, ignoring the second shout. ‘But first we must draw breath and take time to recover from the last ten years of the tyrant’s rule. It has left us bleeding and bankrupt. Great men have lost their lives and their families, while others have lost the will to rule. And a new Rome needs a new morality. All of you know the tales of debauchery, excess and the worst kinds of corruption sponsored by that man, perhaps some of you were even forced to witness it.’ Otho went very still, but otherwise gave no reaction to what was the nearest he would get to an explanation for why he had been overlooked. ‘Marriage and family will be the watchwords of the new Rome. Thrift and enterprise will see the Empire’s finances restored …’

‘I have heard enough. Poor soldiers, he will bore them all to death.’ Otho stalked out of the gate towards the Porta Viminalis. Valerius followed, puzzled by the patrician’s response to his personal disaster. Where he had expected fury there was only a cold resolve that was much more frightening.

‘So all Rome speaks of me as the new Emperor, Valerius? Well, we will see.’ They took the left fork on to the Vicus Patricius past the twin temples dedicated to Mephitis and Isis. ‘Vinius tells me you have renewed your oath.’ Valerius’s steps faltered at the unexpected and unsettling statement. A comment that hid a question he was reluctant to answer. Surprisingly, Otho didn’t press him, but carried on through the crowds, looking neither right nor left. Valerius hurried to catch up. ‘He also said that Galba has given you an important mission. For once, he has made the right choice. An honest man, who is sometimes too honest for his own good. A proven soldier he can trust to carry out his orders whatever the obstacles or the cost. A man whose loyalty to his Emperor is not in question. Something of a unique combination, I would suggest, in these days when the loyalties of so many are being tested. Yes, our Emperor has chosen well.’ He stopped in the centre of the street and turned to face his companion. People looked on in surprise to see the well-known figure without the lictors that were his due, but Otho ignored them. His eyes were bleak and his voice turned cold as stone. ‘I pray that you leave on your mission for the Emperor soon, Valerius. Loyalty is a fine thing, but loyalty to the wrong man can be dangerous, and, in the wrong circumstances, a combination of loyalty and honesty can be fatal. The climate in Rome can be unhealthy at this time of year.’

He turned to leave, but Valerius caught his arm. ‘What have you done, Marcus?’

Otho shook his head and pushed the hand roughly away. ‘It is not a question of what Marcus Salvius Otho has done. It is what the Emperor has done and cannot be undone.’

Why was he here, when the last parting had been so final?

He asked himself the question as he trudged up the slope of the Aventine to the house Domitia had rented. She had made it plain there was no place for him in her life. Yet here he was. He knew he might not return from Galba’s mission and this could be his last chance to see her face. He wanted her to know he was leaving the city, but not leaving her. He also wanted to warn her.

Otho’s words still haunted him. He couldn’t bring himself to believe anything would come of them, but the implication was clear enough. If one Emperor could be overthrown, why not another? But to take the purple Otho would need strength and support, and from what Valerius, who was as close to him as any man, knew of him, he didn’t have enough of either. If he did anything rash the most likely outcome was that he would go the way of all the others who had stood in Galba’s path. Old he might be, but the Emperor had shown he wasn’t frightened to swing the executioner’s axe. No, if he tried, Otho would fail, and where did that leave Valerius and his oath of loyalty? Should he warn the Emperor? Yet what did he have, other than a vague threat? And what he knew, Vinius would certainly also know.

Here it was. But the house looked different. Even in winter the shutters should not have been closed this early in the day. No one answered the door, and when he stepped back to study the upper storeys he was certain he saw a twitch of movement between the wooden slats, as if someone had just drawn away in a hurry.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

It was less a question than an accusation. He turned to find a young man glaring at him. The youth was as tall as he was, but slim and pale; about seventeen years old, with sandy, tight-curled hair and acne-dotted skin. His clothes were expensive in cut and quality and matched what appeared to be a high opinion of himself, judging by the dismissive expression he wore. He stood with his fists bunched in a pose he obviously believed was designed to frighten. Valerius had faced blood-crazed Celtic champions who wanted to tear out his throat with their teeth, and the thought that he should be scared of this babe in arms made him laugh aloud.

‘I’m minding my own business, boy,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you’d like to do the same.’

The insult only made the young man angrier. His pallid features turned a belligerent brick red as Valerius turned his back and continued to study the house. ‘This is private property.’

‘It is property which belongs to a friend, and-’ The only hint of danger was the sound of rushing feet, but Valerius was already turning to meet the threat and he used his right arm to block the cudgel scything at his head. He grunted as the blow landed, but the thick cowhide socket which attached the walnut fist to his forearm took most of an impact that would have smashed another man’s bones. At the same time he brought his right foot round in a sweeping arc that knocked his assailant’s legs out from under him. Not the boy, but some hired thug who’d appeared from the gods knew where and whose head now smashed sickeningly off the cobbles. A second attacker, short, running to fat and much too slow, had been at his partner’s shoulder, but Valerius’s violent reaction made him hesitate for a fraction too long. While he was still trying to work out what to do with the curved knife he carried, Valerius brought the walnut fist up in a backhand smash into the angle of his jaw. Teeth flew like hailstones as the man’s head snapped back and he collapsed groaning beside his friend. By now the first attacker was trying to push himself up with his elbows. Valerius crouched beside him and took the greasy hair in his left hand. A short-arm jab with the right connected with the thug’s temple and the man’s eyes rolled back in his head.

Valerius kicked the knife and the cudgel away and turned to where the young man stood, frozen to the spot, dark eyes wide and mouth gaping. He put the walnut fist under the boy’s chin and closed his mouth with a click of teeth. ‘You should choose your hired help more carefully,’ he advised. ‘Too slow and too stupid, and they both stink so much that I smelled them before I heard them coming. Why did you order them to attack me? I told you I was only minding my own business.’

‘I am guarding-’

‘He and these bully boys have been hanging around for days, ever since the mistress left, your worship.’ The expression of righteous outrage came from Domitia’s doorkeeper, the man who had ushered him in on his previous visit. ‘I told them we didn’t want them here, but he insisted they wouldn’t leave until he knew where she’d gone.’

‘What business is it of yours where the lady of this house is?’ Valerius turned on the young man.

The youth bristled. ‘That is my affair.’

Valerius glanced casually at the two men groaning on the cobbles. ‘What if I choose to make it mine?’

‘You will pay for this.’ The young man spat his defiance. ‘My uncle will have you thrown in the carcer. These are two of his personal bodyguards.’

‘And who is your uncle?’ Valerius asked, somehow knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.

‘Titus Flavius Sabinus, Prefect of Rome.’

Merda.