Sword of Rome

XVII

To my friend G. Valerius Verrens, greetings from your brother in arms. How I miss our desert banquets of sand and dung flies, savoured to the musical accompaniment of the Nubian auxiliaries whose howls so entertained us that I fell to dining with cloth stuffed in my ears. This innovation had the added attraction, of course, of rendering your rustic chatter interesting and your Spanish friend’s witticisms quite comic. I trust he is well and this letter finds you still basking in the glow of our new Emperor’s gratitude, and that the fruits of victory taste sweet upon the tongue, for it seems clear to us here that your mission on behalf of my father was an unqualified success. General Vespasian sends his regards and good wishes. For my part, I have spent the past three months with a stylus in my hand instead of a sword, and my backside, more used to a saddle, has grown soft as an Egyptian dancer’s. The reason for this enforced lack of hostilities is my father’s insistence that the armies of the East must remain on the defensive until the intentions of our commander are made clear. The invasion of Judaea was a complete success and we made great progress in the months after you left Alexandria. The Jews are worthy opponents and fanatical defenders of their ground, but, as you know, our legionaries are a match for any enemy. We took Tiberias and Tarichaea in the late summer before marching on Gamala, one of their hilltop strongholds. I had the honour of leading the assault and you will be pleased to know, my Hero of Rome, that your friend has equalled you in the matter of honour. I accepted the Crown of Valour from my father’s hands, though I modestly ascribe my success to the men of the Third Gallica who did most of the actual fighting.

Valerius smiled at his friend’s understatement as he read the letter in the house on the Esquiline. Since the day they’d met, Titus Flavius Vespasian had never tried to hide his envy of the Corona Aurea — the Gold Crown of Valour — Valerius had won defending the Temple of Claudius against Boudicca and her rebels. To win the Corona Aurea, a man had to be first over the walls in the assault on an enemy city or carry out some other act of almost suicidal courage. Vespasian would never have given the award lightly, and Valerius knew Titus must have performed an astonishing feat in front of the whole army for the general to present his own son with one of Rome’s highest military honours. Titus continued his report:

We made further progress after the turn of the year, but, with so much uncertainty in Rome, my father took the decision in June to pause. Everything remains in place for the final suppression of the revolt, but, thus far, there has been a singular lack of direction. I am sure the Emperor has his reasons for this, but it has been difficult to sit back in the knowledge that the war could have been won by now. Even as I write, the Jews will be reinforcing their fortresses and strengthening their defences, but the reason I do so at this time is that I will soon be visiting you in Rome. I leave in one week and my father has entrusted me with dispatches and a letter commending me to the Emperor, for reasons of which I know you are aware …

How could he not have seen it? Titus’s letter had arrived the day he had been summoned before the Emperor and, in the chaos since, he had missed the significance of the short passage he had just read. A letter commending me to the Emperor. A letter with the same message Valerius had carried orally to Galba in Carthago Nova. Take away the diplomatic language and the meaning was clear: here is my son. Announce him as your heir and you will have my support in everything you do. But Galba had made Piso his heir. Where would Titus be now? And how long would it take for the news to reach him? He wouldn’t continue his journey only to be humiliated, Valerius was certain of that. He would turn about and go back to his father. Which raised yet another question: what would his father do? Vespasian controlled the best part of six legions in the East. He was a man of enormous principle, but also a man of enormous pride. Galba’s refusal to consider Titus was as good as a slap in the face.

But that wasn’t what had made him reread the letter. He scanned the pages until he found the passage he was searching for.

I hope very much to see you when I reach Rome, but there are many others I must visit. Among them a young gentleman who accompanied a friend of yours, and of mine, on the day she took ship back to Italia. I shall not name the lady, for reasons we both understand. From the tone of his letters it seems he was quite taken with his shipmate, and she with him. He has been sent to my uncle, Sabinus, in the hope he will learn the craft of diplomacy and the intricacies of politics, but he is young and easily bored, and I fear he will be more often found at the games. You may see him there. He is my brother, Titus Flavius Domitianus.

Titus Flavius Domitianus.

The young man he had threatened and whose bodyguards he had left bleeding was Titus’s brother. Vespasian’s son was Domitia Longina’s protector?

But no longer. His breath caught in his throat as he turned his attention for the third time to the letter from Domitia the doorman had passed to him. It was in a code her father had perfected and they had agreed to use in the dangerous weeks that followed Corbulo’s death. In it, she explained how what had begun as a flirtatious game to pass the time on the ship bringing her back from Alexandria had become something much more serious in the mind of Domitianus. When he had begun to appear at the house at all hours of the day and night, she had decided the only way to cool his ardour was to put some distance between them. There was more. She apologized for the abrupt nature of their last parting and he read into her words something that created a liquid feeling inside him and made his heart soar, despite the voice in his head that cried caution. Hidden in the dry groups of anonymous letters was a hint of genuine affection, and perhaps more than affection.

She had left a few days earlier for the country house of an aunt outside the northern city of Dertona. According to the doorman she planned to spend three months there, before returning to Rome in the spring.

It was an odd choice of destination in winter, but Dertona was known for its benign climate. He consoled himself that at least she would be safe from Domitianus there.

And if Otho’s doom-laden prediction came true, the further away from Rome, the better.

The following day Valerius took Serpentius to check whether Laco had the Emperor’s letter. He still hadn’t told the Spaniard the detail of their mission, only that they were going on a journey and he should arrange food, horses and warm clothing. But the former gladiator’s nose for trouble was already twitching.

‘There’s a rumour in the market that they’ve got some kind of problem up north. That wouldn’t have anything to do with our trip, would it?’

‘Would it make a difference if it did?’

Serpentius grinned. ‘I suppose not. Even with Fabiana’s company, life has been a little dull lately. It’s time we were out of the stink of the city and back on the road.’

Valerius returned his companion’s grin. Fabiana was the pretty slave girl who looked after the house and he’d never even suspected. It seemed the Spaniard had added discretion to his already wide range of talents. How many years had it been? Seven? Eight? He tried to remember the day Serpentius had tried to kill him on the packed sand of the gladiator training ground, but, except for a snarling face filled with murderous intent, it was a blur of sweat and pain. The lines on the face still looked as if they had been hacked out with a knife, though they were deeper now. Grey stubble on the cheeks, but still the same fire in the dark eyes. Still the same old Serpentius; thin as a stockman’s whip and just as tough, quicker than the striking snake he was named for and twice as dangerous. Old? He realized he had no idea what age the Spaniard might be. He had saved Serpentius from certain death in the arena by recruiting him for a mission that, ironically, had almost killed them both. In turn, the former gladiator had pledged to serve him and a bond existed between them as strong as any blood oath.

‘What else have you heard?’

‘It sounds as if our friend Otho is finished.’

Valerius was startled enough to stop in the middle of the street. ‘What makes you say that?’

The Spaniard shrugged. ‘Seems he’d been telling everyone who’ll listen that the Emperor would make him his heir and used the fact to borrow money. Lots of money. Now that Galba has named Piso they’re all calling in their loans. You’ve seen what he’s like. Never leaving his room. That panicky look in his eyes? And what about all the coming and going? They’re not all debt collectors.’

‘He still has friends.’

‘Not friends with that kind of money.’ Serpentius laughed. ‘No, he’s either planning to run or …’

‘Or?’

Serpentius turned to meet his gaze. ‘Either you run or you fight.’

‘Then let’s hope he runs. You’re right, it is time we were out of the stink of the city.’

When they reached the Palatine, Valerius was surprised to be escorted once more to the receiving room, where he found Galba and his three advisers huddled in discussion. As he waited for his presence to be acknowledged the voices became increasingly heated. He heard the name Onomastus and it froze him to the core. Onomastus was Otho’s freedman and the kind of slimy, double-dealing Greek who gave his compatriots a bad name.

‘You must act, before his influence is any more powerful.’ The speaker was Cornelius Laco and he was more agitated than Valerius had ever seen him.

‘I disagree,’ Vinius interrupted. ‘We do not have enough evidence. Give them more rope and they will strangle themselves with it.’

‘Evidence?’ the Praetorian commander demanded. ‘He is the Emperor, he does not need evidence, all he needs is suspicion. Just give the word and I will clear out that rat’s nest in-’

‘No.’ Galba’s grating voice stopped him in mid-sentence. ‘Titus is right. Justice and strength. We will wait, gather evidence, and when the time is right we will strike.’

Laco turned away with a sigh that might have contained the sentiment ‘old fool’, but Valerius didn’t have time to dwell on the implications of what he’d heard, because finally Galba noticed him.

The Emperor called him forward, but before he could speak Laco burst out: ‘Why don’t you ask him? He’s probably one of the bastards.’ In the frozen silence that followed, Valerius waited for the question that would either make him a liar or condemn Otho to the axe.

Eventually, the Emperor shook his head, and when he spoke his voice was almost kindly. ‘This young man has enough burdens without adding another. I am afraid your mission must be delayed again, Verrens. There are suggestions of new developments on the Germania frontier. It has become more complex than I first envisaged. I must think on it for a while longer. See Laco after the sacrifice tomorrow and we will discuss it.’

As Valerius turned his back the bickering resumed. Again, he heard the name Onomastus. What did they know that Gaius Valerius Verrens did not? And what kind of deadly game was Marcus Salvius Otho playing?