Sword of Rome

XXXI

Colonia Agrippinensis

‘We seek an audience with the Emperor.’

The guard commander ran a jaundiced eye over the ragged figures who staggered wearily up from the wharf on legs that hadn’t touched dry land for a week. A younger man, dark hair slicked across his forehead by the incessant rain that had soaked the cloak and Celtic trews he wore, though he was no Celt. A face that had known life, as the old saying went, tanned and determined, the lines of its owner’s trials carved deep, and the pale shadow of an old scar running across one cheek. Merchants, he claimed, but merchants with nothing to trade who kept their hands hidden beneath their cloaks. And his companion less savoury still. Features more at home with a snarl than a smile, unless he missed his guess, and the hungry, calculating eyes he’d once seen in a caged leopard. Come a yard too close and you’d find your guts in your lap and your head between its jaws.

‘The Emperor is a busy man, as I’m sure you’ve heard.’ The words were meant to dismiss, but Valerius’s heart quickened when he heard them. Ever since they’d boarded the river galley at Augusta Raurica he’d been plagued by a terrible fear that Vitellius had already left Germania to join his army. The guard prefect had confirmed for the first time that, at the very least, he was still here. Now all they had to do was reach him. ‘It could be a week. It could be a month,’ the man continued. ‘There’s a tavern down by the river, if it hasn’t already been washed away. In the meantime, let’s see your hands and your papers.’

They complied with the order and Valerius heard the familiar hissed intake of breath as he revealed the walnut fist. ‘At least make sure he is given my name.’

The guard stiffened at what wasn’t quite an order, but came close. Normally he’d reward such insolence by kicking the petitioners out on their sorry arses into the mud, but these weren’t normal times. In any case, what harm could it do?

All right. Name?’

‘Publius Sulla.’

‘Publius Sulla?’

A hand shook Valerius’s shoulder and he realized he’d been drowsing after two hours in a room that was little more than a cell and, judging by the heat, must have stood not far from the furnaces supplying the hypocaust system. He opened his eyes to be confronted by a tall, swarthy man with short-cropped hair and a slightly effeminate manner. A half-stifled yawn escaped his lips and the other man frowned and repeated his question, not bothering to hide his irritation.

‘You are Publius Sulla?’

‘Publius Sulla died three years ago in a dirt fort on the Dacian frontier. If the name was carried to Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator, he would know that.’ The slight chink of metal on metal drew his eyes to the doorway. Valerius heard Serpentius move and put out a hand to stay him, his eyes never leaving the armed guard accompanying the courtier who’d woken him. He allowed his voice to harden. ‘If you had given him the additional information that the Publius Sulla who sought an audience had only one hand, he would also have told you that your guards could keep their swords sheathed.’

He recognized the moment the veiled instruction registered. The man’s eyes glittered with suppressed malice, but he turned on his heel and walked out. A few minutes later two guards appeared to escort Valerius through a warren of corridors to an enormous receiving room gorgeously decorated in purple and gold. Colourful hunting scenes decorated the ceiling, with toga-clad gods watching approvingly from behind puffy white clouds while barely clothed nymphs supplied the hunters with arrows. Painted marble busts of Vitellius’s ancestors stood on fluted pillars at intervals around the walls, each of them matched by a grim-faced and fully armed legionary with his hand on the hilt of his short sword. All this Valerius took in before his attention focused on the heavily cloaked figure lounging on a couch at the far side of the central fire. A puzzled smile flitted across the corpulent features of Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator, would-be Emperor of Rome, ruler of the two Germanias and commander of seven crack legions, the cream of which were currently converging on northern Italia.

Valerius had deliberated long and hard on how to greet his old friend. Vitellius, even as governor of Africa, had never been a man to stand on ceremony. Yet he called himself Emperor now, and in Valerius’s experience Emperors and their courts tended to be obsessively sensitive about protocol. Vitellius would expect the respect his new rank was due, and the titles that went with it. But Valerius had given his oath to another man wearing the purple and he had come here to ask Vitellius to lay aside his claim. At last, he put his wooden fist to his chest in salute. ‘Gaius Valerius Verrens at the service of my lord Vitellius.’

The smile didn’t falter, but Valerius wasn’t deceived. It would be as dangerous to mistake the garrulous, irrepressible Vitellius he had left in the tavern on the Via Salaria for the man before him as it would be to confuse a household tabby with an escaped tiger.

‘Lord Vitellius? Not Caesar or Augustus?’ Valerius searched for a reply that couldn’t be interpreted as an insult, but Vitellius waved a chubby hand. ‘No matter; old friends should not be bound by such formality. Has he been searched?’ The silent answer must have been affirmative. ‘Good. Have him bathed and find him some clothing suitable for a Roman knight. And order the kitchen to prepare fitting dishes for such a pleasant reunion between old friends.’ He reeled off a list of exotic fish, fowl and meats that made Valerius blink. ‘And the best that execrable cellar has to offer. None of your tavern vinegar.’ Again Valerius attempted to pass on Otho’s message, only to be baulked by that imperious hand. ‘I have much to consider. We will continue our discussion when you return.’

An hour later he was back watching Vitellius eat his way through enough food to sustain a legionary contubernium for a week. Eventually, the other man laid down the leg of roasting pig he had been labouring over, sighed, gave a soft belch and washed down a pound or more of pork with a pint of wine. He dipped his grease-encrusted fingers in a bowl brought by one slave and wiped them clean on a soft cloth carried by a second. Satisfied, for the moment, he turned at last to his guest. ‘Not hungry, Valerius?’

‘Uncertainty tends to take the edge off a man’s appetite.’ Valerius allowed his eyes to slide over the guards who had replaced the earlier legionaries around the walls. Young men, with hard unyielding eyes. Lucius, Gavo and … what was the other man’s name, Octavius? … yes, Octavius, and three more, all in civilian clothing, but fully armed. Vitellius’s closest aides. Men he could trust to do his bidding and keep quiet about it. Men who would happily rid their master of an unwelcome guest, slit his belly, fill it with rocks and sink him in the deepest part of the Rhenus. Vitellius saw the look and laughed.

‘If I wanted you dead, would I feed you first?’ Valerius had a feeling the answer might be yes. Vitellius would find it amusing. A frown creased the German Emperor’s pink features. ‘Your presence here poses me a dilemma. The fact that you introduced yourself as Publius Sulla, of fond memory, tells me this is not a private visit to take up my previous generous offer. On the one hand, I am pleased to see my old friend. On the other, I fear that his arrival might be somewhat inconvenient, perhaps even dangerous.’ Valerius allowed himself a smile, but Vitellius didn’t match it. The governor of Germania picked up the grilled carcass of a small bird, discarded it and chose a larger one, cramming it into his mouth and chewing vigorously to the accompaniment of crunching bones. He swallowed, belched and took a draught of wine before continuing. ‘The oak-headed arrow fodder of my personal guard are very capable, but I know that whatever is said in front of them will sooner or later reach ears which, in this case, I would rather it did not. Better to be able to carry out our discussions in an atmosphere of mutual trust and part friends.’ The deep-set, pale eyes turned icy and were matched by his voice. ‘I am aware that Otho has been trying to get messages to me which have been intercepted by generals who do not wish to trouble me with their contents. I take it you are here on behalf of the man who sits upon the throne that is rightfully mine?’

Valerius didn’t reply immediately. Vitellius’s words had ignited an unexpected flare of hope. He might have airily dismissed the couriers who weren’t reaching him, but it left the question of just who was in control: the Emperor, or the men who led his armies. There was also the question of trust. If Vitellius didn’t trust his guards, it meant he didn’t fully trust their officers, and by extension those same generals who were keeping information from him. Equally, the fact that the guards were prepared to spy on the man they were meant to be protecting indicated a lack of trust in Vitellius on the part of the soldiers he supposedly commanded. And there lay the dilemma for Valerius. Even if he could convince his old friend, did the man have the power to halt the avalanche he’d set in motion? He felt Vitellius’s eyes on him, growing ever more impatient, but he ignored them. This was too important to rush. The legions of Germania had elected Aulus Vitellius Emperor, but had it been by popular consent, or at the instigation of their officers? He had an image of a chained bear he had once seen in the street, its owner encouraging it to dance with lashes of a whip. Was Vitellius the bear or the man holding the chain?

At last, he spoke. ‘Marcus Salvius Otho greets you. He chose me to carry his message because he knows of our friendship and is certain you would never believe I would advise you to act against your best interests.’

‘Hah,’ Vitellius growled. ‘Then that is his first mistake. He does not know Gaius Valerius Verrens as I do. If you have a failing, Valerius, it is that you’re too honest and too loyal. You will act in the best interests of Aulus Vitellius? No, Gaius Valerius Verrens will act in the best interests of Rome, because Gaius Valerius Verrens is wedded to a sugar-dusted image of Rome that has nothing to do with the sewer-breathed reality, and Aulus Vitellius may burn in the deepest pit of Hades if it suits Rome’s purposes. So do not feed me an onion and tell me it is a peach. I have tasted enough things in my life to know the flavour of ox manure.’

The words struck like a slap in the face from Vitellius’s jewelled fingers. Valerius felt the blood surge to his cheeks as he experienced a rush of anger that wouldn’t be constrained by the armed men lining the walls. ‘And what is Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator’s vision of Rome?’ He tried to keep his voice level, but the words emerged with the speed and venom of sling pellets. ‘Is it the women and children, every one a client of the Empire, lying in a burned-out town on the Aarus river? It was only the first of many we encountered in the lands of the Helvetii. You asked me if I was hungry. I was hungry when I came here, but not when I saw what we were to eat, because your roasting pig reminded me of a babe I saw not a week ago lying in the ruins of its home, with its mother’s blackened bones beside it.’ He struggled for words as his head filled with the images he’d seen. ‘I hope you enjoyed your pork, Aulus. I would have choked on it.’

‘That was none of my doing.’ The fat man didn’t respond to the anger in Valerius’s voice. ‘We needed supplies. The Helvetii would not give us them. Caecina said they must be taught a lesson.’

‘It was done in your name,’ Valerius countered, each word fighting its way through clenched teeth. ‘This is Marcus Salvius Otho’s message to you. “Tell him I will give him anything short of the crown. He can name his price. He may govern any province that takes his fancy. I will share the consulship with him. I will pay off his soldiers and his generals.” You have unleashed the wolves of the North, Aulus. Unless you find a way to call them back, what happened to the Helvetii will happen to Romans from Augusta Taurinorum to the very gates of the Rome. Whatever you have heard about Otho, he is an honest man. He means what he says. I would stake my life on it.’ He saw the look in Vitellius’s eyes as he spoke the last sentence and knew, as if there had ever been any doubt, that he had done just that.

‘I must think on this. There are other factors here of which you know nothing. Other lives are at stake. Even if I was minded to give up my claim to rule Rome, which I am not, do you think I could snap my fingers and call back my legions? Those men hailed Aulus Vitellius Emperor and Aulus Vitellius in turn pledged himself to them. What sort of weak fool would I look if I dithered at the first bank? Britannia and Gaul have declared for me. Caecina and Valens are halfway to Rome with close to fifty thousand men, and very soon I will join them. There is nothing to stop us but a handful of auxiliaries. Where are Otho’s legions? He has only his palace guard, the Praetorians whose loyalty he has bought, and the mob-’

For all the decisiveness of his words, Vitellius sounded like a man attempting to persuade not the person opposite but himself, and from somewhere Valerius found the courage to interrupt. ‘He was hailed Emperor by the Senate and people of Rome,’ he said.

‘He murdered an old man and stole the purple for himself.’ Vitellius’s voice hardened again. ‘That alone should condemn him. The Senate supported him because it was support him or die. The people? What do the people know? All they care about is their bellies. Otho is not worthy of the throne of Rome.’

The last words were almost a snarl and Valerius caught the other man’s mood. ‘Yet he sits on the throne of Rome and you do not. If Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator wants the purple he will have to walk over the bodies of a hundred thousand innocents to take it. Could you bear that, Aulus? Could the man who gave up his fortune to feed the starving of his African province use dead children as his stepping stones to the Palatium? If he could, he is no longer the man I called friend.’

Valerius found himself on his feet, chest heaving as if he’d just survived a battle. Vitellius’s bodyguards moved to surround him with their swords drawn and a wild look in their eyes. The German Emperor slumped forward in his chair like a man awaiting the executioner’s axe. For a moment, Valerius’s fate lay balanced on the razor edge of a gladius, but before a blow could be struck Vitellius raised himself and waved his aides away.

‘Enough, for now.’ His voice emerged as a tired croak and he shook his head as if something had torn inside him. ‘We will talk again tomorrow.’

Valerius hesitated, on the verge of … no, he would not apologize. Two legionaries appeared and he didn’t resist as they led him away. They were almost at the door when Vitellius stopped them.

‘You have tested my friendship, my patience and my hospitality, Gaius Valerius Verrens. Tonight, as you ponder a foolish old glutton’s ridiculous dreams, I ask only that you remember this. His only ambition is the same as your ambition: to make a better Rome. And if he had your certainty he would already be garbed in purple, no matter how many innocents it took to make it so.’

As he was escorted back to the room he shared with Serpentius, Valerius felt as if an arrow had pierced his heart.