Sword of Rome

XLIV

‘What will happen now?’ Domitia asked. The ‘to us’ was unspoken, but there just the same.

‘It depends what the Emperor decides.’ Valerius rode beside the covered wagon Spurinna had provided for his guest as they travelled from Placentia on the Via Aemilia to meet Otho’s advancing forces. It was the same road he and Serpentius had followed north on their journey six weeks earlier. Blue skies and spring sunshine had replaced the glowering clouds, but Valerius only had eyes for Domitia, who wore a blue cloak of fine cotton which set off her dark hair in a way that made the gulf between them seem all the wider. ‘He’ll furnish you with an escort back to Rome, while I …’ He shrugged. ‘He may give me a command, or he may not, but I’m a soldier and if there is a battle I will fight.’

‘So it is finished.’ It wasn’t a question and the pain was clear in her eyes.

‘Only if you want it be so.’ The words fell like stones into a void and each one proclaimed him a coward. His heart cried out to him to make her his; to send her back to stay with Olivia at the villa until he returned. But the Domitia Longina Corbulo who had stood with him on the parapet overlooking the battlefield, the Domitia who had not hidden her love for him, had been replaced by another woman. He had witnessed before how the bonds created by the shared hardship and racing blood of battle could be sapped by the realities and responsibilities of peace. If he wanted her, he must win her, but this Domitia was again her father’s daughter and that made his task more difficult. Duty was a Corbulo’s watchword and he doubted she would shame his memory by leaving her husband. There was another, equally complicating, factor. In what seemed like another lifetime Valerius had sworn an oath to protect her life and her honour. That oath now stuck in his throat, but it had been made to a man who had died for honour and duty and it was an oath he couldn’t break, even for Domitia.

With a last look of frustrated hurt she stared ahead and they continued the journey in silence.

Two days earlier, while the dead were still being cleared from Placentia’s ditch, Spurinna had summoned Valerius while he questioned the commander of a patrol that had just returned from harassing the retreating Vitellians.

‘Caecina is licking his wounds back at Cremona.’ The general didn’t hide his exultation. ‘He will be vulnerable until Valens can reach him. I have had word that the Emperor is on the way to Brixellum and I would ask you to ride there and tell him that I advise an early attack while the traitor’s men are still demoralized by their failure here.’ From somewhere close by came the sound of female laughter and Valerius could smell the scent of cooking meat from the kitchens. Spurinna hesitated as if he were mulling a decision, then nodded as he made it. ‘The lady Domitia will accompany you — I am sure he will see that she is safely taken south. I will give you a squadron of cavalry as escort. Oh, and he will need every man he can get, so I will send him five centuries of the First Adiutrix as soon as I’ve cleaned up this mess.’

Brixellum was a hard day’s ride from Placentia, but Vitellian cavalry patrols still plagued the road and it was late afternoon on the second day by the time they arrived at the settlement thirty miles south-east of Cremona. The town had been heavily fortified and six cohorts of the Praetorian Guard were encamped on the outskirts, but when Valerius asked for the Emperor he was told Otho had already ridden north to link up with his main force. The officer who gave him the news said there were rumours of a great victory near Cremona the previous day and Valerius wondered aloud if the war was already won.

The man’s mood changed. ‘No, there will be fighting yet. They say the armies of Vitellius have combined, and the false Emperor is on his way with reinforcements drawn from the legions of Britannia.’

‘I should send you south with Serpentius.’ Valerius despised himself for the emotionless formality in his voice. Domitia responded with a shake of the head and a smile marked with weary resignation.

‘My sentence is delayed for another day. Besides, I have never met the Emperor …’ She hesitated and he sensed she wanted to say more, but she turned and walked back to the coach.

They crossed to the east bank and followed the road to the town of Bedriacum where the Emperor’s main force had made their headquarters. The first thing Valerius noticed as they approached the great military encampment outside the walls was the golden lion of the Thirteenth Gemina on the shields of the gate guards. The sight raised his spirits because it meant Otho’s reinforcements had begun to arrive from the East. The second was a curiously unmilitary sprawl of tents with an odd-looking assortment of men lazing around campfires among them. Many wore makeshift bandages and bore signs of recent wounds. It was as he was studying them that one of the reclining figures rose to his feet and hailed him.

‘Still alive, Valerius? And unless I miss my guess, that ugly bastard behind you is a Spanish horse thief of my acquaintance.’

Valerius gaped in disbelief at the man who had spoken. He was grey-haired and stocky and he carried a brass cock’s comb helmet that had seen hard use. The helmet marked him as a gladiator, even if the deep scar that split his right cheek and his missing left ear weren’t familiar enough. ‘Marcus?’ He shook his head at the sight of his old friend, who should be back in Rome, running the ludus where he trained the Empire’s most sought-after gladiators. Serpentius leapt from his horse to wrestle with the lanista who had coached him for the arena and whose tricks had kept him alive long enough for Valerius to rescue him from certain death.

‘You’re a long way from the training ground. I thought you never ventured more than a mile from the Argiletum and the Green Horse. Have they retired you?’

The lined face took on a solemn look. ‘Not much need for a beaten-up old lanista at the best of times, but when every ludus in Rome is closed down and every gladiator signed up to fight for the Emperor, you know the game’s up. I couldn’t let my lads march away on their own, so here I am. A year’s pay for every man who fights and his freedom if he survives.’

‘You already have your freedom, and I doubt you need the money.’ Valerius didn’t hide his puzzlement.

Marcus shrugged. ‘Aye, but these men are fighters — man for man, they are a match for any legionary — but what they are not is leaders.’ His face split in a self-conscious grin. ‘They elected me commander of the second century and here I am.’

‘It looks as if you’ve already been in a fight,’ Serpentius observed.

‘Not a fight.’ Marcus’s face clouded. ‘A massacre. Two nights ago our commander volunteered to destroy a bridge the enemy had built near Cremona. They had already tried with fireships, but the wind drove them ashore. We were to capture an island upstream of the bridge and launch an attack from there. We were betrayed.’ He glanced up and Valerius thought he read a message in the pale eyes. ‘Yes, you’ll find there is much talk of betrayal and cowardice in this camp. When we reached the island it was already crawling with Tungrian auxiliaries. Hundreds were killed in their boats. Some of us managed to reach land and fought, but when our brave leader turned and ran the rest of us followed as fast as we could row. When we started out from Rome there were two thousand of us. Now there are just one thousand. The rest are dead, or have deserted.’

Valerius studied the sullen, suspicious faces of the men watching the conversation. They were of a mix familiar to him from the days he had trained at Marcus’s school and ranged from hulking giants who looked as if they could crush a skull with their fingers to men so small they could almost be called midgets. Their exotic paraphernalia was the same equipment they wore in the arena — strange helmets and armour from barbarian tribes and the troops of long-forgotten empires — and they carried the same weapons: curved swords, boar spears and even tridents. They had two things in common: they were some of the fittest men he had ever seen and every man had been marked by defeat. ‘Will they fight again?’

Marcus hesitated for only a moment. ‘If they are well led.’

Otho had taken over the praetorium in a tented pavilion at the heart of the First Adiutrix camp. As he approached, Valerius didn’t know what to expect. After all, he was the man the Emperor had been prepared to have killed and who had failed in his mission. The welcome turned out to be warmer than he had a right to expect. Otho immediately broke off his discussion and led the one-handed tribune aside. The other man had changed since Valerius last saw him, the handsome features more drawn and careworn, and to Valerius’s surprise he was wearing a simple legionary’s tunic and armour. ‘I fear I did not expect to see you again, but I am glad you are here. We are in need of every seasoned soldier who can carry a sword. You have come from where?’

‘I carry news from General Spurinna.’

‘You fought at Placentia?’ Otho didn’t hide his surprise. ‘The last word we had was that the city was still under siege and might be taken any day.’

Valerius explained how Caecina’s forces had been defeated and Otho closed his eyes. ‘Victory,’ he whispered. ‘A victory that balances all else. Yes, a victory against great odds and an omen for what is to come.’

Valerius was bemused. ‘In Brixellum they spoke of another great victory at a place called Ad Castorum.’

A shadow fell over the Emperor’s face and he directed a pained glance to where Suetonius Paulinus stood having a heated debate with three other officers. ‘A victory of sorts, but not one to be celebrated. An opportunity lost. If my generals but had confidence in their troops, Caecina might have been destroyed; instead he was allowed to withdraw. You know he has been joined by Valens.’

Valerius opened his mouth to reply, but the Emperor noticed the slim figure hovering by the doorway and for a moment the old predatory Otho reappeared. ‘You have not introduced me to your companion.’

‘May I present the lady Domitia Longina Corbulo.’

The Emperor’s eyes widened at the name. ‘You are most welcome, lady, but I fear your father would have been more welcome still. A great man and a fine soldier.’ Domitia acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod.

‘The lady Domitia wishes to return to Rome and hoped you would be able to spare an escort.’

‘Of course.’ Otho smiled. ‘And she will also have my carriage. I find it much more agreeable to march with my soldiers than to ride past them like some preening golden peacock.’ He lowered his voice so that what he said would be inaudible to the other men in the pavilion. ‘It will also give me an opportunity to rid myself of an irritant. He came north insisting he would fight alongside his cousin, who commands my Praetorians, and I could not send him away for fear of insulting his father.’ He called to an aide. ‘Send me young Domitianus.’

It took Valerius a moment to recognize the tall young man who appeared in the doorway. Titus Flavius Domitianus was dressed in a tribune’s armour instead of the tunic he’d worn in the garden outside Domitia’s house, but the look of loathing that contorted the pale features left Valerius in no doubt that he hadn’t been forgotten — or forgiven. The look lasted less than a second before it transformed into a puzzled, moonstruck half-smile as Domitianus sensed the identity of the feminine presence half hidden by the two men. Domitia’s mouth fell open and she darted a glance of dismay at Valerius. Fortunately, she recovered before the Emperor noticed.

‘But Caesar, I must not deny you the services of such a brave warrior,’ she said earnestly. ‘Surely you have a slave woman who could accompany me?’

Domitianus was caught between preening at the compliment and alarm that his opportunity to spend an extended period with the woman whose beauty made the blood pound in his ears was threatened. Otho sensed some undercurrent and his face creased in a puzzled smile. He vaguely remembered the letter from Flavius Sabinus and the hint of some conflict between Valerius and this boy. For a moment he was tempted to accede to Domitia’s suggestion, but the chance to rid himself of the Flavian irritant was too good to miss.

‘No, I insist. This young nobleman will protect you and entertain you on your journey, although I agree that you must have a woman to attend you. We will find a slave of suitable age and ability to accompany you in the carriage. You will leave after dawn.’

The final words allowed no further argument. Otho gestured at Valerius to accompany him and with a last look of fury Domitia reluctantly followed the tall young man from the tent, taking all Valerius’s hopes with her.

‘You already know Suetonius Paulinus, of course.’ All thought of Domitia was swept from Valerius’s mind as Otho introduced the three men who stood around the table at the far end of the room. ‘Marius Celsus, who also advises me on military matters, and Orfidius Benignus, commanding First Adiutrix. I want you to act as Benignus’s second in command. You have heard of our gladiators?’ Celsus gave a derisive snort and shot a sneering glance at Paulinus, who ignored him. Valerius nodded.

Otho continued, echoing the words of Marcus the lanista. ‘Brave men and hardy fighters: a potentially telling weapon, but one that must be wielded by a skilled hand. We lost many of them in a misguided attempt to split Caecina from Valens, but they can still be of use. You will form them into a single cohort and integrate them with First Adiutrix. It will help compensate for the loss of the cohort to Placentia.’ Valerius mentioned that Spurinna was sending five centuries of the marine legionaries back to join their legion. ‘Better still. Let us hope they will be in time.’ Valerius noticed the look of surprise Paulinus shot the Emperor, but Otho continued unperturbed. ‘Benignus, you are happy with this?’

Benignus was the scion of a rich patrician family and their wealth had helped furnish the tent with ornate wall hangings and statuary by famous sculptors, including a very recent bust of Marcus Salvius Otho Augustus. It was an unusual display of affluence in a military camp, but he had a reputation as a fair man and a good soldier. He was clearly anything but happy, but he looked to Valerius. ‘As long as they will fight.’

Valerius met his gaze. ‘They will fight.’

‘You said you hope they will be here in time, Imperator?’

Otho looked down at the table before he answered Paulinus. Its top was covered in sand and formed a detailed map of the terrain between Bedriacum and Cremona. His gaze ranged over the bumps and hollows, taking in every detail. Finally, he made his decision. ‘I am convinced we must bring the enemy to battle.’ The two men stared at each other and Valerius had the feeling this was an argument that had begun before Paulinus entered the tent.

‘And I must advise against it.’ The tone was polite, but the voice of Boudicca’s conqueror held a core of iron. ‘We have an excellent defensive position here. I believe we are still outnumbered by the enemy, but our strength increases with every passing day. We have supplies in plenty, while the enemy goes hungry. If we have patience, the enemy will be forced to attack us on this ground; the ground of our choosing.’ He stabbed a finger at the table. ‘If we attack him, he will have the advantage of choosing where we meet. In another two days Fourteenth Gemina will be here. In another week we will have two more legions and victory is certain.’

Valerius watched Otho’s reaction and was reminded of another conference in another tent, when Corbulo had outlined the detailed plan for the battle of the Cepha gap. His army had been outnumbered almost three to one and his commanders had opposed his plan, but Corbulo had never allowed his council of war to turn into a debate. The Emperor drew himself up to his full height and Valerius knew before he spoke that he would dismiss Suetonius Paulinus’s perfectly logical military reasons for not meeting the enemy.

Otho nodded slowly, still staring at the contours on the table. ‘I respect the venerable general’s regard for caution. He was cautious at Ad Castorum and no doubt we still have our army as a result of it.’ Paulinus visibly flinched at the words and Valerius remembered Marcus’s comments about betrayal and cowardice. Was Otho accusing the great general of running away? ‘But I do not have the time for caution,’ the Emperor went on. ‘The longer I wait, the weaker becomes my position in Rome. If I do not act, it appears I am inviting Vitellius to take my throne. Valens and Caecina have combined, but I believe we are more than strong enough to defeat them. Have patience, you say, and they will attack us? But what if they divide their army again?’ He met Paulinus’s unflinching glare. ‘What if Caecina pins us here and Valens moves to attack Rome? Must I stand idly by while they ravage my people?’ The Emperor’s voice shook with suppressed emotion. ‘No, the time is now. One decisive battle, and the usurpers will run like beaten dogs. Their soldiers are dupes who fight not for Rome but for plunder and for Rome’s enemy. When they see the true might of Rome, their hearts will fail them.’

Valerius studied the sand table. The raised causeway of the Via Postumia ran arrow-straight from Bedriacum to Cremona, with the Padus river five miles to the south-west. On the river flank of the road the ground was relatively clear, but to the north-east small notes on the map identified fields clogged with bushes and vines, and beyond them terrain that was mostly bog and scrub. He decided it was a good road for marching down, but ground more suited to ambush than battle.

Otho was still speaking. ‘My brother Titianus will join us later today or tomorrow to take overall command.’ Paulinus met the news of his demotion with a deeper scowl, but he made no protest and the Emperor continued: ‘In two days we will march down this road and force them to meet us or flee. Now, to the dispositions.’

Boudicca’s conqueror continued to argue for delay, but his voice was that of a man who knew he was already defeated. Benignus, an aristocrat whose bloodline went back to Romulus, tapped his manicured fingers on the table as he studied the road. Valerius had the feeling he agreed with Paulinus, but having been only recently appointed was unwilling to speak out. Celsus, who Valerius was certain had been about to vote against the plan, threw his wholehearted support behind Otho now the decision was made. Belatedly, Vedius Aquila, legate of the Thirteenth legion, made an appearance, apologizing for his absence, but bringing news that the advance guard of the Fourteenth Gemina were only a few miles to the east.

Otho was elated. ‘You see, Suetonius,’ he said fiercely. ‘You will have your Britannia heroes with you after all.’ Even Paulinus’s thin lips twitched in a smile. The Fourteenth had been the core of his army in the final battle to defeat Boudicca and he had a huge affection for the legion. ‘The order of march will be this,’ the Emperor continued. He addressed Aquila first. ‘Thirteenth and elements of the Fourteenth in the van will form the right of the line when battle is joined. Orfidius? Your Adiutrix will follow and hold the left, and your gladiator villains with them, Valerius. The ground is more open there, so you will also have the bulk of the cavalry. The Praetorian Guard will follow and take the fight to the enemy in the centre.’ He smiled. ‘We have seen that they don’t have the legs of a veteran legion, but they are eager enough. Are there any questions?’

Hearing the plan for the first time, Aquila studied the sand table with the deep frown of a worried man. ‘We will be advancing on a narrow front. I take it that our action, if we meet an enemy force of similar strength, will be to assume defensive positions and draw them on to us?’

‘No.’ The Thirteenth’s legate flinched at the force in Otho’s voice. ‘If we meet the enemy we will take the initiative and attack. This will be a decisive battle. The traitors must be given no opportunity to run away.’

Valerius exchanged a glance with Paulinus. The general’s face was grim, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

Aquila had another question. ‘Will the Thirteenth have the honour of your presence on the right?’

Otho’s face froze and the atmosphere in the room changed as if a cloud had just covered the sun. It was Celsus who answered. ‘Tradition dictates that the Emperor has no place on the field of battle.’

‘But …’

‘No Emperor since Augustus has fought on the front line,’ the adviser continued. ‘It has already been decided. The life of Marcus Salvius Otho Augustus is too valuable to be risked on the battlefield. He will take up a position in Brixellum with our strategic reserve and await your call, or the outcome, of which he is not in doubt.’ More than one pair of eyes widened at the words ‘strategic reserve’. If they met the enemy in any strength, the fighting power of every auxiliary and legionary in Otho’s army would be needed. Brixellum was twenty miles and more from the potential site of the battle. It would take Otho’s ‘strategic reserve’ a day’s hard marching even to reach it. Celsus sounded as if he were trying to convince himself. ‘Vitellius the usurper is not with his army, so …’

Otho laid a hand on his arm and his eyes sought out each man in the room in turn. ‘Please do not question my courage …’ Valerius joined the chorus of denial. ‘I am more than willing to lay down my life for this cause. But I am an old-fashioned man who believes it is the job of his generals to fight battles. And now, if there is nothing else, I must rest.’

The five officers saluted and as the Emperor talked quietly with Celsus the others left the tent to brief their junior commanders. Aquila and Benignus whispered together and Suetonius Paulinus hung back deliberately to walk beside Valerius through the long lines of eight-man legionary tents towards the gates. They were not friends. Paulinus might have created him Hero of Rome, but Valerius had good reason to believe the consul would have been happy to see him dead two years earlier when Nero’s torturers were ‘cleaning up’ after the Piso conspiracy. Now, however, it seemed he was seen as a potential ally.

‘Have you ever heard such rubbish?’ Paulinus squinted into the afternoon sun. ‘Titianus in overall command? The man has never fought a skirmish, never mind a battle. Our Emperor is an old-fashioned man who leaves his generals to fight battles? Yet the first thing he does is tie one hand behind their backs.’ He stopped suddenly and the grey eyes pierced Valerius like a pair of javelins. ‘Mark my words, young man, we will be in the fight of our lives.’ The gravelly voice softened and his gaze dropped to the stump of Valerius’s right arm. ‘I am glad you will be with Adiutrix. They are a young legion, none younger, and they need to be directed by experienced hands. Benignus is a good man, but I have no doubt he will appreciate a steadying influence.’ He turned to retrace his steps to his own tent, then hesitated. ‘I do not doubt his valour, but he is wrong, you know. I was with the Eighth during the invasion of Britannia and I saw Divine Claudius charge a barbarian line on a ceremonial elephant. He was worth two legions to us that day.’

In the morning, Valerius broke his fast with Serpentius among the gladiators who were his new command, and waited until the Emperor’s convoy began to line up for the journey back to Brixellum. The carriage carrying Domitia had a place in the centre of the column, as part of the Emperor’s baggage train and close to the civil servants who travelled everywhere with him. He’d hoped at least to see her and try to convey some message, but the vehicle’s heavy curtain remained closed.

‘I would have thought you would have better things to do with your time.’ The familiar sneering voice came from behind and he turned to find Titus Flavius Domitianus looking down at him from the saddle of a fine black stallion. Just for a second it seemed a good idea to tip him off into the churned-up dirt, but Valerius resisted the impulse and the younger man continued. ‘You may find it difficult to believe, but I hope you survive the battle. My servant died and my uncle Sabinus is preparing murder charges against you. It will be my pleasure to see you in the carcer as you await your fate. As for the lady,’ he sniffed condescendingly, ‘she is my responsibility now.’

There was something about the way he said responsibility that conveyed much more. Valerius smiled and moved closer to the fidgeting horse. Domitianus froze when he felt the point tickling his thigh.

‘I hope you understand your obligations, little man. Because if any harm comes to the lady, I will cut off your balls and feed them to you one at a time. Nod if you understand.’ Domitianus’s head twitched. ‘Good, we understand each other. Now go away. I’m sure you have something better to do.’

Domitianus reluctantly complied with his dismissal, but with a murderous look that told Valerius he had made an enemy for life. And a dangerous enemy at that. With a last glance at the coach, he walked away towards the gladiator lines. To a new command, a new battle, and, if the gods willed it, a new victory.

He was a heartbeat too late to see the curtain flick back and catch the desperate eyes and the lips that moved in a silent message.

‘Come for me.’