The Art of War

Chapter 72

Rome, 20 December AD 69

Geminus

How do you find one small woman and one youth in a city of millions? How do you find them when there are twenty thousand armed men standing at your gates waiting to enter the city — and they will have no trouble at all finding the man they seek because your emperor insists on staying in his palace, which is the first place they’ll look?

The Vestals had agreed to take our offer of terms to Antonius, which had at least bought us time to look for Domitian and Caenis, but we had failed to find them. And then came the Vestals’ answer, brought by one of the blue-ribboned matrons and three monstrous lictors.

I relayed it to Vitellius in private.

‘Antonius Primus says no. He has turned down the Vestals’ plea for peace. He says that all hope of armistice vanished with Sabinus’ death and he will attack today. To make it easier for both sides to identify their own men, he has issued his forces with blue armbands, that being the colour Vespasian favours. They have sworn never to take them off in an effort to appear other than they are, even if they have been cornered by our men and are facing certain death. He suggests we colour our men green on the same basis. Accordingly, he has sent us three bolts of green silk as his gift.’

Vitellius stared at me flatly, running his tongue round his teeth. ‘Pushy little man, as I remember,’ he said. ‘Did your men learn anything from their trip across the river?’

Eight of my men had dressed as lictors and accompanied the Vestals into Antonius’ camp, to assess the enemy numbers and their dispositions, their morale. I said, ‘They report what we already know: that Antonius Primus has at least twenty thousand men straining at the leash, in high morale, desperate to attack.’

‘Nothing new, then.’ Vitellius was sounding ever more like a general. His tone was dry and self-mocking, not the piteous weeping of the day before. ‘Have we found the boy Domitian yet? Or Caenis?’

‘Not yet, lord. And now it can no longer be our priority. I should be out there with the men. We have to hold Rome until Lucius gets here.’

‘When will that be?’

‘Three hours after our messengers reach him, I hope.’

Four had been sent, none had yet returned, nor had any others arrived to us from Lucius, but Vitellius didn’t need to know that.

I said, ‘He’ll be here within the day. In the meantime, Drusus will take care of you. If-’

Drusus coughed discreetly from the doorway. ‘Lord?’

He stepped back and a figure entered coated in fine white ash so that for a moment he looked like an albino. It wasn’t until he stared at me and Vitellius simultaneously with his uneven eyes that I knew who he was.

‘Felix!’ I bounded forward. I could have kissed him: he was one of the four I had sent to Lucius and I had despaired of ever seeing him alive. ‘What news?’

The boy was fizzing with a strange kind of energy that I could not read. Vitellius could, though; he had grown up with Lucius and knew the signs.

‘I think he has recently killed, is that not so, child?’

The boy flushed scarlet to the roots of his pale hair. ‘There were more bandits on the road, lord. I had to-’

‘I’m sure you did. Do you bring word from my brother?’

‘I do. He had not time to write, but he entrusted me to say this to his brother, the emperor…’ He screwed up his eyes and, in a voice not entirely unlike Lucius’, said, ‘Give my apologies to my dearly beloved brother, and tell him that I am in the midst of heavier fighting than I had anticipated, but that none the less I will be in Rome three days from now, perhaps sooner if all goes well.’

‘Three days?’ Vitellius gaped. ‘Who is he fighting?’

Felix looked confused. ‘Men, lord?’ he offered.

‘Men!’ Vitellius laughed, hoarsely. ‘Gods preserve us.’ He looked at me, his eyes raw with loss. ‘Three days until my brother comes. I make that about two and three-quarter days too late, wouldn’t you say? Even if he wins against his so-tenacious rebels, which he may well not do.’

At least we knew. I said, ‘Lord, you must leave. Go to the Aventine, if you will not flee Rome. You’re offering yourself as a sacrifice if you stay in the palace and there’s no point in that.’

‘What will you do?’

‘With your permission, I will join Juvens in defence of the city. I am more use out there than in here. I will keep an eye out for Domitian and Caenis, but only fools will be out in the streets with the fighting that is coming and they are not that. I beg you to let me go. Drusus will protect your person better than I ever could.’

My emperor was not a vindictive man, and he knew what I wanted. ‘Go, then. Do what you must.’

He had an idea, then; I was learning to recognize the signs. I saw him think a moment, then take off yet another of his many rings and hold it out to Felix. ‘Do you know how to talk with the silver-boys, child?’

A sudden craftiness entered Felix’ features. ‘It may be possible, lord.’

Lucius would have had him hanging from his wrists over a slow fire until he got the truth out of him, but we didn’t care; this boy had got through to us when three others had failed. That his message was bad was not his fault, and personally I wouldn’t have cared if he’d killed half the Guard to get it to us.

Ever aware of the power of gold, Vitellius placed the ring in the boy’s grubby palm and folded his fingers over it.

‘This and the titles that go with it are yours if you can talk to the silver-boys and get them to help you find Domitian, younger son of Vespasian. He’s in the city somewhere and we would bring him to safety before the fighting starts. His life is at risk if he remains at large; tell him that.’

It was tactfully done. Felix clasped the ring to his chest, his pale eyes shining. ‘Lord, I will find him,’ he said, ‘and make him safe.’

For a long time after he had gone, Drusus wore a small smile on his face, like a father whose favoured son has performed a deed of great valour.

Three being the number for luck, I wound my emerald-green scarf three times around my upper arm, which was fine, except that the flapping ends spooked the rangy bay gelding the stable master had sent for me.

Wincing, the boy who had brought him said, ‘He’s fast, master. You asked for the fastest. I could get something quieter…’

‘No. It’s fine. You did well.’ I tossed out a silver piece as I mounted; when you may not see tomorrow’s dawn, today’s generosity is easy.

The boy’s eyes shone. He threw up his hand in salute. I pointed the horse out of the gates and trusted its nerves to see me across the city.

I found Juvens in a sea of Guards, at the place where the Flaminian Way became Broad Street. He was organizing his cavalry across the road with his men behind.

Juvens’ men were mine, too: men who had marched with us from the Rhine to the Tiber in support of their emperor; men who defeated Otho, who sacked Cremona the first time.

They were dressed for valour; none of the subtlety of the Guard now. They wore their tunics with their weapon belts in full display; great discs of silver that spoke of heroism and success to anyone who knew how to read them. Their helmets came from their war chests, not the plumed and polished frippery of parade, and, today, they had liberated their shields from the armoury; truly, they were legionaries once again, not Guards, and happier for it. Every one wore an emerald silk band about his arm with a pride and defiance that augured ill for Antonius’ forces.

Juvens himself was on foot and helmetless, his flame-yellow hair visible across half the city. He looked dirty and tired and elated.

Nobody was proud of what had happened to Sabinus, but equally everyone was clear that the taking of the Capitol had been a tactical and strategic masterstroke and Juvens had organized it virtually single-handed. He basked in the glory, and his men — our men — basked with him.

It was noon. The Vestals had been back in the city for over an hour. Antonius’ army was armed and ready and keen for blood.

‘Where are they?’ I asked.

Juvens nodded over my shoulder. ‘Just across the bridge. They can see us; we can see them. The Blues can’t cross the bridge yet: we’re too many for them, but I’d bet my pension that they’ll try a flanking move on one or other side. We have horn signals set in case they do.’ He caught my eye and grinned. ‘We didn’t ask for this, but, Hades, I’m glad it’s come.’

‘You’re not alone.’ It wasn’t just that our men were ready; the whole population had turned out for this.

All about, men, women and children sat in family groups on the balconies and rooftops, on the tenements and cottages and villas that clustered up to the river’s edge. They were dressed in their multicoloured festival best, eating apples and dates and drinking wine, even the children. A small girl saw me looking and threw up her hand.

‘Io Saturnalia!’

Her high, lark’s voice carried over the street to the far side and was picked up by other children, and then their parents, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends; last, by our men.

‘ Io Saturnalia! ’

‘Roman fighting Roman. We’re better entertainment than the circus, and in the right colours, too.’ I fiddled with my green scarf, tucking in the loose ends. ‘Where do you want me?’

‘Wherever you’d like to be. We’ll live or die where we stand. Nowhere is safer, or less safe, than anywhere else.’

‘Then I’ll stay with you, if you don’t mind.’

I wasn’t as well dressed as the men. My belt was plain leather, but that was all I needed; I had my gladius and someone handed me a helmet. It slid over my head, cool about my ears, and I felt whole again, almost.