Tribune of Rome

CHAPTER XVIII

‘So it all comes down to who has the loyalty of the army, does it, Tute?’ Vespasian asked, resisting the urge to scratch the scab that had formed over his wound. ‘All these high ideals that men gave their lives for are now nothing more than a cover for the fact that power is no longer secured by constitutional right but by military might.’

They were reclining in the triclinium on the night before Vespasian was due to leave. The last eleven days had passed too quickly for Vespasian. He had spent most of the time resting his leg whilst talking with Tertulla. During the day he would lie on a couch in the courtyard garden and then in the evenings they would dine alone in the triclinium. She told him stories of his grandfather’s exploits in the Republican cause. She told him of his hatred for Caesar and then for Augustus, and everything that they stood for; then of his disillusionment with the Senate and the Republican side, whose infighting and lack of decision caused their eventual defeat and the rise of autocratic power supported by Praetorian military muscle, the full extent of which, thankfully perhaps, Petro didn’t live to see.

The Praetorians had come as Tertulla had expected. She had been kind and courteous to them and they had left an hour later satisfied that all that the house contained was an eccentric old woman, who could be of no harm to anyone but herself and her long-suffering slaves.

Vespasian looked at his 87-year-old grandmother, whom the Praetorians had dismissed as innocuous; she was one of the last survivors of the most turbulent period in recent history. Her memory of the time was still clear and she had been able to answer Vespasian’s many questions. She had met Pompey, she had heard Caesar speak and she had seen Cleopatra when she came to Rome as Caesar’s guest and lover. After Caesar’s death she had hidden Marcus Brutus in this house, whilst Anthony’s legions marched north along the Via Aurelia to fight his co-conspirator, Decimus Brutus. The following day she had kissed her husband goodbye as he left for Greece with Marcus Brutus to join Cassius and the Republican army. Ten years later, as a widow, she and her only child, Vespasian’s father, had watched from the cliffs as the northern fleet sailed past, bound for Brundisium on the east coast, to join with Octavian before the fateful battle of Actium that finished Anthony and his lover Cleopatra and brought the Empire under the control of one man: Octavian, the Emperor Augustus.

The table had been cleared, apart from a jug of wine and some water. The oil lamps flickered in the draughts that made their way around the house, extensions, like long creeping fingers, of the howling wind outside. The sound of Magnus and his friends’ carousing could just be heard above the gale blowing in rain from the sea. The crossroads brothers had spent their time riding around the estate, ostensibly looking out for patrols but in reality hunting. In the evening they would roast and eat the day’s kill, get uproariously drunk on Tertulla’s wine and then retire to bed with whichever of her slave girls they fancied.

‘It’s more that constitutional right is secured by military might,’ Tertulla replied, taking a sip from her cherished cup. ‘Tiberius was Augustus’ adoptive son so had the right to be Emperor although many would have preferred Germanicus. The loyalty of the army helps him maintain that right. We must hope that whoever he names as his successor can command the same loyalty.’

A knock on the door interrupted them and they looked up to see Attalus, wet and bedraggled, holding a leather scroll-case.

‘You’ve not fallen into the impluvium again?’ Tertulla asked him in mock-surprise.

‘If you hadn’t spent all evening exercising the well-formed muscles in your drinking arm,’ Attalus replied, removing his wet cloak and throwing it at an underling, ‘you would perhaps remember that you sent me down to the port to see if the ship had arrived.’

The day after the Praetorians’ visit Attalus had been despatched into Cosa to find a trading ship that was prepared, with no questions asked, to take passengers to Genua. He had returned the same evening with the news that he had found one for the extortionate price of 250 denarii; they were sailing to Ostia but would be back in Cosa by today.

‘And?’ Vespasian asked, hoping that the weather would keep him there for another couple of days.

‘It arrived mid-afternoon, before the wind got up; if it dies down by morning the captain promised to be on the beach below us by the third hour.’

Vespasian couldn’t hide his disappointment.

‘I know that you would have preferred earlier, master,’ Attalus said, deliberately misreading him, ‘but I’m afraid that you’ll just have to endure an extra hour or two of her excruciatingly inaccurate memories.’

‘How would you know they’re inaccurate, you old satyr?’ Tertulla said, grinning. ‘You’ve never listened to a word I’ve said since the sorry day that I bought you.’

‘What? Oh, this was at the port aedile’s office,’ Attalus said, handing her the leather tube. ‘It’s quite a modern device; if you remove the lid you’ll-’

‘Get out and go and join your playmates,’ Tertulla laughed, swiping at her steward with the case.

Attalus departed with a conspiratorial smile to Vespasian.

‘What is it, Tute?’ Vespasian asked as she pulled the scroll from its container.

‘A letter from your father,’ she replied, unrolling it.

As his grandmother read Vespasian sipped his wine and recalled the conversations they’d had over the past few days. She had helped him to flesh out half-formed opinions and corrected many of his assumptions about the difference between the two political systems: the Republic and the Empire. She had shown him how the freedoms enjoyed by individual citizens during the Republic were slowly eradicated by the rise of Rome as a colonial power. The army could no longer be just a few legions made up of citizen farmers brought together for a season’s campaigning close to home. The conquests of Greece, Asia, Hispania and Africa had meant that the men were away for years at a time whilst their crops withered and died in the fields. They returned home to find their farms overgrown and their families destitute. They were bought out at rock-bottom prices by wealthy landowners or, if they were tenants, kicked out by their landlords. This gave rise to the great estates that he could see today, farmed by the multitudes of slaves that were the by-product of Rome’s Empire. The dispossessed citizen soldiers had nowhere to go other than Rome. There they became the new underclass of urban poor, scraping by in the days before the grain dole, passing their time at the free games; a degrading end to a once proud class of farmer-soldiers who had fought for the Republic because they had a stake in it.

But the legions still needed soldiers to secure the new provinces and to add to them. The tax revenue from these newly conquered lands was huge and Rome grew rich, so the idea of a professional standing army, made up of the urban poor who had no other chance of earning a living, was born. And so the grandsons of the very men who had once fought willingly for their Republic now served for twenty-five years in the legions for pay and the promise of land on discharge. Their loyalty was now not to a republic, in which they no longer had a stake, but to the generals whom they followed and to whom they looked for their promised farm and the chance to raise a family in dignity upon their discharge.

The new system had given rise to a war of wills between the Senate, who hated the idea of giving away land, and the generals, who were anxious to get their veterans settled. Once settled they kept their loyalty to their general to whom they owed everything. The balance of power shifted away from the Senate as the generals amassed huge client bases on which they could call at any time they felt their dignitas threatened or ambitions thwarted by an increasingly jealous Senate.

The civil wars soon started as the generals battled for supremacy over each other, leading to half a century of chaos. The Senate was divided and powerless to exert its authority. Order was eventually restored by the only logical means: rule by one man. The Republic had been a victim of its own success; it had created an empire but had been unable to control it. Vespasian now understood: it took an emperor to rule an empire.

‘It seems that Asinius managed to get your parents out of Rome safely,’ Tertulla said, putting down the letter and bringing him out of his reverie.

He felt a jab of guilt as he realised that he’d hardly thought of them in the time that he’d spent in Tertulla’s company. ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ he said.

‘Asinius asked your father to write to you here in the hope that his warning would reach you in time: don’t go to the military camp at Genua.’

‘Why not? I have to get to Thracia.’

‘He’s heard from his source in the Guard that they’re looking for a military tribune passing through Genua on his way to the Ninth Hispana in Pannonia. A Praetorian tribune by the name of Macro and a legionary from the Urban Cohort are waiting there to identify him.’

‘So what should I do? Make the journey to Thracia on my own?’

‘My darling boy, if you’re going to command men then you’re going to have to do better than that. You’ve just asked my advice and in the same breath made a ridiculous suggestion. The key to being a successful commander is to know immediately what to do when things go awry. A swift and correct decision will always endear you to your men; they will respect you, learn to love you even; but above all they will follow and support you. So you tell me what you should do.’

Vespasian thought for a moment. ‘Wait for the relief column to leave the camp, track it for a couple of days to check that there are no Praetorians amongst it and then join it late.’

‘Good. Next time something goes wrong think like a leader, not a follower.’ Tertulla took a sip from her cup, placed it down on the table and looked at him intently. ‘I believe that as the imperial family spends more time in its palaces and less on campaign where the soldiers can see its ability to lead it will start to lose the support of the legions. At that point the Praetorian Guard and the legions of Germania, Hispania, Syria and elsewhere would all declare for different emperors; civil war would erupt again. The Empire will eventually fall into the lap of the general with the most loyal army; let us hope that he has Rome’s best interests at heart. Treat your soldiers well, Vespasian, lead them to victories, because there’s no reason why you should not be that general.’

Vespasian laughed. ‘Tute, you really are losing your wits; whatever the gods have decreed as my destiny it certainly is not to be Emperor. Imagine it, me?’

‘Perhaps one day you will imagine it,’ Tertulla said quietly, rising to her feet. ‘But not today. Come, my darling, we should sleep.’

The west-facing beach was in shadow as Vespasian and his companions picked their way down the winding cliff path leading their horses and a donkey, upon which perched Tertulla riding sidesaddle. A small trading ship was tying up at the jetty, which thrust out twenty paces from the shore into the now calm, slate-blue sea. Vespasian could make out six or seven crew members scurrying around with ropes making the ship fast.

The vessel was a classic flat-bottomed sailing ship that plied the shallow waters up and down the Italian coast: a sixty-foot-long, single-masted, carvel-built, high-sided, open, wooden ship. Two keel planks joined by a wooden shaft were attached either side of her raised stern; they served as a rudder as well as preventing the keelless boat from drifting too much. Between these was a six-foot-high carving of a swan’s neck and head that gave the ship an illusion of grace it would have otherwise not have merited.

Attalus was already on the jetty talking with the squat, bearded ship’s master as the party approached; voices were raised and the steward’s worried expression was obvious to Vespasian.

‘Master Vespasian, the master is now saying that he doesn’t have room on board for the horses as he’s taken on more olive oil than expected at Ostia,’ Attalus said in a hushed voice, coming up to Vespasian as he and Magnus made their way along the jetty.

‘How much have we paid him already?’ Vespasian asked.

‘One hundred denarii.’

‘So he’s willing to lose out on a hundred and fifty denarii?’

‘No, he still wants that before you get on board.’

‘I thought the deal was four passengers and four horses.’

‘It was, but now it’s changed.’

‘I see. Magnus, I think we might have some explaining to do to this gentleman of the sea.’

‘I think you may well be right, sir.’ Magnus looked back at Sextus and Marius, who were helping Tertulla down from the donkey. ‘Stand by, lads; we may have a problem that needs resolving.’

Vespasian walked up to the master. His speckled grey and black beard almost totally covered his face, leaving only the very tops of his browned cheeks and forehead open to the elements. His eyes were barely visible from years of squinting against the sun and wind. The rough leather sleeveless tunic, which seemed to be the only garment that he was wearing, gave off an unpleasant odour, a mixture of dead fish, sweat and decomposing flesh, as if it hadn’t been tanned properly.

‘My steward tells me that you are going back on the deal that you made with him,’ Vespasian said brusquely.

‘It ain’t my fault, sir, we was meant to be sailing back to Genua half empty, then the ship’s owner brought an extra load of olive oil and there weren’t nothing I could do about it.’

Vespasian looked down into the ship’s open hold to see, at each end, two large stacks of amphorae sitting in their circular storage slots, leaving only ten feet of deck space between them.

‘Surely we could fit the horses in that gap there?’

‘It ain’t about space, it’s about weight. If you bring the horses on we’ll be too low in the water and that ain’t good, I can tell you, especially as it is winter when a storm can brew up without much notice.’

‘But it’s a lovely calm day, there’s hardly a cloud in the sky.’

‘Now it is, but how long will that last? I ain’t going to sea in an overladen vessel, that’s for sure, not for two hundred and fifty denarii.’

‘Ah, so that’s it, is it? So, for how much would you go to sea in an overladen vessel, then?’

‘Five hundred and that’s my last word.’

‘And will the extra money help us to stay afloat? I think not. What if we just decide to take the road?’

‘If you had wanted to take the road then you would have done, but for some reason or other you can’t, so you chose to take passage on a ship in winter. My guess is you want to get to Genua unnoticed, so I think that deserves a larger fee.’ The master smiled coldly in a take-it-or-leave-it sort of way. Vespasian could see that he was going to get nowhere negotiating with him.

‘It would seem that you have us by the balls. I will talk with my friends.’

Back on the beach Tertulla was adamant. ‘If you sail with such a dishonest rogue he’ll either murder you, throw your bodies overboard and take all your money, or he’ll hand you in to the port authorities in Genua and still take all your money.’

‘It depends on how many of them there are,’ Magnus said. ‘Did you count them, sir?’

‘I reckon there’re six or seven plus him, maybe more.’

‘Well, that ain’t the sort of odds that I’d fancy in a small space like that over two days and nights; we’d best get on the horses.’

‘We can’t,’ Vespasian answered, realising just how stuck they were. ‘Even if we had the time go cross-country, which we don’t any more, those bastards have seen us. When they get to Genua they’ll be able to tell anyone who pays them or threatens them what we look like and where they saw us. They’ll lead them straight to Tertulla’s house and then it will be a simple case of deduction to lead them to me and the rest of the family.’

‘You’re right, Vespasian,’ Tertulla sighed. ‘But you need someone to sail the ship.’

‘Marius, can you remember enough from your navy days to sail that thing?’

‘I reckon so, sir, so long as we follow the coast.’

Tertulla smiled grimly. ‘Then it looks like the master’s just signed a death warrant for himself and his crew.’

‘I’m afraid it does, Tute. Magnus, we’ll walk back up the jetty; I’ll hold out a purse to him; you take him as he reaches for it. Sextus and Marius, stay back on the beach; we don’t want to make him suspicious. As soon as the master falls follow us on to the ship as fast as you can. We’ll kill them quickly before they’ve a chance of finding their weapons. Don’t throw the bodies overboard, we’ll do that later, a long way from here.’

‘I’ll come with you, Master Vespasian,’ Attalus said. ‘It’ll lessen the odds somewhat.’

‘You’ll be worse than a man short,’ Tertulla scoffed. ‘You’ll be in everyone’s way and get yourself killed.’

‘Then it will be merciful release for both of us, I’m sure.’ He followed Vespasian and Magnus on to the jetty.

Tertulla smiled at the bravery of her old friend, and then looked at her grandson in admiration as he walked back along the jetty. He was thinking ahead in a cold and calculating manner; he was made of the right stuff to survive in this world, she was sure of it.

The master was waiting, talking quietly on the jetty with one of the crew, as Vespasian and Magnus walked up. ‘What’s it to be, then?’ he asked in a casual manner as if he were serving in a tavern.

‘Four hundred,’ Vespasian replied.

‘I said five hundred was my last word.’

‘I suppose we don’t have any choice, then, do we?’ Vespasian said, holding out the purse that contained his gold aurei.

‘That’s the way it seems,’ the master said, his eyes fixed greedily on the heavy-looking purse. It was the last thing they ever saw.

‘You were right, my sea-faring friend, we didn’t have a choice,’ Magnus said, pulling his sword from the master’s heart. The crewman froze for an instant, not registering what had happened, as he watched his commander slump down on to the jetty. Vespasian’s knee thumped into his groin, doubling him over, exposing the back of his neck to Attalus’ blade, which sliced through it at the nape, into the vertebrae; he was dead before he had worked out what was going on.

Vespasian leapt on to the ship’s bow, gladius drawn, and severed the sword arm of the first man he came to; the ensuing scream as he went down, clutching at the spurting stump, alerted the rest of the crew to the danger. Followed by Magnus and Attalus, he jumped over the large stack of amphorae and down into the belly of the ship, landing on the back of a grizzled old crewman who was pulling a sword from the now opened weapons box beneath the mast. He thumped his sword hilt down hard on to the back of the man’s skull, cracking it open like a walnut. A shout from Attalus caused him to dodge to his left and narrowly avoid the wild slash of an axe, wielded by a tattooed monster of a man wearing only a dirty grey loincloth. The monster snarled like a wild beast as his blow missed and scythed through a line of amphorae. Olive oil gushed out over the deck. Vespasian grabbed on to the ship’s side to steady himself on the treacherous surface. He heard Sextus and Marius yell as they sprinted up the jetty and jumped on board over the stern rail. To his right Magnus had gutted a ginger-haired Celt, whose writhing body he slammed with all his strength into the monster, who tried to fend it off but slipped on the oily deck and landed on his arse. The screaming Celt flipped over his shoulder, spilling hot intestines into the monster’s lap as he went. For a moment the monster sat and stared, bemused by the grey innards that seemed to come from within him, before realising that he hadn’t been split open; he looked up just in time to see Attalus’ dagger enter his right eye. His guttural roar of pain echoed around the cliffs as Attalus twisted the blade left and right, turning the core of his brain into a jelly; it came to a sudden end as Attalus pulled the knife sharply up, slicing his brain in two.

Vespasian looked around; Sextus and Marius had secured the stern and were leaning on the rail catching their breath; two bodies lay at their feet. Magnus walked carefully forward on the slick surface and calmly slit the gutted Celt’s throat, instantly stopping his screams. The only sound now to intrude upon the gentle beat of the waves was the soft, steady moaning of the maimed man on the bow as the blood drained from his stump.

‘I’ll deal with him, sir,’ Magnus said, trying his best to stay upright on the slippery deck as the ship rocked gently on the slight swell.

‘Thank you, Magnus,’ Vespasian replied, as if Magnus had just offered him a drink of water. ‘Marius and Sextus, get those bodies down here then clear up this oil before someone hurts themselves on it.’

Vespasian put his hand on Attalus’ shoulder. ‘Thank you for that warning shout, old friend, I’m sure you’ll enjoy telling your mistress this evening that she would be minus a grandson if it hadn’t been for you.’

‘I shall, Master Vespasian,’ Attalus smiled, ‘and every evening in the future; although I rather think that she will spoil it by reminding me that you wouldn’t have been in danger if I’d done my job properly and got a trustworthy ship’s master.’

Vespasian laughed. ‘You’re probably right; let’s go and show her that we’re still alive.’

They climbed back out of the boat to see Tertulla still standing on the beach, her hands clasped in front of her.

‘Your grandfather would have been proud of you,’ she said as they walked off the jetty. ‘You fight like a man who knows that he will win. That is the sign of a man of destiny, a survivor.’

‘I very nearly didn’t survive, though, Tute. If it hadn’t been for Attalus I would be lying in two halves in the ship.’

‘So you have finally proved to be of some use after all these years,’ she said, smiling at her old friend.

‘It would appear so, mistress, which puts me one up over you.’

Vespasian left them to their banter and went to supervise the loading of the horses. Once they had been coaxed down a makeshift ramp into the belly of the ship, and their supplies stowed in the small cabin, Marius announced that he was as ready as he’d ever be to sail.

As they said their goodbyes Tertulla drew Vespasian aside and walked with him a little way along the beach. When they were out of earshot from their companions she took both his hands and held them tight.

‘I shall not be here when you return,’ she said, looking lovingly into his eyes.

Vespasian opened his mouth to protest but she held a finger against his lips, silencing him.

‘Nothing that you can say will make the slightest difference. I know that the days left to me are few and you will be away for years, not days.’

Vespasian knew that in all probability she was right, his father had said as much when he suggested that he should visit her; but admitting it seemed to make it inevitable. He felt tears start to creep out from the corners of his eyes. He took her in his arms.

‘Shed no tears for me now,’ Tertulla scolded gently. ‘Leave them until after I am gone. Be grateful that we have this opportunity to say goodbye for the last time. Few people are granted that luxury.’

‘I shall miss you, Tute,’ Vespasian said, wiping his eyes. ‘The happiest moments of my life have been spent with you here at Cosa.’

‘And there’s no reason why you should not have more in the future. I have left the estate solely to you. Your father will understand; he has two to run already and would not thank me for increasing his workload. And as for Sabinus, he never took any interest in the place and left as soon as he could.’

‘Nevertheless he will be very jealous and will find some way to get back at me.’

‘Well, that’s his and your business; I am only doing what I deem to be the right thing. I have freed all my slaves in my will and have invited them to stay on the estate, and work as freed men under Attalus to keep it running until you return. When you do, Attalus will have certain documents in his possession that I wish you to have. I have also made him a substantial bequest to keep him in his old age, so that he won’t be a burden to you.’

‘He could never be a burden to me, Tute, because he will always remind me of you.’

Tertulla embraced her grandson and then, standing on tiptoe, kissed him on the lips. ‘Remember, do what is right for you and for Rome, and you will fulfil your destiny, which is greater than you imagine.’ She ran her hand through his hair, as she used to do when he was a child, and smiled at him. ‘You should go now, the others are all on board. Farewell, my darling boy.’

Vespasian climbed aboard as Magnus and Sextus hauled up the sail. The little ship edged forward and Marius at the helm eased it around and out to sea. Vespasian stood at the stern as he watched Tertulla get smaller and smaller. When she was no more than a tiny dot on the beach he dropped to his knees and broke down in a series of gut-wrenching sobs, mourning his beloved grandmother who, although still living, was now dead to him.