Soldier of Rome- Reign of the Tyrants Page 35

  “What do you propose we do then, Placidus?” Titus scoffed. “Would you have us march on Rome?”

  “If need be.”

  All eyes turned on him, and even Vespasian raised an eyebrow at the remark.

  Placidus, in frustration, explained himself. “Look, we’re all about to swear our allegiance to Emperor Otho on the grounds that he was sanctioned by the senate of Rome. Are we then to simply ally ourselves with every pretender who seizes the throne by force?”

  “Placidus brings up a valid point,” Vespasian said, taking control of the discussion. “Neither the people nor the army will be inclined to keep changing allegiances every time a usurper comes forward. If Otho sends for aid, we will detach a portion of the army to assist him. But for now, we need to keep ourselves above the fray. Let the conflict between Otho and Vitellius run its course, and then we will decide what actions we need to take.”

  Though he made no mention of it, the prophetic words of Josephus now echoed in his mind.

  Nero’s heirs will not sit on the throne for long. In time, the strongest-of-the-strong will arise.

  As Aula stepped into the foyer, she could still hear the voices coming from within. During her journey east, all she had time to do was think about the contents of her message from Sabinus, and the possible implications for greater Rome. She had deliberately avoided speaking with the other imperial courier; not an easy task when confined to a ship for almost three weeks.

  She then gave some thought to what Sabinus told her before she left about his brother, whom she had never met before this day. Her father had spoken of him periodically, and from what he and Sabinus said, Aula could not imagine Vespasian suffering another Caesar who simply seized Rome by the sword.

  As she contemplated this, all the while listening to the ongoing conversation behind the door, she was approached by a soldier who was staring down at a small wax tablet in his hand. Her face broke into a broad smile as she recognized him. His was a face she had not seen in ten years, but there was no mistaking him.

  “Right, I was told to get you sorted with accommodations...”

  “Hello, Gaius,” Aula said, her countenance practically beaming.

  The soldier stumbled slightly and looked her in the face for the first time. His eyes narrowed, as he looked back into the deep recesses of his long forgotten memories from another life.

  “Aula?” he asked. “You’re the messenger from Rome?” When she nodded in reply, he threw up his hands in a show of surprise. “I heard one of the couriers was a woman, but by Diana I never would have guessed it was you. W...what are you doing here?”

  “My duty,” she replied with a shrug. “Like the rest of you.”

  “I thought for certain you would be married off to some senator or magistrate by now.” Gaius was still in a complete state of disbelief.

  Aula Cursia Vale had been a very dear friend of his since childhood. He was in awe at how much she had changed during the years since he departed for the legions. Even in her simple tunic and cloak, he found her very fetching. She had also inherited much of her parents’ height and was able to look him in the eye. He stammered, “The last time I saw you, you were just a little girl...”

  “Please, I’m only a year younger than you!” she retorted, with a laugh. She looked herself over and thought aloud, “I suppose I have ‘grown’ a little bit over the last ten years.” Gaius’ face turned red when he realized she was not simply referring to her height.

  “Shall I escort you to your quarters?” he asked, practically stumbling over the words.

  “But, of course.”

  Aula picked up her leather satchel and followed Gaius out through a side entrance to the great hall. The garden, with its high walls and ornate fountain in the center, made Aula feel like she was back in Rome, and she said as much to Gaius.

  “It is only when one gets out into the city that it feels a bit ‘foreign’,” he replied. “I suppose that is because Caesarea is really a worldly city, with plenty of Greek, Parthian, Syrian, and yes, Jewish citizens.”

  “It is certainly a world apart from where we grew up in Britannia,” Aula said, her thoughts going back many years to another time and place.

  “Rome is what brings these worlds together,” Gaius conjectured. “The native Britons and Judeans have little if anything in common. And yet, they are part of the same empire; worlds drawn together under one standard.”

  “Nobly spoken. You should leave the army and write poetic propaganda for the emperor.” Aula was laughing to herself at this, though Gaius felt slightly embarrassed. She placed a hand on his shoulder which caused him to shudder slightly. “I’m sorry, that was cruel of me to say.”

  “It does seem rather silly,” he replied. “Only patricians give a damn about such things. The only thing my soldiers care about is staying alive long enough to receive their share of the emperor’s coin, which they will immediately spend on drink, gambling, and prostitutes.”

  He found himself gazing at the ground for a moment. It was baffling to him that he, who was second-in-command of a century of legionaries, who had seen battle and extreme horror numerous times, was suddenly awkward around this young woman he had known since he was a child. The two stopped walking, and Aula now sat on the edge of a large fountain, her head cocked slightly.

  “So you’re an officer now?” she asked. She had little knowledge of the inner machinations of the imperial army, but she assumed Gaius was no mere ranker anymore.

  “An optio,” he replied. “It means I’m second-in-command of a century of up to eighty legionaries. Not to boast, but when I was promoted I was the youngest in the entire cohort, quite possibly the entire Tenth Legion.”

  “You know my father always respected you,” Aula remarked. “He said you were a man who would make his own way in the world, and not expect status or favor to be given to him simply because of his name.”

  “Yes, well, legionaries are required to make their own way in this world,” Gaius observed. “My father may have been elevated into the equites, but my older brother was the only one able to profit from it. Still, I would like to see him again someday.”

  “Funny you should mention him, because Lucius has always envied you.”

  “Envied me?” Gaius asked. “Why? The life of a legionary is filled with drudgery and toil, years of laborious boredom accented with moments of sheer terror. And if one doesn’t die in battle, there’s an assortment of ways to meet ones end out there. The discipline is harsh, with soldiers routinely beaten for various infractions. Most who join the ranks are very poor, and they only do so, so they won’t starve to death. The greatest incentive the army has, far more than any patriotic piece of propaganda, is that meals come regular, as does the pay. So why in Juno’s name would my brother envy me for choosing this life?”

  “Because it was your choice,” Aula answered. “Your path was yours to make, it was not decided for you. My father always felt very strongly about that. He never thought he would have children, and given how late in his and Mother’s lives I came along, I think I was quite the surprise. Daughters are always used as political pawns. It’s the same everywhere not just in Roman society. And yet, he was determined that I would choose my own path, like you did. As a woman my options are rather limited. And I know the longer I wait, the less chance that someone who society thinks is a suitable husband will have me. I may only be twenty-six, but in some circles, that is far too old to be a new wife and mother.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?” Gaius asked.

  “Why should it?” Aula questioned back. “You know as well as any, I was not raised like a typical nobleman’s daughter. While others were taught embroidery, I learned to ride a horse. I was taught how to read, and Father showed me how to use this.” She held up her scabbarded spatha to emphasize this last point.

  “I do remember him taking you horseback riding,” Gaius remarked. “But I never knew he taught you how to fight. Remind me to never cross you.” He gave her
a wink.

  She responded to with a warm smile. “Father sent me to live in the House of Flavius Sabinus in Rome so I might be educated,” Aula continued. “From there, he said, I should make my destiny. I do not know what the fates might have in mind for me, but it doesn’t hurt that Sabinus’ tutors taught me to speak and write in Latin, Greek, and even Aramaic.”

  “You can probably converse with the people of this land far better than I,” Gaius conjectured.

  “I can also passably speak Gallic, as well as the rather vulgar tongue of some of the Germanic peoples of the Rhine,” Aula added. “Once Sabinus offered me the chance to serve the empire, I didn’t hesitate for a second. But tell me, what are you doing here? In Caesarea, I mean.”

  “I took an extended leave,” Gaius said. “I had some personal issues to attend to on the isle of Cyprus.”

  “We stopped off there,” Aula inadvertently interrupted. “Salamis was a lovely city. I wish I had been allowed to take my horse. I think the beach would be perfect for riding.” She noticed Gaius’ suddenly pained expression. She paused for a moment, then knowingly asked, “Did your ‘personal issues’ have anything to do with a woman?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Gaius admitted. He then told Aula about Verinia and his son.

  As he spoke of the little boy who would never know Gaius was his father, Aula’s eyes betrayed the inner sadness she felt for him. “Gaius, I am so sorry.”

  “Nothing I can change now,” he replied, as if trying to convince himself. “As soon as I returned to Caesarea, I was told to report to General Trajan. At first, I thought I was in some sort of trouble. Soldiers from the ranks, even options, are almost never told to go see their commanding legate. It turned out that Vespasian’s staff was rather short on clerks and, with an extended lull in the fighting in Judea, I was told I would be of better use writing dispatches rather than returning to my century for the time being. General Trajan has promised to send me back to the legion well before we launch our next campaign. Jupiter only knows when that might be. The zealots are fighting some sort of holy war amongst themselves, and Vespasian would rather they kill each other off.”

  “I knew there was a pause of sorts in the war here,” Aula said, eager to help Gaius change the subject. “But the only thing I had heard was the Jewish rebels were squabbling amongst each other.”

  “Oh, they are doing a lot more than just squabbling,” the optio remarked. “There is an all-out civil war going on in Jerusalem, as well as the regions to the south. And with our forces remaining static in various camps, blockading Jerusalem on three sides, General Trajan ordered me to report to the commander-in-chief’s head clerk. It’s not so bad. At least I have a room to sleep in, instead of a dusty tent.”

  They then both stood and continued to the eastern wing of the palace. Gaius found a vacant room not far from the garden. There were numerous guest rooms along the three levels of the wing. The room was modest sized but clean, with blue painted walls adorned with various paintings, both eastern and Roman.

  “After three weeks at sea, it will be nice to sleep on a real bed again,” Aula said, with a sigh of relief.

  “If you wish to bathe, and don’t wish to walk all the way over to the public bathhouse, there is a small private bath just down the hall to your right,” Gaius remarked. “The slaves who maintain it live on the other side. Just let them know about an hour before you wish to use it, and they will make sure it is properly heated.”

  “And which room is yours?” Aula asked coyly.

  “I don’t get a room within the palace,” he replied. “The barracks is on the north side of the compound. I have my own room, so that is something.” He smiled at her. “It is good to see you again, Aula.”

  “And you, dear Gaius,” she responded, giving him a quick embrace before closing the door behind her.

  Numerous messages had been dispatched from Rome with the most important of these sent north. The Vitellian division under Caecina had only recently arrived at the Alpine city of Vindonissa, home of the Twenty-First Legion. Though they had not declared for one side or the other, the fact that the city gates were open, with a delegation from the legion waiting for them, made Caecina hopeful.

  “General Caecina,” the legate said, as he and his entourage of staff officers approached on horseback. “Welcome to Vindonissa.”

  “And you know why I have come?” the general asked.

  “Of course. You have come to liberate Rome. The Predator Legion stands ready, awaiting your orders. We do have much to discuss, though, including if you still intend to march on the imperial city.”

  “And why wouldn’t I?” Caecina asked. “We have not traveled all this way, through the bitter rains and other undesirable weather, just to stretch our legs. Why do you ask? Has the situation changed in Rome?”

  “A lot more than anyone north of the Alpes can imagine,” the legate answered. “Galba is dead.”

  The legate had detained the imperial courier long enough for Caecina to arrive and formulate a response on Vitellius’ behalf. One of his own couriers was sent on to Vitellius with Otho’s message of peace.

  “A farcical bit of nonsense, that is,” Caecina remarked. “We declare for Vitellius on the first of January, yet Otho assassinates Galba on the fifteenth. Our claim is two weeks older than his, and therefore it is our emperor who has the right to the throne.”

  “A rather apt assessment. And that is why you can count on the loyalty of the Predator Legion.”

  “For which your emperor thanks you,” Caecina asserted. “Seeing as how we could not uproot entire legions from their posts on the frontier, my division consists of roughly four to six cohorts from each legion. Yours we can take in its entirety. Therefore, the Twenty-First will be the focal point of our division.”

  “And if you intend to march over the Alpes in the winter, you will need my men to act as guides. It won’t be easy, but I know the way to Curia, about three weeks’ march from here, is clear. It is also at the highest point of the mountain passes, so if we can get that far, we should be able to march straight into northern Italia.”

  Brass Sestertius of Otho

  “We have much to celebrate, Caesar,” the praetor who oversaw the imperial mints told Emperor Otho, during an inspection of his new coins. “As you know, the Rhoxolani tribesmen who dared to raid south of the Danube two years ago attempted the same again this past fall. The Third Legion set a trap and chopped them to pieces. Therefore, we think it only fitting that we commemorate this victory, as well as your pending triumph over the pretender, on your new coins.”

  The praetor showed him a new silver denarius. The front bore a profile portrait of the emperor wearing the traditional laurel crown. On the reverse was an eagle with the inscription, VICTORIA OTHONIS, around the edge.

  “The Victory of Otho,” the emperor translated with an approving nod. “Of course, I was not emperor when the Rhoxolani were defeated.”

  “A technicality,” the praetor conceded. “We know the legion who routed them has remained loyal. And you will be emperor when Vitellius is defeated. But here, since the common plebs rarely get to see our silver, we have minted a sestertius that I think will appeal to the masses.”

  The brass sestertius was by far the most commonly circulated coin within the empire. Though much larger than the silver denarius, it was worth one quarter the value. Denarii were most often the currency of choice for the patrician class as well as the army, with the vast majority of citizens using the brass sestertius. This particular coin also bore Otho’s image on the front, though the back bore the letters PAX ORBIS TERRARVM or ‘Peace throughout the World’.

  “I like it,” the emperor remarked. “I will pray for the gods’ blessings upon the overture of peace, that it may usher in an age of prosperity, rather than a charade which preceded violent destruction.”

  Pleased with his new coinage, Otho soon left the mint and returned to the palace for a meeting with Senator Nerva. At just three years hi
s elder, Nerva was closer in age to Otho than many of his inner circle. He was also one of the more politically astute members of the imperial council and had become an invaluable advisor to the emperor. And, unlike the cantankerous Galba or unstable Nero, Otho appreciated the senator’s candor and willingness to tell him what he may not wish to hear.

  In addition to minting a series of coins to commemorate the victory on the Danube, Otho ordered consular ornaments awarded to the legate of Legio III, Gallica, Titus Aurelius Fulvus, as well as Tettius Julianus of Seventh Claudia, and Numisius Lupus of Eighth Augusta. Furthermore, he ordered a triumphal statue erected of the Governor of Moesia, Marcus Aponius Saturnius, for his role as commander-in-chief during the campaign.

  “A bit excessive, don’t you think?” Nerva asked, as he reviewed the scrolls bearing the formal declarations. “After all, the Rhoxolani were on a plundering raid, and when their horses got bogged down in the mud the legions annihilated them. And for that you are granting the legates the same awards that Paulinus received for saving Britannia during the Iceni rebellion? He never got a statue erected in his honor.”

  “No disrespect to General Paulinus, but even Nero felt he went too far in his reprisals against the rebellious tribes. Even after their forces were destroyed, he continued to pillage their lands and slay them by the thousands. And yes, I will grant you that the honors I am bestowing upon the Danube army are on the excessive side. That said, I need the loyalty of every soldier within a thousand miles of Rome, from the legates all the way down to the last legionary. Should Vitellius refuse our entreaties for peace, the Danube legions will be the bulwark of our defense forces.”

  “Very good, Caesar,” Nerva replied. “And while I am here, there is another, rather delicate, issue of public perception we need to address.”

  “And that is?”

  “As we all know, many of Nero’s statues were cast down soon after his suicide. Whether to placate Galba or done out of genuine relief at his demise is anyone’s guess. With Galba, who the people despised, now dead, many of Nero’s statues are being restored by the people. No one has done anything to stop them. This is partly because he was your friend, and many of the plebs view you as a return to his reign.”