Soldier of Rome- Rise of the Flavians Read online

  Before he’d even ordered his legions to turn about and return to their barracks, the legate sent his fastest rider with a detailed dispatch to Vespasian. The man had ridden south to the port city of Tergeste and booked passage on a merchant vessel bound for Caesarea. It would be six weeks before official correspondence from Rome verified Otho’s death and Vitellius’ assumption of power; Primus’ courier reached Vespasian in half that time.

  The commander-in-chief had just returned from a plunge in the sea when he was approached by Optio Gaius Artorius, who had been temporarily assigned to the army headquarters as a scribe during the lull in the Judean campaign. He was accompanied by one of Primus’ tribunes.

  “General, sir,” Gaius said, after a quick salute. He did not even seem to notice that Vespasian was dripping with sea water. “An urgent message has come from Antonius Primus.”

  “It must be urgent if he sent one of his staff tribunes to deliver it,” Vespasian observed, as he apprised the messenger. “Well, out with it.”

  The tribune seemed confused that Vespasian did not wish to receive the dispatch in a more private setting, but he complied and handed over the scroll. At that moment, Vespasian’s son, Titus, stepped out from the open doorway of the palatial headquarters building.

  “Otho is dead,” the tribune said, as Vespasian started to read. Though this revelation did not get a reaction out of him, Titus raised an eyebrow.

  Gaius took a step back, wishing to remain inconspicuous, so that he would not be dismissed before he heard the rest of the grave news.

  “That damned fool,” Vespasian muttered, handing the message to Titus. “Primus had the better part of three legions, plus additional auxiliary infantry and cavalry regiments, scarcely a week’s march from Bedriacum. A nd that stupid twat, Titianus, decided to attack the Vitellian Army without waiting for them!”

  “Looks like it was still a close-run battle,” Titus noted. “At least from what Primus was able to sort out.”

  “Yes, and with three extra legions, it would have been a rout. Vitellius’ head would now be on a spike, and the empire at peace once more. Instead, the gods only know what unrest that fat bastard will cause as he gorges his way through Italia, impoverishing every city he comes to. Juno help us if the imperial coffers cannot keep up with his appetites!”

  “Still, this might work for the best,” Titus said, with a knowing grin.

  “That it might,” his father acknowledged. He asked the tribune, “Did Primus have any other messages for me, verbal ones, perhaps?”

  “Only that he asks what your intentions are, sir,” the man replied. “He did not outright say it, but he wishes to know if you will be casting your support behind Vitellius.”

  “I’ll not send a written reply, because those have a nasty tendency of falling into the wrong hands,” Vespasian said. “When you return to the Danube, tell Primus to remain alert and keep his soldiers well-drilled and ready for further orders.”

  “Understood, sir.” The tribune saluted and took his leave.

  “Tell the truth, general,” Titus said quietly, “you were at least partially hoping for this outcome.”

  Vespasian chuckled softly in reply but said nothing. He simply patted his son on the shoulder, and the two disappeared into the palace proper. Gaius took a deep breath and slowly made his way back to the clerks’ offices on the western wing of the palace, all the while avoiding the shocked stares from nearby soldiers who overheard Vespasian’s conversation with the tribune.

  Rumors would travel throughout the army with a far greater speed than any imperial courier, yet the optio kept his thoughts to himself, at least until they received some sort of official word from Vespasian. All he knew was that the world had suddenly changed, and he suspected much turmoil would follow before it was made right again.

  Statius and Dolabella departed Rome inconspicuously, under the cover of the predawn glow. No servants or other retainers accompanied them. The senator sent his chief freedman ahead to inform his wife of his pending return, while the rest remained in Rome to oversee his household there. Their destination lay approximately eighty miles southeast, halfway between Rome and Capua. The guardsman was quiet and reserved, partly out of deference to the former general, partly because of what he had been ordered to do. Dolabella, on the other hand, was rather friendly and talkative.

  “You served with the legions before coming to the Guard,” Dolabella speculated. That he would speak so freely with a mere praetorian was uncanny, and the guardsman did not know what to make of it.

  “How did you know, sir?” Statius asked, maintaining his reserved demeanor.

  “The way you carry yourself,” the senator answered. “There was a time when all members of the Praetorian Guard were hand-picked from the very best of the legions. Politics, the courting of favors, and the granting of first priority to the sons of guardsmen have diluted this considerably. Your bearing tells me you are a man who lived a hard life, long before taking the relatively comfortable posting in Rome. Not many spend a career in the praetorians and end up as scarred as you. Am I correct?”

  “You are very astute, sir,” Statius concurred. Roman society was notoriously prone to favoring beauty over substance, and scars earned in battle were severely frowned upon. Statius had several that were impossible to hide; one in particular that ran along the length of his forearm, and another along the side of his neck, where an enemy spear had only just barely missed the artery.

  “Did we ever serve together?” the former general asked.

  “I was with Legio VI, Ferrata,” the guardsman replied. “I was wounded at Tigranocerta during the Parthian War in Armenia.”

  “Ah,” Dolabella said, in a sudden moment of realization. “That is why your name sounds familiar to me. It was you who won the Rampart Crown during the final assault.”

  In what was his first showing of emotion since the journey began, Statius shook his head and laughed at the memory. “I’m surprised you remember that, sir. That was ten years ago, and I doubt that many within the Sixth Legion could even recall my name. Hell, no one in the Guard even knows what legion I was with, let alone the wars I fought in. I suspect if any of them did see that golden crown with its encircling castle designs, they would assume I stole it from somewhere. That’s why I keep it locked in a chest. I’ve been tempted to sell it, but I can’t bring myself to do so. Promise you won’t tell anyone, sir?”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Dolabella said, grinning broadly.

  As they rode out of the city, past the Temple of the Divine Claudius, Statius was surprised at just how candid he was being with the former general. In just a short time, he had divulged more to Dolabella than he had to anyone within the praetorians. Even his late friend, Atticus, never knew about his role in the Siege of Tigranocerta. He at first wondered if he was getting careless and letting his guard down. Then he quietly shrugged and reckoned that his time with the senator would be short, and in another day or two it would not matter anyway.

  “So you were transferred to the praetorians as a reward for earning the Rampart Crown?” Dolabella asked.

  “More or less,” Statius said. “Syria and Armenia are a dry, desolate shit hole. I had already been there for ten years when the war broke out. I took a Parthian spear to the leg during the attack on the walls, and to this day I’m amazed that filthy weapon did not give me gangrene. After the battle, I was being carried out on a stretcher when General Corbulo came up to me. Apparently, my centurion had already told him I was the first man over the wall, and that I should be awarded the Rampart Crown. Corbulo asked me if there was anything else he could do for me. Typical political speak from a senatorial officer, but I think he meant well. I told him he could transfer me to the Praetorian Guard, so I would never have to return to such a forsaken place ever again. I made the remark partly in jest, and partly because my damn leg hurt so much I didn’t know what else to say. Two months later, after recovering in a field hospital, I received my orders.”
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  “A fascinating story,” Dolabella said. “The Rampart Crown is indeed a rare honor. I still remember the story of when Julius Caesar launched a simultaneous amphibious and ground assault on an enemy city. Both the naval and army forces claimed their respective candidates were the first ones over the walls, causing quite the heated debate. But since the city was so large, and none of the allied forces could actually see each other, Caesar did the pragmatic thing and awarded the crown to both men.”

  “I recall reading the same story,” Statius replied.

  Dolabella looked to him with a raised eyebrow. “A literate soldier, winner of the Rampart Crown, yet you have never accepted promotion.”

  “It is true, sir, I can read. I thought I’d keep my education hidden when I joined the legions. But I forgot and actually signed my pay chit instead of making a simple mark. I had officers, from my optio on up to the centurion pilus prior, telling me I should be groomed for promotion. I would have none of it, and cannot tell you how many times I declined promotion to decanus…personal reasons, you understand. But tell me, sir, why are you so interested in me? Why does a mere praetorian guardsman fascinate one of Rome’s most decorated generals?”

  “Personal reasons, I suppose,” Dolabella replied. His rather serene demeanor never changing. “I guess you could say, I would like to get to know a little more about the man who will likely be the last person I ever speak with.”

  Statius stopped his horse abruptly, his eyes wide for a moment. Dolabella simply looked back at him and smiled.

  “Oh, come now, did you really think I didn’t know?”

  The two continued to ride in a very awkward silence for the next few minutes. It was all so very strange and surreal to him, that a condemned man would want to hear the life story of his executioner.

  “I…I don’t know what to say, sir,” Statius stammered.

  “Otho was paranoid, because he saw me as a potential threat,” Dolabella explained. “I was the one he feared Galba might name as his successor. When instead that ‘honor’ fell to poor Licinianus, Otho should have realized I was no threat to him at all. He had me sent away from the city anyway, though if he really wanted to exile me, he would have found some remote island.”

  The corner of Statius’ mouth twitched, as this brought back the memory of Cornelius Laco, and his savage fate. The guardsman had been instrumental in his death, as well as that of Licinianus. And while he was but one among many of the emperors’ assassins, he seemed to get a lot of the more high profile assignments in and around Rome.

  “I only ask one thing of you,” Dolabella said, his countenance now serious, and his jovial demeanor gone.

  “Of course.”

  “Refrain from fulfilling your orders in front of my wife,” he said. “You probably know that my dear Petronia was once married to Vitellius, albeit more than twenty years ago. Theirs was an unhappy and mercifully short-lived union, similar no doubt to his marriage with the unfortunate Galeria. Petronia has never made it a secret that she has been far happier with me, leaving Vitellius simmering with jealousy these past two decades. I think that is the real reason he is convinced I must be disposed of permanently.”

  “I think he also sees you as a potential rival,” Statius added. “He is afraid someone, potentially a former general with great charisma, will do to him what he did to Otho.”

  “Vitellius is too stupid to see where the real threats lie,” Dolabella scoffed. “If I wanted the imperial throne, I would have played the game against Otho and dispatched him politically long before he won the empire by cutting off Galba’s head. Instead, I will be a far greater threat to Vitellius in death, than I ever was in life.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “By having me disposed of so early in his reign, Vitellius will set an ugly precedent,” Dolabella explained. “Unlike Otho’s quick slaying of Laco, whom the people hated, I will flatter myself for a brief moment and say that I know well my reputation with my countrymen. Vitellius thinks he is dealing with a threat, when instead he will create even more. Legates and senators will feel that, like Nero, he will punish virtue and competence rather than reward it. Aulus Vitellius will not rule for long, and I predict my death will mark the beginning of his downfall.”

  After a few moments, the tone of the conversation changed. Dolabella began bantering with the guardsman once more, as if nothing had transpired regarding his pending demise. Statius privately admired the man’s outward stalwartness in the face of certain oblivion. He had had little qualms about doing away with either Licinianus or Laco, though he was still deeply troubled by the brave woman in Albium Intimilium that he’d been ordered to slay. And now he was tasked with the killing of one of Rome’s most celebrated heroes, all due to the petty jealousies of a fat tyrant who only came to the throne so his manipulators could rule through him.

  It was now midafternoon, and the sun shone brightly. And while the trees lining either side of the road offered some shade, it was rather warm, and both men were sweating and thirsty. About a quarter mile up ahead, they spotted an out of the way tavern.

  “I don’t know about you, but I am rather parched,” Dolabella said. “Are you needing refreshments?”

  “I am, sir,” Statius replied.

  The two dismounted near a large tree, under whose shadow the single-story tavern sat. As Dolabella tied both their mounts to a stone mile marker post, Statius realized that to go any further on this journey was utterly pointless. He also knew the more time he spent with the former general, the greater his guilty conscience would become. And so, as silently as he was able, he unsheathed his gladius and crept up behind his prey. Dolabella had just stood upright when the guardsman grabbed him around the face from behind. With rapid precision, he slashed his blade across the senator’s throat. Dolabella’s cries were muffled by Statius’ hand. He grabbed and clawed at the guardsman’s arm as he sank to his knees. Blood was gushing from the gaping wound in his neck, as well as from his mouth, and all over Statius’ hand and forearm.

  “Forgive me, sir,” the praetorian whispered into his ear. “I pray that you will be avenged against those who gave me my orders. Ride now to Elysium.”

  The body was left where it fell. There was no sense in taking it to its destination or back to Rome. The guardsman knew someone would find him soon enough. He quickly wiped the blood from his gladius, remounted his horse, and began the long trek back to Rome. His thoughts soon turned to his daughter. He constantly reminded himself that it was for her he performed these gruesome duties. The amount of coin he had earned would ensure a better life for both of them. And yet, how much longer could he continue to be little more than an assassin who wore a uniform, especially in the service of an emperor he so vehemently despised?

  It was now the third week of May, and on this warm Mediterranean spring morning along the coast of Caesarea, Vespasian decided to spend it riding his horse along the beach. A ship from Rome had docked an hour before. And as the commander-in-chief was leading his horse from the stables, he saw a familiar face coming towards him with Titus.

  “By Diana,” he said with a laugh. “Did I not just send you back to Rome?”

  “That was two months ago.” Aula Vale smiled. “And most of that time has been spent at sea.” She was wearing her red courier’s tunic, and she carried her satchel and spatha slung over her right shoulder. It was a far cry from the more womanly stola she wore in Rome and while staying as Vespasian’s guest in Caesarea. “More dispatches from my brother, then?” Vespasian asked.

  Aula nodded.

  The old general shrugged. “Well, nothing that can’t wait until after I’ve had a morning ride. Care to join me?”

  Aula broke into a broad smile. “I have just spent the last three weeks aboard a cramped ship,” she said, before adding, “I would love to.”

  Titus found a mount for the young courier, and the three of them rode out onto the vast stretches of beach that ran along the western coast of Judea. Aula was glad to ride a hor
se once more. Some of her earliest memories were of her father teaching her to ride, almost from the time she was able to walk, and she relished the blow of the sea winds and the warmth of the sun on her face.

  Vespasian was laughing boisterously, at one point jumping down from his horse and splashing out into the waves.

  “The sea feels wonderful, Titus!” he shouted, as he sat with the tide rolling past his chest.

  “Your father has quite the jovial personality,” Aula said to the young legate, with a laugh.

  “Yes,” Titus said with what could only be described as a relieved smile. “It is a side of him that has been absent for far too long. The war in Judea has done much to sap his strength and good humor. I am glad to see him laughing again.”

  “Normally, I would have stripped naked before plunging into the sea, modesty be damned!” Vespasian said, as he briskly walked out of the surf, his heavy footsteps splashing. “Yet for some reason, I feel like I have to at least try and behave myself around you, Lady Vale.”

  “Please don’t feel you have to be prudish on my account,” Aula replied with a half grin. “I have spent plenty of time in public bathhouses both in Rome and Britannia.”

  “I have always felt a sense of refreshing candor in such places,” Vespasian said, as he remounted his horse. “When one is laid out naked as the day they were born, for all to see, they tend to be a lot more honest with themselves and with others. Besides, I find it amusing to snicker at those men who, being less than blessed by the gods, like to claim their inadequacies are the result of the cold plunge!”

  Both Aula and Titus laughed at this. Aula had never met Vespasian before her first journey to Judea and had no knowledge of his penchant for practical jokes and sexual innuendo. The brutal sieges, with thousands of his soldiers left dead and wounded, had created a pall of gloom over the commander-in-chief. This extended reprieve from the fighting had done wonders for his physical and emotional well-being. Just six months shy of his sixtieth birthday, Vespasian was certainly no longer a young man, and the Judean revolt had done much to age him. Yet he now looked completely revived, as if he were ten years younger.