Roma Victrix (41 page)

With a soft bump, the
lectica
was put down by the slaves that bore it. ‘Ah,' Frontinus said. ‘We're here. Try to keep your tongue in your mouth at the amazing wonders you are about to see.'

‘Yes, sir,' Diocles said, easing himself out of the carriage. ‘I trust you'll be able to get out unassisted.'

‘Just give me a hand,' Frontinus muttered. The Greek did so, and Frontinus fancied that he could actually hear his joints creaking in protest as he was hauled out of the carriage. ‘You'd think they'd make those things bigger.' He glared at the
lectica
in disgust. ‘I could have ridden here, you know.'

‘Yes, but then your toga would have been ruined. Let me see...'

Diocles stepped closer, rearranging the folds of the heavy garment so it would sit just right. ‘There,' he eyed Frontinus critically. ‘You look like a most venerable consul, sir.'

‘Let's go, shall we?' Frontinus said, as a squad of Praetorians approached them. After they had seen the necessary paperwork – provided by Diocles – they escorted the two men into the heart of Domitian's palace. It was beautiful by any standards, but a little too opulent for Frontinus's taste: it was even larger than that monstrosity he had lived in during his tenure at Halicarnassus and that had been big enough. Perhaps being Emperor just made you want everything to be bigger than it needed to be. Even Vespasian – a sensible chap from humble beginnings – had ordered the building of the huge amphitheatre in the heart of the capital – the biggest of its kind in the world. It was a shame that he had not lived to see its completion.

What, Frontinus wondered, would Vespasian have done about Dacia? The truth of it was, if the old emperor had still been in power, Dacia would never have happened – he was too much the canny warrior to have allowed things to slip. But his sons were not soldiers of his prowess, even if Domitian was wise enough to keep the army sweet. Titus might have grown into a fine general, but had died young: some said that Domitian had murdered him, but Frontinus refused to give that any credence. The boy's grief was too sincere – as was his fear of taking a role for which he had been ill prepared. No one could have expected that Titus would keel over in his prime and thrust his younger brother into the purple.

They were led through the palace to Domitian's private quarters – which were as large as the governor's house in Halicarnassus. The Emperor and some twenty officers likely to take part in the forthcoming campaigns were in the
tablinium.
Domitian was seated on a curile throne in front of the men who made do with stools and benches.

The only other comfortable chair was occupied by a wizened, white-haired stick of a man with skin the texture of ancient parchment. He smiled at Frontinus and nodded a greeting. This was Quintus Vibius Crispus, the ultimate survivor of Rome's body politic, an octogenarian of supreme wit and cunning. Crispus was the only member of the senatorial classes to have outlived every single one of Rome's eleven emperors save only Domitian himself.

He was now half-way through his third term as consul, Rome's highest elective office. That his first and second terms had been served under emperors as different in character as Nero and Vespasian was a remarkable testament to his versatility and skill at adapting to the winds of change. Crispus was Domitian's most trusted coun-sellor and administrator and, though the official reports of the empire's provincial governors were nominally addressed to the emperor, it was Crispus who received them and devoured every detail assiduously before advising Domitian of the state of the empire and of what needed to be done.

A huge map dominated the
tablinium
, the most up to date one of Dacia that they had. Arrayed around the room also were tables groaning with fine food and wine, the smell of the former making Frontinus's mouth water. In his supposed Greek wisdom, Diocles had him on some sort of diet that forbade him eating anything he actually enjoyed. But he could have murdered a fat, greasy ham just then.

As he was announced, he snapped to attention and raised his right arm in salute. ‘
Ave
, Caesar!'

‘Frontinus!' Domitian walked towards him, arms extended in greeting. He had managed to keep the weight off, Frontinus noted, and it looked good on him, though his face still had that actorish softness that women seemed to like. ‘Good of you to come at such short notice, my friend.' He embraced him briefly, kissing him on both cheeks.

‘I am but the instrument of Caesar's will,' Frontinus said diplo-matically – there was nothing wrong with a bit of flattery after all.

‘Tish,' Domitian turned away. ‘You were slaying monsters when I was still a mewling babe. Peace, General – be at ease. You are among friends here and I won't have any sycophancy – my Imperial Order is that we dispense with formality and speak plainly – if that's not too much of a contradiction.'

Frontinus laughed, covering Diocles's ironic cough at the mention of sycophancy. ‘No, Caesar – I can be counted on to speak plainly.'

‘Excellent, excellent. Come – join my council of war.' Domitian turned and made his way back to the map, but inwardly Frontinus groaned. He would have to stand for the duration of the whole damned meeting.

Domitian introduced all the men present, some of whom Frontinus had met before, but it would be impolitic to remind the Emperor of that. Those that knew him – the older ones – nodded appreciatively at him, the younger ones regarding him with expressions that ranged from curiosity through to condescension and some to outright hostility. New blood brought in to hear a strategy to be devised, no doubt, by himself and Tettius Iulianus, to whom he nodded briefly.

Hawk-faced, dark-eyed, with his black hair close cropped to hide a bald crown, Iulianus resembled the Divine Julius in more than just his physicality. He was a military man through and through, a skilled tactician and harsh disciplinarian whose devotion to Rome was unquestionable.

Domitian now stood with one hand resting on the curile throne ready to introduce the business of the day.

‘Gentlemen, I am sure that none of you need to be possessed of the talents of augurs to know why we are here. In the ensuing weeks since the disaster at Tapae there cannot be anyone from Nabataea to Britannia who is ignorant of what transpired there, nor any loyal citizen of Rome who does not burn with the desire for retribution and to see her honour fully restored.

‘It's said that the loss of Quintilius Varus's army in Germania sent our predecessor, the Divine Augustus, to an early grave. Whether or not that is true, it would appear that, after the passing of more than seventy years, that dismal episode has finally been surpassed in its ignominy. Now… I don't intend to die any time soon…'

Domitian smiled as he acknowledged the laughter that rippled around the
tablinium
. One of the young tribunes shouted ‘
Vivat Imperator
!' and Domitian nodded as the assembled company roared their assent.

‘…but
five legions
, gentlemen…' The emperor's face was stern now. ‘Never before in the annals of the empire has such an army suffered defeat. The Fifth Alaudae is no more: slaughtered almost to the last man; its eagle taken.
The Fifth Alaudae
… a
praetorian
legion…
my
legion… a legion so old and distinguished that it served the Divine Julius on his conquest of Gaul! And now it is gone forever…' Domitian paused as his audience murmured angrily to one another.

Frontinus noted that there was one ignominy of which Domitian had been careful not to remind them. Domitian had been in nominal command when he and Fuscus had initially defeated the Dacians and pushed them out of Moesia. As such, the emperor, eager to enjoy the same military honours of his late father and brother had hurried back to Rome to award himself a triumph, leaving Fuscus and his five legions to pursue the retreating Dacians across the Danube. When Domitian, crowned with laurel and riding a gilded chariot, basked in the adulation of the crowds on the Capitoline Hill, nobody was aware that the crows were already feasting on the bodies of Fuscus's legionaries – but everyone in the empire knew it now, and how Domitian must have burned with shame and fury at the hollowness of his achievement.

‘Now, sooner or later,' the emperor continued, ‘I am sure that you expected us to determine how best to exact our retribution, regain our military honour and bring long term stability to our north-eastern provinces. But though I have thirsted for these things as much as all of you – perhaps even more so – I had supposed that we would need more time to gather sufficient men and materiel to make our victory an absolute certainty – a victory substantial enough to deal with the Dacian problem once and for all. But it would seem that time is no longer on our side. Please enlighten us, Crispus…'

The old consul cleared his throat and tapped a bundle of scrolls that lay on the table before him. ‘Here are summaries of the latest provincial reports from Moesia, Pannonia and Illyricum. I won't trouble you with the details. The senators among you will hear them read out the day after tomorrow. But they make grim reading, let me assure you. The province of Moesia is in complete disarray, and indeed the situation there is beginning to destabilise neighbouring provinces. Though there has been no full invasion by the Dacians, the incumbent governor, Vettonanius, admits to being no longer in control of the northern part of the province.

‘There have been frequent and devastating raids and rumours that some settlements along the Danube – in Pannonia as well as Moesia – have started paying tribute to Decabalus to secure the protection that Vettonianus claims he can no longer provide. Too many of his troops, it seems, are engaged in the south of the province simply trying to keep order among a frightened and angry population. There have been bread riots in both Odessus and Nicopolis. Many of the farmers have started hoarding grain. This has not only created immediate shortages – it means that nothing is being planted and therefore there will be nothing to harvest this autumn. We have started to divert surpluses from Thrace and Macedonia into Moesia but I need hardly tell you that this is revenue that typically would come to Rome.

‘So you see, gentlemen, our policy of building up necessary resources prior to embarking on a major campaign in Dacia is simply unworkable. The longer we wait, the bigger the task before us becomes and the lesser the funds we have to support it. Caesar has now concluded that we have to do what we can with what we have – and we have to do it now.'

‘Thank you, Crispus,' Domitian acknowledged. ‘And there is, of course, another dimension that we must also consider. I said that all loyal citizens in Rome yearned for this campaign. But of course there are those who will have been heartened by what happened at Tapae and by every week that passes without us having taken our revenge. When I think of what my esteemed father and brother had to struggle to achieve in Judaea… when I consider what Gnaeus Julius Agricola won for us in Caledonia last year… the service that the noble Frontinus, here, performed against the Silures not so very long ago… may the gods forbid that we have to do it all again because our lack of a swift response is an inspiration to our enemies.

Let there be no further delay. Our campaign for the full conquest of Dacia begins this day and in this hour!'

There was an immediate wave of cheers and applause and those officers standing near where the maps were laid out banged their fists rhythmically on the tables. Domitian held up his hands.

‘Indeed, it has already begun. By now Vettorianus will be in receipt of my order that he relinquish Moesia to the temporary command of his subordinate and then take his own life.' There were growls of approval from every corner of the room.

‘Sextus Julius Frontinus!' Domitian called out. ‘…My noble friend… your long and loyal service deserves better reward than the post I must now ask you to accept.' Frontinus knew exactly what was coming; knew too that asking wasn't really what the emperor had in mind. ‘We appoint you our governor of Moesia with full and discretionary
imperium
for the affairs of the province with immediate effect.' Frontinus was at least gratified by the resumption of the applause and the table banging. He bowed to the assembled company. A poisoned chalice was being offered and he would have no choice but to drink down the bitter brew and smile as he was doing it. ‘…And our most accomplished and resolute general, Tettius Iulianus, shall command the army.' There was more applause and Frontinus joined in politely. ‘The senate will formally ratify both appointments when it meets the day after tomorrow – our consul, Crispus will make sure of it.' Crispus grinned conspirato-rially while many of the officers cheered. It was well known that Domitian had neither time nor patience for the senate or for constitutional niceties – and the army loved him for it. ‘And so, my friends, we have begun,' he announced. ‘What's to be done?'

Iulianus turned his attention to the map. ‘Decebalus is not your usual hairy-arsed barbarian oaf: he's intelligent, cunning and ruthless and tactically astute, as we have discovered. Now, I knew Cornelius Fuscus. He was not, despite rumours that have circulated, some modern-day Quintilius Varus. He was a cautious commander, mean as Cato with his men's lives. From what scant reports we have it seems that the Dacian army would not be drawn out. Perhaps he thought to bottle them up in there and lay waste to the countryside until they were forced out to fight?

‘But the Dacians did what Fuscus could not have suspected: they actually
offered
battle. It was too good an opportunity to miss. With the benefit of hindsight, we'll all say that Fuscus should have realised something was amiss. But the truth is, if I had been offered a similar chance to knock them out with a single blow, I'd have taken it too.'