Sword of Rome (29 page)

Valerius had deliberated long and hard on how to greet his old friend. Vitellius, even as governor of Africa, had never been a man to stand on ceremony. Yet he called himself Emperor now, and in Valerius’s experience Emperors and their courts tended to be obsessively sensitive about protocol. Vitellius would expect the respect his new rank was due, and the titles that went with it. But Valerius had given his oath to another man wearing the purple and he had come here to ask Vitellius to lay aside his claim. At last, he put his wooden fist to his chest in salute. ‘Gaius Valerius Verrens at the service of my lord Vitellius.’

The smile didn’t falter, but Valerius wasn’t deceived. It would be as dangerous to mistake the garrulous, irrepressible Vitellius he had left in the tavern on the Via Salaria for the man before him as it would be to confuse a household tabby with an escaped tiger.

‘Lord Vitellius? Not Caesar or Augustus?’ Valerius searched for a reply that couldn’t be interpreted as an insult, but Vitellius waved a chubby hand. ‘No matter; old friends should not be bound by such formality. Has he been searched?’ The silent answer must have been affirmative. ‘Good. Have him bathed and find him some clothing suitable for a Roman knight. And order the kitchen to prepare fitting dishes for such a pleasant reunion between old friends.’ He reeled off a list of exotic fish, fowl and meats that made Valerius blink. ‘And the best that execrable cellar has to offer. None of your tavern vinegar.’ Again
Valerius attempted to pass on Otho’s message, only to be baulked by that imperious hand. ‘I have much to consider. We will continue our discussion when you return.’

An hour later he was back watching Vitellius eat his way through enough food to sustain a legionary
contubernium
for a week. Eventually, the other man laid down the leg of roasting pig he had been labouring over, sighed, gave a soft belch and washed down a pound or more of pork with a pint of wine. He dipped his grease-encrusted fingers in a bowl brought by one slave and wiped them clean on a soft cloth carried by a second. Satisfied, for the moment, he turned at last to his guest. ‘Not hungry, Valerius?’

‘Uncertainty tends to take the edge off a man’s appetite.’ Valerius allowed his eyes to slide over the guards who had replaced the earlier legionaries around the walls. Young men, with hard unyielding eyes. Lucius, Gavo and … what was the other man’s name, Octavius? … yes, Octavius, and three more, all in civilian clothing, but fully armed. Vitellius’s closest aides. Men he could trust to do his bidding and keep quiet about it. Men who would happily rid their master of an unwelcome guest, slit his belly, fill it with rocks and sink him in the deepest part of the Rhenus. Vitellius saw the look and laughed.

‘If I wanted you dead, would I feed you first?’ Valerius had a feeling the answer might be yes. Vitellius would find it amusing. A frown creased the German Emperor’s pink features. ‘Your presence here poses me a dilemma. The fact that you introduced yourself as Publius Sulla, of fond memory, tells me this is not a private visit to take up my previous generous offer. On the one hand, I am pleased to see my old friend. On the other, I fear that his arrival might be somewhat inconvenient, perhaps even dangerous.’ Valerius allowed himself a smile, but Vitellius didn’t match it. The governor of Germania picked up the grilled carcass of a small bird, discarded it and chose a larger one, cramming it into his mouth and chewing vigorously to the accompaniment of crunching bones. He swallowed, belched and took a draught of wine before continuing. ‘The oak-headed arrow fodder of my personal guard are very capable, but I know that whatever is said in front of them will sooner or later reach ears which, in this case, I
would rather it did not. Better to be able to carry out our discussions in an atmosphere of mutual trust and part friends.’ The deep-set, pale eyes turned icy and were matched by his voice. ‘I am aware that Otho has been trying to get messages to me which have been intercepted by generals who do not wish to trouble me with their contents. I take it you are here on behalf of the man who sits upon the throne that is rightfully mine?’

Valerius didn’t reply immediately. Vitellius’s words had ignited an unexpected flare of hope. He might have airily dismissed the couriers who weren’t reaching him, but it left the question of just who was in control: the Emperor, or the men who led his armies. There was also the question of trust. If Vitellius didn’t trust his guards, it meant he didn’t fully trust their officers, and by extension those same generals who were keeping information from him. Equally, the fact that the guards were prepared to spy on the man they were meant to be protecting indicated a lack of trust in Vitellius on the part of the soldiers he supposedly commanded. And there lay the dilemma for Valerius. Even if he could convince his old friend, did the man have the power to halt the avalanche he’d set in motion? He felt Vitellius’s eyes on him, growing ever more impatient, but he ignored them. This was too important to rush. The legions of Germania had elected Aulus Vitellius Emperor, but had it been by popular consent, or at the instigation of their officers? He had an image of a chained bear he had once seen in the street, its owner encouraging it to dance with lashes of a whip. Was Vitellius the bear or the man holding the chain?

At last, he spoke. ‘Marcus Salvius Otho greets you. He chose me to carry his message because he knows of our friendship and is certain you would never believe I would advise you to act against your best interests.’

‘Hah,’ Vitellius growled. ‘Then that is his first mistake. He does not know Gaius Valerius Verrens as I do. If you have a failing, Valerius, it is that you’re too honest and too loyal. You will act in the best interests of Aulus Vitellius? No, Gaius Valerius Verrens will act in the best interests of
Rome
, because Gaius Valerius Verrens is wedded to a sugar-dusted image of Rome that has nothing to do with the sewer-breathed reality,
and Aulus Vitellius may burn in the deepest pit of Hades if it suits Rome’s purposes. So do not feed me an onion and tell me it is a peach. I have tasted enough things in my life to know the flavour of ox manure.’

The words struck like a slap in the face from Vitellius’s jewelled fingers. Valerius felt the blood surge to his cheeks as he experienced a rush of anger that wouldn’t be constrained by the armed men lining the walls. ‘And what is Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator’s vision of Rome?’ He tried to keep his voice level, but the words emerged with the speed and venom of sling pellets. ‘Is it the women and children, every one a client of the Empire, lying in a burned-out town on the Aarus river? It was only the first of many we encountered in the lands of the Helvetii. You asked me if I was hungry. I was hungry when I came here, but not when I saw what we were to eat, because your roasting pig reminded me of a babe I saw not a week ago lying in the ruins of its home, with its mother’s blackened bones beside it.’ He struggled for words as his head filled with the images he’d seen. ‘I hope you enjoyed your pork, Aulus. I would have choked on it.’

‘That was none of my doing.’ The fat man didn’t respond to the anger in Valerius’s voice. ‘We needed supplies. The Helvetii would not give us them. Caecina said they must be taught a lesson.’

‘It was done in your name,’ Valerius countered, each word fighting its way through clenched teeth. ‘This is Marcus Salvius Otho’s message to you. “Tell him I will give him anything short of the crown. He can name his price. He may govern any province that takes his fancy. I will share the consulship with him. I will pay off his soldiers and his generals.” You have unleashed the wolves of the North, Aulus. Unless you find a way to call them back, what happened to the Helvetii will happen to Romans from Augusta Taurinorum to the very gates of the Rome. Whatever you have heard about Otho, he is an honest man. He means what he says. I would stake my life on it.’ He saw the look in Vitellius’s eyes as he spoke the last sentence and knew, as if there had ever been any doubt, that he had done just that.

‘I must think on this. There are other factors here of which you know nothing. Other lives are at stake. Even if I was minded to give up my claim to rule Rome, which I am not, do you think I could snap my
fingers and call back my legions? Those men hailed Aulus Vitellius Emperor and Aulus Vitellius in turn pledged himself to them. What sort of weak fool would I look if I dithered at the first bank? Britannia and Gaul have declared for me. Caecina and Valens are halfway to Rome with close to fifty thousand men, and very soon I will join them. There is nothing to stop us but a handful of auxiliaries. Where are Otho’s legions? He has only his palace guard, the Praetorians whose loyalty he has bought, and the mob—’

For all the decisiveness of his words, Vitellius sounded like a man attempting to persuade not the person opposite but himself, and from somewhere Valerius found the courage to interrupt. ‘He was hailed Emperor by the Senate and people of Rome,’ he said.

‘He murdered an old man and stole the purple for himself.’ Vitellius’s voice hardened again. ‘That alone should condemn him. The Senate supported him because it was support him or die. The people? What do the people know? All they care about is their bellies. Otho is not worthy of the throne of Rome.’

The last words were almost a snarl and Valerius caught the other man’s mood. ‘Yet he sits on the throne of Rome and you do not. If Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator wants the purple he will have to walk over the bodies of a hundred thousand innocents to take it. Could you bear that, Aulus? Could the man who gave up his fortune to feed the starving of his African province use dead children as his stepping stones to the Palatium? If he could, he is no longer the man I called friend.’

Valerius found himself on his feet, chest heaving as if he’d just survived a battle. Vitellius’s bodyguards moved to surround him with their swords drawn and a wild look in their eyes. The German Emperor slumped forward in his chair like a man awaiting the executioner’s axe. For a moment, Valerius’s fate lay balanced on the razor edge of a
gladius
, but before a blow could be struck Vitellius raised himself and waved his aides away.

‘Enough, for now.’ His voice emerged as a tired croak and he shook his head as if something had torn inside him. ‘We will talk again tomorrow.’

Valerius hesitated, on the verge of … no, he would not apologize. Two legionaries appeared and he didn’t resist as they led him away. They were almost at the door when Vitellius stopped them.

‘You have tested my friendship, my patience and my hospitality, Gaius Valerius Verrens. Tonight, as you ponder a foolish old glutton’s ridiculous dreams, I ask only that you remember this. His only ambition is the same as your ambition: to make a better Rome. And if he had your certainty he would already be garbed in purple, no matter how many innocents it took to make it so.’

As he was escorted back to the room he shared with Serpentius, Valerius felt as if an arrow had pierced his heart.

‘Will he do it?’ Serpentius lay back on his bed in the governor’s guest quarters with his hands clasped behind his shaved head.

‘If he were his own man, his instinct would be to come to some sort of accommodation with Otho, but …’ Valerius sighed, exhausted by the confrontation of the previous evening. ‘He is like the driver of a runaway chariot. He has his fists on the reins, but he has long since lost control of his destiny. His lead horses are making the decisions and all he can do is hang on and pray the outcome isn’t fatal.’

The Spaniard grunted acknowledgement. ‘In the kitchens they whisper of him as the Emperor of the dinner table, because the only important decision he ever makes is what he’s going to have to eat on a given day. The real power is Valens. Two months ago, during the Vindex business, he tried to bully Verginius Rufus into making a claim for the throne, but Rufus knew it could be his death warrant. When Galba made Vitellius governor of Germania Inferior, Valens must have felt he was being presented with a bull with a ring through its nose.’

‘You’ve been busy.’

Serpentius grinned. ‘So far, I’m an honoured guest. I’ve been fed and entertained and a plump, pretty slave girl from over the river pumped me for information in a way I didn’t object to at all. She seemed pleased with what I gave her, though it wasn’t information, and in
return she told me the lie of the land here.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘Valens persuaded the legions upriver to hail Vitellius as Emperor and the governor had no way out. The way she told it, it was like one of those tarts who wave a perfumed veil in your face. Next thing you know, you’re flat on your back and your purse isn’t where you thought it should be.’

Valerius rose and splashed his face with water from the basin by the window overlooking a courtyard patrolled by Vitellius’s personal guard. ‘Then the answer to your question is no. He will not accept Otho’s offer, because he cannot. Valens and Caecina are the men making the running and Valens won’t stop until he’s handed the seal of the Praetorian prefect, which will as good as put his hands round Vitellius’s throat.’

‘So where does that leave us?’ The Spaniard pulled back the curtain to check no one was listening outside the doorway. ‘If we’re doing no good here, we should get out while there’s still time. My little plump partridge showed me a passage to the slave quarters and I hear that not every soldier on the Rhenus likes the way things are going.’

A weary smile flickered across Valerius’s scarred features. ‘You may go with my blessing, but this is a game of power; the kind of game I used to play on campaign with Corbulo. Otho already has very few pieces on the board and it would be against my oath to deprive him of even one. I think there may still some good to be achieved here. What was that you said about soldiers?’

Serpentius scowled, disgusted that Valerius would even suggest he might desert him. ‘About two dozen men and four centurions of the Twenty-second up at Moguntiacum objected when the young pup Caecina ordered them to pull down Galba’s statues. They’re being held in chains and the word is that their tent mates aren’t too happy about it.’