[Gaius Valerius Verrens 05] - Enemy of Rome Page 2

  ‘What? Military justice—’

  ‘Suspended until they are confirmed by the Emperor,’ Titus continued. ‘In the meantime, Gaius Valerius Verrens remains under sentence of death. The punishment is to be carried out only after the Senate and people of Rome formally agree my father’s position and he ratifies the sentence. Thank you, Aquila, for your time and your patience.’

  Aquila spluttered with suppressed rage, but he was general enough to know when he’d been outmanoeuvred. He rose from his chair and bowed, and stalked out of the tent, not even deigning to glance at Valerius.

  Titus sighed and called for wine. A young slave brought a silver jug and placed it on a table beside four pewter cups, pouring one for the young legate and vanishing behind a curtain at the rear of the tent. The young aristocrat closed his eyes and savoured his drink. ‘I do so hate disagreements.’

  ‘You’ll forgive me if I’m glad you had this one.’ Valerius reached for the jug and poured two more cups.

  ‘I’m not sure a convicted criminal is worthy of this vintage.’ Titus fixed him with one weary eye. ‘But your Spanish wolf is certainly deserving. Without him the gentleman with the sword would have gone about his business and I would be having this conversation with your head.’

  Valerius carried a cup to the ragged figure who still lounged by the doorway. Serpentius, former gladiator, his freedman and his friend, took the cup and sniffed it suspiciously. Valerius laughed. ‘None of your usual tavern horse piss.’

  ‘It smells like fruit,’ the Spaniard grumbled. ‘What’s the use of wine that smells like fruit? It should make your eyes shrivel and your balls explode. That’s proper wine.’

  ‘So what took you so long?’

  Serpentius lifted the cup unhurriedly to his lips and drank, his nose twitching at the unfamiliar sweetness. ‘That first day, when they caught us by the river, I wasn’t too worried. I thought you’d talk your way out, the way you always do. So I just followed and watched when you were taken into the Thirteenth’s camp. As time passed, I realized you were in a bit of trouble.’ Titus laughed at the understatement and poured himself another cup. The Spaniard continued. ‘I managed to make friends with a couple of the guard detachment …’ He saw Valerius’s look. Making friends had never been Serpentius’s greatest talent. ‘I taught them a few gladiator tricks,’ he said defensively. ‘The old sword spin, and that belly punch that makes you piss blood for a week before you die. Anyway, they were happy to talk and I found out where you were being kept. They said you were a dead man walking because Aquila blamed you for Bedriacum. I thought about breaking you out …’

  ‘You were too closely guarded,’ Titus interjected. ‘So he decided the only way to save you was to find someone with more authority than Aquila and plead your case.’

  ‘I managed to reach the army’s headquarters at Poetivo …’

  ‘But Primus, who commands, kicked him out on his skinny Spanish arse because Primus is a proper patrician and your friend looks like a mongrel mix of rag salesman, latrine cleaner and hired assassin.’ They waited for some reaction from the Spaniard, but Serpentius only rolled his eyes and took another drink. ‘Somehow, he discovered I’d just arrived in the camp, found his way past my bodyguard – which they’ll regret for all eternity – and you know the rest.’

  ‘And he has my thanks for it.’ Valerius raised his cup, eliciting a shrug from the former gladiator. ‘What I don’t understand is how you happened to be here. I thought you would be back in Judaea by now. Oh, and Primus? That’s not Marcus Antonius Primus, I hope?’

  Titus frowned. ‘It is. Why would it matter to you?’

  ‘Because I prosecuted him in a fraud case. He and his friends forged an old man’s will so his nephew would get the proceeds of his estate. They threw him out of the Senate and banned him from Rome. Will that cause you a problem?’

  The young legate waved a hand airily as if the fact had no import. ‘To answer your first question, I was in Cyprus waiting for my father’s instructions when word arrived that Primus had come out in support of him with his Pannonian legions. Vespasian is aware of, um … certain character defects in his most enthusiastic champion.’

  ‘You mean he’s a fraud, a liar and a thief?’

  The other man smiled. ‘I was thinking more of the fact that he is reckless. The message I brought is that my father wishes him to delay here and conserve his forces until Licinius Mucianus arrives with his Syrian legions. You remember Mucianus from Antioch?’

  A narrow, ill-tempered face swam into Valerius’s head. Sculpted patrician features with dark unforgiving eyes. Valerius had been sent to Syria to spy on Nero’s eastern commander, Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, only to discover that his real mission was to provide cover for the man sent to assassinate Corbulo. When Mucianus had taken command after his fellow general’s death Valerius had become a hunted man. ‘I don’t forget people who want me dead.’

  ‘One among many, it appears.’ Titus raised a cultured eyebrow. ‘But I believe he is no longer a threat to you. In Antioch he was Nero’s man, and once you had outlived your usefulness he would naturally have had you killed.’ His tone was utterly detached, as if he was discussing the price of grain, and Valerius was reminded that Titus was now a prince of Rome, and, if Vespasian won the throne, heir to the Empire. ‘His loyalty now lies with my father, and my father has made it known he owes a debt of gratitude to Gaius Valerius Verrens.’ He smiled. ‘What is done is done; we have new battles to fight.’

  ‘But I’m still under sentence of death,’ Valerius pointed out. ‘I won’t be of much use to your father dead.’

  ‘Suspended sentence,’ Titus agreed. ‘But Vespasian will never confirm it. In any case,’ he added cheerfully, ‘by the time he gets the opportunity you may actually be dead.’ He paused and took another sip of wine. ‘Soon I must return to Judaea, where my father has work for me. He will want all the information I can provide on Aulus Vitellius and his forces. Your Spaniard said you were at Bedriacum and Placentia, but he is as mean with words as he is free with his sword.’

  Valerius nodded to Serpentius and the Spaniard slipped soundlessly out of the tent. When they were alone Valerius took the seat Aquila had vacated and told the younger man about his attempt to persuade Vitellius to give up his claim to the throne. He and Serpentius had been forced to flee to Placentia, where they’d manned the city walls against the might of two legions, then escaped to join Otho’s army in time for the horrors of Bedriacum. ‘We hurt them at Bedriacum, but we were defeated because of bad generalship and Otho’s insistence that the army take the offensive over ground that was more suitable for defence than attack. If he’d waited until the Seventh and the Fourteenth joined us it would have been different.’

  Titus nodded, noting the grey pallor and new lines around his friend’s eyes that had nothing to do with his months in captivity. He had seen it before in the East, in the aftermath of military defeat. Gaius Valerius Verrens looked like a man worn out by war, or worn out by life. The melancholy thought made him frown. ‘And now Vitellius sits in Rome and my father must force him out or …’ He shrugged. They both knew that if Vespasian failed the most likely outcome was death for the entire family. ‘He will make a fine Emperor, Valerius. He will be fair and just and wise. A new Augustus.’

  Valerius remembered another man who had spoken of becoming the new Augustus. Our ambitions are the same, Valerius. A strong Rome, a prosperous Rome, a Rome untainted by the stain of corruption. ‘Vitellius may wear the purple, but the real power lies with his generals,’ he said carefully. Titus’s head came up and his eyes glittered with new interest. ‘If you can split him from them, I suspect his enthusiasm for his new position would be fatally weakened.’

  Titus nodded carefully. ‘I will think on that; we can discuss it more fully later. Now, you must leave me. I have letters to write to my father and my brother Domitianus.’ He was already reaching for his stylus and missed Valerius’s startled reaction. Titus’s brother was Valerius
’s rival for the affections of Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo’s daughter, and the last time they’d met Valerius had threatened to remove certain parts of Domitianus’s anatomy and make him eat them. ‘He is trapped in Rome, but under the protection of my uncle Sabinus. I—’

  A bustle of activity from the doorway made Titus look up, and Valerius turned as a heavy-set, older man in a legate’s sculpted breastplate and red sash entered the tent. Titus smiled a welcome. ‘Marcus Antonius Primus, commander of the Danuvius legions.’

  The big man nodded, but a frown shadowed his face as he noticed Valerius for the first time.

  ‘Don’t I know you?’

  III

  ‘I do not believe I have been able to convince him.’ Titus outlined his problem the next day as his entourage prepared to leave for the East. He kept his voice so low Valerius had to strain to catch the words. ‘My father did not wish to give a direct order to a commander in the field, because he is aware how quickly conditions can change and opportunities arise. In an experienced and thoughtful general that would be well enough, but Primus is a gambler by nature. My greatest fear is that his impetuosity could place this army in danger. We can win, Valerius. We will win. But to do that we must husband our resources, and the battle-tested troops of the Danuvius frontier are our greatest asset.’ He looked Valerius in the eye and his next words contained a challenge. ‘I rely on you to be my agent in this.’

  Valerius almost laughed. ‘What makes you think Marcus Antonius Primus will listen to me? The man blames me for destroying his career. Even with Serpentius watching my back I’ll be lucky to last a week without having my throat slit or hemlock slipped into my wine. What was it he said when he recognized me?’ He shook his head at the memory of Primus’s violent reaction; the bulging eyes, the purple distended features, the hands that had twitched for his throat. ‘“If I had known you were in Aquila’s custody I would have had you strung up by your own intestines and personally lit the fire beneath your feet.” Those aren’t the words of someone who’ll thank me for giving him military advice.’

  Titus smiled. ‘It’s true his initial reaction wasn’t encouraging, but I’ve spoken to him. He’s not a fool, Valerius. He knows this campaign is his opportunity to return to high office, but the only way he’ll ever wear a consul’s toga and march behind twelve lictors is if he wins victories. I’ve told him my father values your services, and that he should keep you close for your knowledge of Vitellius and his generals. He understands the importance of your experiences at Placentia and Bedriacum. Your rank of tribunus laticlavius is restored and the Spaniard appointed your servant and personal bodyguard. Primus will never like you, Valerius, but he will be happy to use you. As long as you are of use to him, he’ll keep you alive.’

  ‘It’ll be like being chained to a tiger with toothache.’ Valerius knew he protested in vain. ‘And the outcome is likely to be just as painful.’

  The other man laughed. ‘Yes, that would sum it up rather well. But Gaius Valerius Verrens has experience of riding tigers. You survived Nero’s enmity while men like Corbulo and Seneca were swept away. You alone paved the way for Galba’s march on Rome. Who else but Gaius Valerius Verrens would have dared to demand that Aulus Vitellius give up the purple?’ Valerius stifled a denial. They both knew Titus was exaggerating. He had survived Nero by fleeing with Vespasian’s help. Other men had guided Galba to the throne. Honour and duty had dictated he must approach Vitellius, but he had not been alone. None of that mattered. He was here and he was available. Titus placed a hand on his right arm. ‘I would not ask this of anyone else, Valerius.’

  A young aide announced that the preparations were complete and Valerius accompanied Vespasian’s son to his horse.

  ‘I haven’t made my oath to your father,’ he reminded him.

  ‘And he would not demand it.’ Titus smiled. ‘He knows he is not the Emperor until he has convinced the Senate and the people to affirm it. We will make that pledge together on the day he dons the purple and Valerius Verrens receives the honours he deserves.’ As the escort moved off he leaned down from the saddle and whispered, ‘Tame the tiger for me, Valerius.’

  ‘Let me be very clear.’ Marcus Antonius Primus sniffed his contempt. ‘I would rather feed you to my dogs than have you on my staff.’

  Valerius held the other man’s poisonous stare during the long pause that followed. The last time he’d looked into those eyes had been during his brief return to the law after returning from Britannia. He’d been selected to prosecute three senators on a charge of falsifying a will and forcing it on an elderly man. The evidence against Primus, and his fellow defendants Valerius Fabianus and Vincius Rufus, had been overwhelming, and though they tried every trick, legal and otherwise, to have the case dismissed, they were found guilty. All three were already rich and the only motive for the crime was naked greed. They’d been dismissed from the Senate under Lex Cornelia Testamentaria and banished from Rome. Nero’s death and the short-lived rule of Galba had seen Primus reinstated and given a legionary command. Aulus Vitellius had been one of the senators who had banished him, which forced him to throw in his lot with first Otho, and now Vespasian. The headquarters tent seemed to strain with the power of his anger, and for a moment Valerius thought the general would break the metal stylus in his hand.

  Eventually Primus managed to regain control. ‘However, I am a servant of Rome, and if I am to ensure Vespasian takes his rightful place as Emperor I must use every weapon at my disposal, no matter how distasteful. Your rank and privileges as senior military tribune are confirmed.’ Valerius bowed his thanks for this grudging concession as Primus continued: ‘You know the false Emperor Vitellius personally?’

  ‘I served with him in Africa,’ Valerius admitted.

  ‘And your assessment of his military capabilities?’

  Valerius almost smiled. His old friend Vitellius’s greatest military capability was to eat a full century’s rations at a single sitting and still be demanding more. ‘He is no soldier,’ he said, ‘but no fool either. He will leave the fighting to his generals.’

  The legate nodded slowly. ‘And who commands, Valens or Caecina?’

  ‘I believe neither will willingly yield to the other. Both have an equal influence on the Emp— on Vitellius and he chooses not to choose between them for fear of alienating the one or the other. Caecina Alienus is a charming rogue who milked his province of Baetica dry and would have been prosecuted’ – he saw Primus wince at the hated word – ‘but for Galba’s death. I have never met Fabius Valens, but I know him by reputation. A hard man and a good soldier who personally cut the head from the former governor of Germania Inferior. The only thing that unites them is their ambition.’

  Primus chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘And which is the greater threat?’ Valerius remembered a short-lived negotiation before the walls of Placentia; Caecina, flamboyant in his colourful barbarian costume, a wild excitement in his eyes, his beautiful wife at his side. ‘Valens,’ he said emphatically. ‘At Placentia, Caecina should have waited until he deployed his artillery. Instead, he threw his best men at strong stone walls without support and lost thousands. I doubt he has the patience or the wisdom to be a great commander.’ He hesitated, waiting for a reaction to what could have been a criticism of the man before him, but Primus didn’t respond and he continued: ‘Bedriacum was Valens’ victory. He fought a clever battle over difficult terrain and used his reserves skilfully. With enough men, Caecina could hurt you, but Valens could destroy you.’

  Primus looked up sharply, wondering whether to be insulted by the suggestion that either man could defeat him. Gradually he relaxed and his face twisted into what was almost a smile. ‘Yes, I see why Titus suggested I could use you. Honest to the point of foolishness. Brave enough not – quite – to be despised. A man never likely to play the spy.’

  This time it was Valerius’s turn to flinch, but he was careful not to show it. Primus believed himself a fine judge of character, but he was wrong. Valerius ha
d played the spy for Nero, for Galba and for Otho, and played it well. He had no doubt Titus wanted to be kept informed of Primus’s moves, but he thought it unlikely the legate would give him the opportunity. ‘I am happy to serve the general in whatever role he feels me best suited,’ he said carefully.

  ‘A lawyer’s answer.’ Primus’s mood changed in an instant. ‘Venus’s tits, I hate lawyers. Your role will be to be at my orders day and night, and if I tell you to jump off a bridge you will ask me which side is my pleasure. You will be part of my council, because that is what your friend, Titus,’ the word ‘friend’ was given an emphasis that made Valerius want to take the other man by the throat, ‘has suggested and for the moment Titus has his father’s authority, but you will keep your ugly face and that crippled arm out of my line of sight until you are called. I have been advised to stay on the defensive, but that will depend on the reports I receive over the next few days. If the conditions are right, we will march on Rome. We will fight this war, you and I, and we will defeat the enemy, but by the end you will wish you had died under the executioner’s sword. Do not be deceived by my gentle manner today, Gaius Valerius Verrens. When this is over there will be a reckoning. Now get out.’

  Valerius bit his lip to stifle words that would put him under another death sentence. He slammed the wooden fist against his chest in salute and marched from the tent. Outside, he found Serpentius waiting on the other side of the Via Principalis. ‘By the look on your face I’d say that went well,’ the Spaniard said.

  A bitter laugh escaped Valerius and he looked out over the familiar lines of tents to the grey hills beyond. ‘Remember that time we crossed the Danuvius and were ambushed by the Dacians? I think we were safer among the savages and their skinning knives than we are here.’

  Serpentius shrugged. ‘In that case we should get out the first chance we have. You don’t owe these people anything.’