Douglas Jackson - Sword of Rome

Serpentius’s eyes narrowed and he took his time before replying. ‘If I did, you were fortunate indeed, because Caladus fought again twelve times under the name Rodan. Not every gladiator who spills his blood on the sand is a dead gladiator.’

Vitellius’s plump features twitched first to understanding, then to outrage, before he spluttered with laughter. ‘Fortunate indeed. I will remember that the next time I make a wager.’

He waved away the young aide and flipped the wooden box open. Inside was a sword that took Valerius’s breath away. The gladius was like no other he’d seen, the hilt wonderfully worked in spun gold, with precious stones decorating the scabbard and a miniature legion’s eagle on the pommel. ‘Divine Julius himself carried this sword.’ Vitellius slipped it free from the scabbard and Valerius saw the blade had been worked so skilfully that a pattern like silver smoke ran its length. ‘I have borrowed it from the Temple of Mars Ultor, where my brother is high priest. Rome has need of it, Valerius. Aulus Vitellius has need of it.’

At another time, Valerius might have smiled at this foolishness, but he could see that Vitellius was in earnest. ‘You are going to war, my friend?’

The other man shook his head. ‘No. But there is a name to be made by the man who defends the Rhenus, and perhaps takes the battle beyond it in the manner of Germanicus. If that man carries the sword of Julius Caesar, his other deficiencies might be overlooked. Leave us, please,’ he ordered the young men, ‘and make sure the cart is well provisioned.’ The aides shuffled out and Valerius nodded to Serpentius to join them. Vitellius lowered his voice. ‘Who knows,’ he said carefully. ‘If the next Emperor is an old man and it is such an onerous position, he may feel two years, perhaps three, is enough before handing the reins of power to a younger, more energetic candidate.’

Valerius stared at him. Vitellius had commanded a legion on the Danuvius and as governor of his province, but his conceit in thinking that he could follow Galba to the purple was astonishing. Yes, he was of the proper patrician stock, but if Galba dismissed men like Marcus Salvius Otho and Titus Vespasian, how likely was he to appoint as his heir a fat man who thought stealing Caesar’s sword made him a great general? But now was not the time to disabuse his friend of his ambitions.

‘Then may Fortuna favour you.’ He raised his cup. ‘What news do you have?’

A lifetime in politics had taught Vitellius the value of having a long list of contacts throughout the Empire, and now they were proving their worth. ‘You have just come from Rome, so you know of the unrest among the naval militia?’

‘I know they call themselves a legion.’

‘Exactly. They will not fight, but Galba should have ordered their disbandment. By delaying he is only storing up trouble. And I fear that is not our new Emperor’s only misjudgement.’ He reeled off a list of officials, including two of senatorial rank, whom Galba had ordered executed before he left Spain. ‘Anyone who did not greet his appointment with sufficient enthusiasm, and their families with them.’ Valerius looked up, startled, and Vitellius nodded sagely, picking at the remaining food. ‘Yes, even Nero at his worst only used such barbarity sparingly. It seems my old friend Servius has discovered a taste for blood. He has a delicate path to tread and I fear he treads it with all the care of a wandering buffalo. In Gaul, his conscience tells him to reward the rebels he failed to support, not understanding that this puts him at odds with the legionaries who saw their comrades fight and die defeating them. It is said that he has already called for the head of Mithridates of Petrus because he’s heard the old bugger has been ridiculing his looks. In Africa, Clodius is refusing to send grain supplies to Rome, a decision probably taken when Nero was alive, but his days are numbered. Verginius Rufus is deposed in Germania Superior, but he may survive.’ He frowned, the movement setting his great jowls wobbling. ‘There is one thing that puzzles me. I hear rumours from Rome of chaos and disruption in Syria and Judaea, yet my agents assure me they are not true. The source of these tales appears to be Nymphidius Sabinus. Can you think of any reason for him to do that?’

Valerius laughed. ‘Not unless he is using them as a goad to hurry our new Caesar to Rome, where he belongs.’

Vitellius nodded gravely. ‘You have not lost your nose for conspiracy, Valerius.’ Valerius sensed there was more to come, but the new governor of Germania Inferior was in no hurry. ‘I have also heard tales of some remarkable exploits by a young cavalry commander. These tales, along with everything else that happened in Parthia, were supposed to be suppressed, but Aulus Vitellius is not without his friends. Still the soldier, Valerius?’

‘It seems the only thing I am good for.’

The fat man smiled. ‘My new position comes with a certain amount of responsibility, but also a certain amount of power. One aspect of that power is a say in the appointment of legionary commanders. Galba believes the Fifteenth Primigenia’s legate is of suspect loyalty. He wants to foist some young upstart quaestor from Baetica on me, but I believe that if I insisted he would appoint my own candidate, particularly as you have already been of service to him.’

Valerius had been listening, but not quite taking in what Vitellius was saying. Slowly it dawned on him what he was being offered.

‘I …’ His heart swelled until it filled his mouth and the words would not come. Not an African legion or a temporary command, but five thousand of Rome’s finest, marching behind the eagle of a legion with a pedigree that went back to Pompey the Great.

‘There is no hurry to accept, I assure you. I doubt I will be in Colonia Agrippinensis until November.’

‘I am honoured by your faith …’

‘Of course, I understand you must complete whatever mission Galba has assigned you. But you may write to me at any time, and,’ he took Valerius by the wooden hand, ‘remember that the offer stands for as long as I have the power to make it, and that as long as Aulus Vitellius lives you may call him your friend.’

Vitellius hauled himself to his feet. He picked up the wooden box from the table and pulled the sword from its cloth covering. The gladius looked small and insignificant in his big hands and as he swung it in a clumsy practice cut Valerius had a terrible sense of foreboding. But Vitellius was oblivious of his gloom. As he lumbered towards the door and the appointment that was his destiny he turned with a smile. ‘The world will hear more of Aulus Vitellius.’

Valerius watched him go and the words seemed to echo round the room, but his mind held only a single thought.

He had been offered a legion.

An hour after leaving Aulus Vitellius, they turned through the gateway and on to the track leading to the villa. A flash of white among the trees to their right told Valerius they’d been sighted by a watch slave now sprinting to announce the arrival of strangers.

And he was a stranger. It was almost two years since he’d left home to travel to Syria and, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he hadn’t visited or sent word since he’d arrived from Hispania all those weeks ago. The rough road twisted through low hills cloaked with untidy ranks of grey-green olive trees that stretched away into the distance. It was long enough to allow time for alert defenders to set up an ambush and provided ample cover from which they could hurl their missiles at hostile invaders with impunity, at least until the latter had organized themselves. This was where he had spent the first dozen years of his life and he knew there were barely visible tracks through the trees that led to caves and gullies where his people could retreat and either hide or, if necessary, attempt to fight the attackers off. Regular troops would persist and the end would be inevitable, but the kind of men who would find a run-down place like this an attractive target were bandits and brigands; bands of deserters. They would not relish giving their blood with no guarantee of profit. As the calculations ran through his mind, he realized with a shiver why he was making them.