Robert Fabbri: Rome’s Fallen Eagle

Vespasian took his place beside Plautius with Sentius and the other legates; the senators gathered behind them as the Praetorian cohorts marched in and filled the remainder of the marketplace, leaving the legionary cohorts backed up along the road.

A hush fell.

Vespasian stood, waiting for something to happen; eventually Narcissus cleared his throat, meaningfully, looking at Claudius.

‘Ah, y-y-yes,’ Claudius spluttered, sitting as upright as he could in the backless chair, ‘of course. Who speaks for the Britons?’

Verica raised his head. ‘Every man here speaks only for himself and his tribe but our words are the same: we accept Rome and we bow to her Emperor.’

‘C-c-come forward and receive Rome’s friendship.’

One by one the Britons came forward, shuffling on their knees, their swords held out before them resting on the palms of their hands. Claudius bade each in turn to rise and confirmed him in his position of king of his tribe or chieftain of a sub-tribe under Rome.

Vespasian read the shame on each face. The ceremony was a public humiliation of these proud men. Cogidubnus caught his eye, as he rose to his feet before the Emperor, with a look of bemused disbelief at the form that the power of Rome took. Vespasian inclined his head fractionally and the King of Vectis, shaking his, backed away and returned to his place.

Verica was the last to subject himself to the ordeal; once he had submitted there was a stir amongst the Praetorians off to the left. Claudius struggled to his feet, helped by Pallas and Narcissus, and turned to face the senators as a Praetorian centurion approached him holding an imperial Eagle.

Claudius gave a lopsided smile and taking the shaft held it aloft for the senators to see. ‘Members of the Senate, do you know what Eagle this is?’

There were mutters but no replies.

‘This is the E-E-Eagle that none of you would have seen for thirty-four years. This is the Eagle that just three months ago I presented to my loyal troops in gratitude for the suffering that they were willing to undertake in coming to this island. This, Conscript Fathers, is the Eagle of the Seventeenth. I, Claudius, have raised the last fallen Eagle of Rome and I ask you to return to Rome with me and place this Eagle where it belongs: in the Temple of Mars.’

The senators burst into loud and enthusiastic cheering and applause.

Vespasian looked at his brother. ‘And what were we doing whilst Claudius was bravely raising this fallen Eagle?’

‘Surviving, brother.’

‘We return to Rome together,’ Claudius continued, ‘but first we must organise this new province that I have won for Rome, the province of Britannia. This shall be its capital and here I shall build a temple in my honour. For his help in aiding me in this great victory, I name Aulus Plautius as the first Governor of Britannia and I award him the right to wear Triumphal Ornaments. Come forward, Plautius, and once again receive your Emperor’s thanks.’

Stiff and formal, Plautius approached Claudius and was again embraced; this time Claudius whispered a few words in his ear and when he turned away the general was clearly burning with indignation. Plautius paused and then held his head back. ‘Conscript Fathers, I must offer my thanks to you for persuading our Emperor to make this long journey and come to my aid. Without his leadership and strategic and tactical abilities our cause would have been lost and we would have been thrown back into the sea.’

The senators applauded this sentiment, enjoying the implication that they had played a decisive part in the conquest of Britannia, whilst neglecting the fact that it was very far from over.

Vespasian glimpsed Pallas and Narcissus exchange a look between them; although it was fleeting it hinted at the immense satisfaction that they were both feeling. ‘They’ll have made Claudius the darling of the people when all this is reported back in Rome,’ he muttered to Sabinus. ‘And the Senate get to reflect in his glory because they’re the ones who begged him to come.’

‘And they’re the ones who will return the Eagle with him; it makes me feel queasy.’

‘Yes, it’s terrifying; if a man like Claudius can be kept in power by his freedmen, who knows what we might get next?’ Vespasian’s mouth twisted in distaste.

Claudius handed the Eagle back to the centurion. ‘I shall also award the right to wear T-T-Triumphal Ornaments to C–Corvinus, the brother of my darling wife, whose role in the conquest has been crucial throughout.’

Vespasian’s shook his head in disbelief. ‘Crucial?’

Corvinus went forward; his face was a picture of subservient gratitude as he received the Emperor’s embrace.

‘How did he go from treason to Triumphal Ornaments?’ Sabinus muttered, not bothering to hide his outrage.

‘By coming from the right family, brother. Magnus was right: people from families like ours are wasting their time.’

‘And Triumphal Ornaments will also go to the three subsidiary legates; firstly, Hosidius Geta whose bravery at the Afon Cantiacii saved his cavalry from capture by the enemy. Despite being surrounded and severely wounded, he led his men to safety.’

Aulus Plautius did little to conceal his opinion of this version of the events that Claudius had been given, and Geta did little to conceal the fact that his general’s opinion did not concern him in the slightest as he returned from Claudius’ embrace.

‘And then my loyal Flavians, hard-working, honest and happy to toil in the shadow of greater men for little reward, come forward.’

Vespasian submitted to Claudius’ clutches, receiving yet more unwelcome kisses. ‘Thank you, Princeps.’

Claudius held his shoulders and looked him in the eye. ‘I hope that I will still be able to refer to you as my loyal Flavian when you return to Rome.’

‘Always, Princeps.’

‘I’ve been told that you have an infant daughter and a son a few months older than mine?’

‘Indeed, Princeps.’

‘And I believe that you have no house of your own and that your family is lodging with your uncle, Gaius Vespasius Pollo.’

‘That’s correct,’ Vespasian replied hesitantly, wondering why Claudius had all of a sudden taken such an interest in his domestic affairs.

‘Then that’s perfect. When I get back to Rome I will arrange for your wife to move into an apartment in the palace; I’m sure she would appreciate her own home and I’m sure that my darling Messalina would love her company. And then, of course, our two boys can be playmates.’

Vespasian felt sick as Claudius released him from his grip. Playmates? Forcing down the horror that welled inside of him, he kept his face blank as he walked away from the Emperor, past Corvinus, who smiled, broad and innocent.

Flavia had got her wish, a home of her own.

But whilst he served the Emperor in Britannia, his wife and children would live or die in Rome at the whim of Corvinus and his sister, the Empress, Messalina.