Douglas Jackson - Saviour of Rome

Severus, who’d been sunk in misery contemplating the endless days and weeks ahead, shot him a tight smile. ‘I would agree entirely, my dear Melanius, if only Calpurnia hadn’t taken the accursed thing a couple of days ago to visit her sister. I’m afraid the saddle it is unless you feel it would not be beneath us to requisition a farmer’s cart or some such until we reach Legio. I’m sure Proculus will be able to provide something in the comfort line when we reach the fortress. Shall I send someone to bring him forward?’

Melanius groaned inwardly. ‘That won’t be necessary.’ He doubted very much whether Proculus would go out of the way to find anything that would diminish his agony. In fact, he suspected the prefect would probably revel in it. That was one reason Proculus was at the head of his First cohort instead of in the vanguard with the command party. The other was that, quite frankly, the presence of the veteran soldier made Melanius nervous. His time with the legions in Germania seemed very long ago. A process that had felt relatively simple then now appeared devilishly complex. There were so many things to remember. It was only right that Proculus, as nominal legate of the Sixth, should bear part of the burden, but Marcus Atilius Melanius commanded, and he must be seen to command. He also had to show strength in front of the likes of Severus and Piso, who were already showing signs of strain.

Mars save him, how had it ever come to this? He’d been in Asturica Augusta five years, patiently building a network of suitable contacts and waiting for his opportunity. It had presented itself in the form of Aurelio, who rode, ever watchful, a few paces behind his right shoulder. At the time he’d been working in some vague and shadowy capacity for the department of the praefectus metallorum . Melanius suspected he’d been an enforcer who kept the mine workers and their families in their place, some employment that required a potent mix of subtlety and extreme violence. Certainly there had been a hint of menace about the man when he’d appeared unannounced at Melanius’s house. Melanius’s first instinct had been to have the cocksure peasant thrown out, but something had made him hesitate.

Aurelio had information Melanius might be interested in – it turned out Melanius was not the only person with contacts. Like the fox he was, Aurelio had somehow scented his intent and now he suggested an arrangement. Julius Licinius Ferox, the Emperor Nero’s esteemed and trusted praefectus metallorum for Asturica, was not just taking bribes for handing out licences, he was also skimming off small amounts of the Emperor’s gold. The former was so widespread a practice as to be almost a benefit of office, but the theft? No one had any doubt what the feared and unpredictable Nero’s reaction would be. A team of experienced torturers would descend on Asturica. Ferox would die screaming and what was left fed to the feral dogs who patrolled the city walls.

Not surprisingly, Ferox had proved amenable to suggestion, and a percentage of his profits found its way into an iron-bound chest in Melanius’s library. Aurelio now enjoyed a valued place in Melanius’s household and, little by little, Ferox had been induced to make small increases in his appropriations.

But the great opportunity came with the civil war. Melanius sensed an opportunity presented by Servius Sulpicius Galba’s accession to the purple. Galba had been killed before he could take advantage, but the state of paralysis at Tarraco that followed his death couldn’t be ignored. It was now they enlisted the aid of Severus and Fronton. An army of phantom workers doubled the workforce in the mines and the cost to the Imperial treasury. The profits were split equally between the conspirators and Claudius Harpocration, recruited by Aurelio to supply a force which ensured obedience from anyone who had doubts. The figureheads in turn disbursed their own gifts to oil the wheels of the conspiracy, and Aurelio or Harpocration would remind the recipients of their responsibilities from time to time. They had stolen a fortune.

They should have stopped immediately Vitellius’s forces defeated Otho at Bedriacum and the Emperor of only a few months committed suicide. In the chaos that followed likely no one would have noticed. If they had, the losses could have been explained away as the fortunes of war.

But somehow the time had never been right. Fronton would have been happy to bring things to a close, but he had little say in the council. Harpocration enjoyed the power of his position – by then Melanius had suborned Proculus and made the auxiliary the true authority at Legio – and saw no reason to change it. Ferox had long been under the thrall of the metal he ripped from the earth. Severus had an insatiable wife and an insatiable greed for the luxuries of life. And he, Melanius? He had been seduced by his ability to control all these disparate elements of a crime on a scale never witnessed before. Blinded by his vanity. By the time he’d realized he’d placed his head in a noose it was too late.

That was when he’d persuaded his fellow conspirators to place a portion of their great wealth in trust with him. If the time came to run, the gold would ease their path. Even then he understood Rome’s long reach would find them wherever they fled. They would never be free of the fear of poisoners and backstabbers. It was only gradually that another possibility dawned. A plan so outrageous it might be called insane, but at least it gave them a chance. Gamble all on one final throw of the dice.

Petronius’s investigations had supplied the opportunity. Melanius had even provided a little help that allowed him to increase the pressure on the others. He knew they would never act unless they could feel the blade tickling the back of their neck. Now he was able to offer them the possibility of salvation. Win, and advancement and more riches would be theirs. Lose? The end was inevitable in any case. Of course they’d been reluctant; so terrified he’d found it almost amusing. It had taken months of persuasion, but finally he’d won them round. All except Fronton, a man who spent each day frightened of what was going to happen on the next, and who’d preferred death to the chance of making a name for himself that would live through the ages. But Fronton, most opportunely, was gone. Everything was in place and going exactly to plan.

So why did Melanius’s gut feel as if it was clenched in the grip of an icy fist?

Calpurnius Piso rode up to his side. The young tribune glanced nervously over his shoulder at Aurelio before he spoke.

‘I still think I should have ordered the Tenth to hold their positions east of Emporiae and cover the Pyrenean passes. What happens if Vespasian hears of their defection and sends another legion, perhaps more than one, in pursuit? It would-’

‘We have discussed this,’ Melanius interrupted curtly. ‘We need the Tenth at Tarraco to consolidate our position there. Not everyone will see the benefits of removing Vespasian. The Emperor will still have his supporters among the aristocracy and the civil service. I have the names of those likely to be open to persuasion and of those who may well require to be eliminated. With the Tenth we can place a cordon round the entire city while we weed them out. Only then will they be sent to defend the passes. Do not concern yourself, Calpurnius. If any of the legions on the Rhenus move I will hear of it.’ He mitigated any implied criticism with a false smile. ‘When we have Tarraco we will send out detachments to demand allegiance of the other cities, gather hostages and recruit young men for a new legion which you will lead. You will be a new Quintus Sertorius. I see much of him in you. He was brave, noble, eloquent and a brilliant soldier. He took and held Hispania.’