Enemy of Rome (11 page)

Caecina looked up and Valerius instantly recognized the handsome, fine-boned features he’d last seen at Placentia. The only change was in the eyes. Six months ago they had been over-bright, like a man constantly on the brink of ecstasy; now they appeared hooded and wary. A year younger than the messenger standing before him, Caecina Alienus had been, in quick succession, a favourite of Emperor Galba, one of Rome’s youngest legionary commanders, a disgraced embezzler of public funds, one of the two men who persuaded Vitellius to fight for the purple, and a victorious general and consul of Rome. Was he about to add ‘betrayer’ to the list for the second time?

‘You have a message for me from Rome?’

Valerius reached for the pouch at his waist. He felt the guard behind him tense and his hand slowed as he unhooked the flap and retrieved the leather case with the message from Primus. A seal of red wax, so blurred as to be unidentifiable, proved it was unopened. He stepped forward and placed it on the table in front of Caecina. The general looked at it for a long moment. Valerius sensed that this was the moment of no return for the man behind the desk. Pick up the message and he was committed to whatever intrigue he had contrived with Primus. Of course, there was another option. Valerius went cold as he found himself the focus of the dark eyes. How much simpler, and perhaps safer, to leave things as they stood and rid himself of the evidence. Valerius saw the tip of the legate’s tongue flick out to moisten his lips before he reached for the tube of dark leather. His decision made, Caecina confidently sliced through the soft wax with a knife and pulled back the leather fold. Valerius slowly released the breath he’d held since the other man’s first words.

Caecina took his time over the document. It was in code, but it was
his
code, and long use brought familiarity. Of course, it couldn’t be used again, because he’d revealed the fundamentals to Primus during the negotiations of the past few weeks. As he read, he felt his legs weaken and was glad he was sitting at his desk. He had it all. Do what he had committed to in the earlier letters and he would be treated with honour by his former enemies. And there would be greater rewards to come, he was certain. Could he do it? He’d done it before when he’d persuaded the legions of Germania Superior to revolt against Galba in those terrible days after word arrived that Caecina was to be stripped of his command. Yes, he could do it. His mother once told him he could charm the birds from the trees and the clouds from the sky. He would charm these rough plebeian soldiers. The key was the centurions and junior commanders in direct contact with their men. Most of them would do anything as long as it could be portrayed, however implausibly, as patriotism. Convince them that their … that Rome’s best interests lay in ousting the fat man in the Golden House, promise them a suitable donative and they would follow him into Vespasian’s arms. The senior officers would be more difficult to persuade, of course – they held their own loyalties – but presented with a situation beyond reversal they would have no option but to comply. Or die. The two legions at Cremona, Twenty-first and Fifth Alaudae, were another matter, but he must harden his heart. They would join him or be crushed.

He read on and the name Valens leapt out, sending a chill through him.

By the gods, how he hated the man. All the glory of Bedriacum, the heroism and the blood and the victory, tainted by that malevolent, skeletal presence forever whispering in the Emperor’s ear. It had all seemed so simple with the fat man on the throne and the promise of a broad-striped consul’s toga. Then the whispers started to trickle down to him.
Caecina couldn’t have won without Valens. He was in trouble until the old soldier pulled his eggs from the fire. Valens is a fighter, the true hero of Bedriacum. Caecina looked good, but he didn’t have the stomach for a real fight.
He’d seen the way Valens looked at him. It was only a matter of time before one of them had to go. Caecina understood he was outmatched by the man who had personally cut the head from Gaius Fonteius Capito. When the news arrived that Vespasian had been hailed Emperor by the legions of the East it had come almost as a blessed relief. He had a choice. He could choose the perilous path that might lead to life, or certain death. He chose life.

For the moment, though, Valens didn’t feature in his calculations. That would continue to be the case if he acted swiftly.

‘General Valens is still indisposed and will be unable to join us for another few weeks.’ The lie came easily and he accompanied it with his most charming smile. By the look on the tribune’s face the news would be around the whole camp within the hour. Caecina turned to Valerius. ‘This says that you also have an oral message for me?’

Valerius bowed. ‘For your ears only, lord.’

‘You may leave us.’ Caecina directed the order at the other two men. ‘I must consider my reply. A one-handed man is no threat to me in my own camp.’ The tribune hesitated and the young general smiled. ‘Your concern for my well-being is admirable, Aurelius, but unnecessary. He is unarmed and your swords are only a shout away. Clear the area apart from my personal guard. I don’t want any slaves tittle-tattling about my business.’

When they were alone, Caecina fixed Valerius with the unyielding stare of a python studying a trapped rabbit. The Roman had noticed him darting occasional glances towards the curtain that separated the main tent from his living quarters. Now the reason swayed into the room and her slanted, gold-flecked eyes never left Valerius. She stopped and tilted her head as if she needed to see him from a different angle.

‘I recognize you.’ Valerius heard Caecina’s intake of breath. ‘He was at Placentia,’ she continued. ‘The negotiations when that odious little general was so rude to you.’

Salonina Julia was even more beautiful than Valerius remembered, with the face of an Egyptian queen and a body that moved with the natural fluidity of a cat. The last time they’d met those slanting eyes had been full of promise, despite the situation. Now all they held was suspicion.

‘The hand,’ Caecina exclaimed. ‘Now I remember. But why would I forget such a face?’ He smiled. ‘You have lost weight, I believe.’

‘Defeat does that to a man, as you may discover to your cost.’

‘You should cut his throat.’ Salonina said it as if she was telling a servant to snip the head from a wilting rose. ‘But first give him to me for an hour and we will see if that clever tongue has any more to offer.’

The look that accompanied the words sent a shiver through Valerius, but Caecina rose from his seat and frowned. ‘You don’t think I was defeated at Placentia?’

Valerius shrugged and tried to ignore Salonina’s stare. ‘You walked away from a fight you couldn’t win without unacceptable casualties. You won the battle you needed to win and with it you won the war.’

The legate grinned at his wife. ‘A proper soldier. I like him.’

‘I still think you should cut his throat,’ she said sourly, taking a seat on one of the couches.

‘Why didn’t I take Placentia?’ Caecina asked. ‘I had enough men.’

‘General Spurinna’s defences were too strong for a direct attack on the walls. You might have had a chance if you’d battered the gates with your heavy catapults.’

‘But you burned them in the amphitheatre as I remember. That was very clever. And you destroyed my battering ram. I was annoyed.’

‘A soldier does what he must to win.’

‘And at Bedriacum I won.’ Caecina smiled at the memory. ‘You were at Bedriacum? I’m curious. Where were you in the battle line?’

Salonina sniffed to let her husband know she was bored with this military talk. Caecina ignored her and Valerius gave him his answer. ‘I commanded the gladiator detachment in the second rank of the Adiutrix.’

The other man’s dark eyes widened a fraction. ‘Where the Twenty-first lost its eagle.’

Valerius nodded, not caring to elaborate on the memory of that glorious but ultimately futile action.

‘And I ordered that all the gladiators should die. And they did.’ Caecina’s gaze drifted away as he sought some lost memory. ‘All but one, a dangerous savage who slaughtered everyone who faced him. I remember it now. A man with a wooden hand butchered on the bloody sands in the arena at Cremona. The Emperor was most put out. In his cups he would bemoan the death of a friend. What was the name he used? A martial name, I think. Yes. Valerius.’ The general fixed the one-handed Roman with that same python’s stare. ‘I saw you die.’

‘Not every gladiator who bleeds on the sands of the arena is a dead gladiator.’ Valerius quoted his friend, the deadly fighter Serpentius.

‘So,’ Caecina’s face broke into an unexpected grin, ‘the man I could not kill.’

Salonina laughed. ‘There is still time.’

But Valerius understood that a decision had been taken and control had shifted. He turned to meet her dark eyes and for the first time she saw something in the scarred soldier that sent a thrill of fear through her breast. ‘The question is can your husband deliver what he has offered?’

‘His message is that if you give him three days he will convince every man at Hostilia to join Vespasian’s cause.’

Valerius saw Marcus Antonius Primus’s dark eyes gleam as the general listened to the report of his meeting with Caecina. After two days in the saddle Valerius had trouble staying upright. His face was a mask of shadows and stubble, dust caked his clothing and he stank of the acrid reek of hard-ridden horse. But exhilaration blinded Primus to the weariness of his messenger. Clearly, all he saw was a vision of himself riding into Rome at the head of ten legions and the craven Vitellius kneeling before him in supplication.

Valerius closed his eyes and continued in a voice that rose and fell with the waves of exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him. ‘He can make no such promises for the two legions at Cremona, but his gift to you is the information that they are lacking replacements and short on artillery. With your forces combined he believes the commanders have no alternative but to surrender Placentia and Cremona to you. The road to Rome will be open.’

‘Does this upstart provincial truly believe he can betray an Emperor and then ride beside me at the head of my troops?’ Primus shook his great head in disbelief. ‘He’s fortunate to be given his life and the promise that I will ask Vespasian to consider allowing him to keep his estates. How did his mood seem to you?’

Valerius struggled with the interview’s sudden change of direction. It all seemed so long ago. ‘Nervous.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps even excited.’

‘No shame or remorse?’ Primus laughed. ‘Not that it makes him any less of a man. He did not tell you about the Ravenna fleet?’

‘No.’

Primus realized for the first time how tired his messenger was. ‘Sit, man, before you fall down.’ He waited until Valerius slumped on to a couch. ‘They declared for Vespasian four days ago. If he’d marched against us he would have had to leave behind a sizeable force to guard against an attack on his supply lines. That must have focused his mind if nothing else did.’

‘It would explain why his guards reacted the way they did when I said I’d handed over a message at Ravenna,’ Valerius admitted. ‘They thought someone had sent me to assassinate Caecina. It may have made him nervous, but I think the information is known only to his personal staff.’ He remembered the confident certainty in Salonina’s face as he had left the tent at Hostilia. ‘Experience tells him Vitellius hasn’t the strength or the will to defeat Vespasian, but, more important, he fears Valens, and perhaps that’s why Valens isn’t here.’

Primus nodded thoughtfully. ‘In either case we can’t afford to trust him. If he wanted to desert Vitellius all he needed was to gather a few personal guards, ride out from the camp and head east. Why put his neck on the line by trying to bring his legions with him? Mars’ arse, even I know he would probably have given us a whipping if he could combine his forces. I’d hoped to surprise him, but now …’

‘Now he is our ally.’ Valerius unconsciously echoed the army commander’s thoughts. ‘But do we think he’ll keep his word?’

‘No.’ He felt Primus’s eyes on him. ‘And that is why we will not wait to join forces with Caecina’s army. I will march on Cremona at first light and either my legions will force the surrender of Twenty-first Rapax and Fifth Alaudae or we will destroy them. Then let the bastard change his mind. Glico!’ An aide appeared in the doorway. ‘Send word for my legionary commanders.’ The man disappeared and Primus stared at the map of northern Italia that dominated one wall of the room. His tone changed to one almost of concerned comradeship. ‘Get some rest, Valerius. I need you close and sharp in the morning.’ He hesitated, his eyes homing in on the ground between Bedriacum and Cremona. ‘It was the gods’ will that I did not have you killed, Gaius Valerius Verrens, and it is fate that has brought you to my side. You will guide me over the ground that consumed Otho and together we will share in the fruits of victory. Whatever happened between us is in the past, do you understand? All debts are paid.’ He turned, but Valerius was already fast asleep on the couch, his eyes closed, his scarred face relaxed and almost boyish. For a moment, Marcus Antonius Primus felt an unlikely affection for the man who had ruined his career and sent him into exile, but he quickly pushed it aside. He was a soldier. A commander. In the days ahead he might have to sacrifice Gaius Valerius Verrens and a thousand more in the name of victory and he could not afford to hesitate. If he succeeded, Vespasian would award him the triumphal regalia, if not more. He would be the governor of somewhere that would make him a fortune, not the dusty little shithole up on the Danuvius that Galba had handed him. Later, perhaps quite soon, he would wear a consul’s toga.

He shuffled through the papers on his desk until he found the one he’d been reading before Valerius had returned from his encounter with Caecina.
Titus Flavius Caesar Vespasianus Augustus greets his loyal friend and comrade Marcus Antonius Primus …
Primus smiled at the method of address which, for all its fulsomeness, contained a none too gentle reminder of the Emperor-elect’s authority and his own subservience. Several lines of outright flattery followed, hanging like ribbons on a thorn tree; pretty decorations, but they didn’t take away the sting. He read down to the passage that was the letter’s true purpose.