Enemy of Rome (26 page)

‘Your orders, general?’

Primus smiled grimly. ‘We will pause only long enough to allow the artillery to come up, and to furnish the engineers with sufficient siege equipment to make the assault practicable. Aquila? Your eager Thirteenth are furthest forward as always. When you are ready, array them before the Brixia gate and tempt them with what lies within. Fulvus and Verrens? Third Gallica and Seventh Galbiana will concentrate on the eastern defences to the south of the causeway. Eighth Augusta and Seventh Claudia will invest the walls on the northern side. Varus?’ He called his cavalry commander forward. ‘Take ten squadrons and five cohorts of
auxilia
and come at them from the west. It is a feint, no more, but you must
appear
dangerous enough to keep their attention. Do you understand?’ Varus nodded, the knowledge that he still had much to prove written plain on his face.

The commanders filed out, but Valerius held back. Primus looked up from the sand table. ‘You still have concerns, Verrens?’

Valerius hesitated. ‘You outlined the situation admirably, general. Win, or die trying. What could be clearer? The kind of simple command a soldier likes.’ Primus’s eyes took on a dangerous look: was he being mocked? But Valerius ignored the threat. ‘My concern is with Cremona. It was my impression that the Emperor’s express wish was that no harm should come to the populace unless they took up arms directly against him.’ He pointed to the table. ‘It appears the defence of Cremona is entirely in the hands of Vitellian legions who gave the people of the city no chance to flee.’

‘And I am encouraging my soldiers to treat them as enemies?’

‘It is …’

The colour rose in Primus’s cheeks. ‘You are wearing your lawyer’s cloak again, or perhaps your friend Titus is using you as a mouthpiece. Is that it? I could dismiss your concerns with a single lawyerly word: semantics. The people of Cremona supported Aulus Vitellius from the first. They fed, armed and aided his soldiers. Have they taken up arms
directly
against the forces of Titus Flavius Vespasian? I do not know. But I also do not know they have not.’ He sighed, and his voice lost its certainty. ‘But that is not the issue here. Not even the fate of thousands of …’ a shrug of what, impatience? Regret? ‘Very well, let us call them innocents. The issue is victory and saving perhaps hundreds of thousands of lives by ending this war
now
. My legions are tired, Valerius. Yes, they have one last fight in them. If I thought they did not I would not attempt this whether their blood was up or no. But strength and will can only take them so far. They need something more tangible than a cause to fight for. Something real. The storehouses of Cremona and the hunger in their bellies are real. The answer to everything lies beyond those ramparts and palisades and walls, and they will take them or die in the attempt. If they succeed have I the right to snatch the fruits of victory away from them?’ He met Valerius’s eye. ‘I promise you that if there is another option, I will take it. That must be enough for you. Cremona is the tethered goat to attract the wolf, Valerius, and the truth is that without that lure I fear my legions may not be strong enough to take the city.’

He turned back to the mound of papers on his campaign desk and Valerius saluted, knowing there was nothing else to say. Cremona was the goat to attract the wolf? Serpentius would tell him that things seldom turned out well for the goat.

‘Caecina Alienus is a traitor to Rome.’ Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Augustus’s powerful voice echoed from the walls of the Senate House and he accompanied his words with a contemptuous wave of the hand that won cheers from the packed benches. ‘He is a betrayer and a coward. By his actions he has threatened the stability of the Empire.’

Looking down on his senators from his golden throne, Vitellius acknowledged inwardly that the Empire’s stability at the time of Caecina’s gross betrayal was questionable at the very least. Still, he didn’t let the thought alter the expression on his pendulous, sweating countenance.

‘I applaud the decisive action taken by our loyal officers of Fifth Alaudae. The betrayer is made captive and will be held until he can be brought before this house, tried for his perfidious crimes and put to death in a manner fit for a traitor.’

More cheers and a few gruesome suggestions as to the technical details of that death, including some from senators Vitellius would gladly see sacrificed in Caecina’s place. He’d long suspected Caecina’s weakness, his ambition and his want of loyalty, but this? A full-scale attempt to defect to the enemy with the legions under his command? Was the man mad? Vitellius had made Caecina a consul of Rome. When the war was won, Caecina might rightfully have expected to be handed a province that he could pluck like a plum. A province that would enrich his family for generations. Of course, he would never be heir; Valens would not stand for it. In any case, he’d made it plain the Empire would go to his son when he was ready. But surely that was not enough to cause Caecina’s defection? Why had he given it all up? The question had plagued Vitellius since news of the betrayal arrived. Now the possible answer turned the glistening beads of sweat on his forehead into a stream that dripped from his cheeks to soak into the folds of his toga. Did Caecina know something that Vitellius did not? Was the enemy so strong he was certain he could not win? No, he would not accept that. Valens insisted the legions in the field outnumbered those of Marcus Antonius Primus by two to one. Victory was certain as long as those legions were commanded by the right man. But Valens was struck down by illness and Vitellius had had no choice but to send Caecina. He’d issued strict orders to the young general to delay until Valens joined him. Instead, the deceitful bastard had taken the army north. Yet a further contradiction now perplexed him. Caecina had placed his legions in a position of strength, at Hostilia, where they threatened Primus’s flanks. With one swift move across the river he would have forced the arrogant swindler to run back to Pannonia with his tail between his legs. So why, on the very brink of victory and eternal fame, did he turn against those who elevated him? Vitellius could only think it was some want of character; a genuine cowardice or a lack of self-confidence in a man who appeared confident to the point of caricature. And then there was the wife, Salonina. Galeria Fundana had identified her as a scheming, conniving bitch on their first meeting. He pictured the slim, lithe figure lying naked in bed whispering into the traitor’s ear. Well, he would have her head as well.

He realized belatedly that he was the focus of an expectant hush, and, with the glare of a man who’d been contemplating his adversary’s awful death, resumed his onslaught. ‘We have taken steps to ensure the renegade’s absence will have no effect on our campaign against the misguided rabble sent to their deaths by the arch-traitor Vespasian. Our faithful and honourable subject, the ever-victorious General Gaius Fabius Valens, is even now on his way to take command of our Army of the North. With ten legions – yes, I say
ten
legions – he will crush Vespasian’s rabble to dust.’ He saw some concerned looks and knew they were asking themselves why it required ten legions to defeat a ‘misguided rabble’. To explain might be seen as a sign of indecision, but a moment of enlightenment dawned. ‘Once they have stamped out the rebellion on Rome’s soil they will move into Pannonia and Moesia and restore our authority in those provinces. They will provide a base to advance on to Syria, Egypt and Africa and wipe out the stain on Rome’s honour that is Titus Flavius Vespasian.’

It was a masterstroke. If there was one thing the venal, corrupt and arrogant occupants of the cushioned marble benches of the Senate understood it was ambition and revenge. The applause almost lifted the roof off that venerable building. For the first time, more so even than on his triumphant, nervous entry into the city, Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Augustus truly felt like the Emperor of Rome. They followed him into the street and cheered him through the Forum, and the mob who had congregated on the steps of the basilicas and temples joined them. But by the time Vitellius was carried by his bearers to the steps of the Golden House the familiar emptiness had returned. Not emptiness of spirit, emptiness of stomach. Success was clearly good for the appetite. He visualized the banquet he would order his cooks to prepare and a groan of pure pleasure began in his stomach and sang from his throat. Which left only one decision: what delicacy would fill the time until the first course arrived?

He frowned as he passed in the shadow of the enormous statue depicting the man he still considered his predecessor – Galba and Otho hardly counted, did they? He really must make a decision. A martial expression, certainly. A victor’s expression. He would have the head removed tomorrow.

When the guards escorted him through the doors to his private apartments his heart almost skipped. How proud she would be. His secretary would already have conveyed news of his triumph in the Senate. Nothing could spoil his day.

The look on Galeria’s face brought him up as if he’d collided with a buffalo. For a moment he thought his heart had stopped. ‘Lucius?’ Mutely, she shook her head, pointing to the corner of the room, where a grey-faced messenger wrung his hands in terror.

‘A … A …’

‘Speak!’ Vitellius flinched at the threat of violence that contaminated the word. I am a gentle man, he thought. What is happening to me? ‘Please,’ he said more soothingly, ‘speak. Take your time, boy.’

The messenger swallowed and eventually found the words he sought. ‘A rebellion, Caesar. Rebellion in the north.’

Vitellius laughed incredulously and looked to his wife. ‘Rebellion? Of course there is a rebellion, but even now our armies are taking steps to crush the usurper Titus Flavius Vespasian.’

‘Not that rebellion.’ Galeria’s voice had a frightening, haunted quality. ‘Rebellion on the Germania frontier. That one-eyed monster Civilis has incited the Batavians to rise against the legions. Fire consumes the Rhenus frontier and the barbarians east of the river flock to join him.’

Carnage.

‘Send in the fifth century to support the attack.’

Valerius watched from a raised earth platform as the eighty men of the fifth century of the Third cohort trotted towards the fiendish combination of ditches, palisades and blind entries the defenders of Cremona had created to confound any assault. Once within range of the fort’s archers, slingers and carefully sited
onagri
and
scorpiones
, the century formed a protective
testudo
. Maintaining their steady pace, they crossed the first ditch unscathed. Good, they’d chosen their line well, meeting the obstacle exactly where the Seventh Galbiana’s engineers had bridged it with bundles of branches.

‘The palisade on the bank beyond was demolished by the first attack, so it shouldn’t delay them too much.’ Claudius Ferox’s dutiful optimism was welcome, but didn’t quite succeed.

Valerius’s eyes never left the compact shell of shields. Who was leading them? Of course, Geminus. He’d promoted him to centurion after the battle by the causeway.

‘No trouble crossing the second ditch.’ Serpentius’s harsh bray injected a note of reality. ‘Not with it being packed with all those bodies.’

Valerius shot him a venomous glance, which the Spaniard ignored, and turned back to the attack. Would they manage to keep their formation? Yes. He tried to still the exultation that rose in his breast. If anyone could take the position, it was Geminus. The
testudo
topped the next rise, the banks thick with hundreds of Valerius’s men sheltering from the hail of javelins and slingshot that had thwarted every attack so far. As he watched, a boulder from one of the flanking Vitellian
onagri
glanced off the armoured carapace and bounced away to decapitate a legionary who’d raised his head to watch. One more earth wall. One more palisade. The sheltering centuries began to combine, ready to exploit the success of the
testudo
. He saw the moment Geminus and his men hit the slope, still protected by that impenetrable wall of shields. Waited for the inevitable storm of missiles. Nothing. But Valerius’s elation faded as the palisade opened. The genius of the
testudo
was that anything thrown or launched at it would bounce off the impregnable wall of shields, but it had one weakness. The big round boulders the defenders pushed from the top of the slope weren’t thrown, they were rolled. He saw them gather pace to smash into the exposed legs of the
testudo
’s unsuspecting occupants. He imagined the snap of breaking bones and winced as he watched the formation disintegrate, the whole splintering into a dozen smaller fragments comprising four or five men whose legs still pumped as they fought their way up the slope. A roar erupted from hundreds of throats as the sheltering centuries launched themselves from the second bank to join the attack. There was still a chance. Valerius clenched his fist so hard the knuckles turned white as exposed bone. Could they do it?

Serpentius spat in the dusty earth. Valerius remembered willing the attackers upward on to his sword as he stood on the wall at Placentia. Waiting until the man on the ladder was perfectly placed and …

‘
Merda
.’

A horn sounded and a storm of missiles from the flanking towers ripped into the attacking formations, tearing gaps through the charging men. In the same instant a cloud of spears arced from the parapet and a dozen attackers fell, writhing and clawing at their bodies as they rolled back into the ditch. Still the survivors fought their way up the slope and Valerius knew without doubt that the man at the very tip of the attack was young Geminus. A big man, with powerful shoulders and the invincibility of youth; he remembered the pride in the tall Calabrian’s eyes as he’d presented him with the crest and his vine stick of office. Watching the charging figure, he imagined the determination on the broad peasant face as he led his men forward. Saw the shield thrown aside as he tore at the stakes of the palisade. The dart of a spear and the moment Geminus’s hands flew up to his throat and the centurion fell backwards.