Rome’s Fallen Eagle (14 page)

Vespasian stared at his father’s slowly retreating back, wondering if the thought that had been growing in the back of his mind, a ludicrous thought that he had tried to suppress, was true. Could it really be possible? Would he really be in a position one day to grant his father’s wish?

CHAPTER VI

‘A
S FAMILIAR AS
your mother’s tits,’ Magnus announced, staring down at the permanent camp of the II Augusta constructed on flat ground half a mile back from the Rhenus, two miles distant.

Vespasian was forced to agree with his friend’s sentiment if not his simile. ‘I would say your mother’s eyes, but I take your meaning.’ He admired the tall, rectangular stone ramparts, punctuated by watchtowers, encompassing the rows of exactly spaced barrack huts, each the regulation distance from the next. Between the huts and the ramparts was a ribbon of open ground more than two hundred paces across – an arrow’s flight – in which centuries of legionaries were being drilled. Two wide roads cut through the camp, quartering it. At their junction, just shy of the exact middle, the regulation brick barrack huts were replaced by the more substantial command and administration buildings. Taller and built of stone, rather than brick, they provided a grand focus at the centre of the camp that was otherwise very drab and uniform. It looked like any other legionary camp anywhere.

What did surprise Vespasian, however, was the landscape on the other side of the river. He had expected shadowy, brooding forest untouched by the civilising effect of Roman law; instead the eastern bank was speckled with neat farmsteads surrounded by cultivated fields or pasture upon which grazed herds of cattle. This was not the wild lands of Germania as spun in veterans’ tales, where a man could wander for days on end without a glimpse of the sky, although a few miles distant the smooth farmland broke up into dark, conifer-covered hills that fitted far better the stereotypical view of Germania Magna. Trade with the lands
outside the Empire was evidently brisk as the river, three hundred paces wide, was busy with craft crossing to and from the east and the substantial town, with a small port in its midst, on the western bank, close to the camp.

‘The only thing that ever changes is the size of the settlement that has grown up next to it,’ Sabinus observed, urging his horse forward down the hill.

‘And the price of the whores living in it,’ Magnus commented sagely and then thought for a moment before adding: ‘And, of course, the pomposity of the arsehole in command.’

Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo grasped Vespasian’s arm. ‘So you’re here to replace me, Vespasian? I can’t say that I’m displeased; Caligula gave me the Second to humiliate me after I told my halfsister that just because she was the Emperor’s wife was no reason to shame our family by allowing him to parade her naked at dinner parties. As an ex-consul I should have been given a province not a legion, but this should suit you very well.’ He indicated with his other hand the grand interior of the
praetorium
, the legion’s headquarters. At the far end, the legion’s Eagle stood in its shrine surrounded by flaming sconces and guarded by eight legionaries.

‘Thank you, Corbulo,’ Vespasian replied, while trying to keep a straight face. ‘I consider it an honour.’

‘And so you should, so you should,’ Corbulo agreed, looking approvingly down his long nose at Vespasian. He studiously ignored Magnus standing next to him and took Sabinus’ arm. ‘What I don’t understand is why they seem to have sent two people to replace me.’ He made an extraordinary sound, rather like a ram in pain. Vespasian realised it indicated that he had made a rare but valiant attempt at humour.

‘Perhaps they felt that one replacement wouldn’t produce a sufficient amount of hot air,’ Magnus muttered, not altogether to himself.

Corbulo bristled slightly but could not bring himself to acknowledge that someone as lowly as Magnus was even in the room, let alone had insulted him. ‘But no doubt that will become
clear soon enough, Sabinus. I’ll be inviting all my officers to meet their new legate.’

‘That will be an ideal time to discuss it, Corbulo,’ Sabinus replied.

‘I’m afraid that I have to give you this, Corbulo.’ Vespasian proffered the scroll that Narcissus had sent. ‘It’s your official orders, signed by the Emperor.’

‘I see,’ Corbulo murmured, looking at the scroll and frowning. He then looked Vespasian in the eye.

Vespasian understood Corbulo’s unease. ‘No, I don’t know what it says.’

Corbulo considered the scroll for a few moments before taking it. ‘I wouldn’t be the first person to receive a letter ordering them to commit suicide.’ He weighed the scroll in his hand as if he could thereby judge its contents. ‘I wouldn’t blame Claudius; he must think that I will want a blood-price for my slut of a half-sister. Well, he’s right, I do, and it’s no more than what you could squeeze out of a pin-prick.’ He gave another imitation of a distressed ram, which shocked Vespasian as he had never before witnessed Corbulo essay humour twice in one day. Corbulo broke the seal. ‘Do you know that I had the legion swear loyalty to Claudius as soon as the news arrived? I’m loyal to him, however ungainly and unstatesmanlike he may look.’ He perused the contents and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘It seems that I don’t have to fall on my sword after all; I just have to return to Rome and remain under house arrest until it’s decided whether or not I can continue my career. Minerva’s tits, I’ll never get a province to govern. Thank the gods that bastard half-sister of mine has gone! Her inability to keep her legs together brought nothing but disgrace to the family and now it’s hindering my prospects.’

‘I think that your prospects would have been permanently hindered if Narcissus hadn’t been in your debt,’ Vespasian pointed out. ‘Our killing Poppaeus left his patron very well off.’

Corbulo wrinkled his nose as if an unpleasant odour had wafted into the room. ‘That’s not a deed that I like to be reminded of, Vespasian, but if something good has come out of that shameful murder then so much the better. However, I’ll
thank you not to speak of it again. Now you may wish to take a bath and change into uniform; I shall have the officers assembled here in an hour to meet you. I believe you will be particularly impressed by my senior tribune, Gaius Licinius Mucianus.’

‘Thank you, Corbulo, but I think you had best make that two hours; I need to report to the Governor.’

‘This is most irregular,’ Servius Sulpicius Galba barked in the parade ground voice that he had used for the entirety of the interview. ‘Arriving to take over the legion and then leaving the very next day on some mission, across the river, that you are unable to confide in me about? Most irregular. But then everything these days seems to be most irregular, what? Freedmen and cripples giving orders to men who can trace their families back to the first days of the Republic and beyond; New Men like you with no family to speak of becoming legates and replacing ex-consuls who should be governing provinces. It’s time for a return to traditional Roman ways; we’re lacking discipline, wouldn’t you agree, er …’ He quickly consulted Vespasian’s orders. ‘Vespasian?’

‘Yes, Governor,’ Vespasian replied as he adjusted his position on the uncomfortable plain wooden chair.

He looked around the room whilst Galba studied the Emperor’s mandate again. It was not what he would have expected for the study of a provincial governor; it was minimally furnished with plain practical furniture that paid no heed to comfort and was completely lacking in ornamentation; even the inkpot on the rough desk was of undecorated fired clay.

Galba rolled up the scrolls and handed one back to Vespasian. ‘It’s been most awkward having a man of Corbulo’s rank placed below me, for both of us; at least your appointment deals with that. Very well, take what you need for this mission. But be warned, the German tribes are a bloodthirsty bunch of undisciplined barbarians. A couple of months ago I was obliged to throw a Chatti war band back across the river when they crossed further downstream whilst it was frozen.’

‘Judging from the maps, I’ll have to pass through their lands.’

‘Then do it quickly.’ He waved the Emperor’s mandate at Vespasian. ‘I’ll be at the camp shortly before noon to give you the mandate officially and publicly confirm your appointment with the men, although why they need that defeats me; they should just do as they’re told. No discipline, you see, no discipline.’

‘The best unit for the job is the First Batavian Cavalry Ala,’ Gaius Licinius Mucianus stated without even being asked his opinion. ‘You obviously have to take mounted troops but these lads are more than that: their homelands are at the mouth of the Rhenus and they learn to swim almost before they can walk, and they’re great boatmen. With all the rivers that you may need to cross those abilities will be essential. What’s more, being Germanic they’ll be able to communicate with the local tribes and have a good knowledge of the terrain.’

‘Where are they based?’ Vespasian asked, liking the young thick-stripe military tribune immensely for his correct assessment of the problem and pertinent suggestion so quickly after he, Vespasian, had finished briefing the senior officers of the II Augusta as to what was required of him.

‘At Saletio, about thirty miles downriver, north from here.’

‘Thank you, Mucianus.’ Vespasian looked around the faces of the other officers sitting across the desk from him and Sabinus in the praetorium. The five junior, thin-stripe tribunes, whose names he had not yet managed to remember, were all looking supportive of the idea, but he was less interested in the opinions of the young and inexperienced than he was in those of the primus pilus, Tatius, the senior centurion of the legion, and the camp prefect, Publius Anicius Maximus. The latter two were both nodding their agreement; only Corbulo seemed less than enthusiastic. ‘Whose command do they fall under?’

‘Yours now,’ Corbulo said, ‘but I’m not sure that you will like their prefect; he’s an arrogant young man of very little ability, who has none of the qualities of his father. I’m afraid that Paetus’ untimely death meant that his son grew up without proper paternal guidance.’

‘You mean Lucius, son of Publius Junius Caesennius Paetus?’ Vespasian exclaimed, remembering his long-dead friend who had been a comrade of his and Corbulo’s when they had served together in Thracia. He had been murdered ten years previously by Livilla when, as an urban quaestor, Paetus had tried to arrest her on the Senate’s orders after her lover Sejanus’ downfall. With his dying breath Paetus had asked Vespasian to keep an eye on Lucius; Vespasian had made the promise but he now felt very keenly just how remiss he had been in keeping it.

Sabinus shifted uneasily in his seat next to Vespasian. ‘Is there no other unit available?’

Corbulo shook his head. ‘There are two Gallic cavalry alae attached to the legion but they’re too … well, too Gallic. They hate all Germans on principle and would be spoiling for a fight with any that they came across; not conducive to a successful outcome to the mission. And our own legionary cavalry detachment is no match for German cavalry if it should indeed come to a fight. I’m afraid that Mucianus is right; the Batavians are the best men for the job.’

‘Then we shall have them; and besides, I owe young Lucius.’ Vespasian glanced sidelong at Sabinus who refused to meet his eye. ‘As, indeed, does my brother,’ he added quietly. ‘Mucianus, send a message to Lucius Paetus immediately and tell him to be here tomorrow with six
turmae
of his Batavians; I think that one hundred and eighty men should be enough for security and not so many as to cause alarm. And tell him I want a few who have a good knowledge of the interior of Germania Magna. Maximus, have six transport ships ready to embark them at the port tomorrow afternoon. Dismiss, gentlemen.’

‘You haven’t paid the hundred thousand denarii that you borrowed off Paetus back to his family, have you?’ Vespasian accused Sabinus as soon as they were alone. ‘I told you that you should never have borrowed it.’

‘Don’t lecture me, brother; I borrowed it because Paetus offered and it was the only way that I could get a larger house at the time. Just because you’re parsimonious doesn’t mean that
everybody should live the same way. Saturn’s stones, you don’t even own your own house.’

‘Perhaps; but at least all my money is my own and I sleep better at night knowing I’m not in debt. How do you sleep?’

‘In a lot more comfort than you and very well.’

‘But how can you? That debt is accruing interest every month. When are you going to pay it back?’

‘Soon, all right? I was going to pay it back years ago but when the Aventine burnt down taking my house with it I needed to hang onto the money to rebuild. Then I sort of forgot about it.’

‘Lucius won’t have.’

‘Lucius probably doesn’t even know that I still owe it.’

Vespasian stared disapprovingly at his brother. ‘Then I shall tell him.’

‘You judgemental little shit.’

‘Well then, you sort it out with him when he arrives because I don’t want this festering between you whilst we’re wandering around Germania trying to save your profligate life.’ Vespasian turned on his heel and stormed out of the praetorium.

Vespasian’s back stiffened with pride as he walked out of the camp’s gates with Galba to inspect the II Augusta the following afternoon. Although not at full strength owing to a few centuries being on detachment, manning smaller forts and lookout towers along the Rhenus, it was still an impressive sight: more than four thousand legionaries in neat ranks and files formed up in cohorts on the flat ground between the camp and the river. As he mounted the dais he wished that his father could see him, but he knew that they would probably never meet again. They had said their goodbyes and both had been grateful for the chance to do so; it was more than most people got.

‘The Second Augusta,’ Primus Pilus Tatius bellowed, ‘will come to attention!’

The
bucinator
next to him brought his horn to his lips and blew three ascending notes; as the last one died every centurion simultaneously bawled an order and the entire legion came to a crashing, synchronised attention, thumping the butts of their
pila
, javelins with long iron shanks, onto the ground and slamming their bronze-fronted shields, adorned with a white Pegasus opposite a Capricorn, across their chests. Silence followed, broken only by the fluttering of standards and the cawing of crows high up in a copse of trees to Vespasian’s left.