Emperor of Rome Page 18

  ‘Unless you rebelled against Titus’ adoptive father and overthrew him and your own son. That’s what the problem is, isn’t it, sir?’

  Vespasian sighed and downed the rest of his wine. ‘Yes, and yes and no.’ He looked at his two companions, his eyes sorrowful. ‘That is a part of the problem but only a part. Yes, if you insist on me coming right out with it, then I do see Nero’s suicide, Galba’s elevation and my command of the eastern army as being the beginning of events that could, could mind you, lead me to ultimate power. But if I allowed Titus to get into the position whereby Galba would see that it would be well within his interests to adopt him, then my ambitions would be all but over unless I fought my own son. That’s just one scenario, but it’s not just that: say I do decide that I have no such aspirations to the Purple and that all of the prophecies surrounding me do nothing but point to me being the father of an emperor and not emperor himself, what then? Should I allow Galba to make Titus his heir? Of course not. Am I the only one with an army in the Empire? No, there are three other large armies and a couple of smaller ones. Let’s not deceive ourselves into thinking that Galba’s going to die a natural death and his adoptive heir is going to inherit the Purple peacefully. No. Now, I’m not a prophet, but I’ll give you this prediction: Galba and whoever he adopts as his heir, whether it be Otho or anyone else, will end up lying dead on the Gemonian Stairs and his murderer will gloat as he takes the Purple. Either way, I’ll not have Titus go anywhere near Galba.’ He picked up the pitcher and filled his cup to the brim.

  Caenis and Magnus both contemplated his words as he drained his wine and then slumped back into his chair with a deep sigh.

  ‘You’re right,’ Caenis said after a companionable silence. ‘Galba would do that if he had the chance. Domitian’s too young to adopt but Titus is approaching thirty, a good age. Yes, it would be a death warrant for him. I hadn’t thought that through carefully enough.’

  Vespasian grunted in amusement. ‘Is that the first time I’ve seen through a political problem before you, my love? I must be getting sharper in my old age.’

  ‘No doubt; but the fault is my ambition. I have only ever considered your prospects compared to the other men of power around the Empire. Titus I have seen only as your son and not as a potential rival. But you’re right, he is, and from now on I shall think of him as such, no matter what love I bear for him.’

  ‘Much as I hate to admit it, I can’t help but feel that it’s crossed his mind more than once. He must at least realise that he’s a contender.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I would trust him,’ Magnus said. ‘He’s a good lad and surely he can see that supporting you and being your heir, should you succeed, is a far more reliable way of achieving any aims he has in that direction. As you say, he’s not even thirty and look what happened to the last two Emperors who came to power young. I would think he’s sensible enough to bide his time. Power is not a commodity that the Ferryman allows on board, if you take my meaning?’

  ‘I do, Magnus, and I hope that Titus does as well.’

  Caenis reached over and squeezed Vespasian’s arm. ‘Then you should ask him, my love. You need to have this conversation with him as soon as possible, before it starts to eat away at you and spoil what is, at the moment, a very good father and son relationship.’

  Vespasian turned to Caenis, knowing that she was right. ‘I’ll do it after the swearing-in ceremony tomorrow.’

  ‘We swear that we shall obey all that Servius Sulpicius Galba Caesar Augustus commands and we shall never desert his service nor shall we seek to avoid death for him and the Roman Republic.’ Cohort by cohort, the Sacramentum was administered; and willingly the legions and auxiliary cohorts took it for they had hopes of a large donative from the new Emperor, larger than normal as he was not from the Julio-Claudian line and therefore would surely be wanting to secure his position with silver.

  Smoke rose from the many altars set up around the parade ground outside the impressive military camp beyond the northern walls of Caesarea; breakers crashed onto the adjacent beach pushing driftwood to and fro and gulls circled above in hope of titbits from so much human activity. Each cohort was taking its turn and marching into position before one of the altars; with the cohort’s offering of a lamb despatched and its heart burning on the fire the senior centurion administered the oath. Once complete, they marched away so that another could take their place.

  And so it went on, hour after hour, as Vespasian oversaw the entire process, seated on a curule chair on a rostrum under a canopy against the burning sun. He had been the first to take the oath along with Mucianus, Tiberius Alexander and Malichus. The three legionary legates, along with the auxiliary prefects, had followed, leading the entire army in professing their loyalty to one who had seized power. It was that simple, Vespasian thought as yet another set of cohorts came stamping onto the parade ground ready to bellow out their allegiance.

  As the first cohort of each legion arrived the primus pilus snapped to attention in front of Vespasian and, with great ceremony, was presented with the images of the new Emperor to attach to the legion’s standards. Although they were but crude depictions of a man of whom few had any certain idea of his appearance, they were different to those of Nero, now discarded, and therefore worthy of reverence.

  Finally the last anachronistic shout of ‘Roman Republic’ died away and the ceremony was complete. Vespasian stood and, placing an arm around the shoulders of Mucianus and Tiberius Alexander, led them down from the rostrum. ‘We will keep in close touch as the situation will need to be watched carefully. All developments will have to be reacted to in concert; remember, gentlemen, it’s only by supporting each other that we can hope to keep our positions safe. If one of us is false then he shall also go down with the other two, and I can guarantee that the punishment won’t be as simple as banishment.’

  ‘We both understand that, Vespasian,’ Mucianus said, taking Vespasian’s hand from his shoulder and turning to face him. ‘Before we go there is one last thing that the three of us should discuss.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘If and when the time comes, which one of us should challenge for the Purple?’

  Vespasian’s heart jumped, and the surprise told in his eyes.

  ‘Come now, my friend,’ Tiberius Alexander said, ‘of course each of us has put some thought into this. So in your mind, who should it be?’

  Vespasian looked between his two allies; neither gave any hint as to what he was thinking. He took a deep breath. ‘Well, in all honesty, I feel that it should be me; if and when the time comes, that is.’

  ‘If and when the time comes, indeed,’ Mucianus said with a hint of a smile. ‘Well then, that settles it. Tiberius Alexander has ruled himself out because he’s a Jew and would never be accepted in Rome and I’ve ruled myself out because, due to my preferences, I have no son.’

  Vespasian frowned. ‘You could adopt one.’

  ‘I could, but then we would be back in the same place where we find ourselves now; no, whoever re-stabilises the Empire must be a man with a legitimate heir, and, from the East, that can only be you, Vespasian.’ Mucianus took Vespasian’s arm. ‘If and when the time comes.’

  ‘We will back you,’ Tiberius Alexander confirmed as he took Vespasian’s arm in turn. ‘I suggest we arrange to meet back here at the close of the campaign season to discuss developments in Rome and the state of the Jewish revolt.’

  Vespasian squeezed his friend’s forearm. ‘I think that would be a sensible thing to do. Until November then, gentlemen.’

  Vespasian watched Mucianus and Tiberius Alexander go with Malichus to escort him to the ship that would bear him and their joint letter to Galba to Rome before turning to the three legionary legates and the auxiliary prefects awaiting his dismissal. ‘You have your orders, gentlemen; I expect Jerusalem to be feeling the pinch within the next couple of months and I want any rebel town still holding out, even the smallest of them, obliterated and their inhabitants dead or in
chains. You may rejoin your units.’

  The officers snapped salutes and turned to leave.

  ‘Not you, Titus Flavius Vespasianus,’ Vespasian said formally.

  Titus turned back to face his father.

  ‘I need to have a private word with you, my boy.’

  ‘Yes, Father, but to be honest, I don’t really think it’s necessary.’

  ‘What do you mean you don’t think it’s necessary? How do you know what I want to talk about so that you can judge it to be unnecessary?’

  ‘Because, Father, I’m not stupid and I’ve worked out why you snapped at me yesterday forbidding me to go to Galba without anyone even mentioning it, and I can tell you that it is not necessary for us to have this conversation. But since you seem to feel it is so, then let me start by saying: yes, I have thought of making my own bid for power if the time should prove right, and on each occasion I have rejected the idea because it would involve fighting you and I don’t think that a man who came to power having killed his father would last very long.’

  Vespasian took a step back. ‘Is that the only reason?’

  Titus laughed. ‘You should have seen your face, Tata; no, it’s not the only reason, in fact it’s not the reason at all. The real reason is that only a man of your experience can have a chance of becoming emperor and staying in place for more than a few months. I’m twenty-eight, there’s plenty of time for me once you’ve had your turn and done the hard work. So don’t worry about my loyalty; I’m with you should the opportunity arise, not against you.’ He took Vespasian by the shoulders and pulled him close and kissed him on the lips.

  Vespasian looked into his son’s eyes. ‘Thank you, Titus. This might all come to nothing; we shall just have to wait and see. I think we will have a better idea of what to expect by the end of the summer, beginning of autumn.’

  ‘I think you’re right, Father; the end of the summer, beginning of autumn. That will be our time, if it is to come at all.’

  CHAPTER IX

  EMITT ING GUTT URAL SNARLS and slavering from lolling tongues, Castor and Pollux bounded through an olive grove, zigzagging around trees without loss of pace as they gradually gained on the two fleeing men pushing their cruelly used horses to the limits of their endurance. Keeping a steady thirty paces behind the hounds, Vespasian and Magnus husbanded their mounts to preserve their energy for what would be a long ride back to Caesarea. Behind them, the turma of Syrian auxiliary cavalry fanned out as they entered the olive grove so as not to fall foul of one another as they negotiated the trees; breath pumped from their horses’ nostrils in the crisp, late November air.

  Vespasian ducked under an overhanging bough as his mount hurdled a dead branch lying across its way. He had been enjoying the chase ever since they had spotted the two Jews, down in a valley, whilst hunting in the rough hills inland of Caesarea. They would not have interrupted their sport to pursue had not the two men fled at the sight of Roman uniforms. Now, four miles later, they were on the verge of capturing the fugitives and, by whatever means necessary, satisfying their curiosity as to the cause of the men’s reluctance to come into contact with members of the occupying power.

  With a final burst of speed, Castor and Pollux cleared the last of the olives just a few paces short of their quarry as the Jews’ horses began to stumble from fatigue and lose the will to respond to the savage beating of their riders with the flats of their swords. Another couple of mighty bounds brought Castor up to the hindmost and with a roar he sunk yellowing fangs into the beast’s rump; up it reared, its forelegs beating the air as it whinnied its anguish to the sky. With the desperation of a doomed man, the rider yanked on its mane in an effort to remain in the saddle, but to no avail and, as the beast fell backwards, he jumped clear towards the open jaws of Castor. With a scream that drowned out the noise of his thrashing horse, he crashed to the ground with the maw of the hound clamped into the forearm shielding his face. With feral savagery Castor tore at the limb as Pollux downed the second rider, sinking teeth into his ankle and heaving him off as his terrified horse sped away to the safety of distant scrubland.

  ‘There’s a good boy,’ Magnus said as he drew up his mount and jumped down next to Castor who stood, snarling with intent through bloodied teeth at the terrified Jew lying, not daring to move, as he cradled his lacerated arm in his hand. ‘That’s a very good boy, Castor. Magnus would have been very cross with you had you eaten him before we could have words with him; very cross indeed.’ He pulled at the thick leather collar around his pet’s neck and eased him off the downed man. ‘Now, Matey-boy, just why do you feel it necessary to run away from us when, as you can see, we’re such nice and friendly folk at heart?’

  As the decurion sent a couple of troopers on to apprehend the second fugitive, Vespasian dismounted and picked up the man’s discarded sword. ‘Perhaps it has something to do with this, Magnus.’

  Magnus took one look at the weapon. ‘Oh dear, sir, a Roman auxiliary spatha; what a naughty boy our Jewish friend here is. Just being caught in possession of this is enough to have him nailed up; or perhaps that’s too nice for him, seeing as he probably killed one of our lads to get it, and we should send him to Greece to break rock until his back breaks cutting that canal through the isthmus.’

  Vespasian turned to the auxiliary decurion. ‘Search them, bind them and bring them back to Caesarea; I want to question them personally.’

  ‘And you’re sure of this, my love?’ Vespasian asked, not wanting to believe what she had just told him.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ Caenis replied, rubbing oil into his shoulders. ‘Since our discussion, and despite Titus’ professed loyalty to you, I’ve made it my business to know what he gets up to and for the last month he has not been with his legion but, rather, at Tiberias sharing Berenice’s bed.’

  ‘But he sends me regular reports from his legion.’

  Caenis took up the strigil and began to scrape the oil from Vespasian’s back, wiping the residue on a cloth. ‘That’s easily done: his thick-stripe tribune sends him reports of how the legion has been doing in stifling the flow of supplies from Samaria into Jerusalem. He then lifts himself off Berenice for long enough to write his report to you and sends it back to his second in command who then forwards it by a normal military courier to you here in Caesarea. The point is, Vespasian, not so much that he’s going behind your back seeing this woman after he promised to give her up, as that is between you and him; who he sleeps with is no concern of mine. What does concern me, however, is that Berenice is a very ambitious woman, one just has to look at her past husbands to realise that. She will have seen what is happening in the Empire and she will know full well Titus’ potential and the possibilities for her should he claw his way over you to the prize.’

  ‘But she is a Jew; Rome would never accept her in the unlikely event that should happen and Titus betrays me.’

  ‘Cleopatra was Egyptian of Macedonian origin; that didn’t stop Caesar – or Marcus Antonius for that matter.’ She shifted her attention to the small of his back and buttocks, oiling and scraping, as he lay on the upholstered leather couch in the warm room of the palace baths. ‘But whether or not Rome accepts her is beside the point; it’s what sort of poison she is dripping into Titus’ ear as he ploughs her.’

  ‘If any at all.’

  ‘Oh come now, do you really believe that she isn’t trying to get something for her own ends out of Titus? Of course she is; she’s an eastern … well, not queen, but she thinks she is and I’ll wager that she would dearly love to be empress and doesn’t see why her Jewishness should be a barrier to that.’

  ‘Well, it is.’

  ‘You know that, I know that, but does she? No.’

  Vespasian grunted with enjoyment and let Caenis continue working in silence for a while. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?’ he asked as she moved on to his thighs and calves.

  ‘I’ve only recently found out and then I wanted to have it confirmed before I worried you with
it. It’s bad enough that you haven’t heard anything from Galba either one way or the other without unnecessarily being concerned about your own son.’

  Vespasian continued with contented grunts as Caenis finished off her work. He contemplated the situation. She was right, he was concerned about the lack of news from Rome; he had expected Galba either to have confirmed him, Mucianus and Tiberius Alexander in their posts by now or to have tried to recall them. But nothing had been heard from the Emperor. News of him had arrived, though, and it had not sounded good for Galba: Malichus had written saying that he had joined the Emperor’s entourage in southern Gaul in late August and had presented Vespasian’s letter but had received no reply from him although he, Malichus, had been confirmed in his kingdom with half the revenue from Damascus at his disposal. Galba had processed slowly through his new domain, arriving in Rome in October where he had massacred more than a thousand legionaries of the I Adiutrix at the Mulvian Bridge in a dispute over his recognising their newly formed legion. He had then gone on to cancel the donative that had been promised in his name saying that he chose his soldiers, he did not buy them, thus alienating the Praetorian Guard, the Urban Cohorts and all the army. He had also executed various senators and equestrians whom he considered to be suspect in their loyalties. Now it was being said that everybody thought Galba would make the best Emperor until he actually became so. If all these things were true, it would not be long until the fight to replace him commenced, and Vespasian did not want Titus being coerced into doing something stupid by an oriental fauxqueen using all the charms of her, admittedly, very desirable body. ‘Very well, my love, I’ll write to him at Tiberias asking him to come and report immediately to me here as soon as I’ve questioned those two Jews.’