Emperor of Rome Read online

‘Eleven!’

  And still none cried out and their watching comrades remained silent.

  ‘Twelve!’

  For the last time the crack of wood on flesh broke the hush; as it died away there was a rush of air as if all four and a half thousand men in the legion had been holding their breath and they had exhaled as one.

  As the men were cut down from the posts and led off, all standing erect, proud to have done their duty to their comrades, Vespasian stood, feeling pride in the legion and knowing that its morale was better for what it had just witnessed. ‘Men of the Fifteenth Apollinaris,’ he declaimed, his voice carrying over the regimented blocks of ten cohorts. ‘Your comrades have purged the shame of your refusal of an order this morning. It shall never happen again, not in my army, not if you wish to remain a part of my army.’ He paused to let the implication of what he had said sink in. ‘Now, go to your duties and we shall talk no more of this matter.’ He turned to Propinquus, leaving the ambiguous statement hanging. ‘Tribune, you may dismiss them.’

  ‘What are you doing punishing my legion, Father?’

  Vespasian looked around to see Titus standing behind the dais. ‘Just where the fuck have you been?’

  ‘I was a fool, Father,’ Titus said as they walked back through the town to the Governor’s residence.

  ‘Well, that’s one way of putting it,’ Vespasian observed. ‘Quite a kind way, at that. Another way of looking at it is that you were a naïve, pussy-whipped idiot with as much political nous as my arsehole and without the loyalty that it feels towards me.’

  Titus looked suitably chastened. ‘I fell for it, Father, and now I realise that I would have been killed had I got to Rome. It was an act of the gods that sent such bad weather that we had to wait in Corinth.’

  ‘Why didn’t you listen to Sabinus?’

  ‘Because I thought that he was just saying things so that the way to the Purple would be kept clear for you. Herod Agrippa was so persuasive; if I ever get my hands on him, I’ll rip his circumcised cock off and stuff it in his mouth.’

  ‘There you go again being an idiot. You will see Herod Agrippa again and you will do nothing to him as he may well be very useful to us in the future. You just never trust a word he says again; do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘And where’s that woman?’

  ‘I sent her back to Tiberias.’

  ‘Is it over between you?’

  ‘No; I’m sorry, Father, but I have put her aside for a while whilst we finish this thing.’

  ‘Which thing are you referring to?’

  Titus took his father’s arm as they walked. ‘I came back the long way from Corinth, Father, via Cyprus. I went to the Temple of Aphrodite to sacrifice and ask for guidance; Sostratus, her chief priest, declared all the omens to be most favourable for great undertakings, those were his very words. He then took me into his private chamber and spoke to me in confidence; a confidence that I cannot even break with you, Father. But suffice it to say that I will never try to overreach myself again.’

  ‘We’ll see; although I am pleased that is how you feel at the moment. So I’ve got you back then, Titus?’

  ‘Yes, Father, I’m back.’

  Vespasian slapped Titus across the shoulders as they walked up the main steps of the Governor’s residence. ‘That is one major worry off my mind, my son.’

  Caenis stood at the top of the steps showing no surprise at seeing Titus. ‘He came here first,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘They both arrived together.’

  Vespasian frowned. ‘What do you mean: both?’

  ‘Malichus is back. He’s waiting for you in the formal reception; he has an emissary with him from the Great King.’

  Vespasian’s mind went racing back over fifteen years as he tried to haul from the past the name of the man standing next to King Malichus, waiting for him in the formal reception room of the residence. But his very presence gave him hope that the reply from King Vologases would be favourable. ‘Gobryas!’ Vespasian spluttered, retrieving the name just in time; to have forgotten the name of the man who had vouched for him to Vologases himself when he had been falsely accused of plotting the Great King’s murder, all those years ago in Ctesiphon, the Parthian capital, would have been discourteous to say the least. ‘I am delighted to see you after such a long time.’

  Gobryas placed his hand on his chest and bowed; his slim, sharp-nosed, Persian face was now lined with age but his hennaed beard still grew strong. ‘And I too am delighted to see you, my friend. I am much in your debt as, because of my friendship with you, the Great King, Vologases, the Light of the Sun, has conferred upon me the honour of being his mouthpiece.’

  Malichus chuckled, scratching at his beard as his face lit up. ‘It would seem that you have a good friend in the Great King, Vespasian; when he learnt that I had come with a message from you I only had to wait two days to be called into the royal presence; two days! I’m told it’s not unusual to wait two months; in fact there was a delegation of Ethiopes who had been waiting for almost a year.’

  ‘The Light of the Sun has always favoured the man who fights the Lie with Truth,’ Gobryas agreed. ‘And what Vespasian did for my family by returning the gold of my brother, Ataphanes, who had been his family’s slave and then freedman for thirty years, greatly impressed him; his view is that most Romans would just have kept the gold, especially as there was so much of it.’

  ‘Ataphanes had been a very loyal servant of our family and deserved to have his last request honoured. But come, let us recline and take some refreshment. But first, please, Gobryas, I insist that you refresh yourself after such a journey: make use of the bath house and change from your travel clothes; and then we shall talk.’

  ‘The Light of the Sun commands me to wish you well with all your endeavours,’ Gobryas said as they reclined to a meal as the sun fell towards the western horizon, washing the sea with a soft red glow. ‘He has watched with interest as your prediction of Nero bringing an end to the Julio-Claudian line has come true and how you are now in a position to replace them. He says that when he met you he felt the potential within you and asks me to remind you that he stated, in jest, that had you been one of his subjects he would have removed all your extremities to ensure that you were no threat to his position.’

  Vespasian smiled at the memory. ‘Yes, I remember him saying that when I hunted with him in his paradise.’

  ‘In normal circumstances my master would take full advantage of a civil war in the Roman Empire,’ Gobryas continued, taking a pork and leek sausage and looking at it quizzically. ‘He says to tell you that it is for the respect that he bears you that he will take no action that could prejudice your cause; therefore there will be no incursion across the border and Armenia will remain in the Roman sphere of influence.’ He bit into the sausage, his expression showing that it pleased him

  ‘He is very gracious, Gobryas,’ Vespasian said. ‘Please pass on my thanks to him for such restraint.’

  ‘The Light of the Sun has gone further than that: should you wish it, he is willing to provide you with forty thousand of his finest horse archers to aid you in your campaign. He does, however, realise that you may not be able to accept the offer for the way that it might look to your opponents in using foreign troops to gain power. But should you wish them for garrison duties, for example here in Judaea, in order that you can take more troops west with you then he would be only too pleased to help one so enamoured of the Truth. This offer the Light of the Sun makes without expectation of it being accepted; therefore do not feel that you would be insulting him if you do so.’

  ‘The Light of the Sun is generous indeed to make such an offer and he is wise in acknowledging that it cannot be accepted for the reasons that he has stated. But thank him, Gobryas, thank him with all my heart.’ And Vespasian’s heart was beating fast for now he knew he had the final piece in place: he had a promise from the King of Kings of the Parthian Empire not to attack his rear whil
st he went west.

  Now it was just a question of if or when he should make that move.

  CHAPTER XII

  ‘WITH THE BLOOD of this lamb, I beseech you, Carmel,’ Basilides, the chief priest of the god, called in a clear voice to the peak of the deity’s sacred mountain, ‘send guidance to the supplicants who stand before your altar.’

  Vespasian watched the blood flow from the sacrifice’s throat as the creature’s back legs thrashed; the old priest held it steady and soon the struggling subsided. The lamb went limp, its life given up to help three men come to a decision.

  Basilides, with the aid of a couple of acolytes, opened the carcass on the unadorned, open-air altar, and, with practised hands, removed the liver and examined it as his assistants placed the beast’s heart on the small fire.

  Vespasian glanced at Mucianus, Tiberius Alexander and Titus, all staring intently at the proceedings; he felt Caenis clasp his hand and squeeze it as Magnus muttered to himself somewhere behind him.

  Basilides continued his perusal of the liver, methodically going over every part of the surface, his expression increasing in astonishment with new observation. He turned the organ over and inspected the reverse side before looking once more at the front. Finally he placed it back down on the altar and regarded his small congregation. ‘Whatever it is you have in mind, Vespasian, whether it is to build a house or enlarge your estate, or to increase the number of your slaves, there is granted to you a great building, vast plots of land and a multitude of men.’ Basilides looked back down at the liver. ‘In all my years as priest to the ancient god Carmel I have never seen the like; you are blessed by all the gods.’

  Vespasian heard Magnus spit behind him and assumed that he was clenching his thumb between his forefinger and middle finger to ward off the evil-eye that might be drawn by Basilides’ bold pronouncement.

  ‘I had the same sort of reading at the Temple of Aphrodite, Father,’ Titus said as the priest turned and walked away towards the cave in which he spent his days in contemplation of the mysteries of the god Carmel in the heart of his mountain on the Syrian border.

  ‘Well, gentlemen,’ Vespasian said, addressing Tiberius Alexander and Mucianus, ‘what do you think? For my part I would value your advice as I cannot bring myself to jump either way, such are the consequences both of rebelling against Vitellius and not doing so.’

  The two men shared a glance; it was Mucianus who spoke for them: ‘Since Otho’s defeat at Bedriacum in April and his subsequent suicide, two months have passed and you have done nothing, Vespasian, other than make your legions swear allegiance to that fat prig, Vitellius.’

  ‘That is not fair,’ Vespasian protested. ‘We only heard the news in May and it has taken us a month to be able to organise this meeting between the three of us here. And don’t tell me that you haven’t taken the oath to Vitellius, or you and your legions, Tiberius. Eh?’

  ‘Yes, we both have,’ he admitted.

  ‘And how did they take it?’

  ‘Not well.’

  ‘No, nor did my legions, but they did it for me; they can understand my indecision.’

  Mucianus pointed to the mounted escorts each of the three had brought with them, waiting in the encampment at the bottom of the hill. ‘Our men require leadership; not indecision. Now we have come to the point where we either go or not. One way or another a decision must be made today as we’re coming towards the end of June; if we plan an invasion of Italia this year then we need to leave very soon or risk being defeated by the weather.’

  ‘Which is why I called this meeting,’ Vespasian reminded him. ‘I know our men need leadership and I know that time is running out this year; but I was not going to act without consulting you both face to face, and this is the earliest opportunity we have had. Now, let’s not bicker. Do we or do we not rebel?’

  ‘I think you need to put the question another way, my love,’ Caenis said, stepping forward into the masculine conversation. ‘Rebellion is an act of treason that automatically puts you on the wrong side of the law. If you rebel, you pull your men behind you; if, however, you are proclaimed then you are pushed forward by your men and are doing their will. That gives you a mandate.’ Caenis looked around the small group, searching the eyes of all three. ‘Now that you are all together, if you are really going to do this, and I would be disappointed in all of you if you didn’t, then I suggest that you frame a timetable, because this has got to look like a spontaneous uprising of the legions and not a planned grab for power.’

  Vespasian thought that he had never loved Caenis more than at that moment: of course she was right and she had shamed them into seeing the correct way forward.

  ‘I’ll start it,’ Tiberius Alexander said. ‘If it begins in Egypt, the wealthiest province in the Empire, and technically the Emperor’s personal domain, then that will add weight to the cause.’

  ‘It will also mean the uprising will travel from south to north,’ Vespasian said, his throat dry with the realisation that they had come to a silent, mutual decision, ‘gaining momentum as it goes through Judaea and then on into the Syrian legions, so that the Moesian army may well declare for us as well.’

  ‘For you, Vespasian,’ Caenis reminded him. ‘For you. You are the one they are going to make Emperor of Rome; you and you alone.’

  The reality of what she had said hit him like a slingshot and he almost staggered back: he was going to be proclaimed Emperor of Rome; this was the reality that they were now discussing. If that was really the case, he would have to start acting the part. ‘How soon before you can be back in Egypt, Tiberius?’

  ‘Three days,’ he replied with little thought. ‘Today is eight days before the calends of July; if my ship sails tomorrow, that would give me four days to make the necessary arrangements with certain key men in the two legions and I could have them declare for you on the calends.’

  ‘Good,’ Vespasian said simply, as if Tiberius Alexander had just announced a mutually convenient date for a dinner party. ‘That would mean that news of that event could safely arrive with my army three days after that. Titus, you will make the arrangements along with Traianus. It must be spontaneous and I will be taken by surprise and refuse at first; choose some officers and men to draw their weapons on me so that all can see that I did not seek this for myself but, rather, had it forced upon me.’

  ‘Three days after that, so on the sixth day after the calends of July,’ Mucianus said, ‘I’ll have the Syrian legions take the oath and then send messengers up to the boys in Moesia so they can see what’s happening in the East; I’m sure the Third Gallica will support their former Syrian comrades and they’ll bring the rest of the Moesian legions with them ready to join you when you take the army north and into Italia. All that support should, in turn, get the Seventh Galbiana in Pannonia to declare for you, as their new legate, Antonius Primus, is an opportunist with an eye for the turning of the tide.’

  ‘So long as he supports us his reasons can be his own; but apart from that, it should work – but with one exception: I will not be leading the army north into Italia.’

  Mucianus looked confused. ‘But then who does?’

  ‘You do, my friend, you do.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you.’

  ‘But what will you do?’

  ‘Firstly, I’ll leave Traianus in command in Judaea and come to Syria with Titus to give you an imperial mandate before the whole army to take it to Italia; whilst I’m there I’ll take oaths from all the client kings in the East and then I’ll go south to Egypt. If I’m able to, I want to make this a bloodless coup; if I march at the head of an army, that shows aggression on my part, just as Vitellius did. I need to stress the difference between Vitellius and myself: I do not conquer Rome, Rome comes to me. And Rome will come to me if I have Egypt and offer Vitellius his and his family’s lives. He’s fat and lazy; he’ll be happy to live out a quiet retirement, knowing that if he refuses my terms, I can turn off the grain supply from Egypt, an
d the mob, who see no further than their bellies, will blame him and turn upon him.’

  ‘And the army?’ Mucianus asked, his voice quiet.

  ‘You are to take it to Aquileia on the Italia–Dalmatia border and await my instructions; I hope not to have to use it. I want to be seen as a saviour not a conqueror.’

  ‘It’s the messiah prophecy,’ Tiberius Alexander said.

  Caenis looked interested. ‘What’s the messiah prophecy?’

  ‘It’s an ancient prophecy that the saviour of the world will rise out of the East. The Jews have their own version of it, which in their self-centred way applies only to them, the messiah coming to set them free from bondage; Herod Agrippa’s father was the last one in a long line to make that claim and he was dead within five days of doing so, eaten from the inside out by worms. But if we project the idea that the Empire is tottering on the brink of collapse and you, Vespasian, the star of the East, have arrived as prophesied to save it then we could get a lot of traction for the cause very early.’

  ‘And how will you do that?’ Caenis asked, liking the idea.

  ‘Firstly, we’ll need miracles.’

  Vespasian burst into laughter. ‘Miracles! Me? What am I meant to do? Lay my hands on people and cure some vile disease that afflicts the poor?’

  Tiberius Alexander’s look was serious. ‘You leave it to me, Vespasian; I’ll get you your miracles and you’ll be the eastern messiah that the world has been expecting.’

  Caenis smiled. ‘That will give you legitimacy, my love; it’ll give your claim value.’

  ‘It will give your claim comic value,’ Magnus muttered, not all together to himself. ‘I don’t hold with miracles, they ain’t natural.’

  ‘All I’m saying,’ Magnus insisted, ‘is that if you want to be taken seriously you don’t pretend to be some sort of a god.’

  Vespasian leant on the rail of the trireme speeding them back to Caesarea, enjoying the salt breeze on his face. The shrill, intermittent whistle of the stroke-master’s pipe interspersed with the grunts of one hundred and twenty oarsmen pulling on their sweeps had lulled him into a mellow humour and he felt a great weight had fallen from his shoulders. ‘And why not? Augustus is a god; he’s got priests and temples to prove it.’