***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Titus Flavius Vespasianus Junior rode into Rome at the head of his Praetorian cohort. He dismounted at the Imperial residence and turned his horse over to the cohort’s commander. The praetorians, in turn, waited until their prefect was inside the home and under the care of those praetorians guarding the place before turning away to return to their own barracks.
Titus was greeted warmly by the freedmen and slaves running the house. The head steward escorted him into the study, where the father of Titus- the Imperator- was relaxing on a couch while being fanned by Nubian slaves.
Titus waved the Nubians away, but his father countermanded the order. “They cannot speak, my son. No vocal cords. Nor do they understand anything but the most basic of commands. They are fan-wavers, handy on a day like this. You may speak freely.”
The Praetorian Prefect and dutiful son shrugged. “I have just come from the North, father. It seems your plan worked.”
Vespasian shot upright. He gripped his son’s face with both hands and stared deeply into his liquid brown eyes. “It is already underway?” he asked pointedly. “I was not informed.”
“I made the decision, father,” Titus replied. “An arcanus reported to me just south of Mediolanium. He confirmed the Suevi and Chatti were heading north in numbers. I gave Cornelius Clemens the command to invade the Agri Decumates. The first reports of the invasion are promising- little more than local skirmishes so far.”
“And Rutilius Gallicus? He was informed of this mass movement heading his way?”
Titus nodded. “The same swift rider carrying the orders to Cornelius carried a second set to Gallicus. Cornelius was given two days to plan and execute, giving the rider that much time to get to Gallicus, whom I ordered to return immediately to his bases. The order was handed to his quaestor, who forwarded it by light cavalry to his governor. I received a letter from Gallicus a few days ago saying he acknowledged the order and will comply.”
Vespasian sat back with a smile. “Devious, eh son? Sending Rutilius Gallicus across as a diversion to draw the Germans upon himself, while we sneak in the back door and conquer the empty Agri Decumates. That irritating spearhead of land is no longer aimed at our guts, and the Via Mala is now a secure route.”
“Cousin Titus is doing well, too,” Titus continued. “Cornelius Clemens forwarded me a letter Titus Sabinus wrote him, demanding action and deploring being sent to the back doorstep of the province. It was rather humorous reading. I think cousin Titus is singing a different tune now. His is the lead legion in the assault. He has fought several battles on his own now, and the reports positively glow.”
“His father- my brother- was a good general as well,” Vespasian said sadly. Titus Flavius Sabinus was the older brother of Vespasian, and died in the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus at the hands of Vitellian praetorians. Vespasian had them all slain once he was in power. His own son and Titus Flavius Sabinus Junior- the legatus in Germania Superior- had also been in that temple, but an agent of Mucianus had gotten them out. The agent kept them safe until Primus had captured the city. Bad days, those, but vital to his success.
“Then the praise is earned,” Titus said proudly.
Vespasian snorted. “Of course it is, son. Cornelius Clemens gives it. That man and I have never gotten along, and he makes little secret that he thinks we stole the Julian throne. He would not praise any of our family unless it was earned in blood. It seems young Sabinus is doing just that.”
Titus cocked his head to the side in confusion. “You do not like the man, yet you made him a governor and gave him four legions. Strange.”
Vespasian took on the owlish expression that gave him his common nickname. “We clash, but I would not let a man’s personal convictions get in the way of what is best for Rome. He was the best man for the job. He earned it, and I am man enough to give a good man his due.”
Titus considered that and had to agree. The interests of Rome take precedence over personal squabbles.
“So that settles the North,” the Imperator declared.
“Mostly,” Titus continued. “There is still the matter of the plans intercepted heading north. I have a few leads here in Rome I wish to check out, and the arcanus was sent to Mogontiacum to check out that end. Hopefully between the two of us we can find this traitor and put a stop to his treason.”
Vespasian waved his hands as if the matter was rubbish. “It no longer matters. Gallicus will be back before the Germans arrive- you saw to that- and the plans did not arrive anyway. Even if they had, they would have been useless- or even worked in our plan’s favor.” He paused, then reconsidered. ”I would like you to investigate the matter anyway, though. Though neither you nor I have further plans in the Rhenus theatre, making the spy network moot, a traitor working for gold may find a new paymaster. Future plans may be compromised, and that I cannot allow.”
“I have a name with which to start. Titus Burrius, a knight. It was he who forwarded the stolen plans. From him I will learn who handed him that plans, and from that person, I shall learn how he acquired them. Our secrets will be safe, father.”
“Yes,” Vespasian admitted. “A good plan. Eprius Marcellus said something about slaves or freedmen being the evil-doers. Ridiculous, of course- our slaves are foreign and cannot read, while our freedmen are well-treated and cared for. They know crucifixion awaits a traitor, and know I would not hesitate to hang them up either. Nor do they have access to our personal post, which is how Gallicus sent us his plans.”
“Maybe I should talk with this Marcellus,” Titus mused.
Vespasian cut him off. “No! Do not encourage him- you will never hear the end of it. He is my friend, son, but long-winded and vicious like a dog. He would find your culprit and destroy him utterly and publicly- which may be detrimental if the traitor is a friend or servant. Worse, he does not let a thing go once he has his teeth into it. No, leave him out of this. Do it yourself. You know how to handle such things privately, avoiding the embarrassment of public trials.”
Titus followed his father’s gaze to where his sword hung upon his right hip. He nodded. That sword had silenced quite a few men whose deeds ought not be made public. This was no Neronian palace alive with conspiracies, wild parties, and sycophants. The Flavian dynasty will be remembered as one of enlightenment and a throwback to the days of Augustus, when good emperors ruled. Good emperors disposed of their foes quietly, and privately.
That night, while Vespasian entertained his guest at dinner, his younger son drank himself senseless, and his older son again consummated his relationship with that delightful Jewish princess Berenice, the sky clouded over. The stars were blotted out, and black clouds rolled in off the sea. Lightning flew and thunder boomed, then the sky dropped its load upon the land below.
Summer storms were welcomed. Their rain brought life to the fields, and cooled the cities. They hardly lasted long, and seldom did any real damage. A few hours, maybe a building struck, and then it was gone, over, leaving a cooler city behind. This storm was different. It burst upon the city like a flood, saturating its fields to the point where mud flowed into the sewers. The river rose with the influx, threatening to close off the exit of the mouth of the Cloaca and drown Rome in her own excrement. Jupiter struck three buildings on the Capitoline- one of them being his own temple. It savage lashings lasted all through the night, before its power finally ebbed. It was a storm to remember.
Worse, the stifling heat that preceded the storm remained. It had refused to be washed away, though many other things had. The augurs were consulted- but without any success. Everyone knew the storm was a portent- but of what?
Nobody knew, until the imperial rider brought the Imperator his daily post. Among the many scrolls and tablets was one from Moesia, and another from Pannonia. Both of these told of barbarians stirring across the Danube. War was on its way, and the tribes were more restless now, knowing the fate of the Suevi in the Agri Decumates. They knew Rome was busy there, but once she finished with the Suevi, she may turn lustful eyes eastward. Several local kings had decided it would be better to strike first, and thus the warhosts were summoned.
Britannia had just suppressed a rebellion, but the peace was tenuous. Four legions were there, and the place was still not fully pacified. Add to that the problems in Hispana, and the storm was beginning to make sense. Then Vespasian opened the last two tablets. He did not recognize the signet, but that mattered not. The words inside did.
The handwriting was bold and clear- a soldier’s style. Inside, the writer identified himself as the quaestor of Germania Inferior. Vespasian recognized that as the man who had tried to poison his governor during the winter and threw the disgusting tablet away. Nothing that weasel had to say was worth reading!
Junior Consul Lucius Junius Vibius Crispus picked up the fallen tablet, and after a single glance, thrust it back into the hands of the Imperator.
“Gods above, lord!” Crispus exclaimed, pointing to the first paragraph inscribed after the introduction. “Four legions, trapped!”
Vespasian snorted. “My ass!” he bellowed, reaching for some wine. “There is no way Gallicus would or even could get four entire legions- with their supporting auxilia- get boxed in by mere barbarians. Four legions can and have destroyed whole hordes of them. This quaestor makes noise, the bleating of a guilty goat, nothing more.”
“I beg to differ,” Crispus continued. “Your son the Praetorian Prefect reported just last night that two Germanic tribes were moving north, and that he had duly ordered Gallicus to evacuate. You told me this yourself, when I arrived. You were pleased- as if the Germans had been dancing to your tune all along. If Gallicus did not move fast enough, getting trapped would be the logical outcome, would it not?”
Vespasian thought hard, and agreed. He re-examined the tablet. There were numbers and locations- none of which fit the scenario he knew to be true. Eighty thousand? There were not even eight thousand in all of those woods! No, there had to be another explanation. “It could also be an ambitious man over-reacting to the news of the Germanic approach. Or one trying to win more power by declaring his governor incapacitated. This man poisoned his governor- nothing he bleats now against Gallicus can be taken seriously.”
“He was also acquitted of that charge,” the advisor reminded him. “By the poisoned man himself. The miscreant was a Gallic trader’s wife.”
Vespasian grumbled, but would not budge. “Opportunist, Eprius called him. It fits.”
The advisor shrugged, and opened the final tablet. He handed it to the Imperator. “He is himself besieged, in Vetera, along with all remaining Roman forces in the province. All twelve auxilia cohorts. He vows to hold out as long as possible, but urges help to be sent immediately.”
Vespasian laughed. “What a wonderful excuse for inaction on his part! He claims his superior is besieged, and to prevent himself from having to go rescue him, claims to be besieged himself. This is wonderful fantasy, ”
Crispus threw his hands in the air. “It may indeed be fantasy, Imperator, and your divine sight may be true. But what if, lord, what if this man is not a poison-dealing opportunist seeking to empower himself while doing nothing? What if, gods forbid, he is an honest Roman reporting true events?”
Vespasian snarled at the sarcastic tone the junior consul had used. “Talk to Eprius, consul. He will set you straight. The quaestor is a liar and an opportunist. No doubt we will hear in a few days that Gallicus has returned and disciplined his ambitious quaestor. You shall see.”
Crispus took his leave, and went indeed directly to Eprius who told him exactly what Vespasian had said he would. Then, not satisfied, he went to the other power-brokers in Rome or those with known ties to the area- Gaius Mucianus, Quintus Saturninus, and the newly-returned Gaius Helvidius. All three accompanied the consul back to the Imperator.
“What is the meaning of this?” Vespasian wondered harshly. His eyes narrowed, bringing his eyebrows down toward his nose in that owlish parody. “Gaius Mucianus- my trusted friend. Quintus Saturninus, ripped from your retirement, I see. And you, Gaius Helvidius? Should you not be off sulking in self-exile in Armenia?”
“I have brought these men here, Imperator,” Crispus said. “Despite your divine conviction that the reported situation in Germania is an overreaction by an ambitious pleb of the Third-Class, I and these men have a different opinion of the matter.”
Gaius Helvidius stepped forward. “You and I do not always see eye-to-eye, Titus Flavius. I am a Republican, and you an Imperial. You claim this quaestor is a mushroom, a bungler, and an ambitious turnip trying to steal away a province. That sounds like the words of Titus Clodius Eprius, who would think that of any man operating above his station- especially one he unsuccessfully tried to prosecute for treason. The quaestor wiped the floor with him, Titus Flavius, and did so in a manner that made Titus Clodius appear a boorish fool. He did so by being honest.”
“I remember your speeches in the Senate and have heard of those from the rostra,” Vespasian said. “You are as biased toward this boy as Eprius is against him.”
Helvidius bowed his head. “I had a spy in the retinue of Eprius. When I learned his plans, I did my own research into his intended target. I found much to admire, and little to criticize. Eprius is a prosecutor who sees evil in everyone, thus his opinion of the man. A hazard of the occupation, I guess. He was going to prosecute yet another innocent man to shield the blunder of another. My speeches prevented that. I look upon it as a public service.”
“That boy worked under me for almost two years,” Quintus Volusius Saturninus said as he hobbled forward to take the place of the retreating Helvidius. “I have never seen a man so devoted to Rome. I should have made him my quaestor, but he wanted to stay on the border, which he would be forced to leave when I left. He likes it there, and would have served me as a privatus should I so desire. He is a loyal man, that one, and a good one. If Marcus Rutilius reports that his governor is trapped, then by Jupiter’s Brass Balls, Titus, he is!”
Mucianus nodded. “He might think you stole the throne from Vitellius, or seized it because you felt it your right, or even anything else you can think of, old friend. And it would not matter. He acts in Rome’s best interest, regardless of who considers themselves Imperator. Always has, probably always will.”
“Another Republican? And I should accept his word, when no other evidence exists of this catastrophe?”
Mucianus held out his hands to his friend. “He cut through my guards and into my tent to bring me word that Germania was falling apart five years ago. I too had heard nothing, and did not believe him. A month later, he is a legate leading a newly-recruited legion north to relieve the siege of Mogontiacum. In between, he infiltrated Vitellian Rome to pull your son and Titus Sabinus from the burning Capitoline and hide them until I and my forces could come down. Whether he was a Vitellian, a Flavian, or something else, he was always a Roman. And an honest one.”
Vespasian leaned back, shocked. This quaestor, who was accused of poisoning a governor. Whom he had sent into Germania Magna with but an ala of Thracian Cavalry to be killed as a result. Who so neatly evaded the spiked net of Eprius and forced it back upon the caster. Who rescued the army of Germania Inferior last year from certain disaster. This man... He was the same man who had rescued his son and nephew from the blood-mad praetorians?
“I did not know,” he muttered. He stared at Mucianus. “Are you sure this is the same man?”
Mucianus nodded. “We exchange letters now and again. He is like a protege of mine.”
“To me as well,” Saturninus added.
“I know him only through the research I have done and the information my spy stole from Eprius,” Helvidius said. “Even I did not know he was your son’s rescuer.”
“Then it is true,” Vespasian muttered. “Gallicus got himself trapped, despite the timely warnings of Titus to evacuate. And now Vetera, linchpin of the province, lies under siege. And of course we will not know about it for another week or so when news from other than imperial sources arrives.”
“If he swept all auxilia to Vetera, which I would have done,” Mucianus said, “then there are no others to send the news until the sutlers and traders bring it.”
“He will have to hold out,” Vespasian decided. “And hope Gallicus can free himself.”
Mucianus went white as a sheet. “You cannot mean that, Titus!”
The Imperator nodded. He gestured to Crispus to repeat the morning briefing. Crispus did so, telling of the troubles brewing in the east, on Britannia, in Hispana.
“The legion in Gaul is supporting the attack of Cornelius Clemens,” Vespasian concluded. “He is currently subjugating the Agri Decumates, which is poised like a spearhead into our lands. A strategic area, that- invasions into our lands have always erupted from there. We have been wanting to reduce it for decades now. He has five legions reducing it, and needs them all. Gallicus was but a diversion, a sideshow to attract German attention. He was not supposed to get trapped.”
“Well he did,” Saturninus said with a shudder. “Four of my old legions are there with him, and the province bare. Do you realize the value of that province, lord?”
“I do, but it is not of more value than the Agri Decumates. Germans can attack Italia or Gaul through the Agri Decumates. Italia... Rome. Germania Inferior guards Gaul. We can afford to lose it temporarily.”
“If we lose Germania Inferior, we lose Gaul shortly thereafter,” Saturninus continued. “And with Gaul gone, the four legions in Britannia are trapped. Four more legions, lord, on an already-hostile island, cut off from Rome.”
“Leaving us with legions on the Danube. One in a brewing Hispana, and precisely dick anywhere else,” Mucianus concluded brutally. “The Rhenus kept those bastards at bay, with little cost in manpower. It is not like the huge expanses in the East, where our legions are needed to fight the Parthians and very frequent rebellions that spring up. Think, Titus. Rome loses eight legions in the West. How long do you think it will be before the Jews or some other tribe decide to try their hand again? It took six legions to quell the Jews. How many if the Egyptians decide to rise? Or Pontus? Or if the Greeks decide to be Greek instead of Roman? All of our forces are deployed East, with the exception of Britannia and Germania. When those two are gone...”
Vespasian remembered the desert and the people of it. He shuddered. That had been a brutal campaign. He did not want another such. Mucianus was correct- something had to be done. There was just no forces with which to do it.
“There is nothing I can do,” Vespasian decided. “Not yet. I will not risk losing the rest of the Empire to save four legions trapped by their own stupidity. But I shall issue orders. Once Cornelius Clemens has secured the Agris and established a defensive line tied in with the upper Danube, he is to reconquer Germania Inferior.”
“That will take months!” Saturninus cried.
“Feel free to raise your own legions and head north,” Vespasian invited with a hefty bite of sarcasm. “But I have none that can get there before spring of next year, no matter how much I would like it. Five years ago, when Germania was overrun, we had just finished dealing with Aulus Vitellius, who had dealt with Otho, who had murdered Galba, whose revolt forced Mad Nero to suicide. There were eight legions here then, in Italia. We sent them north under Quintus Petillius. But since then those legions had been sent to where they were needed. Recalling them to Germania will wreck the Empire- we are hard pressed everywhere. Even if I send the word out today, it would still take months before a force could be assembled and transported to Germania. It is a simple matter of logistics and time. We don’t have the time. Rutilius is on his own. If he can hold out until then I would appreciate it.”
“And the legions across the river?” asked Helvidius.
Vespasian shrugged. “They got themselves trapped in an area where no Roman force can possibly relieve them. Foolish, and tragic. But there is nothing anybody can do. They are lost, and we will have recruit new ones to replace them- if there is any manpower left in the Empire; we are still recovering from Otho and Vitellius.”
That is the way it sometimes is, thought Mucianus. He could see on his friend’s face that the decision was not made lightly, or in spite. You do your best, and still fail or die. Titus Vespasianus is correct- there is absolutely nothing they could do.
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****