Sword of Rome(28)

Until now the cheering had been set at a certain pitch, dictated by the preponderance of women and children among the crowd, but now it altered to a deep bass rumble. He had been aware of a shadow ahead and to his left, between the road and the Tiber, and now the shadow resolved itself into ranks of men. His first thought was that someone had disobeyed his order and paraded the Guard. They should not be here; they were needed to ensure the city was safe for his arrival. But where were the gaily coloured standards and the bright flashes from armour polished to a mirror shine? No legion ever paraded in so unsoldierly a fashion. None was so poorly equipped. The men he could see were bareheaded and ragged. At last, he recognized the blue tunics among them and with a grunt of irritation realized they must be the naval militia he had been informed about in Falerii. An annoyance and an irrelevance, to be disbanded and sent back to their rowing benches in his own time. He felt his heart stutter. Were they a threat? No, by Jupiter they were not, because if they thought to threaten their Caesar he would decorate the roads with them from here to Neapolis in a display that would make Crassus proud.

The road narrowed as it reached the bridge and he would have passed them by without a glance, but a small group of men pushed their way past the guards into the space ahead of him. His first instinct was to have his bodyguard sweep them aside, but the sense of anticipation in the hundreds – thousands? – who waited in their ranks to his right somehow pierced the thick carapace of his patrician dignity, and he waved his guards back and drew to a halt.

Milo’s legs threatened to give way as he looked up at the magnificent figure on the white horse. He had not wanted to be the seamen’s leader, but his natural authority had set him apart and he had been driven on by other men’s flattery and zeal. Those men were now standing safe among their shipmates and he wished that Poseidon would whisk him back to them. But Milo had led boarding parties and battled pirates and he had a responsibility and he had a just cause. He produced his smartest salute.

‘Hail, mighty Caesar. Tiberius Milo and the first naval detachment salute and greet you.’

He didn’t notice Galba’s twitch at the name Tiberius. The Emperor continued to look down on him as if he were some strange animal encountered on a mountain path; a rodent with two tails, or a bizarrely patterned snake. Milo took his silence as leave to continue.

‘We, the men of the first naval detachment, are here to seek confirmation of the rights and privileges granted to us by your predecessor, Nero Claudius Germanicus Caesar.’ Another twitch, almost a flinch, and this time Milo did notice. His speech slowed and became hesitant. The words that had sounded so fine when he had memorized them seemed hollow and weak out here on the road. ‘Nero Claudius Germanicus Caesar,’ he repeated nervously, ‘who called us from our barracks and our galleys at Misenum and bade us take arms and fight – for Rome.’

His comrades sensed his nervousness and shouts of encouragement came from beyond the line of Praetorians protecting the road. ‘You tell him, Milo!’ ‘We want what we were promised!’ ‘Let us fight!’

For the first time, Galba acknowledged the presence of the men by the road with a long look of aristocratic disdain. When his gaze returned to Milo and the five men accompanying him his expression had changed to one of curiosity. First and foremost, Servius Sulpicius Galba was a lawyer; his zeal for fairness and justice, if it had ever existed, was long gone, but he still had a zeal for the facts that would determine the outcome of any case.

‘And what are these right and privileges you speak of?’

Milo swallowed, but when he spoke his voice was strong and it carried to the men he had brought here. ‘The right to march behind an eagle as a properly constituted legion of the Empire. The right to bear arms as legionaries of the Roman state. The right to Roman citizenship at the end of enlistment; that enlistment to be twenty-five years and its start date determined by the date of signing up to the recruit’s first ship. The right to the full pay, privileges and conditions of a legionary soldier at current rank held.’ Each sentence was greeted by roars of approval that swelled in volume. ‘The right to a pension and a grant of land at completion of service.’

Galba seemed unaware of the silence that followed and it stretched out until it became almost unbearable. Slowly, the shouting began again, but as it built in power the Emperor raised his hand for quiet.

‘These rights you speak of are indeed the universal rights of a legionary, and it is correct that any man who fights behind an eagle standard is entitled to them …’