Sword of Rome(39)

Otho turned to him and Valerius almost flinched when he saw the look in the other man’s eyes. ‘Let us hope so, Gaius Valerius Verrens. I have been weak and I have been foolish, but I have given this man my loyalty. I will not allow him to betray it. I will not stand by and watch everything we have worked for destroyed.’

Brumalia, the winter festival honouring Cronos and Demeter, came and went with no announcement, as did the procession of the consuls to the Temple of Jupiter Maximus at the turn of the year, when Galba led his fellow consul Titus Vinius to the Capitoline and received the adulation of his people. On this day, by custom, every legion in the Empire would renew its oath to the man who ruled it. Otho passed the time in a fever of anticipation, awaiting the summons from the Palatine.

But when a summons came eight days later, it was for Valerius.

The Imperial messenger who arrived at the house he had rented on the Esquiline Hill gave no indication of why Galba had sent for him, so Valerius made his preparations with care. Previous experience of visits to an Emperor made him well aware of the deadly risks involved. He found a stylus and scratched out a letter for Olivia and a second to his old acquaintance Gaius Plinius Secundus instructing him to transfer sole control of the estate at Fidenae to his sister, and left them with Serpentius.

‘You know what to do with them,’ he told the Spaniard. ‘And I meant to give you this when we were in Carthago Nova, but there never seemed a right time.’ He threw Serpentius a leather bag that clinked when it landed in his hands. ‘If anything happens to me, go back to your people in Asturia. Go with my thanks and become a bandit or a king. Whether as slave or friend, you have never failed me. You have saved my life more times than I care to remember, but you have your own to live.’

The Spaniard weighed the bag in his hand, before tossing it back. ‘If he was going to kill you he would have done it before now.’ His dark eyes glittered in the lamplight. ‘I threw the bones last night. There is a storm coming, a storm that will threaten everything we know, but I did not see your death.’ Valerius waited for more, but Serpentius turned his back and resumed sharpening his long sword.



Valerius had fought in more skirmishes and battles than he could remember, but he could feel the fear toads squirming in his stomach when the guard escorted him into the Imperial palace. He had been here often enough to understand how uncertain such a moment could be.

The Emperor had set up court in the enormous receiving room where Valerius had surprised Nero six months earlier. Titus Vinius – accusing eyes staring from puffy, tight-lipped features – and Cornelius Laco, the indolent patrician who had taken Offonius Tigellinus’s place as Praetorian prefect, huddled together at the bottom of the stair leading to the golden throne. Another man, his features so bland he could be lost in any crowd, stood to one side. Valerius realized he must be Icelus, Galba’s influential freedman, and the third member of the triumvirate who controlled access to the Emperor.

The heady odour of incense or some strongly perfumed oil made his head spin as he stood between two Praetorians of the palace guard until the whispered conversation ended. Eventually, the Emperor waved him forward to the foot of the steps. This was the first time Valerius had seen him properly since the day of the naval legion’s decimation and he realized that the strains of office had already laid a permanent mark on the old man. Galba had always been spare, but now the bones on his face stood out like knives from flesh the texture of parchment, and the nose was less majestic eagle’s beak than meat hook. But the harsh, imperious voice remained unchanged, and when he spoke Galba sounded as if he were a judge passing sentence.

‘Gaius Valerius Verrens, your actions during the treasonous insurrection on the Via Flaminia perplexed and pained me. Only your previous sacrifices in the service of the Empire swayed your Emperor towards leniency.’ Valerius kept his face emotionless, but he could feel the eyes of the other three men boring into him as the tone changed almost imperceptibly. ‘You are familiar with our governor of Germania Inferior, Aulus Vitellius?’

Now he understood how a mongoose felt when confronted by the cobra. But he was angry too. Galba already knew the answer to his question, so what was the point of all this play-acting? ‘I was fortunate to be military aide to the honourable Vitellius when he had his province of Africa during the consulship of Licinius Silianus and Vestinus Atticus,’ he said stiffly.

‘So, familiar rather than merely acquainted?’ Vinius this time, a patrician questioning an inferior.

‘I would count Aulus Vitellius as a friend.’