Sword of Rome(42)

‘There will be glory enough for all in the new Rome,’ the Emperor promised, ignoring the second shout. ‘But first we must draw breath and take time to recover from the last ten years of the tyrant’s rule. It has left us bleeding and bankrupt. Great men have lost their lives and their families, while others have lost the will to rule. And a new Rome needs a new morality. All of you know the tales of debauchery, excess and the worst kinds of corruption sponsored by that man, perhaps some of you were even forced to witness it.’ Otho went very still, but otherwise gave no reaction to what was the nearest he would get to an explanation for why he had been overlooked. ‘Marriage and family will be the watchwords of the new Rome. Thrift and enterprise will see the Empire’s finances restored …’

‘I have heard enough. Poor soldiers, he will bore them all to death.’ Otho stalked out of the gate towards the Porta Viminalis. Valerius followed, puzzled by the patrician’s response to his personal disaster. Where he had expected fury there was only a cold resolve that was much more frightening.

‘So all Rome speaks of me as the new Emperor, Valerius? Well, we will see.’ They took the left fork on to the Vicus Patricius past the twin temples dedicated to Mephitis and Isis. ‘Vinius tells me you have renewed your oath.’ Valerius’s steps faltered at the unexpected and unsettling statement. A comment that hid a question he was reluctant to answer. Surprisingly, Otho didn’t press him, but carried on through the crowds, looking neither right nor left. Valerius hurried to catch up. ‘He also said that Galba has given you an important mission. For once, he has made the right choice. An honest man, who is sometimes too honest for his own good. A proven soldier he can trust to carry out his orders whatever the obstacles or the cost. A man whose loyalty to his Emperor is not in question. Something of a unique combination, I would suggest, in these days when the loyalties of so many are being tested. Yes, our Emperor has chosen well.’ He stopped in the centre of the street and turned to face his companion. People looked on in surprise to see the well-known figure without the lictors that were his due, but Otho ignored them. His eyes were bleak and his voice turned cold as stone. ‘I pray that you leave on your mission for the Emperor soon, Valerius. Loyalty is a fine thing, but loyalty to the wrong man can be dangerous, and, in the wrong circumstances, a combination of loyalty and honesty can be fatal. The climate in Rome can be unhealthy at this time of year.’

He turned to leave, but Valerius caught his arm. ‘What have you done, Marcus?’

Otho shook his head and pushed the hand roughly away. ‘It is not a question of what Marcus Salvius Otho has done. It is what the Emperor has done and cannot be undone.’



Why was he here, when the last parting had been so final?

He asked himself the question as he trudged up the slope of the Aventine to the house Domitia had rented. She had made it plain there was no place for him in her life. Yet here he was. He knew he might not return from Galba’s mission and this could be his last chance to see her face. He wanted her to know he was leaving the city, but not leaving her. He also wanted to warn her.

Otho’s words still haunted him. He couldn’t bring himself to believe anything would come of them, but the implication was clear enough. If one Emperor could be overthrown, why not another? But to take the purple Otho would need strength and support, and from what Valerius, who was as close to him as any man, knew of him, he didn’t have enough of either. If he did anything rash the most likely outcome was that he would go the way of all the others who had stood in Galba’s path. Old he might be, but the Emperor had shown he wasn’t frightened to swing the executioner’s axe. No, if he tried, Otho would fail, and where did that leave Valerius and his oath of loyalty? Should he warn the Emperor? Yet what did he have, other than a vague threat? And what he knew, Vinius would certainly also know.

Here it was. But the house looked different. Even in winter the shutters should not have been closed this early in the day. No one answered the door, and when he stepped back to study the upper storeys he was certain he saw a twitch of movement between the wooden slats, as if someone had just drawn away in a hurry.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

It was less a question than an accusation. He turned to find a young man glaring at him. The youth was as tall as he was, but slim and pale; about seventeen years old, with sandy, tight-curled hair and acne-dotted skin. His clothes were expensive in cut and quality and matched what appeared to be a high opinion of himself, judging by the dismissive expression he wore. He stood with his fists bunched in a pose he obviously believed was designed to frighten. Valerius had faced blood-crazed Celtic champions who wanted to tear out his throat with their teeth, and the thought that he should be scared of this babe in arms made him laugh aloud.