Sword of Rome(49)

Laco’s expression transformed into a snarl as he approached, but Vinius read the seriousness in his face. ‘What is it?’

Valerius took them aside. ‘A section of the Guard have proclaimed Marcus Salvius Otho Emperor. They are carrying him to the Castra Praetoria and may already be there.’

‘Impossible,’ spluttered the Praetorian commander. ‘I would have known.’

‘You idiot,’ Vinius sneered. ‘You wouldn’t notice a rebellion if it started under your fat belly. The Emperor must be told.’ He rushed off towards the altar, but was forced to wait while Umbricius made the final prayer to Apollo for an auspicious start to the new year. When he was able to whisper the news, Valerius saw Galba’s face go grey and he seemed to shrink inside his toga.

The Emperor hurried across to join Valerius and Laco, with Vinius in his wake. He called Icelus and Piso across to join them and asked Valerius to repeat exactly what he had been told.

‘So.’ A relieved sigh escaped his lips. ‘There are only a few of them?’

‘I was told twenty or thirty, but they are on their way to the Castra Praetoria.’

‘The Guard will not allow the usurper entry,’ Laco said confidently.

‘How can you be sure?’ Vinius demanded. ‘It is the Guard who are taking him there.’

‘A few rotten apples.’

‘It was a few rotten apples who brought down Nero,’ the consul reminded him.

‘What must we do?’ Galba sounded exactly what he was, a confused old man.

Valerius listened in frustration to the dithering. By now the crowd of senators, priests and visiting provincial dignitaries had noticed what was happening and a rumble of unease ran though them. Eventually he could take no more. ‘Act,’ he urged the three men. ‘Act now. Gather the palace cohort and march on the Praetorian barracks. If there are only a few of them, they won’t fight. Guarantee them their lives and you can still negotiate a settlement. Offer Otho the option of exile.’

‘And if there are many?’

‘If there are many you have enough men to lay siege to the barracks. Bottle them up inside and give their blood a chance to cool. You buy time and an opportunity to negotiate. If Otho had the support of the whole Guard they would be here now, not at the camp. He can’t have gathered all ten thousand of them or Laco would know about it. They’ll still be about their normal duties outside the city. I doubt if there can be more than four thousand men at the Castra Praetoria.’

‘But how can we be certain of the palace cohort’s loyalty?’ Laco demanded.

‘Because they are here and not there.’

‘I will talk to them.’

Valerius blinked at Piso’s unexpected intervention. ‘This is a time to act, not talk,’ he said forcefully. But Galba had already leapt at the opportunity to delay a decision that might force him to declare war on his own Praetorian Guard. Valerius used the interval to send a message to Juva to go back to Serpentius for the latest news. While he fumed, Laco paraded the officers and men of the palace guard outside the temple gates and Galba and Vinius discussed the possibility of drafting in the other troops in the city.

‘What about the urban cohorts and the vigiles?’

‘Policemen and firemen,’ the Emperor said dismissively. ‘Their loyalty lies with whoever pays them, which is currently Titus Flavius Sabinus. They have never rebelled in Rome’s history, but neither will they face the Praetorians.’

Vinius thought for a few moments. ‘The naval militia are in their barracks. If we guarantee them their eagle, they will follow you.’

Galba brightened, but Valerius stepped forward before he could speak. ‘Someone has called the naval militia to the Praetorian barracks. Otho is no fool. If they’ve obeyed the summons, he may already have taken their oath.’

The Emperor froze. For the first time it seemed he realized the true peril he faced. Now was the time to take action. Any action. To delay could be fatal. But suddenly Piso rushed to the temple steps and started addressing the assembled soldiers and the opportunity was gone.

Valerius’s frustration grew with every word the young man spoke. Around him, the cream of Rome’s aristocracy stood waiting for some sign of leadership. Beyond the temple walls he could hear the rumble of growing discontent and demands for information from the mob who had gathered to hear the now forgotten result of the divination. Piso’s lanky figure towered over the massed ranks of Praetorians as he harangued them in a powerful voice about the choice between honour and shame. They stood at the crossroads of history, he said. They could save the Empire’s reputation and that of their corps by supporting Galba, and expunge the deeds of a few deserters. Otho had condemned himself by his own words and actions. The guardsmen listened with blank faces. Only when he hinted at finally paying the gift they had been offered seven months earlier did he get a reaction. The Praetorians pointed out that if they’d got the money in the first place the Emperor would not be in this position today. At the end, there was no cheering, only a sullen, leaden silence and Galba dismissed them to their barracks because he couldn’t trust them to march on their brethren.