He waved an elegant hand that took in the blue-clad ranks. ‘Servius Sulpicius Galba denied you the eagle your sacrifices deserved. My first act as Emperor is to grant it to you anew.’ A long moment of silence followed and the air crackled with anticipation and something close to wonder as the crowd to Otho’s left parted to reveal a section of Praetorians carrying the gilded standard that had inspired the legions as they conquered half the world, from the wintry hills of Brigantea to the deserts of Africa, and the shores of Lusitania to the rocky wilds of Parthia. This was what a legionary fought and died for, and in doing so counted himself fortunate. One of the men handed Otho the eagle. He held it for a moment, the weight of brass and gold evidently a surprise and as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had in his hands, before raising it in salute to the men in front of him. It was all pre-planned, a piece of theatre as contrived as any that ever took place on a stage, but Serpentius felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and he saw the emotion in his own face reflected in the expression of the man who now stood next to him. Juva’s mouth gaped in a cheer that was lost in the crescendo of sound torn from the throats of the men in blue and taken up by everyone around them. Whether they had come here to support Otho or merely out of curiosity, they were all in his thrall now. ‘I name you First Adiutrix, the helpers, because when I needed you you came to my aid. Who will carry this eagle?’ With a shout, the front ranks of the new legion surged forward as one, but their leaders pushed them back, and from the chaos a single man stepped clear.
‘Florus,’ Juva whispered as the young marine from the Wavebreaker marched forward with his curious sailor’s gait. Serpentius could feel the confusion in the big Nubian. ‘What should I do?’
‘Go to them,’ the Spaniard said. ‘It is what Valerius would want you to do. Go to your comrades and serve with honour, whoever you follow.’
When Juva turned to him he had tears in his eyes. He held out his great meaty hand and the gladiator took it. ‘May Fortuna favour you.’
‘And you.’
Serpentius watched the broad back force its way through the crowd like a galley through a heaving sea. Juva’s century opened to welcome him just as Florus, newly appointed aquilifer of the Legio I Adiutrix, accepted the eagle standard, and a new roar split the heavens above the Castra Praetoria. He saw veteran soldiers openly weep as the new legion took the oath from a man who would be either dead or Emperor by the time the sun set.
There were more speeches, but he barely heard them as he pondered whether to return to Valerius. What would happen to the one-armed tribune if Otho became Emperor? He dismissed the thought as quickly as it had formed. Valerius was old enough and wise enough to look after himself. Each of them had stared death in the face often enough not to be too concerned if it came calling again. But since they had returned to Rome Serpentius had watched the shadow that stained Valerius’s scarred features fade, and the melancholy that had enveloped him lift. It would be a pity to die now, just when life appeared to have been given some meaning. He knew the reason for the change was the general’s daughter and he feared that pursuing her would only bring his friend more pain, but a man, especially one like Valerius or Serpentius, could only live for the moment. And, for the moment, he reckoned he could serve Valerius best by sticking to Otho.
He had them now, that was certain. Serpentius had heard enough military speeches to know. The growls of assent. The pent-up energy of hounds straining at the leash. It could only be a matter of time.
At last. ‘You have listened to me. You have heard me. You have not arrested me. That alone condemns you before a man who does not know the meaning of mercy. Servius Sulpicius Galba’s hands are stained with the blood of the marines who trusted him, the innocents of high rank and low who refused to acclaim him. He will not forgive.’ Otho’s final words – ‘Are you with me?’ – coincided with the opening of the armoury and drew the biggest roar of the day. The swords and shields were snatched up as quickly as they could be handed out, but if Otho believed he had created an army, he was wrong. They were a mob, and they wanted blood.
Apart from a small knife Serpentius had no weapon, but that was no handicap to a man like the Spaniard. A sailor ran past him with a sword held high. With a flick of his wrist Serpentius disarmed the man and with a snarl dared him to try to recover the blade. The sailor backed away; there were other weapons and easier victims. Serpentius trotted after the leaders as they disappeared towards the west gate and the road to the Forum.