Despite the urgency, Galba had taken the time to don his general’s gilt breastplate and strap on the long sword he had carried from Hispania. He looked like a leader; all he needed now was someone to lead. But he hadn’t bargained for the enthusiasm of the mob. Urged on by senators who had come to show their support, they manhandled him into a chair and hoisted him on their shoulders. Valerius had armed himself with a gladius borrowed from a member of the palace guard and along with Vinius stayed close to the Emperor, his progress and movements hampered by the folds of his toga. Whether by accident or design, Laco and Icelus were forced further back. Galba’s personal guard struggled to stay within reach of the man in the chair, but Valerius could see from the way they kept glancing at each other that they were in a high state of nerves. A huge crowd had gathered in the Forum and the Emperor and his retinue swirled in its grip like flotsam in an ebbing tide, overlooked by thousands more Romans watching the entertainment from the shelter of the basilicas and temples.
The first warning of trouble came when Piso and the commander of his escort appeared at the far side of the Forum from the direction of the Argiletum. Galba’s heir shouted something that was lost in the clamour of the mob, but Valerius did hear the screams that followed a moment later. He looked up as two cavalrymen forced their way into the crowd, slapping at heads with the flats of their long swords and clearing a path for the Praetorian infantry who followed.
He shouted a desperate warning to Galba’s escort. Their job was to form a barrier between the Emperor and the threat, using their shields to give him a chance to escape. Instead, they took one look at the advancing horsemen and slipped away into the crowd. Cursing, Valerius drew his sword and forced his way towards the chair. He could see Vinius, his eyes wild with growing panic, attempting to do the same. Galba had seen the approaching threat and screamed orders at the people carrying his chair. At last, they noticed the cavalrymen, but instead of carrying their burden to safety they tipped him from his seat and fled. Valerius saw the Emperor go sprawling and shouted a warning to Vinius. He battered his way towards the stricken man, snarling and threatening anyone who got in his way. Somehow he managed to force himself between Galba and the two horsemen. He risked a glance at his feet where the Emperor lay with his wig askew and his toga around his knees, his eyes dazed and confused. Valerius was tempted to reach down and help the old man to his feet, but the screams grew closer and he turned to find the first cavalryman only feet away. The trooper’s eyes glared from beneath his helmet and he roared at Valerius to make way or die. When the one-handed man stood his ground, the trooper urged his horse forward, scattering the crowd as the beast snapped its jaws and flailed with its hooves. Valerius danced out of range of a mouthful of stained teeth and then stepped forward so he was close enough to feel the heat from the animal’s body. Then he rammed his sword into its chest. The horse screamed and reared, pitching its rider out of the saddle and almost pulling the gladius from Valerius’s hand. Somehow, he hauled the gore-stained iron free and turned to seek Galba among the nearby throng. A shout alerted him and he spun to find the dazed cavalryman stumbling towards him with a long cavalry spatha held ready to strike. The two men circled each other, looking for the first opening. Valerius had no wish to kill the trooper. Somewhere in the numbed centre of his mind he realized he’d just taken sides in a civil war, but he had no intention of spilling another Roman’s blood unless he had to. Not far away men were helping Galba to his feet and Valerius screamed at them to get him out of the Forum. Before the old man could move he was overwhelmed by an avalanche of armed soldiers, their sword arms hacking at the group. Galba’s aides recoiled, spurting blood from severed limbs and broken heads. In the same instant Valerius sensed the rhythm of the swords around the Emperor change and a scream of mortal agony told him the two hundred and twenty-one day reign of Servius Galba Caesar Augustus was over. The momentary distraction almost killed him as the cavalryman lunged to pierce the thick cloth of his toga and run the edge of the blade across the flesh above his hip. Galvanized by the sting of the iron he forced his assailant back, making him parry desperately with the now clumsy cavalry sword. Valerius was gladiator taught and gladiator trained to a speed and a skill few other men could match. He was also left-handed, and a left-handed swordsman causes problems for an opponent no right-handed one ever will. He kept the trooper on the move until the man could barely defend himself. A feint and a lunge, and with a sudden shriek the other man fell back, holding his shoulder. Valerius’s mind reeled, still filled with the confusion and horror of the Emperor’s death. Before he could move he found himself under attack from another three or four men and it was all he could do to defend himself. The only thing that kept him alive in those first few seconds was speed, but when a fifth man joined the Praetorians he knew his life was measured in seconds. For the first time he found the swiftness of his blade matched – outdone – by another man. He concentrated on keeping that dazzling blur of iron at bay, but panic began in his stomach and grew to fill his chest and his mind. It was only slowly that it dawned on him that his adversary, while keeping him on the defensive, was, by some martial wonder, at the same time ensuring his enemies’ swords couldn’t reach him. He risked a glance at his new opponent, and in the same instant felt the sword flicked from his hand. Serpentius stepped effortlessly between Valerius and the men still bent on killing him.