‘Hold,’ he shouted. ‘Can you not see his right hand? It is the disfigurement we were told to look for. The Emperor Marcus Salvius Otho Caesar wants to deal with this one personally. There will be no easy death for Gaius Valerius Verrens.’
Still, they would have killed him but for the Spaniard’s snarling presence. In his own land, Serpentius would have been a prince, but the Romans had made him a slave, then a gladiator, which had left him all the more fearsome. As the Praetorians stepped back, Valerius had a momentary, almost detached vision of a spearman plunging his javelin again and again into the writhing body of Titus Vinius.
‘I’m sorry,’ the Spaniard whispered. ‘But it was the best I could do at short notice.’
Valerius smiled bleakly. ‘So be it. Let the gods decide.’
But he knew the decision whether he would live or die would not be made by the gods, but by Marcus Salvius Otho.
They kept him in a cell for an hour in the disciplinary block of the Praetorian barracks until they brought him before the new Emperor of Rome. As he limped towards the praetorium of the great camp, two patricians were just leaving. Valerius was so weary he would barely have acknowledged them, but he noticed one of the men falter and he looked up into the eyes of Suetonius Paulinus, Boudicca’s conqueror, the general who had awarded him the Corona Aurea, and more recently sent him on the mission that had led to Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo’s death. The general shot him a look of confusion, which quickly turned to scorn. It was plain he knew what he was seeing: a dead man. With an audible sniff he stalked away, saying something that made the other man laugh.
Otho had set up his headquarters in the utilitarian villa which until recently had been the home of Cornelius Laco and his family. Now he sat behind Laco’s desk, sampling Laco’s wine, and studied the man in front of him with a look of puzzled irritation. Valerius met his gaze and kept his own face expressionless. He tried not to notice the severed head that sat to one side of the desk. Even in death Servius Sulpicius Galba’s glassy-eyed stare personified his outraged dignity.
‘How is your wound?’ Otho asked.
‘I’ll live.’ Valerius regretted the terseness of his reply even as he uttered the words, but it didn’t really matter because it was a prediction he knew was unlikely to come true.
Otho produced a weary smile. ‘It really would have been much tidier if you’d got yourself killed like poor old Servius here. Did the silly old goat really think I was going to sit back and let him hand Rome to some upstart who couldn’t put on his shoes without the help of six servants? I told them I didn’t want Galba’s head, but now that he’s here I find it quite comforting: a reminder that I did what was right. I didn’t do it for myself, Valerius, I did it for Rome.’ The words hung between them for a moment before Otho’s face twisted into a grin that Valerius couldn’t help matching. ‘No, that’s not actually true. We both know why I did it. I did it because Nero stole my wife and my position and packed me off to a stinking hellhole where the people’s only ambition was to add another acre of dust to their worthless farms. I did it because Galba as good as promised that I would sit where Nero sat, and then, just when I had it in my hands, he took it all away again.’ He sighed, and for the first time Valerius recognized a desperate sadness in him. ‘And now it’s done. I’m sorry about all the people who are being killed out there, but I’m afraid I didn’t quite understand the force I was letting loose. That’s something I’ve learned today, Valerius, but at least I know I have a lot to learn. Not like Servius. Servius thought his breeding and his upbringing and his wealth made him infallible and that taking advice was weakness. I, on the other hand, am happy to take advice. You see, I am being candid with you.’ He picked up a second cup and poured Laco’s carefully selected wine. Valerius accepted, knowing it could be the last he ever drank. Otho seemed to confirm as much with his next words. ‘Now it’s possible that’s because you are already a dead man – you’ll admit I gave you every chance to join me? – but I prefer to think that it’s because you’re an honest man. A man I can trust, even though you would not repay me with yours. For instance, what advice would you give me now?’
Valerius frowned at the unexpected question. He had expected scorn, and, at best, a quick death. Instead, he stood here drinking fine wine with his wound throbbing and his head full of puzzles.
‘Get your men off the streets, that would be the first step. Be magnanimous in victory. Announce an amnesty for Galba’s supporters. Pay the Praetorians what Galba owed them – I assume you’ve already confiscated his fortune?’ Otho nodded. ‘Rome is like a boiling pot with the lid jammed tight. It could still explode in your face. Take the heat off and allow it to cool.’