When the time came to administer the oath a hush fell over the whole assembly, a breathless moment that he imagined must be like the pause before a battle charge. As he rode out in front of the two formerly mutinous legions with Caecina and Valens the chanting had begun and he knew how it felt to have a cold iron sword pierce his heart.
One word.
It began with the ten thousand men facing him, but he heard it taken up by those behind. Over and over, until it made the very air throb.
One word.
Twenty-five thousand voices.
‘CAESAR!’
‘No,’ he whispered.
‘They will not follow Galba.’ This from Valens.
‘You have a bloodline as ancient as his,’ Caecina pointed out.
‘He took the purple by stealth.’
‘He is not worthy of the throne.’
‘They will follow you …’
‘Or …’
What choice did he have? If he refused they would kill him. He looked from Valens to Caecina.
‘There is no turning back.’ Valens again.
He lifted his arms to accept their acclaim.
‘CAESAR! CAESAR! CAESAR!’
He almost groaned as he remembered the moment, wrapping his cloak closer against the morning chill and calling for another cup of warmed wine. The room seemed to spin about him. Soon he would exchange this … yes, this rustic mansion, for all its fine carved furniture and glowing mosaics, and the busts of his ancestors lining the walls, for a true palace – Nero’s Golden House swam into his mind – or … He took a long drink from the cup the slave proffered.
It was only later he understood it had been Valens who had engineered the failed attempt to make Verginius Rufus Emperor, and whose head would be on a spike when Galba discovered the fact, as he inevitably would. And that the personable Aulus Caecina Alienus had been about to be dismissed by the Emperor following an audit which had discovered a large hole in the accounts covering the years of his quaestorship in Baetica.
Their only hope was to get rid of Galba, and they were using him to do it.
He picked up the case containing Julius Caesar’s sword, opened it and withdrew the gleaming blade from its cloth bag. He knew he was no soldier, but truly, there was no turning back.
‘And now?’ He directed the question at the two legates. It was disturbing that the two men who held his life in their hands patently found it difficult to sit in the same room with each other. Valens continuously darted glances of varying degrees of loathing at his fellow general, while Caecina contrived to convey the impression that only he and Vitellius were present.
‘Now we march on Rome,’ the commander of the First Germanica said gruffly. Caecina gave a reluctant nod of confirmation.
Vitellius felt a thrill of fear as the reality of what he was now part of was put into words. We march on Rome. Do, or die. ‘Very well. I will lead my legions south in the spring. We—’
‘With the greatest respect, Imperator,’ Valens interrupted, reluctantly looking to Caecina for support, ‘delay would be fatal. We must act now while we are at our strongest and our enemy at his weakest. If we wait, Galba will be able to call the eastern legions to his aid. Show your leadership now and every man of the Rhenus legions will support you. If you wait for three months …’
‘Soldiers are creatures of the moment, Caesar,’ Caecina agreed. ‘You must take the initiative.’
Vitellius smiled. Did they take him for a fool? ‘It was my understanding that we do not campaign in winter. Surely we must not act precipitously. There are supplies to gather, funds to put in place, plans to agree and alliances to make. We cannot leave the frontier unguarded. It will take a month to make our preparations, perhaps two.’
Valens produced a wide roll of parchment and unrolled it on the table. It was a map of Germania, Gaul, Belgica, Raetia and Italia, detailed and recently drawn. ‘That will be Galba’s thinking, but we intend to surprise him. Two columns. Myself to the west, following the river route,’ he trailed his finger along the blue lines of the Rhenus, the Mosella, the Sauconna and the Rhodanus, ‘and then turning east towards Augusta Taurinorum. One full legion, the Fifth, and six thousand men from the other three legions of this province, plus twelve thousand auxiliaries. In all a force of twenty-three thousand men …’
‘While I,’ Caecina chimed in, taking up a position on the opposite side of the map, ‘will lead a force of equal strength from Germania Superior by the more direct route through the Alps.’ Vitellius opened his mouth to interrupt, but just then a gust of wind from the opening in the roof blew smoke from the open fire back into the room and Caecina brushed a few spots of black soot from the map before continuing smoothly, ‘We will march immediately and push as far as we can, acclimatize the men to the mountains while we wait for the passes to open. There has been less snow than normal. We may not have to wait for long. Each column will be large enough to deal with any opposition it is likely to meet and small enough to move quickly. If all goes to plan, we will combine somewhere around Placentia for the final march on Rome with around fifty thousand men. An unstoppable force.’