Sword of Rome(69)
Valerius smiled and shook his head sadly. ‘There is very little of Tiberius Crescens in Aurelius Dasius,’ he said.
‘I wasn’t thinking of Tiberius. The young man he reminds me of is Publius Sulla.’
As dusk fell they reached the head of a third lake, which Valtir told them was called the Verbanus. Valerius decided not to risk the trading post at Bilitio, where there was the possibility of a military presence of unknown loyalty. Instead, they camped by the lake shore. As the campfire waned, the Thracians chattered sleepily in their own language, their faces visible as pale blurs in the darkness. Serpentius stood guard by the tethered horses and Valerius could hear him singing quietly to them. Valtir sat with his hands round his knees, his dark eyes glittering, wearing a frown of intense concentration. As Valerius watched, he rose and called Dasius. Together they approached the patch of brush where the Roman had laid out his bed.
‘Valtir is agitated about something,’ the Thracian explained. ‘From what I can work out, the high passes to Curia will be open, but he talked to a trader making for Bilitio and there is word of trouble between the Caluci and the Suanetes, the tribes who control the area. The tribune in command of the post is advising anyone travelling that way to wait until he sends a patrol to investigate. It could be a week.’
Valerius suppressed a curse. ‘We didn’t come all this way to sit on our backsides for a week or turn back. We’ll have to risk it.’
Valtir frowned and spat something at the Thracian. Dasius shook his head, but the little Celt waved a finger and pointed east where the skyline stood out as a shark-toothed line of unbroken shadows.
‘What does he say?’
‘He became very excited. He said he did not understand that you needed to hurry. Curia is the safest route, but there is another path, known only to a few. There is a road, for what it is worth, as far as Airolus, but after that we must leave the valley and take the mountains. It would cut your journey by a week.’
Valerius felt a surge of hope. ‘Is he sure we can get the horses through?’
Dasius snapped a question and the little man frowned. ‘He believes so. He would not have tried it any other year, but he thinks the conditions are right. It will not be easy, but we could reach Augusta Raurica on the Rhenus by the time your friends in Rome have finished celebrating the festival of Lupercalia.’
Valerius met Serpentius’s eyes. Mid-Februarius, then another week at most to sail downriver to Colonia. Where Vitellius waited.
XXVII
Colonia
‘There are many calls on our manpower, Caesar, but ask what you will.’
Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator studied the ring that was the only solid evidence he was who everyone said he was and tried to think like an Emperor. The gladius from the Temple of Mars Ultor remained in its rosewood box on a marble table, unopened. He had not dared look at it since Valens and Caecina had sat in this very room and launched their rebellion in his name.
He raised his head and looked into the expectant eyes of the senior tribune who had travelled from Britannia to formally declare the support of the legions stationed there. What would Divine Julius do? Strip the island and order all available men to his side? But that would mean beginning his reign by relinquishing a province won at a terrible price in Roman blood. No, he would not taint his office and sully his person with such a decision. It would have been less complicated if Nero had not withdrawn the Fourteenth Gemina from Britannia and ordered it to Dalmatia before his demise. That would have made it simple. The Ninth Hispania, never a fortunate unit, could have been left with the Fourteenth to deal with the barbarians and he would have summoned the Second Augusta and the Twentieth, victors over the rebel Queen Boudicca, to his side. Think.
‘It will be onerous for you, I know,’ he saw the tribune flinch, but kept his voice imperious, ‘but I wish you – order you – to move half the strength of the Second, Ninth and Twentieth legions to Londinium, along with an equivalent force of auxiliaries, there to prepare for shipment to Germania at the first possible opportunity.’ He waved Asiaticus, his freedman and secretary, forward. ‘He will prepare your detailed orders, but in general you may expect the army of Britannia to march to Moguntiacum and from there on Rome, with their Emperor at their head.’
The tribune bowed, but not before Vitellius had recognized his disdain at being made to accept orders, even written ones, from a former slave. A slight curl of the lip also spoke of a lack of respect for an Emperor whose girth exceeded his military experience by a factor of two.
When he was alone he felt an enormous weight of expectation and helplessness descend upon his shoulders. He closed his eyes. Sitting in the self-imposed darkness he realized how blind he was to events elsewhere, especially in Rome. By now Galba would be aware of his intentions and gathering his legions from the Danuvius and the East to meet the threat. Thanks to the rivalry between his two commanders, Vitellius’s army was split. Unless they could combine they would be crushed. Belatedly, his intuition told him he should have ordered a single unstoppable thrust, but there was nothing he could do about it now. There was only one answer.