Sword of Rome(81)
Valerius had deliberated long and hard on how to greet his old friend. Vitellius, even as governor of Africa, had never been a man to stand on ceremony. Yet he called himself Emperor now, and in Valerius’s experience Emperors and their courts tended to be obsessively sensitive about protocol. Vitellius would expect the respect his new rank was due, and the titles that went with it. But Valerius had given his oath to another man wearing the purple and he had come here to ask Vitellius to lay aside his claim. At last, he put his wooden fist to his chest in salute. ‘Gaius Valerius Verrens at the service of my lord Vitellius.’
The smile didn’t falter, but Valerius wasn’t deceived. It would be as dangerous to mistake the garrulous, irrepressible Vitellius he had left in the tavern on the Via Salaria for the man before him as it would be to confuse a household tabby with an escaped tiger.
‘Lord Vitellius? Not Caesar or Augustus?’ Valerius searched for a reply that couldn’t be interpreted as an insult, but Vitellius waved a chubby hand. ‘No matter; old friends should not be bound by such formality. Has he been searched?’ The silent answer must have been affirmative. ‘Good. Have him bathed and find him some clothing suitable for a Roman knight. And order the kitchen to prepare fitting dishes for such a pleasant reunion between old friends.’ He reeled off a list of exotic fish, fowl and meats that made Valerius blink. ‘And the best that execrable cellar has to offer. None of your tavern vinegar.’ Again Valerius attempted to pass on Otho’s message, only to be baulked by that imperious hand. ‘I have much to consider. We will continue our discussion when you return.’
An hour later he was back watching Vitellius eat his way through enough food to sustain a legionary contubernium for a week. Eventually, the other man laid down the leg of roasting pig he had been labouring over, sighed, gave a soft belch and washed down a pound or more of pork with a pint of wine. He dipped his grease-encrusted fingers in a bowl brought by one slave and wiped them clean on a soft cloth carried by a second. Satisfied, for the moment, he turned at last to his guest. ‘Not hungry, Valerius?’
‘Uncertainty tends to take the edge off a man’s appetite.’ Valerius allowed his eyes to slide over the guards who had replaced the earlier legionaries around the walls. Young men, with hard unyielding eyes. Lucius, Gavo and … what was the other man’s name, Octavius? … yes, Octavius, and three more, all in civilian clothing, but fully armed. Vitellius’s closest aides. Men he could trust to do his bidding and keep quiet about it. Men who would happily rid their master of an unwelcome guest, slit his belly, fill it with rocks and sink him in the deepest part of the Rhenus. Vitellius saw the look and laughed.
‘If I wanted you dead, would I feed you first?’ Valerius had a feeling the answer might be yes. Vitellius would find it amusing. A frown creased the German Emperor’s pink features. ‘Your presence here poses me a dilemma. The fact that you introduced yourself as Publius Sulla, of fond memory, tells me this is not a private visit to take up my previous generous offer. On the one hand, I am pleased to see my old friend. On the other, I fear that his arrival might be somewhat inconvenient, perhaps even dangerous.’ Valerius allowed himself a smile, but Vitellius didn’t match it. The governor of Germania picked up the grilled carcass of a small bird, discarded it and chose a larger one, cramming it into his mouth and chewing vigorously to the accompaniment of crunching bones. He swallowed, belched and took a draught of wine before continuing. ‘The oak-headed arrow fodder of my personal guard are very capable, but I know that whatever is said in front of them will sooner or later reach ears which, in this case, I would rather it did not. Better to be able to carry out our discussions in an atmosphere of mutual trust and part friends.’ The deep-set, pale eyes turned icy and were matched by his voice. ‘I am aware that Otho has been trying to get messages to me which have been intercepted by generals who do not wish to trouble me with their contents. I take it you are here on behalf of the man who sits upon the throne that is rightfully mine?’
Valerius didn’t reply immediately. Vitellius’s words had ignited an unexpected flare of hope. He might have airily dismissed the couriers who weren’t reaching him, but it left the question of just who was in control: the Emperor, or the men who led his armies. There was also the question of trust. If Vitellius didn’t trust his guards, it meant he didn’t fully trust their officers, and by extension those same generals who were keeping information from him. Equally, the fact that the guards were prepared to spy on the man they were meant to be protecting indicated a lack of trust in Vitellius on the part of the soldiers he supposedly commanded. And there lay the dilemma for Valerius. Even if he could convince his old friend, did the man have the power to halt the avalanche he’d set in motion? He felt Vitellius’s eyes on him, growing ever more impatient, but he ignored them. This was too important to rush. The legions of Germania had elected Aulus Vitellius Emperor, but had it been by popular consent, or at the instigation of their officers? He had an image of a chained bear he had once seen in the street, its owner encouraging it to dance with lashes of a whip. Was Vitellius the bear or the man holding the chain?