Sword of Rome(85)
‘I cannot.’ The words almost stuck in his throat, but they had to be said.
Vitellius continued as if they hadn’t been spoken. ‘All you need to do to make it so is to place your hand over mine and make the oath to Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator.’
Valerius looked down at the plump fingers on the jewelled hilt and remembered another man’s hand on another sword. That man had died because he refused to visit all this on Rome, and had he still lived Aulus Vitellius would never have dared lift a sword against his Emperor. A Corbulo does not have the luxury of choice … only duty.
‘I cannot,’ he repeated. It was said with regret, even sorrow, but there was also a savage conviction in the younger man’s voice that made Vitellius blink. ‘I have already given my oath to one Emperor. As long as he lives, I will abide by it.’
Vitellius’s eyes half closed and in that second Valerius thought he detected a hint of unsheathed iron in the hidden depths, but it was gone before he could be certain. An expression of pained regret twisted the German Emperor’s features and he withdrew his hand from Caesar’s sword.
‘A pity.’ He sighed. ‘With you at my side it would all have been different.’
The hurt was painful to witness and for the first time Valerius realized how much Vitellius had invested in his offer. With a true soldier like Valerius at his side, he could have cast off the chains forged by Valens and Caecina. With an ally he could trust and a legion in capable hands, he would have had the power to rule Rome as it should be ruled. Valerius felt like a man tied between two horses being whipped in opposite directions. Had he placed pride and honour above his duty to Rome? He had given his oath to a man who had taken Rome by force; a man so degraded he had allowed his wife to be used by Nero to ensure his political advancement. Did that man deserve to be Emperor? He felt Vitellius’s eyes on him. All he had to do was place his hand on the sword and repeat the words and he would have his legion. Their time in Africa had proved that Vitellius was a good administrator and a good man. Given the right support, he could be a good Emperor. His hand edged towards the spun gold of the sword hilt. But he could not free himself of Corbulo’s reproving stare and now it was Otho’s words that rang in his head. An honest man, who is sometimes too honest for his own good. A man whose loyalty to his Emperor is not in question.
No.
He stood up. ‘I am sorry.’
Vitellius cast off his disappointment with a shrug and replaced it with a mask of geniality. ‘Very well.’ He nodded. ‘It is your right. I will provide you and your servant with horses and a pass that will allow you transit through my armies without hindrance. I said I had a message for Otho, and you can do me a service by delivering it. Tell him I must regretfully decline his offer, but I will make him one of my own. There is only one rightful Emperor of Rome. If he relinquishes his claim to the purple, gives up command of the Praetorian Guard and hands over the keys of state to the representatives of Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator, he may retire to Sardinia and live the rest of his life without fear.’ He reached across the table and in a show of genuine affection took Valerius’s left hand in both of his. ‘I must ask you to leave without delay, Valerius, for once it becomes known that you have been here it could place us both in danger. We must say goodbye now, but know this. Whatever has happened, and whatever will happen, does not affect our relationship. You will always be able to call Aulus Vitellius friend.’
The words, so unexpected and so welcome, made something grow in Valerius’s chest. He drew himself up to his full height and rapped his walnut fist to his left breast in a salute fit for an Emperor of Rome. As he walked from the room he felt a wellspring of pity for his old friend and wondered if he would ever see him alive again.
If he had stayed, he would have seen Vitellius ring a small bell to summon Asiaticus. While he waited, he picked up the ornate gladius. Divine Caesar had never shirked difficult decisions. A shuffle of feet announced the former slave’s arrival, but Vitellius didn’t turn to acknowledge him.
‘Send me Claudius Victor.’
XXXIII
Rome
Marcus Salvius Otho paced the long balcony of the great Golden House Nero had created to ensure his name would for ever be linked with the greatest of his divine forefathers. Unlike the late Emperor Galba, Otho had no reservations about living amid the luxurious trappings that the man who sent him into exile had gathered from the four corners of the Empire. The balcony overlooked a beautiful park where deer and antelope roamed by a shimmering lake and he watched the animals for a while, until he could delay the decision no longer. Returning to his desk, he picked up the letter and read it for the fourth time. Otho knew he had no choice. The clamour for the man’s death had grown irresistible, and even though Gaius Valerius Verrens had advised clemency he was not yet in a position to defy the mob. He nodded and his secretary dripped hot wax on a corner of the parchment. Reluctantly, he marked it with his seal and handed it to the man.