Sword of Rome(87)

Marcus Salvius Otho recognized that vanity had always been one of his failings, but personal vanity was one thing, political vanity very much another. Political vanity had killed Galba as surely as if it wielded the blade that removed his head. Political vanity had convinced him that every thought that came into his head was correct, and his every decision irrefutable, whatever the evidence to the contrary. Political vanity had led him to ignore the counsel of more prudent, more experienced men, and Otho had resolved he would not make the same mistake.

The three men his aide ushered into the room could not have been more different, yet each was vital to his plan to defeat Vitellius. His elder brother, Lucius Salvius Otho Titianus, grave and stolid, wearing his usual expression of frowning resolve; a man of little imagination, but one who could be entrusted with holding Rome while his Emperor took the fight to the rebels. In the centre, Gaius Suetonius Paulinus, well into his sixties now, still gaunt from his time under house arrest on the orders of Galba, the reward for being consul in the last days of Nero. A hardened survivor who had all but destroyed the province of Britannia in revenge for Boudicca’s excesses, been brought low by his over-enthusiasm and then resurrected thanks to the allies who hailed him as the greatest general of his day. It was that generalship Otho needed now, but the question that had occupied the Emperor’s thoughts for the past hour remained unresolved. Could Paulinus be trusted? That was why the third man was here. Marius Celsus was one of the few people in Rome Marcus Salvius Otho counted as a friend. It had been Celsus who had steered him through the difficult and depraved years in Nero’s court, Celsus who had convinced him that Poppaea must be sacrificed, and, in the end, Celsus who had persuaded the Emperor that Otho could be left alive, albeit in his Lusitanian fleapit. He could trust Celsus and that was why Celsus, who had the added advantage of having commanded a legion, would share control of the army Otho led north. Yet, and there was that flare of panic again, how many men would they lead?

‘Welcome.’ He ushered the trio to the map table his aides had prepared. ‘The latest positions of the Vitellian forces are as you see them.’ He pointed a jewelled forefinger at the upper-left quadrant of the chart. ‘Valens is still beyond the western Alps. Caecina has not yet reached Mediolanum. Our spies say Vitellius has yet to join either. The only troops in northern Italia loyal to the usurper are the cavalry of Tiberius Rubrio. We know that Rubrio has forced at least four cities to acknowledge Vitellius, but doesn’t have the numbers to garrison them.’

‘Then we must act now, before either force has the opportunity to reinforce the cavalry, or, worse, to combine with each other.’ Paulinus’s voice reminded Otho of a cart wheel skidding on loose gravel and contained a hint of censure he didn’t care for.

‘We didn’t expect them to march so early in the season.’ Titianus came to his brother’s defence.

‘I have already sent for the Balkan legions,’ Otho pointed out. ‘The advance guard of the Thirteenth Gemina should reach Italia in just over a week, and they will be followed a few days later by the Seventh and the Fourteenth.’

‘We can only get stronger.’ Celsus smiled. ‘While the enemy relies on a network of disgruntled officers to provide reinforcements, the Emperor has the support of the governors of Dalmatia, Pannonia, Moesia, Syria, Judaea, Egypt and Africa. The armies of Vitellius must live off the land, while we can count on the entire resources of the Empire.’

‘I am aware of that,’ Paulinus growled. He loomed over the map like a hawk hovering on the wind. ‘But the incontrovertible fact is that the enemy already has at least four legions, possibly as many as six, in the field, while we have, by my count, precisely none.’

Celsus’s face reddened and Titianus opened his mouth to speak, but Otho raised a hand for silence.

‘I congratulate the consul on his command of arithmetic, but that will change within the next few hours. The Praetorian Guard is at this very moment preparing to march north. They will be joined by First Adiutrix and every cavalry unit that can be spared from south of the Padus. It is my intention that they converge on …’ he sought out a point on the map, ‘Bedriacum, here, sweep Rubrio’s cavalry out of Transpadana, defeat the first rebel column to reach Italian soil, and then turn and confront the other, by which time our Balkan reinforcements will have joined us.’

He smiled, seeking the grizzled general’s approval, but Paulinus only frowned and studied the map all the more intently.

‘A fine plan,’ said Celsus, who had helped Otho form it.