Nero's Heirs (24 page)

Meanwhile, as Titus had forewarned me, events marched in the East. The prefect of Egypt, Julius Alexander, proclaimed Vespasian Emperor on the first day of July, and made the legions stationed there take an oath of allegiance. All had been well prepared, and there were no dissenters. Two days later the legions in Judaea followed suit, even though their commander Titus was still travelling back from Antioch where he had been consulting with Mucianus. They did this therefore spontaneously (or so it was later given out), hailing

Vespasian as Caesar and Augustus. But I believe this acclamation was not unprompted.

Mucianus now declared himself in Antioch, as he and Titus had agreed he should. The soldiers were eager to swear their allegiance to Vespasian. But Mucianus also wished to attach the provincials to the cause, no doubt in the knowledge that they would have to be taxed more heavily to pay for the campaign, and thinking that it would be better if they could be persuaded to do so willingly. So he addressed an assembly of civic dignitaries and other men of note in the theatre. He was well suited to the task, for he spoke Greek with unusual elegance and, while the Greeks are accustomed to mock those who speak their language imperfectly, they are always flattered by a Roman who has taken the trouble to learn it thoroughly.

Moreover he told them what was not true: that Vitellius had announced his intention of transferring the German legions to Syria and the Syrian ones to Germany. This alarmed and displeased the soft provincials, for they supposed that the legions long based in Germany would have acquired savage, even brutal, manners from their sojourn in so barbarous a region, while on the other hand many of them were connected by friendship or relationship to the troops quartered among them. So they were pleased to think that Vespasian would soon be established in Rome in Vitellius' place.

Very soon, too, the various client-kings of the East came out in support of Vespasian, while Queen Berenice, naturally, on account of her affair with Titus, promoted his father's cause with zeal and furnished him with gold from her treasury.

And so what one may call the conspiracy gathered pace.

I believe that Mucianus, throwing off his habitual lethargy, was the great organiser. It was a favourite saying of his that 'money is the sinews of war', and now he set himself to prove it. He knew that soldiers who are assured of their pay will fight more willingly than those who are not, and that contractors, whose bills are met 'on the nail', as they say, will produce, as required and in quantity, the supplies without which no war can be effectively fought. It was another saying of his that 'an army marches on its stomach', and he took care to see that the soldiers' stomachs were well filled. He even contributed substantial sums from his own resources, and it does not diminish his merit that these sums were available principally because he had so generously plundered the State himself. Others followed his example, though few of them had his means of reimbursing themselves from the public store.

The Danube legions rallied to the cause. Two which had favoured Otho (the 13th and the 7th) but which had been denied the opportunity to fight on his behalf - denied it because of the rashness with which his campaign had been launched without waiting for the reinforcements available to him - now came out for Vespasian. They were commanded by Antonius Primus.

You will remember him, Tacitus, as one who had the reputation of being a scoundrel, indeed a criminal: for he had been condemned in Nero's reign on the charge of having altered a will in his favour, and it was widely said that this was one of the few judgements delivered then which did not offend the sacred principles of justice. Whatever his faults of character, he was an asset to a party bent on seizing control of the State. He was brave in battle, quick and eloquent, admired by the soldiers. In peace he might be considered the worst of citizens; in war he was a valuable ally. Vespasian received him as such, reserving to a future date any doubts he might entertain concerning his character and conduct. Now Antonius Primus acted in concert with Cornelius Fuscus, a man I had long known, as a friend of Lucan. He held the post of Procurator of Dalmatia. Idle and frivolous in youth - to the point of resigning his senatorial rank - he had been a favourite of Galba, who had appointed him to his present post. Possessed of many friends, on account of his geniality and charm of manner, he was active in writing letters seeking support for his new master from many who held posts in more distant parts of the Empire. Letters were sent to Gaul, Britain and Spain; and, in consequence of his urging, many in these provinces declared for Vespasian and withdrew support from Vitellius.

I mention these details that you may understand how thorough, and - if I may use the word in this context - how professional were the preparations for war made by the Flavian party.

No doubt you will make use of this information as it suits you. I venture to say you will not find it contradicted from other sources. Vespasian's support ran deep; and that gave confidence to all his adherents.

XXX

I have gone ahead of myself, in recounting to Tacitus, the events in the East as I understood and remember them.

Meanwhile we still waited Vitellius' arrival. I again besought my mother to retire from the city; she again refused.

It was a balmy spring and glorious early summer. Roses tumbled over the palace walls and the scent of thyme, myrtle and oregano on the slopes of the Palatine carried memories of happy days in some rural retreat. One afternoon Domatilla walked with me in the gardens of Lucullus. We spoke of poetry, reciting favourite lines of verse. I would have made love to her, but she was unwilling. It was not the time, she said: 'Later, later.' I tried her with Horace: 'Pluck the day'. She smiled and turned her face away.

Flavius Sabinus was active, also anxious. He busied himself winning support for his brother Vespasian, then stood aghast at the dangers he ran. I thought his efforts vain. Things would take their course, no matter what he did. The Empire would not be decided here in the city, but somewhere to the north, perhaps even again in the vicinity of Cremona, where Otho's nerve had crumbled.

So we waited.

Domitian's nerves were bad. He had contracted a skin rash, which itched intolerably. The side of his face and his forearms were scraped raw. He complained, tediously, of his father's neglect. Nothing could persuade him that his life was not in danger.

Vitellius knows nothing yet of your father's preparations,' I said.

'How can you be so sure?'

'If he had heard he would be already in Rome, and himself occupied in drawing up plans for the war. But we hear of nothing but the nightly parties he gives, the theatre productions he demands, and his drinking bouts. In some men this last report might suggest an uneasy spirit, but, with Vitellius, it is merely habit, I am told.'

But nothing could stay Domitian's alarm. He scratched himself till the blood stood out on his arm, frowned, turned away, and threw himself face down on a couch.

Actually some of the stories which reached us from Vitellius' camp were so bizarre that even I could not credit them. I say, 'even f, for already in my youth I was persuaded that no extravagance was too absurd to be indulged in. You must remember that I was reared with an intimate knowledge of how things were done in the imperial household, fed with stories of the absurdities of Claudius, and the near-madness of Nero.

Vitellius was said, for instance, to be so greedy that he had been seen, while a sacrifice was in progress, snatching lumps of meat sizzling from the altar, and devouring them, to the disgust and consternation of the priests.

Do I believe that story? All I can say is that if it's not true, it's been invented to fit his character.

Though I had persuaded myself that my philosophy was equal to the strains of that period of waiting, I nevertheless found myself distressed by an inability to sleep. This is an affliction which has been my companion ever since. I have seen more dawns rise ghastly to my cold sobriety than even the most debauched reveller has been amazed by. Even now, as I write this, the first cocks are summoning the awakening day.

At the time of which I write, I would go to bed early, in an effort to catch sleep unawares. I would close my eyes and sense it steal upon me. But then a tremor disturbed its advance. Perhaps it was an erotic fancy; perhaps a cold start of fear: sometimes the thought of what was to be done; sometimes sharp regret for some past action. My eyes would open, against my will. I would turn to lie on my belly, and surrender to erotic images - Domatilla's soft lips, Titus' leg lying weighty across mine, the flash of a girl seen in the street, that prostitute who used to ply for custom in a lane near the Pantheon, and who would stand, as it were indifferent, with one leg drawn up behind her so that her foot rested on the wall of the building against which she leaned, a girl so confident of her beauty and her allure that, alone among prostitutes I had ever known, she never solicited custom, but was certain of being addressed.

Such fancies would leave me shaking, the sweat standing out on my brow, and, knowing sleep had deserted me, I would rise, put on my clothes and sally out into the streets, perhaps in search of that girl though I knew she did not practise her trade after dark.

The streets were lonely and dangerous, for Flavius Sabinus, as Prefect of the City - a role he discharged with the utmost conscientiousness, even though he knew that he was keeping Rome secure for his advancing enemy - had imposed a curfew; and soldiers of the Guard paraded the streets to enforce it, arresting any whom they found loitering.

Yet their efforts were random and they were easily avoided. A great city has ever its night-hawks - criminals, debauchees, waifs, lunatics, poets (I daresay) and unhappy wretches such as myself to whom sleep denies her gentle comforts. So I wandered the streets and knew many strange encounters: quick couplings against the slimy walls of noisome alleys, rambling conversation by the braziers along the river bank where broken men and women congregated. Sometimes I found myself in sinister cellars, drinking-dens, the lowest sort of brothels, gambling-houses.

I remember one night falling
in
with a young man of noble birth, as evinced by his negligent dress and manner of speaking. He was only, I judged, a little drunk, but his conversation was wayward. He insisted that I accompany him to a place that he knew, where, he said, we could gamble and drink and lie with women. 'Or boys or what you will. There are Africans there,' he said, 'and my fancy is for dark flesh.' The place was mean and sordid, lit by tallow candles, and managed by a toothless crone, who laughed to see us. I heard malice in that laugh, but by the light, such as it was, I saw something in my companion which appealed to me. It may have been the soft disappointed line of his mouth or the long lashes that flickered over his deep-set eyes. I do not remember, though I remember these features. They made a gull of him there, throwing loaded dice to win the gold which, if he had not lost it, they would have stolen. I felt a savage joy as I watched his humiliation and saw him grow incoherent on the sour wine of the house. The debonair manner which had attracted me because I knew it to be assumed as a mask for the despair which consumed him, disintegrated. He wept, and then implored the woman to furnish him with a black girl, as she had done before. 'You have no gold,' she said, and the ruffians who had fleeced
him,
took hold of him and hurled him out into the black night. I found him in the gutter, helped him up, and then, when he shook me off with assurances that he was all right, watched him stagger out of my life.

Why does that memory stay with me? Not because I behaved badly, for I have done worse in my time. Because of the gallantry with which he accepted his humiliation? Perhaps - 'and dying he remembers his sweet Argos'. Wasn't that the condition of Rome?

XXXI

You write, Tacitus, yet again chiding me for my delay in sending you further instalments of what you call my 'copy' and, then, as an afterthought, ask me if I have been ill, since you can't understand, or imagine, why otherwise I should be failing you. As you have never once, since I embarked - unwillingly, I remind you - on this exercise which has aroused in me so many painful memories I had thought well buried, expressed a word of gratitude, you might consider that this omission of courtesy would be sufficient reason for me to desist. But then, you know me. You know I am not dependent on your gratitude, and care little for expressions of appreciation. So you are justified in supposing I may have been ill.

But not in body. My illness is of the spirit, or the will, or whatever you choose to call it. The truth is that your request from the first reminded me of the wisdom of Herodotus' line: 'you stir what should not be stirred.' History is a record of crimes and foolishness, and no more that I can see. It has no instructional value, for each generation of men is confident of its own wisdom and ability to avoid its fathers' mistakes. Nor can I agree with Aeschylus that 'lamentations are a sure relief of sufferings.' Or it may be that I have not the gift to give tongue to lamentations. I do not know. I know only that I have been wretched to trawl over past horrors.

And now I must approach the moment when Vitellius prepared to enter Rome. 'Ill-gotten gains work evil' in Sophocles' words.