Rome 4 the art of war

About the Book Rome: AD 69, the Year of the Four Emperors Three emperors have ruled in Rome this year and a fourth, Vespasian, has been named in the East As the legions march towards civil war, Sebastos Pantera, the spy whose name means leopard, returns to Rome intent on bribery, blackmail and persuasion: whatever it takes to bring the commanders and their men to Vespasian’s side But in Rome, as he uses every skill of subterfuge, codes and camouflage he has ever learned, it becomes clear that one of those closest to him is a traitor who will let Rome fall to destroy him Together, the two spies spin a web of deceit with Rome as the prize and death the only escape Contents Cover About the Book Title Page Dedication Time Line: Events leading to the Year of the Four Emperors On the Use of Spies Maps Foreword Prologue I Local Spies Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter II Internal Spies Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 III Double Agents Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 IV Doomed Spies Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 V Surviving Spies Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74 Chapter 75 Chapter 76 Chapter 77 Chapter 78 Chapter 79 Chapter 80 Chapter 81 Chapter 82 Chapter 83 Chapter 84 Chapter 85 Chapter 86 Chapter 87 Epilogue Author’s Note About the Author Also by M C Scott Copyright ROME THE ART OF WAR M C Scott For Bill and Mark, with many thanks yours You made him I made Lucius I brought Seneca’s network to him You tried to give it to Vespasian instead And that I could not bear.’ The last words were flung at him, and my knife behind them, and however much he was expecting it, he could never have been completely ready CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX Rome, 21 December AD 69 Geminus ‘PANTERA!’ Domitian shouted, but the spy was already moving, launching himself left, because she threw right-handed and he must have known how the knife would fly He soared out in an arc from his horse, tucked his head in, pulled his arm in, ready to roll His horse was not trained for this It shied and kicked him in the chest, a glancing blow, but it drove the wind from his lungs and he messed up the roll and landed awkwardly and we all heard something snap, high up, by his shoulder, while over his head Trabo was proving that it had been right to bring him along, that he could think and act properly even when his heart was so clearly broken There was a lick of winter sun across a blade and the slam-sigh of iron on bone Somewhere, a man called out It might have been Trabo, I don’t know, because Jocasta was not my problem, and never had been: Lucius was mine to deal with; my pleasure, my duty You see, Pantera might have been goading Jocasta, but his gaze had held mine when Lucius spoke: When one emperor dies, their oaths are given to the new one It has always been so And about Pantera’s wrist, revealed beneath his sleeve as he had raised his hand to wipe imaginary sweat from his cheek, was a silver wristband with the sign of the house of Vespasian engraved on it His thumb had pointed back to his legions and my eye had followed the line Every single horse I could see, every banner, had the livery of the oak branch in fruit and leaf Some of those men were mine; I knew their cohort colours They had sworn to the new emperor; it’s what we and the gesture said, as clearly as if Pantera had spoken, Vespasian is your emperor now All other oaths are void They didn’t have to be I could have carried on serving Lucius, but really, what sane man would want to serve him? In that one single, liberating moment, I was free and my soul sang So when the moment came and Jocasta made her move – really, it wasn’t a surprise to any of us – I unclipped the chain holding Domitian, left Jocasta to Trabo, and spinning my horse let my blade sing out and slice hard, fast, horizontal, across the place where Lucius’ neck had been And still was His throat came apart cleanly, in a wash of blood He fell like a stone and I did not him the honour of bending to hold his hand or to hear his last words In the heart of my mind, I heard Juvens say, ‘Nicely done!’ I had already turned back, to signal to the cohorts behind not to move, that we had surrendered to Vespasian’s men In truth, they were relieved, let no one tell you otherwise; they were outnumbered ten to one and they had heard of the slaughter in Rome What point in fighting for a dead man? Vespasian was their emperor too now, one we could all respect And so I turned again, to see Jocasta not dead, but unconscious, lying flat, with a great gash on her forehead where Trabo’s sword hilt had taken her, and him on the ground, holding Pantera’s head, saying his name, hitting his face ‘Pantera … Pantera Don’t die on me now, you bastard You’ve got too much explaining to Wake up, man! You are not going to fucking die now …’ I came to kneel behind him, to find out where the wound was, for I saw only a scratch across the back of his hand where he had thrown up his arm to protect his face There was no other blood Nor was his neck at a false angle, as it might have been if he had broken it I knelt and reached for her blade, which lay a short distance away ‘Don’t!’ It was Domitian whose hand clamped on my arm ‘Don’t touch it The bitch has used poison She killed Felix like this.’ I had hardly known Pantera, and yet his name had dominated my life since July I felt his loss as keenly as I felt Juvens’ ‘Is he dead?’ ‘Oh, no Not yet You heard her She’s far cleverer than that When she comes round, she’ll be ready to bargain with us; his life for hers.’ The new emperor’s son lifted his head Already there was a gravitas to him, a dignity that only royalty can confer ‘It would please me, and so my father, if you and Trabo together could take care of her interrogation I wish this man to live I owe him my life, many times over.’ CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN Rome, January, AD 70 Hypatia, Chosen of Isis This concludes the witness statements of the events leading to the death of Vitellius, the burning of the temple and the death of the emperor’s brother, Titus Flavius Sabinus From these, we may conclude that, by his actions, Juvens caused Sabinus’ death and the fire that accompanied it As to who killed Vitellius, that was the mob, spurred to it by the actions of Drusus, a German Both of these men are dead, as is Lucius, who may fairly be said to have engineered both his brother’s rise to fame and his downfall The woman Jocasta remains in custody awaiting your decision She acknowledges that she used poison on the knife that struck the spy Pantera, and she has offered to trade: in exchange for her safety she can supply us with that which will give him life, instead of the endless sleep that now afflicts him There are those in your service, Domitian amongst them, who suggest that there are means by which such a curative may be drawn from her by force, but Caenis has pointed out that if she gives another, lethal, recipe first, under duress, we may lose him altogether Thus we await your decision in this as in many other affairs of state Geminus serves as tribune of the Guard Trabo is your Master of Horse My lord Mucianus has order of Rome and your son Domitian is a willing pupil, ably learning the reins of state from one who understands what must be done Those who need to die are dead, save for the woman Jocasta, whose fate remains uncertain We await your order EPILOGUE Rome, September, AD 70 The Emperor, Vespasian IT ENDS AS it began, with the scent of wild strawberries filling the throne room I could smell it when I entered this morning, and can smell it still now, when everyone else has left us We are here alone, just me and Caenis; the emperor and his woman, who can never be his wife It’s the first time we’ve been alone together since I landed Being a soldier was my life and I was moderately good at it Being emperor will be my future and perhaps, having taken the wolf by the ears, I will learn how to ride it But today I am a man long separated from his woman, and the petitioners and robe-makers and goldsmiths can all wait As the last grovelling senator leaves, I open my arms She steps slowly into my embrace, as if she, or I, were too fragile for sudden moves ‘What?’ I know her every frown, every line about her mouth I kiss them, each one, gently, with lips tired from talking She tastes sweet as nectar, ripe, perfect She is Diana, Isis, Astarte, Demet— ‘There is one more,’ she says ‘One more to see, to talk to, before today is done.’ ‘Oh, please … Must we?’ I am beyond tired I have fought battles that lasted from dawn until dusk and felt less exhausted after them than I today, when I have done nothing more than ride up from Misene to Rome, and there met with my senate and all who serve my state But I know that look I close my eyes ‘Who?’ ‘Look,’ she says, softly, and I do, and there is a man standing before me who was not there when I turned my head away ‘Pantera.’ Am I glad to see him? I am certainly surprised I am surprised first that he is able to walk when I had heard he was still on a nodding acquaintance with death, and second that he looks so thin, so hollow, so unlike the man I knew Except he doesn’t, really His eyes are the same, and the dry, knowing intelligence that burns at their core ‘I believe I owe you my throne,’ I say; an exaggeration, but not by a great deal Antonius Primus claims that distinction for himself Mucianus claims it, louder, as his own Nobody has claimed it for Pantera, but he is here, which is perhaps claim enough I glance at Caenis; she knows why he is here, and I don’t ‘Yes?’ I ask She says, ‘He won’t take Seneca’s spy network on my command I thought your word might it.’ Pantera is smiling; however blue his lips, however haggard his cheeks, however thin his arms, he can still make me feel like a child in front of a stern parent ‘You don’t want it?’ I ask He bows, just a little ‘Lord, I am not fit to take it, on any level The lady Caenis would far better.’ ‘The lady Caenis,’ says the lady Caenis, crisply, ‘has absolutely no wish even to attempt such a thing.’ My spy (is he mine? Ever? Truly?) casts me a glance that says Is she always uncontrollable? and since she is there seems little I can I am not prepared to become caught between these two who ran Rome while I was locked in Alexandria, hearing of my war at second hand But there is, possibly, a way through I say, ‘But perhaps my lady could organize the administration under Pantera’s direction until he is well enough to take up the reins fully? He, meanwhile, can recuperate at our expense, since his … affliction was garnered in our defence.’ Myself, I think this is an ideal solution They both look at me sourly, at each other, open their mouths to protest I hold up my hand ‘I order it,’ I say ‘There will be no discussion.’ They both look surprised and I have no doubt I will pay later, but there are advantages to being emperor and I could begin to enjoy this, given time These two, between them, might give me the time There is nothing else to say, and I am a man who has not seen his woman in nearly two years I turn to her, take her into my arms again, and she resists only a little ‘You may leave,’ I say to the man who still waits ‘Lord.’ Pantera turns and walks out of the room Gods be thanked, he doesn’t back away bowing ‘Stop.’ He is near the door He stops I say, ‘The woman Jocasta, who poisoned you, what happened to her?’ ‘Trabo killed her,’ he says ‘Not on our orders But she could not have been let loose in the world and we all knew it I think he did it at her request, or at least her instigation He has not been disciplined, but he has been permitted to retire from army life The Guard was not big enough for him and Geminus together and neither could readily have been demoted to a legion.’ ‘Good.’ All good, all wise I will need this wisdom in the years ahead I wish … it doesn’t matter what I wish What matters is what I have Which is a great deal I wave a hand and he departs, and I am left with Caenis, my Caenis, who smells of wild strawberries, whose smile can lift me over seas and over nations, who will reign with me in all but name for as long as we both may live AUTHOR’S NOTE Few periods of ancient history have been described in such depth and detail as the eighteen months from Nero’s death to Vespasian’s eventual assumption of the throne: the period that we now term the Year of the Four Emperors While much of our ancient history comes from a single literary source – Tacitus, say, or Josephus – and was often written long after the fact at fourth or fifth hand, the Year was documented as it happened by men who took part in it and then within a few years by the great historians of that time: Tacitus, Josephus, Plutarch, Suetonius and Cassius Dio Much of what they wrote is missing – the only ones of Plutarch’s Lives to survive are those of Galba and Otho, for instance, when we know he wrote from Augustus through to Vitellius – but what remains has been enough to keep academics in cheerful disagreement for centuries This kind of half-fleshed detail is, of course, a fiction writer’s dream As long as I don’t put Otho before Galba in my lineage of emperors, or stick stirrups on the saddles of my cavalry; if, in other words, I commit no gross anachronistic errors, and keep to the time frames that are common to all our sources, then I can weave my narrative amongst the many pillars of accepted ‘fact’ I can also – and this is a great deal harder – endeavour to find a sense of structure in a time that was, from a Roman perspective, utterly chaotic As Tacitus says (and I paraphrase), emperors were made in Rome, they weren’t ‘discovered’ by distant legions who then put their man on the throne But the realization by those legions that they could exactly that changed for ever the relationship between the rulers and their legions The balance of power shifted and it never truly shifted back In addition, as Tacitus also points out, the premium on blue blood dropped with each successive emperor in this Year of Four, with the result that the man who, at the start, would never have been considered an option ended up as the last man standing in the war of attrition that saw all the others dead Vespasian was not another Corbulo: there is every evidence to suggest that he truly had no ambition to take the throne and he took a lot of persuading into the role The attempted assassination is cited as one of the persuading factors – but the fact that someone bothered to persuade him at all leads me to think that someone had a vision of who he could become, if he were given ultimate power It would be convenient if that same someone had maintained a consistent vision from the time of Vespasian’s declaration: as a fiction writer, having an overall ‘intelligence’ to drive the narrative would have made life a lot easier The sad fact is that, in this particular year, that was so manifestly not the case that to try to fit the facts to easy fiction would have been a travesty of history No sane man (or woman) would have set up the double destruction of Cremona, and even if he had it would have taken a tactician of rare imagination to expect one army to run eighteen miles in (we assume) full kit and then insist on fighting a pitched battle when they reached their destination, against equally willing opponents who had just force-marched a hundred miles in a handful of days, and all at a small town that had already been sacked by one side in the previous battle for the throne In truth, the entire Year was a highly complex series of accidents where the bullish soldiery of the legions led by men of spectacularly venal ambition was interspersed by treachery, blackmail, double- and triple-dealing and sheer luck, good and bad; fortune favoured neither side in particular The best anyone could have done was to remain fluid and make the most of those opportunities that presented themselves, while having some kind of strategy to deal with the disasters – at the kind of remove forced on the players by the slow transfer of orders and messages Given all of this, the best a novelist can is try to make sense of the nonsensical with the proviso that it needs all to be coherent Otherwise, as Lindsey Davis so wisely pointed out in her Course of Honour, we risk going into great depth to describe battles fought by people we’ve never heard of, in places we’ve never been At the end, though, we can believe that the right man won Otho might have made a good emperor; certainly his selflessness in committing suicide rather than forcing men to fight on in his name foreshadows a degree of decency remarkable in the ancient world, but Vespasian was one of the best things to happen to Rome It wasn’t just his age that made him right – Galba was older and manifestly unsuited to the role; as is said of him, everyone thought he’d make an excellent emperor until he actually got the job, at which point everyone except the man himself realized it was a catastrophe Nor was it merely Vespasian’s able command of the legions that made him so suited to power: Vitellius was a general, although not a very good one, and Vitellius was a disaster of an emperor It was that Vespasian had been a good general in an era when those could be numbered on the fingers of one hand (Julius Caesar, Corbulo, Vespasian, Hadrian, Trajan – a long span and you’d be hard pressed to add to that number) We might conclude that good generals learn things in battle that lead them not to take life too seriously, but also not to throw it away without good cause They learn the management of finances – Vespasian was very much in the Democratic mould of balancing the books rather than the Neronian/Republican one of throwing the entire treasury at pointless wars and then blaming everyone else when the cupboard was bare – and they learn how to manage men efficiently And at the heart of it all lies one of the greatest love stories of the ancient world It does seem that Vespasian fell in love with Caenis when she was still a slave girl, or at the very least newly freed – and that love lasted for the remainder of their natural lives Roman law forbade a senator from marrying a freed-woman, so Vespasian had to marry and get his children elsewhere – a rather crowded marriage, we might presume – but he returned in the end to his true love and lived with her in all respects as if she were his wife until the end of her life That alone put him in a league quite different from the majority of the Julio-Claudians, and if it didn’t set a precedent for later, we can hardly hold him accountable for that For those who care about such things, you should know that the four emperors and their immediate adherents are all based in fact, while Pantera, Jocasta, Geminus, Trabo, Horus, the Marcuses, Felix, Borros and Amoricus are not The basic skeleton of the narrative is all based on our ancient sources, from the declaration of Vespasian by the eastern legions through Antonius Primus’ naked ambition, from Caecina’s outstanding generalship in putting Vitellius on the throne to his apparently easy conversion to Vespasian’s side afterwards The supposed ‘suicide’ of the centurion who fell on his sword because Vitellius wouldn’t listen to his tales of Caecina’s defection is true, as is the detail of the last five days when Antonius Primus had brought his legions to Rome’s gates, and sent Valens’ head to his former comrades on a pole Vitellius’ dithering, his three meetings with Sabinus, the siege on the Capitol and the later conflagration, Sabinus’ death, and Vitellius’ … all these are based on the ancient sources What I have done is to flesh out the bare skeleton, but for those who want to read further into the history I can heartily recommend 69AD, The Year of the Four Emperors by Gwyn Morgan and The Year of the Four Emperors by Kenneth Wellesley; the latter’s detail concerning the topography of the route marches is invaluable Anyone interested in the day-to-day living of those not at the top end of Roman society would find Invisible Romans by Robert Knapp a fascinating read, I certainly did; and for those who want a coherent synthesis of the primary sources, the biography of Vespasian by Barbara Levick knows no peer As always, this book has been a journey and I would like to offer wholehearted thanks to Mark Lucas and Bill Scott-Kerr for joining along the way; long may we travel Thanks are due also to Nancy Webber and Vivien Garrett for outstanding help with the editorial process; to Phil Lord for design; to my colleagues and friends in the Historical Writers’ Association who have made the process of writing so much more social; to Tilly for keeping me moving; to the members of Rule of Three for keeping me sane; to Lauren and Lee for teaching me things I may one day remember; and, as always, to Faith for sharing home and hearth and life Shropshire, 21 September 2012 About the Author M C Scott taught veterinary surgery at the universities of Cambridge and Dublin before taking up a career as a novelist Now founder and Chair of the Historical Writers’ Association, her novels have been shortlisted for the Orange Prize, nominated for an Edgar Award and translated into over twenty languages In addition to the bestselling Boudica series, Scott is the author of an acclaimed sequence of Roman novels featuring the emperor’s spy, Sebastos Pantera Visit: www.mcscott.co.uk Also by M C Scott HEN’S TEETH NIGHT MARES STRONGER THAN DEATH NO GOOD DEED BOUDICA: DREAMING THE EAGLE BOUDICA: DREAMING THE BULL BOUDICA: DREAMING THE HOUND BOUDICA: DREAMING THE SERPENT SPEAR THE CRYSTAL SKULL ROME: THE EMPEROR’S SPY ROME: THE COMING OF THE KING ROME: THE EAGLE OF THE TWELFTH For more information about M C Scott and her books, see her website at www.mcscott.co.uk TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS 61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA A Random House Company www.transworldbooks.co.uk ROME: THE ART OF WAR A BANTAM PRESS BOOK: 9780593065464 Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781448157310 First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Bantam Press an imprint of Transworld Publishers Copyright © M C Scott 2013 M C Scott has asserted the right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly Addresses for Random House Group Ltd companies outside the UK can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk The Random House Group Ltd Reg No 954009 ... to the third cohort of the Tenth Seneca always said that the best agent was the officer of the enemy you turned to your own ends, but the second best was the local man, who knew the lie of the. .. legions behind them, claimed the title of emperor The ensuing civil war ripped the empire apart, setting legion against legion, brother against brother, father against son Most of the destruction... Chapter 34 IV Doomed Spies Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 V Surviving Spies Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48