XLVIII
Every head turned as Valerius was escorted into the room where Corbulo had issued his orders for the Parthian expedition. He struggled to maintain his bearing despite his filthy, dishevelled condition and the chains that weighed down his arms and feet. One by one he met their eyes. The general himself, pale as ever Valerius had seen him, his skin mottled like unset plaster. The familiar features of Marcus Ulpius Traianus, almost uninterested, as if his mind was on other things. A look of outrage from Gaius Pompeius Collega of the Fifteenth Apollinaris. Aurelius Fulvus, commanding Third Gallica. One surprising absence; he would have expected Mucianus to be here to see him condemned. And two unlikely additions. What had made Corbulo invite his daughter and Serpentius to the tribunal?
‘Did no one think to clean him up?’
He felt his guards stiffen at the general’s demand. The one on the left opened and closed his mouth like a dying flounder. Corbulo shook his head.
‘No matter. Unchain him and bring him a seat.’
Valerius tried to hide his surprise as the guards removed his fetters and a padded bench was brought for him. He looked for some message in the faces of Serpentius and Domitia, but all he could read was suspicion on one and puzzlement on the other.
‘Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome, all rights and privileges of your rank and position are hereby restored.’ The words spun in his head like a whirlpool and his mind struggled to grasp their true meaning. He hadn’t expected to leave this room alive. Now, it was as if the past weeks had never happened. Corbulo continued: ‘Do not expect an apology. You deserved death; be happy that you have my pardon.’ He stopped abruptly, as if he was out of breath. When he spoke again, Valerius saw a new Corbulo, hesitant, even fearful. ‘I offer no apology, but I do ask for your loyalty… and your help.’
Valerius studied the man who would have had him killed. A long moment passed before he answered. ‘You have it.’
Corbulo nodded slowly and turned away, staring down at an open scroll on his desk. His shoulders sagged and he seemed to shrink into himself, before taking a deep breath and straightening again. When he faced his audience his voice had regained its composure.
‘I have brought you here because you are all affected by what is written in the message I have just received. It is written in a code known only to myself and the Emperor. You are all aware of the reasons for my campaign against Vologases. I weighed the risks, political and military, and I made my decision. That decision, I do not deny, was partly influenced by pride. The pride of the Empire. Pride in my legions and their achievements in the last ten years. And, of course, my own pride. I would not countenance a repeat of what happened on the Rhenus. I have no regrets. I believe our victory has assured peace on this frontier for generations to come. But I knew there could be consequences.’
He turned to face Traianus and Collega. ‘There will be no battle honours for the Tenth Fretensis or the Fifteenth, no gold crowns of valour, no phalerae, no torcs, no silver standards.’ Traianus opened his mouth to interrupt, but Corbulo raised a weary hand. ‘I know, Marcus, none better, how your men stood and suffered and died, and how in those last vital moments they took the fight to the Parthians, though defeat was more likely than victory. And no general could have asked for more faithful troops than the Fifteenth, Gaius. The reason
…’ He faltered and licked his lips and Valerius was looking at an old man. ‘The reason there will be no honours is because, in the Emperor’s opinion, there was no battle.’ Traianus growled and Collega’s nostrils flared like an attack dog’s, but Corbulo waved for silence. ‘The battle for the Cepha gap will be erased from history.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. Because it was never fought. There was no campaign. There was no victory. There were no heroes and there were no casualties. General Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo did not stir from Antioch. His soldiers stayed in their barracks.’
Valerius shook his head. How was this possible? He looked to Domitia, but all he saw was his own shock mirrored on her face.
‘But…’
‘There are no buts, tribune. I have been relieved from my command immediately, to be replaced by General Mucianus.’ His face darkened at the personal betrayal the appointment hinted at. ‘I am to attend the Emperor in Greece.’ He produced a bitter smile. ‘It seems I have other charges to answer than that of over-enthusiasm.’
The revelation and the consequences it implied were followed by a moment of silence before the room erupted. Domitia let out a sharp cry. All three generals were shouting at once. Valerius found his head filled with a vision of the future that had never previously seemed possible. He rose from his seat and went down on one knee in front of his general. ‘Command us and we will follow you to the gates of Rome and beyond. To the Senate and the Palatine itself.’
Traianus, Corbulo’s long-serving and faithful general, looked to his fellow legates for affirmation. They had discussed this individually when they were certain they would not be heard, but had never expected the day to come. Collega nodded at once, but Fulvus, whose troops were far away on the Judaean border, hesitated before giving his agreement.
‘A single word from you and there would be a new Emperor,’ Valerius continued. ‘Mucianus poses no threat as long as we act together. We know Vespasian’s views. You have already blunted the Parthian threat. A single legion each to contain Judaea and maintain order in Syria and you could march east with an army. You already have Asia. The Danuvius legions would not stand in your way. Those on the Rhenus are in disarray, already on the brink of mutiny. Galba in Spain is too timid and the British legions too far away to react. The door is open to Rome. Nero has betrayed his people. He no longer deserves to be Emperor, perhaps he never did. Act now and the Empire will have the Emperor it has always deserved.’
‘It is true, Father.’ Domitia buried her head in Corbulo’s chest. ‘You must, or…’
Corbulo laid his hand upon her head and ran his fingers through her dark hair. For the first time Valerius saw him as a father; loving, compassionate and caring. When he looked around at the men in the room his eyes were filled with an infinite sadness and Valerius knew immediately that they were defeated before they had even begun. ‘Have you forgotten, daughter, what I always taught you? That a Corbulo does not have the luxury of choice… only duty.’
Accompanied by the sound of Domitia’s sobbing, he addressed Valerius directly.
‘I need give you no reason for keeping faith with my Emperor, but your loyalty to me as a commander and a soldier deserves that I should. On the day of the tribune Tiberius Crescens’s execution,’ the grey eyes met Valerius’s and he would always believe he saw regret there, ‘I swore on my life in front of my soldiers that I would serve the Emperor, but even if it were not so I would never use what power I have to start a civil war that would ravage this Empire and bring its people nothing but sorrow. No man will ever be able to say that Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo was responsible for pitching Roman against Roman. All it would take is for a single commander to stand against me and the flames of war would be lit. Nero is no fool. If we reached the gates of Rome without conflict, he would bar them against us. He still has the support of the Guard and the mob. Perhaps they would throw down their swords and their cudgels and shout “Corbulo for the purple”, but even if I knew it to be so I would not march.’ He pressed his lips against Domitia’s dark tresses. ‘Because a Corbulo does not have the luxury of choice… only duty.’ He turned to his generals. ‘Return to your legions and continue as normal. This conversation is forgotten. I pray you give General Mucianus the same loyalty you have always given me. Leave us now.’
Traianus would have argued, but Collega took him by the arm. Fulvus walked out with his head bowed. Valerius rose to follow them.
‘Stay, Valerius. Spaniard? Arrange fresh clothes, food and a bath for your master on my authority, while I still have it. Take my daughter with you.’ Domitia reluctantly prised herself from her father and with a tear-stained glance at Valerius obediently left the room.
Corbulo sighed and slumped into his chair. ‘I have failed her. If only she had been a son…’ He gestured. ‘Pour us some wine.’
Valerius went to the table and poured from a jug into two cups. He handed one to the general, but before the other man could drink he took a sip from his own. Corbulo laughed. ‘Still loyal after all you have suffered, Valerius? Perhaps it would be better for us both if it was poisoned.’
