on to Sarmizegetusa so late in the year. Struggling to get information, the prisoners could not argue with the strategy, however dearly they wanted to see Roman troops arriving. Lines of communication and supply back to Moesia would be under threat in winter. The approaches to the citadel were difficult. Large units would struggle in the hills, while smaller contingents would be prey to guerrilla attacks.
Their third dreary year of imprisonment began for Vinius and his companions.
The Dacian maids Vinius had warned the men to ignore were beginning to look as bright and beautiful as meadow orchids.
At this terrible moment, with help so close and yet hope so unreliable, near disaster struck. It happened on the Rhine. Antonius Saturninus, a man nobody had ever heard of and who could have slipped from history a complete unknown, made a surprise play for fame. He was Domitian’s appointee as governor of Upper Germany, once the base from which Vitellius, Vespasian’s rival, had launched his bid for supreme power. From the huge double legionary fort in Moguntiacum, Saturninus also declared himself emperor; he chose the first of January, the day on which he was supposed to give his troops the oath to Domitian. It was twenty years since Vitellius had seized the title; choosing the anniversary was a pointed attempt to oust the Flavian dynasty.
There was a murky conspiracy, one which would never be completely unravelled. There must certainly have been contact between Saturninus’ supporters in Germany and the elite at Rome, because only a madman would try to become emperor unless he believed his elevation would be well received. With a significant number of troops at his disposal and ample funding in the savings banks of two legions, Saturninus had precipitated a serious crisis. But his attempt was rushed, and some said that since he was openly homosexual he had prematurely reacted, or overreacted, to Domitian’s new morality laws.
At the same time, and presumably in cahoots with Saturninus, the Free German Chatti assembled on the far bank of the frozen Rhine, apparently preparing to invade over the ice. Other tribes, a branch of Sarmatians called the Iazyges, plus the Suebian Marcomanni and Quadi, who had previously recognised Rome, menaced the province of Pannonia. With these frontier systems enflamed, Roman activity in Dacia was seriously compromised.
Warnings of what Saturninus might be planning had reached Domitian from his own supporters, who did exist, back in December.
Always alert for threats against him, whether real or imaginary, his response to this true emergency was electric. He left Rome heading for Germany on the twelfth of January. It was unclear how many legions there would remain loyal, if any. Domitian took only the Praetorian Guard; Ulpius Trajanus, himself a future emperor, joined him, bringing the trusted VII Gemina from Spain. Before their arrival, the fighting was over. The Chatti had been unable to cross the ice-bound Rhine, due to an unseasonable thaw. The governor of Lower Germany, an old Vespasian loyalist called Lappius Maximus, had thrown in his hand with Domitian. With his own legions, he had crisply defeated Saturninus and the rebellious troops — the maverick XIV Gemina and uppity XXI Rapax from the double fort at Moguntiacum. Saturninus died in battle.
The aftermath was difficult. Lappius caused controversy by burning Saturninus’ correspondence. This may have been to cover his own dubious involvement, or in the light of Domitian’s known tendencies, it may have been a wise move to destroy evidence if there really had been a secret conspiracy; violent reprisals against members of the Senate would ultimately have weakened Rome. Merely to have been invited to take part in the treason would have been damning in the eyes of an emperor who was already hostile to the senatorial class.
The rank and file in the legions that had rebelled were treated leniently, though their officers were hunted down, tortured and killed. Their severed heads, along with that of Saturninus, were despatched to the Senate in Rome: a strong visual message. Domitian swiftly introduced measures to prevent future reoccurrence: soldiers could no longer keep more than a thousand sesterces in their legionary savings bank, thus limiting the funds available to any potential usurper. There would never again be two legions concentrated in one fort; the XXI Rapax was transferred immediately to serve in Pannonia.
Three or four months later, with mopping-up operations well in hand, Domitian’s personal presence on the Rhine ceased to be essential. He returned his attention to the Danube provinces, this time in beleaguered Pannonia. There was no detour to Rome; he crossed directly overland. Fighting ensued; the Romans suffered a reverse. When the Marcomanni sued for peace, however, Domitian first stalled, and then executed their legation. Having made this declaration of purpose, he finally agreed to make peace with Decebalus and the Dacians.
There was an extremely attractive offer of Rome paying huge financial subsidies, starting now, then on a regular basis in future years. The terms agreed also provided for Roman engineers and other experts to be sent to help fortify Dacia against threats from other tribes. Dacia would give reciprocal assistance to Rome.
Too wily to expose himself, Decebalus sent his brother Diegis to sign the treaty. Diegis would receive a golden diadem from Domitian’s own hands, symbolising that Dacia was now Rome’s client kingdom with the Emperor able to validate its rulers. To smooth negotiations, Diegis brought with him and handed over a demoralised bunch of Roman prisoners, men his brother had been holding since the first Battle of Tapae.
For repatriation, they were marched to Carnuntum, in Noricum. In their weakened condition, the effort was exhausting. Only hope stopped it killing them. There, in ancient wine country, the main arm of the Amber Highroad crossed the Danube. There, Vinius and his companions finally crossed back into the Roman Empire.
After four years in another world, they were disorientated to see the familiar lines of a Roman legionary fort, an amphitheatre outside it, nestling in the traditional mess of a small civilian settlement. There was more noise than normal, and many more sentries, because the Emperor was in residence.
Their reception from those at the fort was businesslike, not too much staring. They lined up as smartly as they could, Vinius in the officer’s position with a makeshift swagger-stick. A senior clerk collected details: names, previous legions; a short list of those who had died in captivity. Officers began a debrief. The new Praetorian Prefect was notified that a Guard had been recovered; he bustled up to investigate. He found Vinius urgently passing on his suspicion that Decebalus was holding other Romans somewhere. ‘I beg you, don’t abandon them — ’
One of the lads piped up, ‘Sir, sir! It was Vinius who got us through — ’
Suddenly a new voice exclaimed: ‘ I know that man! ’
Amid murmurs, the crowd parted. Arms chinked as men sprang to attention. Some tall dignitary, approximately forty, paunchy, familiar turned-up lip, pushed through. A scarlet swirl of overloaded cloak. A moulded gold breastplate showing Minerva. Heavily fringed epaulettes. Nice sword!
They all gasped: Domitian. Their commander-in-chief. Their Emperor.
To Vinius he looked gaunt. He learned later just how badly Domitian had been shaken by the revolt of Saturninus, a man he had appointed, a man he trusted. He was hurt to the core that legions had revolted against him, after his care in boosting the pay and status of the army and his sincere attempts to win his soldiers’ loyalty. Worse, he had heard the news that back in Rome, his niece Julia, a young woman he undoubtedly loved in his fashion, had died.
Despite his own mental turmoil, it was Domitian who pulled up short. The prisoners had lived day by day with their slow deterioration, not noticing it. They reached Carnuntum underweight and in poor health. Since he remembered the one-eyed Vinius from years before, as fit and muscular, Domitian saw the change. The soldier’s grey, dull-eyed appearance shocked him.
The Emperor came right up close. Under the single gimlet eye of their acting centurion, the men strained to attention until their spines cracked. First Domitian clasped Gaius Vinius by the hand. He seemed almost on the verge of embracing him, though that was never his style. Then Domitian passed along the lines; he took his time and shook hands with every man. They all mentioned afterwards how he held on, with a crushing grip. His gaze was compassionate and fatherly. They could see the Emperor was moved by the misery they had endured.
So far, the returned soldiers had stayed in control of their emotions. They were numb and withdrawn, none yet really daring to believe their ordeal was ended. Vinius had warned them they might be received as an embarrassment, or tainted goods, even as deserters.
‘Give these men everything they need!’
It was Domitian’s genuine kindness that made them finally break down.
PART 4
