subsequent desperation.
Now Laco and Icelus produced their candidate: Gnaeus Licianus Piso. You know all about his ancestry, which was distinguished, so there is no need for me to dwell on it. No doubt he would have made a fair enough choice, being, as I remember you saying once, 'a young man, but in appearance and manner one of the old school' – if, that is, anyone still cared for the old school, or if anyone had heard of this Piso. Few had, though he was the nephew of the Piso who had been the figurehead of the conspiracy against Nero.
I was indeed an exception, for Piso, before he went into exile for fear of Nero, had been a friend of Lucan, with whom I used to see him at the baths. He had many admirers there, for he was tall, well-built, with close-cut black curly hair, high cheek-bones, a flat stomach, and long shapely thighs. Only the small, pursed-up mouth spoiled what would otherwise have been perfect beauty. Lucan used to say that the mouth was the true indication of his character, for Piso (he said) was of a chilly and secret nature. 'As far as I know he's never been in love with anyone, except himself,' he once said. 'But he's a friend of yours nevertheless?'
There are friends and friends,' Lucan said with a smile. 'I've known him all my life and I can't dislike him, but… Besides our mothers are great friends, so we've lots in common.'
This then was the young man – still young, for he was only thirty or thirty-one – whom the aged Galba had selected as his companion in Empire. There were those who, noting the resemblance in physical type between Icelus and Piso, supposed Galba would take him into his bed also. But that was nonsense. Piso had far too much pride and self-esteem to be willing to satisfy Galba's senile lust. As it was, the whole thing was done with the utmost formality, as was Galba's style, and he decided to adopt the young man.
So, he took him by the hand, and said, 'If I were a private citizen and were now adopting you according to the Act of the Curia before the Pontiffs, then it would be a high honour to me to introduce into my family a descendant of the great Pompey and of the no less to be honoured Marcus Crassus…'
(This, by the way, was the first time I had ever heard anyone suggest that Marcus Crassus, who carved up the State at Luca with Caesar and Pompey and whom my great-great-uncle by marriage Mark Antony always used to call 'that fat booby', was worthy of any special honour; but let that pass.)
'Likewise,' Galba continued, 'it would be a signal honour for you to add to the nobility of your family the honours of the Sulpician and Lutatian houses.'
Yawn, yawn was the general reaction to this speech. I know, my dear Tacitus, that you have a tenderness – a tenderness which I find touching – for the old nobility; but, speaking as one of far nobler birth than yours, it didn't take the indifference displayed by those who heard Galba's words to persuade me that the day of that sort of aristocracy was dead. Frankly, in the New Rome, nobody at heart cares a damn who your ancestors were. We may be better or worse for this, I can't tell. But that's how it is. If you pretend otherwise in your History, you will be lying to your readers.
Then Galba went on to explain that, in adopting Piso, he was following the precedent set by the Divine Augustus, who had 'placed on an eminence next his own first his nephew Marcellus, then his son-in-law Agrippa, afterwards his grandsons Gaius and Lucius, and finally his stepson Tiberius Nero'. If I had been Piso I wouldn't have found this catalogue of heirs, all but one of whom never succeeded, of any comfort; but Piso looked so much as if he took his elevation, which he had done nothing to earn, as his due, that the thought probably never occurred to him.
Then Galba proceeded to give his new son advice about the trials of his new position.
'Hitherto you have been tested by adversity; now you must confront the keener temptations which prosperity brings you. You will be assailed by adulation, by that worst poison of the heart which goes by the name of flattery, and by the selfish interests of individuals.'
All this was no doubt very true – or might have been. Piso inclined his head. No smile flickered across his face. He was perfectly respectful.
Galba raised both arms aloft and cried out in a louder voice so that the crowd which had gathered round could hear his words:
'Could the vast and mighty frame of this Empire have stood and preserved its balance without the direction of a single controlling spirit, then I, on account of my lineage and my deeds, might have been thought not unworthy of restoring the Republic in its pristine splendour. But, alas, this cannot be. Therefore we have been long reduced to a position in which my age can confer no greater good on the Roman people than a worthy successor, your youth in its turn no greater than a good Emperor. Under Tiberius, Gaius and Claudius, we were the inheritance of a single family. Now we have made a new start, a renewal of Rome, and the choice which begins today with us will be a substitute for Republican freedom.'
Then he went on to explain how it was not the legions that had revolted against Nero, but Nero himself who, by reason of his profligacy, cruelty, self-indulgence and neglect of duty had proved himself unworthy to rule.
Nero, in short, had betrayed himself, and those who had rebelled against him were innocent of any disloyalty. This was quite a clever suggestion for it was intended to render any refusal to acknowledge the legitimacy of Galba's position out of order, Galba being, unlike Nero, virtuous. It was, I'm sure, prompted by T. Vinius.
Finally, to allay any doubts, he said grandly that Piso must not be alarmed if, after a movement which had shaken the whole world, a couple of distant legions had not yet resumed their duty and acknowledged his authority.
Piso certainly showed no sign of alarm, nor of elation either. Did it, I wonder now, cross his dull conventional mind that in accepting the gift of Empire from the aged Galba, he was entering a dark wood from which he might not emerge?
These formalities being completed, Galba resolved that he should lead his new son to the camp of the Praetorians that they might learn, even before the Senate, of how their Emperor had arranged the succession. No doubt that decision was wise, being an admission that the Praetorians, and not the Conscript Fathers, had the power to make and unmake Emperors. Nevertheless it cast a dark ironic shadow on Galba's pompous and all but Republican pronouncements. Domitian and I resolved to follow in their train.
It was only an hour after noon, but darkness was already imminent. Black clouds hung over the city, shifted only by a sullen gusty wind, which then however blew up still more dark and heavy successors. Even while Galba spoke to Piso the palace had been illuminated by shafts of lightning; thunder rolled like the noise of battle round the hills. Heavy rain prevented departure for the camp for at least half an hour. Some said that the thunder and lightning were evil omens, and that Galba should put off the address to the soldiers till the morning. Others recalled how, as legend has it, the night before great Julius' murder had been as wild as, but no wilder than, this afternoon; and what did that portend?
At last the rain stopped. Galba was helped to a litter, for, as a result of an attack of gout, he could not walk any considerable distance without emitting shrill cries of pain, which detracted from his dignity. Piso walked beside the litter, tall, impassive, bound up in his thoughts; and an excited crowd, Domitian and myself among them, followed the litter.
The soldiers were assembled. Not then having experience of the military life, I was unable to judge their mood with any certainty. The silence with which they greeted Galba's announcement that he had adopted Piso, following the precedent of the Divine Augustus, and also the custom by which a soldier chooses a comrade, might only have been evidence of their stern discipline. But I could not think so. I caught the eye of one centurion, a grizzled veteran with a scar running from his right eye across his cheek and even as far as the throat; and, though there was no expression, the eye being dull as a beast's, I read there either scepticism or indifference.
Galba then said: 'Soldiers, you know me for what I am, a straight man. So I shall not conceal from you the news that two legions, the 4th and the 18th, led astray by a handful of factious officers, are refusing to acknowledge my authority. Mutiny is too strong a word to use. At any rate, it is premature. But they are guilty of insubordination. I have no doubt however that when they learn of my arrangement for the succession and of how these have been approved by you, the best of soldiers, they will soon come to heel and return to their duty. For duty, soldiers, is the watchword of Rome.'
Domitian was disposed to admire these sentiments. You may not believe that, Tacitus, for you judge him by the Emperor he was, and you have often said to me that men are forever the same, their character fixed, and only its appearance and revelation changing. But I disagree. Why should I not? I am conscious that I am not now what I once was. So, you must believe me that Domitian was generously moved by Galba's sentiments.
However Domitian was also acute – at least when his own interests did not distort his judgement. So, observing the soldiers as they talked among themselves after the parade was dismissed, and as they formed into
