The mystery of these days was that Flavius Sabinus retained his office now that there was open war between his brother and Vitellius. I could not understand then how he contrived this, and I cannot enlighten you now. Some said that he was playing a double game. Domitian even went so far as to suggest that his uncle was guilty of treachery; but the boy was in his cups at the time.
Since I know that, if I do not offer some explanation, you will badger me for one in your next letter and, with your admirable pertinacity, refuse to believe that I cannot supply one, I shall advance a possible reason. But it is only a guess, based on no information.
Vitellius, I hazard, had never himself sought the Empire. It had been deposited on him by Caecina and Valens, and he had been too weak – too dazzled perhaps – to decline the perilous honour. But he knew himself to be unfitted for the task. He could not believe he could sustain the role. Brought up in the court, having attended on Tiberius, Gaius, Claudius and Nero, he knew – none better – the instability of Empire; he knew himself also to be inferior, one way or another, to all those he had served, often ignobly. There had doubtless been moments during the advance on Rome when he was carried away by the magnificence of his elevation. But even the most vile of remarks attributed to him – that nothing smelled more sweetly in his nostrils than the corpse of a dead rebel – suggest to me a man forcing himself to play a part which he had not rehearsed and was incapable of bringing off. Vitellius was spendthrift, greedy, lecherous, cowardly, dishonest, without principles of morality; but nothing previously had suggested that he took delight in cruelty. (Or so my mother told me.)
Now, established in Rome, he could do nothing for himself, but must await the outcome of battle. And he was afraid. How, he may have asked himself, in his rare sober moments, could the gods, who had turned from Nero and Galba and Otho, now favour such a man as he knew himself to be? (Like all weak men, Vitellius was superstitious; and throughout these weeks, even the most complaisant of priests found it difficult to present him with favourable omens.)
Feeling, and fearing, the instability of fortune, Vitellius looked apprehensively about him. And his gaze fell on Flavius Sabinus, the brother of his rival. Had Vitellius been a strong man, or had he believed in the valour and constancy of his armies, he would surely have arrested Flavius, even have put him to death, for there could be no doubt that Flavius Sabinus was at the centre of all seditious movements in the city.
But he did not do so. He did not even dismiss him from his post. And I can only think that he already knew that the day was likely when he himself might need a friend in Vespasian's camp or, if not a friend, someone who was under an obligation to him. Certainly it must have occurred to him that if it came to negotiations, his own position would be more secure if an intermediary was there, acceptable to both sides; and no one could fill that role better than Flavius Sabinus.
Having read my attempt at an explanation, you will, Tacitus, doubtless reject it. Your contempt for Vitellius is, I know, so unbounded that you will scorn the suggestion that he was capable of thinking intelligently. You may be right, and it is true, as you will insist, that Vitellius was rarely in a sufficiently sober condition to be able to think straight. All I can say is that no man could have survived the courts of so many Emperors as Vitellius had, without having a keen sense of what was necessary for self-preservation. The heat of the summer came on. I tried to persuade my mother to retire to her cousin's villa in the hills, as she was now accustomed to do. She refused. 'Things are too interesting here,' she said. Yet she rarely left her apartment.
One day I found Domitian with her there. I assumed he had come in search of me. But this was not the case. It was my mother he had come to talk, or listen, to; and my arrival embarrassed him.
Later my mother said, 'I can't help but feel pity for that boy. He is so uncertain of his place in the world, that I fear for him also. His lack of self-confidence will lead him into mischief. Men who cannot trust themselves are not to be trusted.' News came which for the moment disturbed the equanimity which Flavius Sabinus had hitherto displayed. Caecina had, as arranged, deserted his master. But he had moved too soon.
One of his friends brought word to Flavius Sabinus, arriving when I was with him in his apartment. The messenger, for such he was, indicated that he wished to speak to Flavius alone. Flavius replied that I was in his confidence and that he had no secrets which he desired to keep from me. At the time I was moved by this expression of trust. Later I thought: he is afraid. He may suspect me of treachery, and so wish to involve me more closely in whatever he plans; or he may fear that, if he excludes me, I shall suspect him of the same, and relay my suspicions to Titus. Thus do evil times corrupt us all; duplicity is common, openness and honesty provoke distrust. In retrospect I was ashamed of the thoughts I entertained. But it was natural that I should do so.
The messenger, still reluctant, at last acceded to Flavius' demand. I would that I could recall exactly what he said, for he spoke with an emotion that I found affecting. But I cannot; and I disdain to follow the example of historians such as Livy who invent speeches for their characters in order that they may display their own mastery of rhetoric. So I must content myself with giving the sense of what he said.
Caecina had learned of the revolt of the fleet at Ravenna; they had turned against Vitellius. At first their commander, Lucilius Bassus, hesitated. He did not know whether it would prove more dangerous to desert Vitellius or remain loyal. But when he saw that the mutineers were ready to turn on him, he bravely put himself at their head, and proclaimed Vespasian Emperor.
This news persuaded Caecina that the moment to change sides had arrived. So he called those officers and senior centurions whom he thought to be peculiarly attached to himself to a remote corner of the camp, and told them that in his opinion Vespasian had won the game and would prove a worthy emperor. Now that the fleet had changed sides, he said, they could not expect new supplies to reach them. There was nothing to hope for from Gaul or Spain and the capital was in tumult. His words were compelling, and they all swore an oath to Vespasian. The images of Vitellius were cast down and messengers were sent to Antonius Primus, commanding Vespasian's advance-guard, to tell him they were ready to join him.
So far, so good, you might say. But now it seemed, things took an unexpected turn. The rank and file of the army were not prepared to have their loyalties sold by their commander. Their anger, though spontaneous, was fanned by officers whom Caecina had neglected. One asked, in ringing tones, whether the honour of the army of Germany, hitherto victorious in every battle, had now fallen so low that they were ready to surrender to their enemies without a blow being struck. They wouldn't be received as allies, he said. On the contrary Vespasian's troops would despise them as they would learn to despise themselves. He appealed to the soldiers' pride and sense of honour. His speech carried the day; soldiers can rarely resist this sort of flattery. So they swarmed to headquarters and seized hold of Caecina. They loaded him with chains and made a mockery of him; indeed they came close to killing him on the spot, restrained only by a plea that he be reserved for formal trial and execution. Other officers and centurions, who had collaborated with their treacherous general, were slain. It was with difficulty, and in danger, that the messenger himself had escaped to bring this news.
Flavius Sabinus received this news with the appearance of composure. He gave the messenger gold, and then summoned slaves and told them to provide his friend with food and drink.
'So,' he said when we were alone, 'things have taken a turn for the worse. There's no question of that. I warned Caecina that timing was all, impressed on him the importance of not moving too quickly. Well, he knew better.'
'Things are no worse,' I said, 'than if you had made no arrangement with him. I do not think – from what Titus has told me – that Caecina's desertion had entered their plans.'
'No,' he said. 'It hadn't. That's not the point. Do you know what has guided my policy throughout these terrible months? I have had one constant aim: to avert civil war. Now that hope has gone. The decision will be made on the battlefield.'
I didn't ask him how he reconciled this aim with the encouragement which I had no doubt he had given Vespasian to declare himself a candidate for Emperor. It was not my place to ask that, and the question could have served no useful purpose. I have never been able to supply a satisfactory answer, and yet I was certain he was sincere.
'I had counted,' he said, 'on Vitellius' timidity. Caecina was foremost in forcing the purple on him. If Caecina deserted his cause, I was certain Vitellius would yield to us; and the matter might have been settled without more bloodshed. I have grown to hate war, you see. But now Vitellius will be filled with indignation only, that Caecina should have been ready to betray him. And his optimism, which flickers like a candle in a draught, will shine bright again. Moreover, moreover…' he paused and looked me in the eye for the first time since we had been left alone. He waited, as it seemed, for me to complete his thought.
You mean,' I said, 'that when he realises how close he was to disaster, he will seek revenge.'
'Just so. He is a weak man, and the weak and fearful are quick to strike. Like Nero, indeed. I do not think
