overgrown and their families destitute. They were bought out at rock-bottom prices by wealthy landowners or, if they were tenants, kicked out by their landlords. This gave rise to the great estates that he could see today, farmed by the multitudes of slaves that were the by-product of Rome’s Empire. The dispossessed citizen soldiers had nowhere to go other than Rome. There they became the new underclass of urban poor, scraping by in the days before the grain dole, passing their time at the free games; a degrading end to a once proud class of farmer- soldiers who had fought for the Republic because they had a stake in it.
But the legions still needed soldiers to secure the new provinces and to add to them. The tax revenue from these newly conquered lands was huge and Rome grew rich, so the idea of a professional standing army, made up of the urban poor who had no other chance of earning a living, was born. And so the grandsons of the very men who had once fought willingly for their Republic now served for twenty-five years in the legions for pay and the promise of land on discharge. Their loyalty was now not to a republic, in which they no longer had a stake, but to the generals whom they followed and to whom they looked for their promised farm and the chance to raise a family in dignity upon their discharge.
The new system had given rise to a war of wills between the Senate, who hated the idea of giving away land, and the generals, who were anxious to get their veterans settled. Once settled they kept their loyalty to their general to whom they owed everything. The balance of power shifted away from the Senate as the generals amassed huge client bases on which they could call at any time they felt their dignitas threatened or ambitions thwarted by an increasingly jealous Senate.
The civil wars soon started as the generals battled for supremacy over each other, leading to half a century of chaos. The Senate was divided and powerless to exert its authority. Order was eventually restored by the only logical means: rule by one man. The Republic had been a victim of its own success; it had created an empire but had been unable to control it. Vespasian now understood: it took an emperor to rule an empire.
‘It seems that Asinius managed to get your parents out of Rome safely,’ Tertulla said, putting down the letter and bringing him out of his reverie.
He felt a jab of guilt as he realised that he’d hardly thought of them in the time that he’d spent in Tertulla’s company. ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ he said.
‘Asinius asked your father to write to you here in the hope that his warning would reach you in time: don’t go to the military camp at Genua.’
‘Why not? I have to get to Thracia.’
‘He’s heard from his source in the Guard that they’re looking for a military tribune passing through Genua on his way to the Ninth Hispana in Pannonia. A Praetorian tribune by the name of Macro and a legionary from the Urban Cohort are waiting there to identify him.’
‘So what should I do? Make the journey to Thracia on my own?’
‘My darling boy, if you’re going to command men then you’re going to have to do better than that. You’ve just asked my advice and in the same breath made a ridiculous suggestion. The key to being a successful commander is to know immediately what to do when things go awry. A swift and correct decision will always endear you to your men; they will respect you, learn to love you even; but above all they will follow and support you. So you tell me what you should do.’
Vespasian thought for a moment. ‘Wait for the relief column to leave the camp, track it for a couple of days to check that there are no Praetorians amongst it and then join it late.’
‘Good. Next time something goes wrong think like a leader, not a follower.’ Tertulla took a sip from her cup, placed it down on the table and looked at him intently. ‘I believe that as the imperial family spends more time in its palaces and less on campaign where the soldiers can see its ability to lead it will start to lose the support of the legions. At that point the Praetorian Guard and the legions of Germania, Hispania, Syria and elsewhere would all declare for different emperors; civil war would erupt again. The Empire will eventually fall into the lap of the general with the most loyal army; let us hope that he has Rome’s best interests at heart. Treat your soldiers well, Vespasian, lead them to victories, because there’s no reason why you should not be that general.’
Vespasian laughed. ‘Tute, you really are losing your wits; whatever the gods have decreed as my destiny it certainly is not to be Emperor. Imagine it, me?’
‘Perhaps one day you will imagine it,’ Tertulla said quietly, rising to her feet. ‘But not today. Come, my darling, we should sleep.’
The west-facing beach was in shadow as Vespasian and his companions picked their way down the winding cliff path leading their horses and a donkey, upon which perched Tertulla riding sidesaddle. A small trading ship was tying up at the jetty, which thrust out twenty paces from the shore into the now calm, slate-blue sea. Vespasian could make out six or seven crew members scurrying around with ropes making the ship fast.
The vessel was a classic flat-bottomed sailing ship that plied the shallow waters up and down the Italian coast: a sixty-foot-long, single-masted, carvel-built, high-sided, open, wooden ship. Two keel planks joined by a wooden shaft were attached either side of her raised stern; they served as a rudder as well as preventing the keelless boat from drifting too much. Between these was a six-foot-high carving of a swan’s neck and head that gave the ship an illusion of grace it would have otherwise not have merited.
Attalus was already on the jetty talking with the squat, bearded ship’s master as the party approached; voices were raised and the steward’s worried expression was obvious to Vespasian.
‘Master Vespasian, the master is now saying that he doesn’t have room on board for the horses as he’s taken on more olive oil than expected at Ostia,’ Attalus said in a hushed voice, coming up to Vespasian as he and Magnus made their way along the jetty.
‘How much have we paid him already?’ Vespasian asked.
‘One hundred denarii.’
‘So he’s willing to lose out on a hundred and fifty denarii?’
‘No, he still wants that before you get on board.’
‘I thought the deal was four passengers and four horses.’
‘It was, but now it’s changed.’
‘I see. Magnus, I think we might have some explaining to do to this gentleman of the sea.’
‘I think you may well be right, sir.’ Magnus looked back at Sextus and Marius, who were helping Tertulla down from the donkey. ‘Stand by, lads; we may have a problem that needs resolving.’
Vespasian walked up to the master. His speckled grey and black beard almost totally covered his face, leaving only the very tops of his browned cheeks and forehead open to the elements. His eyes were barely visible from years of squinting against the sun and wind. The rough leather sleeveless tunic, which seemed to be the only garment that he was wearing, gave off an unpleasant odour, a mixture of dead fish, sweat and decomposing flesh, as if it hadn’t been tanned properly.
‘My steward tells me that you are going back on the deal that you made with him,’ Vespasian said brusquely.
‘It ain’t my fault, sir, we was meant to be sailing back to Genua half empty, then the ship’s owner brought an extra load of olive oil and there weren’t nothing I could do about it.’
Vespasian looked down into the ship’s open hold to see, at each end, two large stacks of amphorae sitting in their circular storage slots, leaving only ten feet of deck space between them.
‘Surely we could fit the horses in that gap there?’
‘It ain’t about space, it’s about weight. If you bring the horses on we’ll be too low in the water and that ain’t good, I can tell you, especially as it is winter when a storm can brew up without much notice.’
‘But it’s a lovely calm day, there’s hardly a cloud in the sky.’
‘Now it is, but how long will that last? I ain’t going to sea in an overladen vessel, that’s for sure, not for two hundred and fifty denarii.’
‘Ah, so that’s it, is it? So, for how much would you go to sea in an overladen vessel, then?’
‘Five hundred and that’s my last word.’
‘And will the extra money help us to stay afloat? I think not. What if we just decide to take the road?’
‘If you had wanted to take the road then you would have done, but for some reason or other you can’t, so you chose to take passage on a ship in winter. My guess is you want to get to Genua unnoticed, so I think that deserves a larger fee.’ The master smiled coldly in a take-it-or-leave-it sort of way. Vespasian could see that he was going to get nowhere negotiating with him.
‘It would seem that you have us by the balls. I will talk with my friends.’
