I hasten, Tacitus, mindful of your importunity, to bring my narrative to a conclusion; and I shall be happy to be rid of it.
Flavius Sabinus sent messengers to find me at the address I had left with him, and asked me to fetch Domitian. No doubt I looked surprised. But he smiled and said, 'It's all right. It's all over, or on the point of being all over. For some days Vitellius has, I'm told, been so deep sunk in lethargy, and so near despair, that he would have forgotten he is Emperor if those around him had not reminded him. To his considerable dismay, I might add. Now he has called me to a conference, and wishes to make terms. I think it will be valuable if I am able to have Domitian by my side. And you, too, of course.'
I have often wondered why he desired our presence. My conclusion is that he wanted us there as witnesses, to be able to inform Vespasian and Titus that he had behaved honourably, and had engaged in no sort of deception, or promotion of his own interests rather than theirs. Such was the trust between members of that family!
There were, indeed, those who were urging Flavius Sabinus to act on his own account. 'The merit of having finished the war,' they said, 'will belong to whichever man is in possession of Rome itself. Why should you not be Emperor rather than your brother, or why should you not share the Empire with him? At any rate, the glory of final victory will be yours, and that is something worth seeking.'
Flavius Sabinus proved that he was indeed worthy of Empire by rejecting the temptation dangled before him. He had given his word to his brother, and would keep it. Some of his friends found this incredible. They had forgotten the meaning of a man's word.
So I fetched Domitian, who was suspicious of the invitation, and of my intentions. He would indeed have declined to accompany me, if Aulus Pettius had not broken out in tones of contempt, and told him roundly that he could either go with me, or be thrown into the street and left to shift for himself.
'As for me,' he said, 'I have had my bellyful of your moaning, your self-pity and suspicions. I took you in only because our friend here begged me to do so, and not for any love of you. I'll thank you only to be gone. I'd rather see your back departing than your face for another hour.'
It was December. The year which had seen more Emperors than the previous fifty was drawing to a close. The day was dark and gloomy, bitter cold, with the north wind blowing hard from the mountains, blowing, as someone remarked, Vespasian's troops towards the capital and Vitellius to oblivion. The meeting was held in the Temple of Apollo. Flavius Sabinus was already there. He showed neither impatience nor any excitement, though the game that he had played with such courage in the midst of danger was drawing to a triumphant close. He embraced Domitian who winced. 'It's all over,' his uncle said, 'bar the shouting.'
Vitellius arrived late with his brother, a small staff of officers, and an escort from the Guard. All but three were commanded to wait without. His eyes were bloodshot and his speech thick, but he was only a little drunk, though his breath suggested he had followed last night's potations with what the Germans call 'the hair of the dog'.
Flavius Sabinus, ever the gentleman, began by commiserating with Vitellius on the death, a few days previously, of his aged mother. He mumbled a few incomprehensible words in reply. His hand shook, and he asked for wine. I believe Flavius Sabinus had determined to offer none, judging that Vitellius would be brought more quickly to an agreement if he was deprived of a drink: indeed I think that he would then have agreed to anything and everything merely to be free of the meeting and able to indulge himself. But, seeing his pitiable condition, Flavius Sabinus clapped his hands and commanded a slave to fetch wine. There was silence till Vitellius had a cup in his hand.
He made a wretched impression. The flesh had fallen away from him, except for his huge paunch which now dangled obscenely. A nerve jumped in his cheek and his gaze was wild.
Flavius Sabinus said: Your presence here is, I take it, an acknowledgement that you have lost the game.'
Vitellius made as if to speak, fluttered a vague hand, and sighed deeply.
'It becomes a Roman to be generous in victory,' Flavius Sabinus said. 'My brother, the acclaimed Emperor, had determined to follow the policy of the Great Caesar. His watchword is clemency. Therefore no evil will befall you or your family. You have my word for that. All you have to do is abdicate your claims to the title of Emperor, which we recognise was forced on you by foolish men…'
'Yes, indeed, indeed, yes.' Vitellius, now he had found his voice, babbled, words tumbling over each other. 'Indeed, yes, nothing was ever further from my thoughts than to be Emperor. Why should I wish it? I'm a good fellow, but I've seen too much of courts to think of myself as… no, indeed, indeed, no. But what could I do? What would any man have done in my place? Valens and Caecina, they're the ones to blame, they forced it on me, and then the soldiers crowded round acclaiming me. What could I have done? I was afraid they would turn on me if I declined. But every fibre of my being cried out no.' He began to weep. 'This is horrible,' Domitian muttered to me. And so indeed it was. Flavius Sabinus waited till the poor creature had regained some semblance of self-control. His own face was impassive. Looking at Vitellius, I thought, and brave men have died for this.
Then Flavius Sabinus said, 'I have a document of abdication drawn up. It's somewhat irregular in a sense, since your title to the Empire is not conceded by my brother…'
Vitellius lifted his head. In his first flash of spirit, he said, 'But he did. After I conquered Otho, Vespasian administered the oath of allegiance to me, and prayed for all future prosperity to me. He wrote and told me so himself. I have his letter still. How can he deny that I am Emperor?'
Very well, then,' Flavius Sabinus said. 'That makes the document of abdication perfectly legal. So all you have to do is sign it.'
'But what is to become of me? Of my poor children for whom I hoped to provide?'
That matter is dealt with in this second document. I told you my brother was ready to practise clemency. He is also munificent. This assures you a fee of a million gold pieces, and an estate in Campania, to be inherited by your children.' 'And is that what Empire is worth? Is that the price of Empire?'
He rose, with a certain new dignity – the result of the removal of fear perhaps. He took a turn around the room. Usually, since he had assumed the purple, he went to great lengths to disguise his limp. But now he limped heavily, as if, with the weight of Empire lifted, he was free to resume his old habits, be himself again. Very well,' he said. 'Give me the pen.'
Then, when he had affixed his signature, and was no longer Emperor, he said: 'I yield for the sake of peace and for the love of country, and for my innocent children. Now give me more wine.'
When this parody of an Emperor at last departed, after embracing Flavius Sabinus and weeping over him, and thanking him for his great kindness and draining another cup of wine, Flavius Sabinus relaxed. 'I wasn't sure I could bring him to it,' he kept saying. 'All reason pointed to it, but yet I wasn't sure.'
Domitian said to me, 'My uncle has been too soft. He could have cut down Vitellius here, and the affair would really have been over. But what has he got? Only a scrap of parchment. And he has let Vitellius go, to announce his abdication to the troops that are still loyal to him. What are they promised? Nothing. And do you suppose that a man like Vitellius can be kept to an agreement such as this? The first person who rebukes him for his timidity will overturn his feeble mind. We have not finished with him yet.'
Though I could not agree that Flavius Sabinus should have put Vitellius to death, Domitian's argument made sense. That was the first time I thought of him as a formidable politician. It was not, as you know, to be the last.
Flavius Sabinus himself had some doubt. He had achieved his first aim by obtaining Vitellius' signature to the document of abdication. But he knew his man. He knew his weakness of character. And now he proved this, when Domitian reproached him, as he did when he saw me assent to his reasoning, by clapping his nephew on the shoulder, and saying, 'Dear boy, you are wise beyond your years. But don't suppose that my old eyes can't see as clearly as your young ones. Your analysis is just. But there is one thing in our favour that you leave out of account: Vitellius' greed and his terror. He knows – he must know – that if he breaks this agreement, then his life will be forfeit. While if he keeps it he may live out his days in comfort and prosperity. Moreover if, as you suggest, I had kept him captive, or put him to death, consider the anger of those troops still, as you say, loyal to him. As it is, I have given peace a chance; and that was my first purpose. There has been too much blood spilled in Rome this year.'
Nevertheless, knowing how precarious peace was, Flavius Sabinus collected those soldiers who were loyal to him, and who now took the oath to Vespasian, after he had read them the document of abdication.
Meanwhile word had spread, and Sabinus was now visited by Senators and equestrians, all of whom had hitherto feared to declare themselves enemies of Vitellius, all of whom now assured him of their undying loyalty to Vespasian, whose cause they had always supported.
But even while they were doing so, news came which altered the situation.
I believe that Vitellius had intended to abide by his word; for I have no doubt that, in his heart, he was relieved to be free of the burden of Empire.
But when he went into the Forum and mounted the rostra to declare that he had abdicated, and intended to lay aside the emblems of Empire in the Temple of Concord, the protests of the crowd who anticipated his words, for rumour had preceded him, restrained him. Then finding his way blocked by the throng he returned to the palace.
All was now confusion. Nobody knew whether Vitellius was still to be considered Emperor or not; he cannot have known himself. It was a miserably cold day, snow threatening. Yet the streets and the Forum were thronged with citizens, each relaying, believing or disbelieving, every fresh rumour. Some of the Senators and equestrians who had come to pay court to Flavius Sabinus had second thoughts and melted away, afraid that they had already compromised themselves. Others remained, because they in their turn feared that they had committed themselves too deeply to be able safely to withdraw.
Then we heard of the enthusiasm which a section of the mob -none knew how large – had displayed for Vitellius. It was reported, too, that certain cohorts of the German legions which had remained based in the city had obeyed commands to arrest Flavius Sabinus and the other leaders of our party.
Domitian now displayed an energy I had never seen in him before. His face was flushed, his voice loud. He roundly told his uncle that, since strife within the city was now certain, he must get his retaliation in first. Those were his exact words: 'Get our retaliation in first.' 'What do you mean?'
'You must seize Vitellius – you should never have let him walk free – and, then, attack and disarm those forces which remain loyal to him.' Flavius Sabinus sighed.
'It's been my endeavour to prevent blood from being shed in the city,' he said. 'Now you urge me to let loose unimaginable horrors. No, we shall continue to play the game coolly. Vitellius will think of what he has to lose and may yet retain.'
Domitian's discontent was obvious, but he was powerless to change his uncle's mind; and, though I agreed with his judgement, yet I could not but be pleased to see Flavius Sabinus constant in his determination to do all he could to avert an outbreak of violence and killing in Rome. But his efforts were vain. Some of our men came under attack from the adherents of Vitellius, who were more numerous, and so scattered ours, killing several. It was clear that the chance of a peaceful settlement was now remote. Accordingly, Flavius Sabinus gathered his troops and followers, and we withdrew to the Capitol, as the part of the city most easily defended.
Night fell, and there was no attack. But apprehension held us fast. It snowed, and the visibility was so poor that we were afraid that the enemy might come upon us unawares. But the storm which made us anxious, for the snow was accompanied by high winds, deterred them. No doubt their commanders, in as much as there was any direction of their forces, feared that to attack in such conditions would result only in confusion.
Flavius Sabinus had no sleep. Nor had any of those among us who could be said to have constituted his staff. All night we debated our position, interrupted only by reports from the sentries who had been posted, and who more then once gave the alarm which indicated that an attack was being prepared, evidence of their own nervous state and of the difficulty in discerning what was happening, on account of the snow which fell steadily till just before dawn.
Flavius Sabinus resolved to make a last appeal to Vitellius which might avert hostilities. His letter went through more than a few drafts. Eventually, it read more or less as follows. (You will understand, Tacitus, that I quote from memory, but, since I was one of the chief authors of the final draft, you may suppose that I remember it well.)
'Vitellius: there has, it would seem, been no more than a show and pretence of abdicating the Empire. If not, why, when you left the rostra, did you go (as we are informed) to your brother's house, which overlooks the Forum, and where your presence was certain to enflame the mob, rather than retire to your wife's family house on the Aventine? That would have been in accordance with the terms of our agreement. But then you withdrew to the palace, and soon after a body of troops appeared on the streets, armed and proclaiming their loyalty to you. I myself, in the person of my soldiers, came under attack. That is why I have now established myself on the Capitol, which is however surrounded by your men. If you now repent of your agreement, it is not against me, whom you have so treacherously deceived, that you must contend, nor against my nephew Domitian, who is still only a youth. What would you gain by killing us? Rather, you should put yourself at the head of your legions, and fight my brother's army for the Empire. That would determine the fate of Rome.'
A senior centurion, Cornelius Martialis, was deputed to carry the letter to Vitellius. I volunteered to accompany him. He smiled at that. 'Shows you're young, sir, if you don't mind my saying so. When you're my age, you'll know that volunteering's best left to others.' Still he was pleased to have my company, and respected the courage of my decision.
Taking advantage of the half-light of the winter dawn and a renewed flurry of snow, we slipped out of the Capitol by the hundred steps that lead down the flank of the Tarpeian Rock. Our outposts had seen no sign of enemy forces for several hours, but could give no assurance as to our safe return. As we made our way off the hill, using such shelter as the trees and bushes could provide, we could see soldiers crouched round braziers or lying by them wrapped in their military cloaks. 'Dozy buggers,' Cornelius said. 'But not many'll be eager to die for Vitellius, that's a comfort.' We crossed the Forum, and made for the Palatine.
We're too early. Vitellius'll never be up yet. We've time for a wet and a bite to eat.'
Though I doubted whether Vitellius would even have gone to bed, and was certain he would not have slept, I allowed myself to be persuaded, and we turned into a wine-shop – of the kind that serves night-workers – for a mug of wine and a hunk of bread, 'to put heart into us'.
Approaching the palace, I was conscious of the extent to which Vitellius' control of the State was ebbing. Though a number of soldiers were to be seen, it was impossible to tell whether they were on duty. There was no regular guard, only a doorkeeper who was half-drunk. When we offered to present our credentials, he gave a vast yawn, and thumbed us past him. In the atrium all was confusion. People were hurrying to and fro, but more as if they thought it wiser to be seen to be on the move, than for any purpose. Four slaves passed by us; they were carrying trunks out of the palace. There appeared to be nobody in charge or on duty. Then I recognised a stout soft wheezy fellow with an olive complexion; this was Asiaticus, the former slave, catamite, and pimp. I called out his name, and he responded in a manner that contrived to be both obsequious and insolent.
'The Emperor? I'm not sure he knows whether he's that or not, poor dear man. You've a message for him? You want to see him? Well, much good may it do you, ducky.'
Cornelius Martialis drew his sword and jabbed it under the creature's jaw. A little gout of blood stood out on his neck. 'Take us to him, or I'll ram this through your throat.' Asiaticus put up his hand and pushed the blade aside.
'Not very diplomatic, are you, ducks. 'Course I'll take you to the poor man. Just don't expect too much.'
Vitellius was in his dressing-gown. Asiaticus greeted him with a repulsive familiarity, which brought a smile to the pseudo-emperor's flabby lips. Cornelius presented him with Flavius Sabinus' letter. He read it, or rather let his eyes wander over it, and then tossed it aside.
'Have you no answer?' the centurion demanded. 'Am I to tell the general you received his letter with contempt?'
'The question is, sir,' I said, 'whether you intend to stand by the agreement that you made, an agreement that ensures your own safety and well-being as nothing else can, or whether you have torn it up, and choose to trust to the fortunes of a war you cannot win, which will bring ruin on all your family.'
Vitellius dabbed his eyes with a towel, blew his nose, and gestured to Asiaticus who, knowing his master's habits, at once put a mug of wine in the outstretched hand. Vitellius, in the manner of drunkards, drained it at one swallow, and then said, 'This is all foolishness. Whatever I say now doesn't matter. I know that. Tell your general that I would abide by our compact if I could. I had every intent, every intention, of doing so. But the soldiers would not let me, and I could not resist them. They chose me as Emperor, they have chosen that I cannot abandon the title, though I'm aware that everything is now futility. Tell your general that, and that you have seen a deeply unhappy man, whom the world has treated harshly.'
Then he dismissed us, telling Asiaticus to lead us out of the palace by a secret passage, which would enable us to avoid the soldiers, for, he said, 'I've no wish to have your blood too on my hands.'
'You see, sir, he's finished, and he knows it,' Asiaticus said. 'You'll be safe now. Perhaps you will remember that I have done you a service.'
'Oh,' I said, 'I doubt if that will be necessary. You're the type who will survive anything, and I can't imagine you haven't already made your preparations. Indeed, I'm only surprised to find you still here.' He laid his hand, his fawning hand, on my sleeve.
You're so certain a chap like me can't have any decent feelings, aren't you, any sense of duty, or any affection? Well, you're young, ducky, you can't be expected to know much. But that poor dear man has been my only benefactor, and now I'm the only person he can be himself with. It wouldn't be right if I was to run out on him. But I can't expect you to believe that.'
He made me ashamed. I remembered Sporus and how he had spoken of Nero.
Martialis said, 'Take your hand off my officer, you bugger. Shall I run him through the guts, sir? The earth would be a cleaner place.'
'No,' I said, 'there'll be enough killing today. No need to start so early in the morning – with a non-combatant too.' I lifted Asiaticus' flabby paw from my sleeve. ‘It'd be a kindness to everyone,' I said to him, 'if you could persuade your master to die as a Roman should.' When we reported the failure of our mission, Flavius Sabinus thanked us gravely for the attempt we had made and the dangers we had run. His manner was perfect. No one could have guessed the depth of his disappointment. Then he gave orders that the defences were to be looked to, offered up a prayer to the gods, and drew me aside.
'Have a care for my nephew,' he said, 'and prevent him from exposing himself rashly.'
Vitellius has no wish for battle,' I said. 'He would have been happy to keep the agreement he made with you. I felt sorry for him.'
'Be that as it may, Vitellius counts for nothing. He's like a cork bobbing on a sea of blood.' For a little we waited. The snow had stopped falling, and a thin sun was breaking through the clouds. Obedient to the command I had been given, I looked for Domitian. That is why I was not at first aware that battle was now upon us. It was only when I heard cries coming from the flank of the hill on the side overlooking the Forum that I knew it. Meanwhile I could not find Domitian. This distracted me. I knew that Flavius Sabinus was anxious to secure his nephew's safety, not on account of any affection he had for him – though this was not indeed lacking – but principally because it was necessary for his own self-esteem, his sense of his own virtue, that no harm should come to his brother's son. But Domitian, at the first intimation of the attack, had concealed himself in the house of a servant of the Temple of Jupiter. There he assumed the linen vestment of an acolyte, a serviceable disguise. All this I learned later. Meanwhile, searching ever more desperately for him, I did not arrive at the scene of the encounter till the Capitol was ablaze.
The Vitellianists were now swarming up the hill, while our men were distracted by the flames. The fire has been caused by the assailants who had hurled burning brands on to the roof of a colonnade and had then, when the defenders were driven back choking in the smoke, burst through the gate that was now undefended. Meanwhile others had rushed the hill to the west of the Tarpeian Rock, from which side our men had been drawn by the first attack. In short, all was confusion; and this was caused by the inadequacy of our troops, who were too few to guard every possible route by which the hill might be mounted. Despairing of finding Domitian, I drew my sword and ran towards the Tarpeian flank. Here there was fierce hand-to-hand fighting. We had the advantage of the ground, but they had the advantage of numbers. The fire in our rear also alarmed our men, some of whom even before battle was fully joined, were more eager to find a means of escape than of resistance. I found myself at the side of Cornelius Martialis, already wounded in the shoulder by the thrust of a javelin. Blood ran down his sword-arm as he tried to parry the attacks of three German auxiliaries. I thrust at one under his shield, and he fell. But even as he did so another ran up against me, swinging his long sword. Without a shield, for I had had no time to arm myself properly, I could not parry the blow, and so ducked under it. My foot slipped on the bloody stone and I tumbled over the body of the man I had just killed. It may be that my fall saved my life, for, thanks to the steep declivity of the hill, I found myself rolling over and over, till I came to rest in the middle of an oleander bush some twenty feet or more below. For a moment I lay there, catching what I might have thought to have been my last breath. I say 'might have thought' for, in truth, I remember no thought. When I screwed my head round, expecting to see my assailant bearing down upon me, it was instead to discover that he had turned his attention on the centurion, who was again faced with three of the enemy. As I struggled to free myself from the bush, I heard that most terrible of battle-cries, 'It's every man for himself, run, lads, run.' I looked up and saw Cornelius Martialis fall. Then, shaking myself like a dog emerging from water, I took to my heels, down the hill, out of the battle. I have no pride in this, no pride either in the slashing blows I delivered at two soldiers who tried to bar my way. One of them fell, his face laid open by my sword, the other stumbled and, like me, a moment earlier, slipped, and lay unharmed but panting. I had no time to deal with him, but careered down the hill. When I reached level ground and looked back, all the buildings of the Capitol were ablaze. An old woman looked at me. 'If I was you, sir,' she said, 'I'd get rid of that bloody sword.' Perhaps her advice was good. I did not take it.
Instead I remained, gazing in horror at burning Jupiter Supremely Good and Great, founded by our earliest fathers as the seat of Empire. The Capitol, unviolated even by the Gauls centuries before in the days of the Republic, was now destroyed by the madness of the struggle for Empire in a battle fought on behalf of a creature who had had the purple forced on him by the legions, and who had given only one proof of sound judgement in his life: his understanding that he was not fit for the office he was not permitted to relinquish. I sheathed my sword and, assuming such an air of unconcern as was possible, made my way by a route which took me past the temple that Augustus had raised in memory of his beloved nephew Marcellus towards the river, and across it to my mother's house. I was surprised to find, half a mile from the scene of battle, citizens going about their lives as if it was a time of peace.
No harm had come to my mother or to Domatilla. I advised them to keep the house, notwithstanding the lack of tumult in the streets that side of the river.
'It may be,' I said, 'that Domitian will come here himself. I don't know where he is now.' 'But he's alive, he's all right?' Domatilla said.
'I've no reason to think otherwise. I'm going in search of him now. If he comes here, don't let him leave. He might be as safe here as anywhere. It'll only be a matter of days before your father's army is in the city. But these days will be dangerous.' 'And my uncle?'
'I don't know. I don't know whether he escaped, whether he was killed, whether he was taken captive. Everything over there is in indescribable confusion.'
"We could see the flames,' my mother said. 'To burn the Capitol. It's worse than Nero. It's a judgement.' 'Perhaps,' I said.
When I left, my mother refrained from any expression of anxiety. She did not tell me to avoid danger, for she knew that in Rome that day danger and duty were joined as in marriage. But before I departed, she took my sword and cleaned it of the dried blood. I was surprised to discover it was not yet noon.