Rome, AD 69. Having spectacularly grabbed the imperial throne by way of a very bloody coup, new emperor Otho is horrified to discover another emperor already declared. Aulus Vitellius is relaxing in Germania, and his two generals, the twisted Valens and the handsome but dim Caecina, are marching colossal armies to Rome to claim his prize. Hopelessly outnumbered, all looks doomed for Otho, until a series of unexpected victories bring hope.Meanwhile, a former palace slave, Antonia Caenis, returns from Judaea with plans of her own...
Rome, AD 69. Having spectacularly grabbed the imperial throne by way of a very bloody coup, new emperor Otho is horrified to discover another emperor already declared. Aulus Vitellius is relaxing in Germania, and his two generals, the twisted Valens and the handsome but dim Caecina, are marching colossal armies to Rome to claim his prize. Hopelessly outnumbered, all looks doomed for Otho, until a series of unexpected victories bring hope.Meanwhile, a former palace slave, Antonia Caenis, returns from Judaea with plans of her own...
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Overview
Rome, AD 69. Having spectacularly grabbed the imperial throne by way of a very bloody coup, new emperor Otho is horrified to discover another emperor already declared. Aulus Vitellius is relaxing in Germania, and his two generals, the twisted Valens and the handsome but dim Caecina, are marching colossal armies to Rome to claim his prize. Hopelessly outnumbered, all looks doomed for Otho, until a series of unexpected victories bring hope.Meanwhile, a former palace slave, Antonia Caenis, returns from Judaea with plans of her own...
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781781817896 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Karnac Books |
| Publication date: | 07/21/2017 |
| Series: | Karnac Library |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 480 |
| File size: | 819 KB |
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Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Cologne, Germania, 1st JanuaryAD 69
Vitellius picked up a snail and gave it a bite. His teeth squelched through the meat. There lay before him on a low round marble table, a platter of the creatures coated in butter and smeared with Garum sauce. Beside them sat the boiled quail's eggs, the roasted dormice, the crispy lampreys, and the steamed turbot that constituted Vitellius' breakfast. This was the first course. There were another eight to come.
Fabius Valens, stood by the doorway with his younger colleague, Caecina, marvelled at the governor's capacity for food. Valens himself suffered from a sensitive stomach which accounted for his lean appearance. Though to be fair anyone next to Vitellius appeared lean. Even the wild boar roaming the forests of Germania looked distinctly svelte next to Vitellius. The governor was a man of gargantuan proportions.
This was not necessarily a failing for a governor of a Roman province. It certainly gave him presence. The troops of Germania were unlikely to forget Vitellius in a hurry. He made a large, sturdy presence at their parades. They revelled in his excesses, creating elaborately disrespectful ditties to sing as they marched. Valens knew these to be mere approximations of the governor's habits, which had to be witnessed to be believed.
"Are you sure about this, Valens?" Caecina asked.
"Absolutely."
"Only," began his younger colleague. "Emperor? Vitellius as emperor?" His tone was one of scorn.
They watched as Vitellius crunched on a snail. The butter escaped his lips, trickling down his fat chin, disappearing into the folds of his neck before the wiping slave could reach it.
"It's just he doesn't seem very imperial."
"Nonsense. He's highly born and he's held all the proper positions. What more does he need?" said Valens.
Fabius Valens was a grey man. It was the first thing you noticed about him. His face lacked colour, as if he had been kept indoors for most of his life and had never experienced the sun. His lips were similarly bloodless; tight and thin they rarely smiled. Even his hair, which had once been a deep brown, was distinctly grey now. Cut short on top with long sideburns framing his face. A sheen of sweat was a permanent feature on his long forehead and his cheeks were marked from the effects of a childhood pox. He looked distinctly unwell. He wasn't.
Fabius Valens was a man in the prime of his life. He was about to embark on a plan of such audacity that men would puzzle over it for centuries afterwards. However, to pull this off successfully, he needed Caecina's help.
"Galba is sitting in purple on Nero's throne and he did that with one legion. A Spanish legion." His upper lip curled. "He thinks that gives him authority. Legitimacy. Did we get asked if we wanted Galba as emperor? No, we did not. We, the German legions, the best soldiers in all the empire had this old man forced upon us without a say!"
Caecina did not reply.
"Our man will be a fine emperor," Valens assured him. "Emperors are figureheads, that's all. Someone to keep the sculptors busy producing statues that eastern types can worship."
Eyeing up Vitellius' bulk, Valens reasoned the sculptors were going to be kept very busy.
"It's the advisors in the court who hold the real power. Who do the real work. Who reap the real rewards," continued Valens, looking at Caecina pointedly.
Caecina smiled. It encompassed a row of perfectly even white teeth which gleamed in the gloomily lit room. In comparison to Valens, Caecina was a man of staggering good looks. It was a rare person who passed Caecina without taking a second look, be they male or female. At over six feet in height he was truly striking. Particularly as he insisted, despite his thorough Italian blood, in dressing German-style in plaid tunic and trousers.
To Valens, Caecina said, "Let's do this."
Valens attempted his own smile. It lacked charm, warmth, or anything remotely human.
"Galba is doomed," he said. "Long live Emperor Vitellius."
It would be some weeks before they learned it wasn't Galba they would face. Instead, a very different man was now calling himself emperor.
CHAPTER 2Rome, February 69 AD
Epaphroditus awoke with an, "Urgh," and then an, "Ow." He held an arm to his pulsating head and dared to open an eye. It looked up at a domed ceiling with a circular opening from which fell a fat raindrop. This landed with a powerful plop right onto the centre of his forehead, an action that spurred him into a sitting position.
He gazed around in some wonder at his surroundings. He was not in his own bed. Or his own room. Rather, he was sat on the floor of the octagonal dining room that featured as the set set piece of Nero's Golden House. Nero was now dead, so it was just any old house spread over 300 acres with a lake so impressive in scale that it followed its own tidal pattern.
This dining room was the finest room of all the rooms in all the palaces. The floor was clad with coloured marble from all ends of the empire, arranged into circles and swirling patterns with dazzling effect. The walls too were marble. The dome of the room decorated with the signs of the zodiac. The roof rotated in time to the sun; or so Nero had imagined. In fact, there was a slave whose only job was to stand behind one of the alcoves with a pole and discreetly push it round.
On one side, a waterfall gushed down, reflecting the bright colours and keeping the room cool. Which was a bonus in the stifling Roman summers but not much of an advantage in February.
Epaphroditus looked down: he was naked. A thin sheet lay tossed to one side and beside him lay a girl, also naked. She gave him a smile. A "wasn't it wonderful last night, darling," smile. Epaphroditus furrowed his brow and asked, "And you are?"
"Erotica, sir."
"Of course," he replied. Although in truth, he had no memory of ever having met her.
He was puzzling out his curious circumstances when there entered the absolute last thing a man with a thumping hangover could ever wish to encounter: a trio of trumpeters. They were dressed in imperial white, their instruments curling over their shoulders. Pursed lips were placed against mouthpieces. Epaphroditus' sluggish reactions were too late to halt them from giving a quick blast of a ditty that was employed whenever the emperor was about to make a grand entrance.
Epaphroditus, hands over his ears, thought his head might explode. Erotica on the other hand shot to her feet and stood, eyes down, awaiting her master. A stance that allowed Epaphroditus the chance to savour what he had apparently tasted the night before: medium height, heavy-hipped, large-breasted, with a tawny skin and long dark straight hair. Not Epaphroditus' usual type at all. He must have been drunk. Tying the sheet around his lower half, he stood up.
There was a brief lull after the trumpeters. Then five Praetorian guards marched in and positioned themselves along the wall. Next in slid an announcer, who declared in as high a volume as the musicians, "Imperator Otho Caesar Augustus!"
The emperor shuffled round the announcer telling Epaphroditus, "Didn't want to take you unawares," inclining his head towards Erotica.
Emperor Otho was not an imposing figure even surrounded by the usual bodyguards, attendants, and his own freedman, the dwarf wonder Onomastus. He was of no more than average height with bandy legs, splayed feet, and a developing gut. However, his permanently ruddy cheeks, sparkling cornflower blue eyes, and generous personality were peculiarly magnetic.
Even Epaphroditus, who had always viewed friendship as purely a means to an end, counted him as a pal. Otho was a hard man to dislike. Which was just as well since two weeks before he'd been pushed into a choice between death at the hands of his many creditors or death at the hands of Galba, who believed him to be plotting to overthrow him.
Otho had not been plotting then, but faced with imminent execution it seemed like a jolly good plan. He'd enacted a coup of such speed, such impact, that they were still washing the blood off the streets and burying the bodies two weeks later.
Therefore, Otho had a great deal of apologising to do. A lot of charming. And much handing out of coins to the newly widowed plebs of the city. He'd done all this while projecting an image of being exactly the sort of emperor the people needed in their time of distress. A role he inhabited so successfully that many forgot it was Otho who had caused them the distress in the first place.
For Epaphroditus, this was a familiar sensation. He too possessed that strange Otho amnesia. It had led him to completely disregard all the trouble his friend had got him into in the past and throw his lot into making him emperor. Alongside the catastrophe that was Otho's coup, there had also been a catastrophe in Epaphroditus' private life. His wife Aphrodite, who maintained she was the only person who saw through Otho, had slung him out and was talking divorce. Hence Epaphroditus' sudden, and out of character, love for fermented grape juice.
Otho plonked himself on a nearby couch, smoothing out his toga. Onomastus positioned himself beside him, his little muscular arms crossed. Beside the dwarf was a youth of about twenty who was trying very hard not to look at the naked Erotica, his cheeks flushing all the way down his neck.
One of the emperor's attendants dashed forward and helpfully retrieved the couple's discarded clothes which had somehow made it to separate ends of the large room. Epaphroditus slipped his tunic over his head and attempted to regain some dignity.
"Have you met my nephew, Salvius?" asked Otho, indicating the blushing youth.
Looking at him, Epaphroditus could see the family resemblance. He too had Otho's blue eyes and ruddy cheeks. However, Salvius was taller, slimmer, and his thatch of dark hair was all his own, which Otho's definitely was not.
Erotica, fully clothed, had not eased the boy's embarrassment. Her gown was of that oddly voluminous cloth that covers very little while seemingly taking up yards of material. He tried very hard to avert his gaze but his eyes kept straying back. Erotica, aware of his interest, gave him a wink and a smile. His whole face turned a bright red.
Otho, seeing Salvius' pain, waved the girl away. "Thank you for your services. I am sure he enjoyed it immensely." Then, turning to Epaphroditus, "Didn't you?"
Epaphroditus gave a small shrug. Probably he had. He generally did but he couldn't remember a thing about it.
When she had departed, Otho sat regally upright. Garland balanced on his hair. Toga in place. A team of young boys armed with note tablets and styli ready to note down his every whim and request.
The emperor got down to business. "Sooooo," he began. "Last night ..." He drawled out that final word while beaming at Epaphroditus stood before him.
"I am sure it was a joy for all concerned. The agenda for today, Caesar."
Otho was not to be distracted so easily. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"I have felt better. The agenda, Caesar."
"You need to train up to such levels of drinking. You can't just jump in with no practice. Very dangerous, very dangerous indeed. But then you were insistent, very insistent."
"I quite fancied some of that vintage," piped in Onomastus, glaring at Epaphroditus.
Otho patted his dwarf on the arm, commenting, "I know, so did I. Being emperor and all, I was hoping for a good sample. But you wouldn't give up that amphora, no matter how much we pleaded."
Epaphroditus groaned under his breath.
"So we let you keep hold of it. It seemed to keep you happy; momentarily. At least until you got through the first third, then you got a little sad."
"You cried," interjected Onomastus. "All over the place."
Epaphroditus winced.
"Yes, it was quite embarrassing," confirmed Otho.
"Very embarrassing," added Onomastus. "It was all Dite this, Dite that. What a wonderful woman Dite is. How you can't live without her. How you want Dite back so desperately."
Dite was Epaphroditus' secret pet name for his wife. Not quite so secret now, apparently.
Otho picked up the story. "Then you made us state that Aphrodite was the most beautiful woman ever created by the gods. Which we did because you were most forceful in your request. But when we complied, you accused us of having designs on your Dite. Which of course we do not."
Epaphroditus wanted to crawl into a hole and hide for at least a month. Or until a better stream of gossip was created. But he managed to hold onto a neutral expression as his innards cringed.
"Anyhow," smiled Otho, clapping his hands. "We're all friends again today, aren't we?"
Onomastus, arms folded, gave the secretary a hard glare.
"I apologise humbly for any discomfiture I may have caused, Caesar." Epaphroditus lowered his head.
"Excellent, excellent. I am so pleased. Talos, you had better scratch that treason charge note I composed last night."
Epaphroditus' head shot up. His friend beamed. "Just my little joke."
A scribe rushed forward with a scroll, handed it to Otho, head bowed, before scuttling backwards. Otho didn't bother to look at it. He handed it straight to Epaphroditus. It was what he employed him for.
"Celsus has the latest dispatches from Germania," Epaphroditus informed the emperor.
"Well we can't hear them here. Not the place at all. This is a place of jollity." He threw an amused look at Epaphroditus. "Most of the time, anyhow."
Otho stood as his attendants fussed about ensuring His Imperial Majesty was draped correctly. A small slave boy took the opportunity to crawl across the floor and polish his sandal strap for him.
"Most kind of you," Otho smiled down at him.
The emperor threw an arm around his nephew declaring, "Come now, Salvius, this is just the type of imperial business your father wanted me to instruct you in. It is most thrilling!"
CHAPTER 3After a quick wash, shave, and downing of what his chamberlain swore was the ultimate hangover cure (it wasn't), Epaphroditus joined Otho in a small office situated in the old palace.
"Aha," cried Otho. "Come and meet the chaps."
There were three additional chaps to Otho's usual appendage of Onomastus.
"Flavius Sabinus, I think you know." Epaphroditus nodded at the solid city prefect.
"And this is Marcus Celsus."
Celsus, a tall man with bristly ginger hair, nodded.
"And my nephew, of course, who you met earlier. Salvius is incredibly keen to learn all about the imperial life, aren't you?"
Salvius flushed slightly and looked away.
"Bit shy though," Otho confided. "But we'll hammer that out of you, won't we?"
"You'll grow out of it, Salvius," Flavius Sabinus commented kindly. "Why, I was quite the shy one at your age. Didn't dare speak hardly at all. Terribly, terribly anxious I was. During my coming-of-age ceremony, I shook like a slave awaiting a thrashing. My father thought I was suffering from the falling sickness." He gave a laugh.
Knowing Flavius' tendency for long-winded anecdotes, Epaphroditus cut in quickly, "What news?"
"It is as we heard," said Celsus, grim of face. "Vitellius has definitely been declared emperor."
"By whom?" queried Epaphroditus.
"The German legions, of course."
The secretary waved this away. "No, I mean who came up with this scheme? From what I remember about Vitellius he's never been a leader. He's a follower. A skilled one, I give him that. Nobody lives through as many emperors as he has, unscathed, without the ability to flatter unconditionally and convincingly. But there is not a chance he put himself forward as emperor."
Celsus grinned. "Sources suggest that his two generals, Fabius Valens and Caecina Alienus, are predominant in his administration."
Epaphroditus chewed at the inside of his cheek. Caecina meant nothing to him. Fabius Valens, however, was a different matter. Why was that name familiar? He searched his memory.
"I doubt Vitellius even knows Galba is dead," continued Celsus. "It's a good three week ride to Germania."
Flavius humphed, "That gives us something to work with, doesn't it. Epaphroditus? Epaphroditus?"
He clicked back to attention, leaving the mystery of Fabius Valens to one side. "It certainly does. Vitellius was a favourite of Nero's. If he's pretending to avenge his patron, we have the perfect get-out clause for him. Caesar, I suggest you pen a letter to him explaining the situation. The hated Galba is no more and you are now emperor. Stress that you have no issues with him and then request politely that he stand down his men and relinquish his claim."
"With no harm to himself," added in Celsus dryly, sharing a wry smile with Epaphroditus.
"That will work?" Otho questioned.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Otho's Regret"
by .
Copyright © 2018 L. J. Trafford.
Excerpted by permission of Aeon Books Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Rome—Palatine Hill Marcus Salvius Otho—the emperor* Salvius—the emperor’s nephew* Tiberius Claudius Epaphroditus—the emperor’s secretary* Onomastus—the emperor’s dwarf* Marcus Celsus—a valuable military advisor* Servius Sulpicius Lysander—the emperor’s announcer Statilia Messalina—professional empress*Sporus—empress-in-waiting* Artemina (Mina)—the empress’ bodyguard Cassandra—the empress’ secretary
Brutus—a star gladiator Honoratus*, Proculus, Lucullus, Paulus—a collection of Praetorians
Rome—Elsewhere Flavius Sabinus—city prefect* Titus Flavius Domitian—Flavius’ nephew* Antonia Caenis—a former imperial secretary* Tiberius Claudius Philo—an imperial freedman Teretia—his wife Pompeia Minor—his mother-in-law Verenia—Teretia’s cousin
Claudia Aphrodite—Epaphroditus’ estranged wife Nymphidia Sabina—a grieving mother*
Elsewhere in the Empire Aulus Vitellius—the other emperor* Fabius Valens—the other emperor’s commander (the cruel one)* Caecina Alienus—the other emperor’s other commander (the handsome one)* Asiaticus—the other emperor’s freedman* Gwencalon—a wise woman Salonina—Caecina’s paramour*
*Historical personages