Upon their arrival at Mogontiacum, news had reached them of their father’s death, but this was tempered by the news of the birth of Vespasian’s daughter, Domitilla. Flavia had written herself and it was with both relief and joy that he had read the letter; a mother and child’s chances of survival in childbirth were about the same as a soldier’s on the battlefield.
Having left his brother to his new command and arriving back with his own legion in mid-June, Vespasian had spent the rest of the year and all of the following training the II Augusta in embarking on and disembarking from ships until they could do it as efficiently as he thought possible; this had proved a long task as he only had one trireme available to him, the rest having been commandeered — rather short-sightedly, he thought — for the invasion fleet. Whilst the centuries had been taking it in turns to run on and off the only ship, Vespasian had got to grips with the minutiae of commanding a legion and keeping it supplied with equipment, clothing, rations and livestock. He had revelled in it as now it seemed to him that he had the best of both worlds: he was managing a very large estate and at the same time serving Rome under one of her Eagles.
What Publius Gabinius had done with the Eagle of the Seventeenth, however, Vespasian and Sabinus neither knew nor cared. It had seemed simply to disappear — certainly no official mention had been made of it. However, they were just pleased to have survived and returned to evident favour. Sabinus had kept the Nineteenth Legion’s Capricorn from Gabinius and had sent it on to Pallas in Rome in the hope that it would help him in his power struggle with Callistus and also in recognition of his appointment as legate of the XIIII Gemina, the reason for which still mystified the two brothers. Sabinus had written to tell Vespasian that he had received no acknowledgement of the gift but neither had he received any indication that his life was still in danger, so he felt that he could assume now that his part in the assassination of Caligula had been forgotten by the very few people who knew about it. Vespasian, for his part, had been pleased that his family now seemed to be on even terms with Claudius’ three freedmen, on a personal level at least. Fom a professional point of view, however, the freedmen’s constant infighting had meant that the preparations for the invasion had not been straightforward. Each used his own sphere of influence to affect the planning in a way that would reflect well on themselves and badly on their two colleagues. Orders of artillery pieces had been doubled and then abruptly cancelled, before being reordered but at only half the original amount of engines. Gold and silver coin had been despatched from the mint at Lugdunum in the south of the province only for it to have been recalled after travelling almost half the distance north. Ships had disappeared and then reappeared a few days later but with half the complement of crewmen. But most disruptively, conflicting orders as to the timing, speed and objectives of the invasion had come on a regular basis sending Aulus Plautius into fits of rage at the civilian interference in what was, quite obviously, an exclusively military endeavour.
‘Perhaps Narcissus’ arrival might be a good thing after all,’ Vespasian mused as they rode past the first of the four vast legionary and auxiliary camps surrounding Gesoriacum.
Magnus wiped his eyes; despite his sporting of a widerimmed, leather hat, the rain still streamed down his face. ‘In that now he’s here he can change his mind as many times a day as he likes, rather than just when the courier leaves?’
‘I mean that perhaps if he’s here to see for himself the massive exercise in logistics that’s being undertaken then he might refrain from interfering.’
‘And the Emperor will no doubt start going through the day without drooling.’
‘Thank you, prefect. I’m attaching you to the Second Augusta, you will report to Legate Vespasian after this briefing,’ Aulus Plautius said as the prefect of I Cohort Hamiorum sat back down having given his report on the state of readiness of his newly arrived eastern archers. ‘That concludes all your reports, gentlemen.’ He cast his eyes around the four legates and thirty-three auxiliary prefects sitting on folding stools in the large chamber that he used as a briefing room in his headquarters; the walls had been whitewashed, covering, Vespasian assumed, some very unmilitary frescoes. Through the two open windows the rain beat down mercilessly onto the grey, unsettled sea. ‘I think, as we can all see, there is still a great deal more work to be done in terms of filling all the quartermasters’ stores. We have enough boots, for example, for every man on the force to land in Britannia decently shod; but what happens after a month of tough campaigning in that damp climate? I will not lose infantry because of a shortage of footwear nor will I lose cavalry because of a shortage of remounts. I’ve no doubt that you have all got your quartermasters doing everything possible to redress the shortages of reserves but I feel that this is a problem that will benefit from an overall perspective.’ Plautius indicated to the almost obese man sitting next to him in a ludicrously extravagant military uniform. ‘As you know, Gnaeus Sentius Saturninus will be administering the conquered tribes and keeping an eye on the client kings as the army moves forward; it therefore makes sense if I appoint him in overall command of re-provisioning as all the supply routes will naturally run through territory administered by him.’
Sentius smiled the smile of a man who had just smelt profit.
‘That’s made it very unlikely that I shall see my entire consignment of reserve tents before we go,’ Vespasian whispered to Sabinus next to him as Plautius praised his second-incommand’s administrative abilities and integrity.
Sabinus suppressed a grin. ‘And I’ll give up looking forward to my delivery of shovels, cooking pots and grain mills arriving on time and being complete.’
‘I still don’t understand how he managed to wheedle his way into this command after suggesting a return to the Republic when Claudius became emperor.’
Sabinus shrugged. ‘Why am I legate of the Fourteenth?’
‘… and therefore, if we are to be ready by mid-June,’ Plautius was continuing, ‘so as to take advantage of the forthcoming harvest in Britannia, I expect every one of you to take your provisioning requests to Sentius.’ There was a mumble from the officers present that could have either been construed as consent to a very workable plan or resignation as to the way that resupplying the army worked; Plautius chose to believe the former. ‘Good. Tomorrow is the calends of April, which means we have seventy-five days left. Prefects, you are dismissed; legates, you will come with me to report to the imperial secretary.’
Narcissus had taken up residence on the first floor of Caligula’s villa and Vespasian was not surprised by the gaudy artwork and statuary that littered the staircase and corridors on the way to his quarters, vestiges of the brash young Emperor’s taste in interior decoration. What did surprise him, though, was the presence of Praetorian Guards on duty outside Narcissus’ suite of rooms. ‘Claudius’ freedman is taking on all the trappings of an emperor, it would seem,’ he muttered to Sabinus as a centurion left a visibly insulted Aulus Plautius standing outside the door whilst he went to enquire of the ex-slave whether he was ready to receive the general of the invasion army.
‘Perhaps the Saturnalia has been extended for the whole year but no one bothered to tell us,’ Sabinus suggested.
Vespasian glanced at the other two legates, Corvinus and the recently arrived Gnaeus Hosidius Geta, who had been given the XX in recognition of his part in the annexation of Mauretania the previous year; neither looked pleased at being made to wait upon a freedman, however powerful.
‘The imperial secretary will see you now, general,’ the centurion informed them as he opened the door.
Plautius bristled. ‘That is most gracious of him.’
Vespasian detected a look of sympathy with Plautius’ sarcasm in the centurion’s eyes as he passed into a high-ceilinged reception room, at the far end of which sat Narcissus behind a large desk; he did not get up. Any thoughts Vespasian might have had about the presumption of the freedman were abruptly curtailed as he saw, sitting by a table to the left of Narcissus, with writing materials at the ready, Caenis.