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In the home of Vespasian the next day, Clemens was facing his own judgment. He expected the sword of Titus Junior to rip through him as it had Helvidius, who had done far less to unseat the Imperator than he himself had done. Yet the sword remained in its scabbard as Vespasian Senior grilled him before a select group of magistrates. And he did his best to keep it there. He answered every question truthfully and thoroughly. Yes, he had transferred out loyal Flavians to transfer in malcontents. Yes, he had poisoned his remaining legions against Germania Inferior to prevent that province’s forces from stopping him. Yes, he had stolen cartloads of spoils before they had been processed, so there was no record of them nor would existing records have to be rigged. Yes, he had heard of the lack of troops in Rome, which gave him the idea. And yes, he had intended to use his troops to make himself Master of the World, though he had cancelled that ambition at the very last minute. He was no Imperator, barely a good general. As shown by the display of strength in the Forum and along the Via Triumphalis, he might have military skills but the farseeing vision needed by a true Imperator was lacking.
“So true,” smiled Vespasian. “I am glad you came to your senses. We old warhorses should stick together, not fight each other. You acknowledge your place under me, and for your support and the good deeds you have done up north, I shall not have you killed. You are of course finished as far as politics go, and are banished from Rome and her senate. I shall not make that public, in accordance with the wishes of my older son to whom you have been a mentor, but I expect you not to violate this private decree.”
Clemens was astounded. He was not to be killed? “I am forgiven, as long as I retire?”
Vespasian nodded. “Your sudden return to devotion there in the Forum granted you a pardon. I would not have more Roman blood marring my reign, but I would not have allowed my reign to end at the point of your swords either. You spared my reputation, so I would spare yours.”
“I am grateful,” Clemens noted. And he meant it.
“Does this pardon extend to crimes committed during his tenure as governor?” asked one of the men moving through the magistrates to the front. Clemens looked the young man over, but recognized him or his rank. He had trouble even determining the man’s class, or if he was even a citizen. He had blonde hair with highlights of red, dressed as a barbarian in tunic and trousers, yet wore an iron ring on his finger and red sandals- the marks of a senator.
A Germanophile. He must be one of the new toadies, favored by the Imperator due to some rich father or uncle.
“It depends on the crime,” Vespasian decided. “I would have this entire episode washed under the Sublician Bridge into the Tiber and out to sea where it may be forgotten. Let us remember the conquest, and the triumph- but nothing else. Rome needs good news now to heal, especially with the bandit problem soon coming to a close.”
“I have a grievance against this man,” the young senator continued. “Murder. He ordered my family slain.”
Vespasian turned to Clemens. “You have been a very bad man indeed. Is any of this true?”
Clemens looked again at the man, but nothing rang a bell within his tattered mind. He shook his head in wonder. “I do not know what this young toady is talking about. He lies.”
Vespasian crossed his arms- a bad omen, thought Clemens.
“It was this young quaestor who told me of your troop transfers,” Vespasian informed the triumphator, ”and the closing of the passes, and the isolation of Italia from any forces that might come to help. He also told me of your intentions, and how to dissuade you from rash action. You yourself have just confessed to all. If he has not lied about any of that, why do you claim he lies now?”
Clemens stared at the blonde quaestor who had foiled all of his well-laid and detailed plans, but his eyes betrayed no hint of recognition. “Because I have never laid eyes on him before, Titus. Why would I order slain the family of a man I do not know?”
Vespasian turned to the accusing senator and lifted an eyebrow.
The senator was outwardly calm, though seething inside. He ordered the death of myself and my family, and had never even laid eyes on me? Trembling only slightly, he brought forth some scrolls from his belt pouch. “These letters speak another tale. You wrote them to Cordinus Gallicus, detailing actions which you did not witness, giving false motives to their consequences, and implying that a coward abandoned his men to their deaths- which led to the deaths of your own cousins. I was there when Sextus Cornelius stupidly charged grounded spears and spitted himself, and when your cousin Livius lost four cohorts attacking a much stronger Cananefate position after my cohorts were slaughtered. No Roman survived in the legion led by your cousin Decimus, which was ambushed by the Cananefate King Brinno far from where our II Vorena went down. This was the result of one man’s greed- that of Vorenus Carnifex, who thought our Friends and Allies worthy pickings. It was his greed that led to the deaths of your family- not the actions of the one tribune in the entire army who escaped the slaughter.” Rutilius lifted his hair to show the scar on his brow. “Here is where the shield of Oddmund knocked me from the saddle senseless. I escaped the slaughter because they thought me dead, and I got away before they could come back and check. By that time the battle was sealed. Do you still not know who I am?”
Clemens shivered. “You are Rutilius.”
“Correct. Now answer my question. Know in your heart that I have caught your sell-sword Burgis and crucified him. He talked on the cross. I have witnesses, Roman witnesses. Some of them are here in Rome as well, ready to testify.”
Clemens folded internally, like a house of cards caught in a windstorm. He sagged physically, but his pride would not let him collapse as visibly as his guts. He looked once again at the blonde man dominating the scene and nodded. “I hired Burgis to do as you said,” he admitted.
Another man came forward. Like Rutilius, this one was blond, but grubby. Another Germanophile, he thought, Or even a true Germanic. In his mental hole of desperation and defeat, he did not at first recognize the arcanus he had sent to investigate Rutilius. This one too plagued him with questions as to his conduct up north. He ended with: “You then fed the Germans our plans and objectives.”
It was not a question.
Again the broken man nodded. He remembered Roscius now. “My quaestor had contacts in Rome feeding him details as to what Cordinus and Rutilius were to do. I allowed him to send them to the Germans, that they may embarrass Cordinus and kill Rutilius. With Cordinus defeated, my own operations would be seen to be that much more impressive and earn me a triumph. I knew from my own sources of the rising bandit problem and how that was to be solved- there were only praetorians in all of Italia. It all came together by itself.”
“Was Helvidius Priscus one of these contacts?” Vespasian asked sharply, interrupting the string of hideous allegations- to which all had been confessed. The trial of Helvidius in his garden still plagued him. Had he ordered the death of a conspiring traitor, or merely an arrogant opponent who had actually done nothing wrong? He had to know.
“He was in the group,” Clemens related, receiving an audible sigh of relief from his Imperator. But that sigh ended sharply as he continued, “But neither of us had ever received anything of value from him. We heard from Gaius Mallius mostly, and once from another. Helvidius Priscus was oblivious to the true nature of the group as far as I could figure.”
Vespasian sat down hard. Helvidius Priscus was as guiltless as he claimed to be. Still, he could catch another snake. “Was this other man Aulus Caecina?”
Clemens shook his head with a soft laugh. “I had corresponded with Caecina many times. He asked questions, but rarely answered those I posed. I had the impression he was searching for something, but I did not know what. The other man, he who sent the detailed operations plan we forwarded to a Germanic king, he remains unknown.”
“That other man was my younger son,” Vespasian informed him. He believed Caecina now, though he still did not like the man. “Domitianus sent the plans, claiming he did so to dissuade another from using the army of Germania Inferior from doing what you tried.”
Clemens now understood the clemency shown. Domitian was involved. Vespasian could not punish Clemens openly without dragging his own flesh and blood into the pot. Thus the pardon and private exile- to protect his own. And thus the pardon would also be extended to cover the entire plot. That granted him a bubble of safety. Or so he thought.
“He confesses treason and murder,” Rutilius summarized, “actions taken outside of the pardon you granted for his almost-usurpation. Roman law prescribes the punishment for these crimes to be death. If it pleases you, Imperator, I would like to personally execute the sentence.”
Clemens turned sharply toward Vespasian, his old friend. Surely he would not back away from his promised pardon now, not with his own son involved.
“There will be no need of that,” the Imperator said, with true sorrow in his voice. “Gnaeus Clemens is broken, and now a political exile. To a man of power such as he was, a fate worse than death. There is no need for a trial.”
“Murder and treason are not reasons enough for a trial?” shouted Rutilius in utter disbelief. “Then what, pray tell, is? Scribbling graffiti on the bathhouse walls? Using harsh language?”
Vespasian shot an eyebrow up, while Cerealis beside him made a hushing gesture with his hands. Then the Imperator suppressed a small laugh and inquired gently of his brother-in-law, “Did you know your protégé had such a temper?”
“His loss is great, Titus,” Cerealis replied sternly. “His wife, his son, and his adopted son were slain at the orders of Clemens.”
“So what?” Clemens swore bitterly. “She was a barbarian. There are thousands more just like her.”
“She was barbarian,” Rutilius replied hotly. “Noble, rich, proven fertile, and a Roman citizen!”
“Says you,” snarled Clemens.
“Says I as well,” Cerealis countered. “She was of a family given the citizenship by Agrippa himself. Did you know that the adopted son of Rutilius was my natural son, Gnaeus? Born of a tryst I enjoyed while recuperating from wounds- wounds which might have killed me had not Rutilius here assumed command and saved the army. Claudia Sacrate helped me heal, and later bore my son. Rutilius married her, and she bore him a son. Your bunglers killed both boys and their mother, all three Roman citizens.”
Clemens drew in a sharp breath. Rutilius had married a citizen? One who had born Cerealis a son? By the gods, he had not known!
“There will be no trial,” Vespasian repeated. His tone suggested a finality- there would be no discussion.
Clemens let out a sigh of relief. Vespasian was known to be a very loyal to his friends- though Clemens had thought he no longer belonged to that exclusive group after the fiasco the day before. Now Vespasian was proving Clemens had been forgiven- and doing it at the expense of his duty to Rome. He never thought further- that it was exactly that duty to Rome which prevented him from having his heir slice him to ribbons that very instant.
“Clemens is retiring to his villa in Ancona,” Vespasian continued. Titus and Rutilius noticed the sharp edge in the old man’s voice, though it was missed by the others- for the moment- until it grew sharper still as he continued. “Where our treasury quaestors have been inventorying the contents of wagonloads of spoils that had mistakenly come into his household goods instead of finding their way to Rome as they should. As a retired senator and triumphator, he will remain in his villa for the rest of his days, basking in his past glory and knowing he will never again have to put up with coming to boring senatorial gatherings. Verily, he will never set foot in Rome again, or within two hundred miles of here.”
“And since he will come no closer to Rome than two hundred miles, he will have no further need of his extensive latifundia in Etruria, or his estates on the coast north of Rome,” Vespasian continued. “These lands he will gift to you, Marcus Rutilius Lupus, as recompense for the anguish his misguided actions may have caused.”
“You rob me of millions!” wailed Clemens.
He was ignored.
“You rob me of vengeance, lord!” wailed Rutilius. “My murdered family cries from beyond the grave to be avenged.”
“Your adopted son was my nephew, Marcus Rutilius Lupus,” Vespasian declared. His voice was tainted with sadness. “Thus a member of my family died in that attack as well. I may be divine- or soon will be- but not even I can restore your family to you. I can, however, compensate for the loss.”
“With my millions!” wailed Clemens.
Vespasian did not ignore the outburst this time, He turned on him like a snake biting an impudent rat. “Your murderers spilled Flavian blood, Cornelius Clemens. Be very glad I take only your Etrurian lands, and not all your lands and your life as well.”
“I could invoke my right to a trial,” Clemens countered stiffly. “You and I both know how that will end.”
So did Rutilius, who had experienced first-hand the blind loyalty to class shown by those in power. It did not matter the crime or the evidence- a jury of senators would never convict a fellow senator for the murder of lesser people. To those obstinate fools, anyone not of their class or had blood that was neither as ancient nor noble was beneath them. Rutilius was a senator, but originally of the Third Class- a peon. His wife was a barbarian despite her citizenship, and their children mongrel half-bloods. No jury of senators would convict Clemens of their murder. They would probably call it cleaning house.
Thus he was left with no choice. He had made his decision back in Colonia and now was the only opportunity he would have. The murderer of his family was before him. He had a dagger sheathed at his belt. It was simple mathematics.
As quick as the move of his hand to his dagger’s hilt was, Roscius was quicker. The arcanus was suddenly before him and closed his fist over that of the quaestor and pushed the dagger back into its sheath. He leaned close and whispered, “He is not worth it, Marcus. He is not worth your life.”
Rutilius hissed in reply, “You know my oath- he shall die by this dagger.”
“You have a wife and son back in Germania,” Roscius reminded him. This Claudia must have been one hell of a woman to inspire such passion even after her death! He added in a low whisper, to the ear of Rutilius alone, “Remember what I told you the day Burgis died. Patience.”
Rutilius relaxed slightly, and let his hand fall away from his dagger. Roscius removed the blade quickly, lest its presence tempt the quaestor again. Or the praetorians could react to its airing with their own steel.
Vespasian watched with interest the interplay between the two, and hissed a breath of relief when the arcanus disarmed the angry quaestor. Just as he could not have Clemens killed without ripping Rome apart, neither could he live with himself if Rutilius was killed by his praetorians so soon after saving his throne. And death at the hands of the praetorians would be the only outcome if he had drawn that dagger in the presence of the Master of the World.
He had to act, or both men would die. One deservedly, and the other a victim of circumstance. His own honor determined which side he would choose in that duel.
“Clemens, I could invoke my wrath and end your life before the next word vomits forth from your mouth,” Vespasian retorted sharply. “There will be no trial. As consul, I so order it. Now, Gnaeus Clemens, you have a choice to make. You either surrender the lands I named to Lupus and retire to Ancona, or you die right here and Lupus will inherit all of your lands. I can confiscate them, you know. Making hereditary the power of the censor was a stroke of genius by old Augustus. Shall I demonstrate that power now?”
Clemens was beaten. He knew how close he had come to violent death- his toga was almost soiled from below. He owed the arcanus his life. Antagonizing the Imperator would be just as bad- or worse. “No, Imperator,” he said lowly, with head hung low in defeat. Those dead by the hands of praetorians often lost their wealth as well as their life, leaving their heirs penniless. He had two sons who even now would have to struggle to qualify for their father’s seat in the Senate. He could afford no further loss. “No trial. I shall make the arrangements tomorrow.”
“Tonight,” Vespasian corrected. “Tomorrow morning you will be busy on the Capitoline, going over your books with the Treasury. After that, you will be packing up your Roman residence- which you will give to Quintus Cerealis who lost a natural son to your brigands- and then retiring to Ancona. So make the arrangements tonight, while you still have time.”
Clemens wisely kept his mouth shut. He could read the situation well enough- every protest he put forth would be smacked down and more property lost. His sons would drop from the Senate to the Third Class, if not the Fourth or even the Fifth. He nodded instead. Then took his unspoken dismissal and left the room.
Roscius took the opportunity to remove Rutilius from the chamber as well, not needing the gentle hint from Titus Junior. A few minutes later, only Vespasian and his family were left in the chamber.
“Someone bring this old warhorse some wine,” he said, as he sank into his couch. “And do not even think about cutting it with water.”
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