The Colosseum
Vespasian bore his opposition to the measures of government with patience and silent dignity. He knew the virtues of the man, and retained a due esteem for the memory of Thrasea. Willing, on that account, to live on terms with Helvidius, he advised him to be, for the future, a silent senator. The pride of a stoic spurned at the advice. Passive obedience was so repugnant to his principles that he stood more firm in opposition. Mucianus and Eprius Marcellus, who were the favourite ministers of the emperor, were his enemies; and it is probable that, by their advice, Vespasian was at length induced to let the proceedings of the senate take their course. Helvidius was arraigned by the fathers, and ordered into custody. He was soon after banished, and, in consequence of an order despatched from Rome, put to death. It is said that Vespasian relented, and sent a special messenger to respite execution; but the blow was struck. Helvidius was, beyond all question, a determined republican. His own imprudence provoked his fate; and this, perhaps, is what Tacitus had in contemplation when he places the moderation of Agricola in contrast to the violent spirit of others, who rush on certain destruction, without being by their death of service to the public.
The case of Epponina was an instance of extreme rigour, or rather cruelty. She was the wife of Julius Sabinus, a leading chief among the Lingones. This man, Tacitus has told us, had the vanity to derive his pedigree from Julius Cæsar, who, he said, during his wars in Gaul, was struck with the beauty of his grandmother, and alleviated the toils of the campaign in her embraces. Ambitious, bold, and enterprising, he kindled the flame of rebellion among his countrymen, and, having resolved to shake off the Roman yoke, marched at the head of a numerous army into the territory of the Sequani, a people in alliance with Rome. This was 69 A.D. He hazarded a battle, and was defeated with great slaughter. His rash-levied numbers were either cut to pieces or put to flight. He himself escaped the general carnage. He fled for shelter to an obscure cottage; and, in order to propagate a report that he destroyed himself, set fire to his lurking-place.
SABINUS AND EPPONINA
By what artful stratagems he was able to conceal himself in caves and dens, and, by the assistance of the faithful Epponina, to prolong his life for nine years afterwards, cannot now be known from Tacitus. The account which the great historian promised has perished with the narrative of Vespasian’s reign. Plutarch relates the story as a proof of conjugal fidelity. From that writer the following particulars may be gleaned: Two faithful freedmen attended Sabinus to his cavern; one of them, Martialis by name, returned to Epponina with a feigned account of her husband’s death. His body, she was made to believe, was consumed in the flames. In the vehemence of her grief she gave credit to the story. In a few days she received intelligence by the same messenger that her husband was safe in his lurking-place. She continued during the rest of the day to act all the exteriors of grief, with joy at her heart, but suppressed with care. In the dead of night she visited Sabinus. Before the dawn of day she returned to her own house, and, for the space of seven months, repeated her clandestine visits, supplying her husband’s wants, and softening all his cares. At the end of that time she conceived hopes of obtaining a free pardon; and having disguised her husband in such a manner as to render a detection impossible, she accompanied him on a long and painful journey to Rome. Finding there that she had been deceived with visionary schemes, she marched back with Sabinus, and lived with him in his den for nine years longer.
In the year 79 A.D. they were both discovered, and in chains conveyed to Rome. Vespasian forgot his usual clemency. Sabinus was condemned, and hurried to execution. Epponina was determined not to survive her husband. She changed her supplicating tone, and, with a spirit unconquered even in ruin, addressed Vespasian: “Death,” she said, “has no terror for me. I have lived happier under ground, than you upon your throne. Bid your assassins strike their blow; with joy I leave a world in which you can play the tyrant.”
She was ordered for execution. Plutarch concludes with saying that during Vespasian’s reign there was nothing to match the horror of this atrocious deed; for which the vengeance of the gods fell upon Vespasian, and, in a short time after, wrought the extirpation of his whole family.[j]