Throne of the Caesars 01 - Iron and Rust (19 page)

Only one Sassanid ahead. Priscus called to his horse, kicked his heels into its flanks. The easterner’s animal turned across their path. They were flank to flank. The Persian raised his sword for a mighty overhand stroke. Priscus thrust the tip of his blade into the man’s armpit. The way was open again.

‘Forward! Get moving!’

Priscus looked over his shoulder. Philip was there, and Sporakes. Troopers were urging their mounts up the incline. Down in the wadi, Manu was on his feet, ringed by Persians.

‘Forward! On to Singara!’

CHAPTER 12

Rome
The Carinae,
Seven Days before the Ides of May, AD235

Iunia Fadilla always smiled when she walked over the mosaic of the bath attendant with the enormous, jutting penis, its glans picked out in purple. It was the right response. All sorts of malign daemons sought out bathhouses, even those in private houses such as hers. They congregated especially in doorways. Nothing dispelled them like laughter. So everyone said.

In the
tepidarium
, she kicked off the clogs which had protected her feet from the floor of the hot room, a maid took her robe and she climbed naked on to a couch. A slight intake of breath told her masseuse the oil had not been warmed quite enough. The girl murmured an apology. You got a better massage in the Baths of Trajan. Since the ruling of the last Emperor, they remained open after dark. But, from midday, the best rooms were reserved for men; too many things were in life. And there were the complications of bothering to organize a return in the dark; the need for a litter, linkmen, guards. Perpetua was joining her, and she would have been especially silly, as tonight was the first night of the
Lemuria
, when the gates of Hades stood open. Maybe she should just sell the girl and buy a new masseuse.

The girl smoothed the scented oil up her back. Iunia Fadilla gazed at the wall decoration. Compared with those her late husband had commissioned for the bedrooms, Jupiter abducting Europa was very tame. In the form of a bull, the deity shouldered aside the waves. On his back, Europa lightly steadied herself with one hand; from the other dangled a basket of flowers. Given the turn of events – one moment innocently gathering flowers on the shore with her friends, the next crashing through the sea on the back of the lust-crazed King of the gods in bestial form – she appeared oddly unconcerned, even complacent. Perhaps Jupiter had reassured her: he would transform himself into an eagle before he raped her; and the man she would then be forced to marry was, after all, a King among men: worse things could happen to a girl a long way from home.

As the slave got to work on her shoulders, Iunia Fadilla’s breath came in little gasps, almost as if in the act of love. But her thoughts had moved to very different matters. She had decided which of the two villas on the Bay of Naples she would buy. There was a crack in one of the external walls, but the engineer had assured her it did not affect the integrity of the structure, while the other property had a problem with its supply of water and an ongoing boundary dispute. Also, the one she had chosen had more extensive vineyards. The rent they would bring should not only cover the costs of the repairs to the house, but eventually begin to offset the price of the purchase.

At midnight tonight, the first of the festival, Iunia Fadilla would perform the age-old ritual to appease the departed. She had reason to remember old Nummius fondly. Although she had inherited less than half his estate – the majority of the rest had gone to the Emperor Alexander, which ensured her huband’s distant relatives had been unable to contest their own more meagre legacies – he had left her an extremely wealthy widow. He had ensured her dowry was returned intact and, in a final act of kindness, his will had specified that she could choose her own
tutor
. Although legally in sole charge of her finances, her cousin Lucius would never dream of countermanding her wishes.

The quick
clack
clack
of shoes announced the arrival of her friend. At a glance it was obvious that Perpetua had some news that she was bursting to tell. She fidgeted as two of the maids busily pulled out pins, untied laces and removed her clothes. For once, she paused only briefly, turning slightly, inviting admiration of her naked body; engrained habits were not easily held in abeyance.

Another friend had once told Iunia Fadilla that all girls had a Sapphic side. She wondered about Perpetua. Now and then her own thoughts moved to such things. Not, of course, to the crude, grunting fantasies of men. There was nothing appealing about a mannish woman wielding a dildo. It was a sign of the arrogance of men that they could not imagine a woman finding pleasure except in a penis or its simulacrum.

‘You will never guess what has happened.’ Perpetua had not waited to settle on her couch.

You have a new lover, Iunia Fadilla thought. Or a good-looking stranger paid you a compliment when you were shopping.

‘Theoclia has been arrested. The Praetorians came for her this afternoon.’

‘Who?’

Perpetua tutted with exasperation. ‘Theoclia, the late Emperor’s sister. The one married to fat Valerius Messala. They took him too. The Praetorians kicked in their door, dragged them out into the street. They say she was half naked. They beat them in full view of everyone. The last that was seen of them, they were being thrown into a closed carriage. Apparently, they are being taken to the North, to Maximinus himself.’

‘Why?’

Perpetua rolled her eyes. ‘Treason, of course. They were involved in the conspiracy of Magnus.’

‘Have any others fallen?’

‘My brother does not think so, but his friend Poplicola is terrified. Messala is his uncle.’

Iunia Fadilla felt a shiver of vicarious fear. This was horribly near. Messala and his brother, Priscillianus, were the closest of friends with her neighbour Balbinus. The Valerii brothers were always in and out of his house.

‘What do you think will happen to them?’

They will be tortured and executed, you foolish girl, Iunia Fadilla thought. Their estates will be confiscated. Before they die, in their agony, they might implicate others, guilty and innocent alike.

‘There is no telling,’ Iunia Fadilla said.

Her heart went out to Theoclia. She remembered her now: a pretty girl, dark, and delicate-looking, in an eastern way. She had seen her several times when Alexander was on the throne. Whatever her husband might have said or done, she was unlikely to have been a part of it. Iunia Fadilla muttered a prayer. A few generations back, or a turn of the stars, and it could have been her. She was the great-granddaughter of the divine Marcus Aurelius. Thank the gods her father had been without political ambition and her husband had retired into private life after his Consulship.

‘They say—’ Perpetua lowered her voice, oblivious to the two slaves massaging them ‘—Maximinus is a monster. He went with the guards to arrest Magnus and the others, because he wanted to see the fear in their faces.’

Iunia Fadilla said nothing.

‘And when Alexander was killed, he took his head, carried it about for hours, gloating, peering into its eyes, and talking to it. They even say—’ Perpetua shuddered ‘—he outraged the corpse of the old Empress.’

Iunia Fadilla signed to her girl to stop the massage. ‘You said Maximinus had named your father as
Consul Ordinarius
for the year after next.’

‘Yes, it is wonderful,’ Perpetua said. ‘Maximinus will take up the Consulship on the
kalends
of January next year, with Pupienus Africanus, the son of the Prefect of the City, as his colleague. The following year my father will share that honour with Mummius Felix Cornelianus.’ She frowned, thinking hard. ‘Gaius said that Father has been dining with Catius Celer, the brother of the Catius Clemens who helped the gorgeous Honoratus and the other one put Maximinus on the throne. Father is to go north to serve on the imperial staff.’

Iunia Fadilla turned over on to her back. The slave girl started to massage her thighs. ‘Holding office under a monster?’

Perpetua raised herself on one elbow. ‘They are just rumours, probably all made up. Gaius said that Father said that, all things considered, the reign had not started too badly. Maximinus has taken an oath that he will not kill any Senator. Honoratus, Clemens and Vopiscus – that is the other one, Vopiscus – are all men of honour. A conspiracy has been uncovered, and there has been no persecution. Only the guilty have suffered.’

‘All Emperors take that oath,’ Iunia Fadilla said. ‘Elagabalus took that oath, and he killed them if he did not like the look of them.’

‘Father always says we should pray for good Emperors, but serve what we get.’

Iunia Fadilla actually snorted. ‘Every Senator has said that, especially when they were serving a tyrant they hated. Nummius was convinced that all reigns get worse. He was so old he remembered when Commodus came to the purple; a young man of incredible promise, before the conspiracies made him afraid and his profligacy made him avaricious. Nummius said fear and poverty were the true secrets of the empire. After a time, all Emperors kill men for their money. Accusations are no longer investigated, but believed.’

Perpetua lay face down again. ‘Perhaps someone will inform against Serenianus,’ she said quietly, ‘and then there will be no danger of my husband coming home.’

CHAPTER 13

Africa
The Town of Theveste,
Two Days before the Ides of May, AD235

Thank the gods for the baths at Theveste. Gordian had spent most of the morning in the
laconicum
. Lying in the dry heat, the sweat and alcohol had poured out of him. Now, although weak as a lamb, he felt somewhat better. Standing with the others on the top step of the temple, clad in his best parade armour, only a little queasy, he now thought he could get through the rest of the day.

It had been a good night, Bacchic in its frenzy. Alexander and his Companions had never drunk deeper. Menophilus had been less congenial than sometimes. Reverting to Stoic type, he had claimed duty called him and had left early. A shame: if you cannot rely on a man at a
symposium
, can you trust him on a battlefield? Of the others Valerian had been preoccupied throughout, but Mauricius good company and Sabinianus on sparkling form. Gordian looked along the line of waiting dignitaries and caught Sabinianus’ eye. The latter smiled back. Perhaps he had gone too far. After the others had departed, when his head was reeling from the wine, he had told Parthenope and Chione to disrobe. After they had pleasured each other, he had shared them with Sabinianus. Doubtless, many would disapprove, but he had no intention of being bound by provincial morality. Only what you share with your friends is yours for ever.

‘I do not see why we should pander to these barbarians,’ Valerian was saying. ‘Rather than negotiate with them, we should burn them out of their lairs.’

No one answered. Menophilus had his nose deep in some gilded official document.

‘If they are too remote, then we should extend the frontier defences, keep them out.’

Gordian thought the view of Valerian had much in its favour.

‘You know we cannot do that. We have to admit them.’ Mauricius spoke patiently.

Valerian grunted, not seeming mollified. At times, he had quite a capacity to be a bore. Last night, amid the food and wine and levity, he had inveighed at some length against the appointment of some new imperial Procurator. The man was a savage, a new Verres. He would not shear the provincials but flay them. They did not call him ‘the Chain’ for nothing. As the gods were Valerian’s witnesses, there would be trouble. The Africans were not the Sicilians Verres had tyrannized in the days of Cicero. Mark his words, there would be blood.

When Valerian had exhausted that topic, he had complained at length that, although his name had been put forward in the Emperor’s
consilium
, he had not replaced Julius Licinianus as governor of Dacia. After that, he had explored the causes and negative implications of the removal of one of his kinsmen by marriage from the governorship of Achaea. Egnatius Proculus had been appointed curator of roads and overseer of poor relief in a district of Italy: not quite an insult – but it had to be considered a step down. At best, Egnatius had lost his province only so that Rutilius Crispinus could take his place. But, even in that case, it indicated that the Egnatii were not high in imperial favour. And the reasons could be far worse.