Swords Around the Throne (32 page)

Behind the officers, marching in glittering array with their standards proudly adorned with images of the newly restored emperor, came the troops. First the Praetorians, then the troops from Spain: four thousand men of Legion VI Hispana Maximiana and Legion VII Gemina Maximiana. After them were the mixed detachments from the Rhine army, with their small cavalry force. To the cheers of the crowd, they marched down the length of the circus, around the curve at the far end and back up the course to form in their units before the imperial podium that overlooked the finish line.

Eight thousand men, Castus thought. They made a fine sight, worthy of a better emperor. He knew that the soldiers had already been paid their acclamation donatives: a gold piece and two pounds of silver per man. He wondered how much was left now of the hoard taken from the mint at Lugdunum. But the soldiers looked happy, as rich men often do.

Castus was standing before the lowest tier of the seating, facing out over the assembled troops with his back to the imperial podium. The altar constructed on the sand below was still smoking; the priests from the sacred fraternities of Arelate were still gathering the meat of the sacrificial animals. On the seats just behind Castus, the city councillors and the provincial governors were sitting together, all of them now pledged to Maximian's cause. No mention had been made of the emperor's son, Maxentius.

The new emperor himself sat high in the podium, red faced and impassive.
Eternal Augustus
, Castus thought to himself: that was the message of the new regime. Maximian had never abdicated with Diocletian: that had been a mere administrative error; he had been emperor all along, the Senior Augustus, entitled to rule over the entire empire... The citizens of Arelate seemed impressed anyway. But they had already benefited from the golden rays of the emperor's favour.

Castus had seen Fausta seated some distance to her father's right, dressed now in muted clothes befitting her supposed widowed status. Somewhere among those gathered around her would be Sabina, but Castus did not have time to look. Besides, he did not want to see her, did not want her to see him. It was shameful enough just having to appear in public.

Sallustius was standing four paces to his left. He had tried to apologise to Castus and Brinno already. He had been born in Rome, he had told them, he had family there. He wanted to return to his home city one day, and not with a hostile army. Brinno had just turned away in disgust. But Castus tried to forgive the man, or at least feign forgiveness. Were they not all feigning loyalty, after all?

Only the day before he had gone dutifully to the shrines of Jupiter, Isis and Sol Invictus and given sacrifice, as he had promised, for having escaped alive from the aqueduct. Perhaps, he thought, it would have been easier to have died, like Victor. But another part of him felt that his escape had been an illusion: in his soul he was still perched on that high and veering precipice, still trying to pace that narrow path above a vast and yawning void.

Horns sounded from the military array, and the delegates of the troops began to step forward and take their oaths. When all had spoken, it was the turn of the Protectores. Castus had already sworn in private, of course. This was the public display of loyalty to the new regime. In his mind was the closing phrase of the vow he had taken to Constantine in the audience hall of Treveris. The terrible penalties of disloyalty.

...I impose a curse upon myself encompassing the destruction and total extinction of my body, soul, life, children, and my entire family, so neither earth nor sea may receive their bodies nor bear fruit for them...

Turning towards the podium, towards the glowering figure of Maximian, Castus raised his hand in salute and joined his voice to the others in crying out the oath.

May the gods forgive me. May the true emperor forgive me.

But the words in his head were drowned out by the ringing cheers of the crowd.

‘By the fucking almighty balls of Jove, why is he still
alive
?'

Maximian's roar echoed through the audience chamber and out to the corridor. Standing guard beside the open doors, Castus resisted the urge to turn and glance back into the room. The new emperor had been drinking since just after lunch; it was dusk now. Castus had seen Maximian drunk often enough, but had never witnessed him so angry. The news of Constantine's rapid advance southward from the Rhine had arrived only hours before.

‘Didn't I tell you to see to it?' he yelled. ‘Why did I make you Praetorian Prefect, Scorpianus, if you couldn't even manage that? You were supposed to send men to kill him, not warn him! How hard is it?'

On the far side of the door, Sallustius stood motionless. When he glanced across at him, Castus saw the face of his former friend creased with embarrassed anguish. Scorpianus was speaking now, his measured tones tight with discomfort.

‘Most Sacred Augustus,' the Praetorian Prefect said, ‘I assure you that the men we sent were the very best. They were apprehended on the road – some traitor must have given warning... But they will give nothing away, even under the fiercest torture...'

A sudden ringing crash: Maximian had either thrown his cup at the wall or kicked over a table. Castus could hear his snarls of outrage, his stamping strides as he paced from one side of the room to the other.

‘So now,' Maximian said in a low growl, ‘my bastard son-in-law is marching against me. He dares! He dares march against the
Man Like Hercules
! That horse-faced fraud. I never liked him, Scorpianus. He has no sense of fucking humour.'

Castus heard the prefect making sounds of assent. There were several others in the audience hall, but they were sensibly keeping quiet.

‘And to think,' Maximian went on, ‘I made his father everything he was! I raised him up, his father Constantius, with my own hand, do you know that?'

‘Yes, your divinity,' Scorpianus replied.

‘Appointed him my prefect, then my Caesar... And this is how his son repays me, can you credit it? Where are the gods? Where is justice?'

‘I don't know, your divinity.'

For a while they fell silent, and Castus strained to hear what was happening. He kept his head motionless, staring across the corridor at the darkening windows above the courtyard. A chair grunted on the marble floor, then Maximian spoke again.

‘Haven't we got people in his retinue? I am the Senior Augustus, the
Maximum
Augustus, of the entire Roman Empire, and if I want somebody to die they are
dead
!'

‘Quite right, emperor,' Scorpianus told him crisply. ‘We have many agents, as you know. One of them will see to him before long...'

‘Or maybe one of
his
will see to
me
, eh?' Maximian broke in. ‘Half my people are traitors anyway – betrayed one emperor, could betray another...'

‘Oh, no, divinity. Your troops and officers are devoted to your cause...'

But the emperor's mood had clearly shifted. There was another silence, and then Maximian spoke again in an imploring voice.

‘I never asked to fight Constantine!' he cried. ‘The gods know I did not! I would have ruled by his side. He could have been my subordinate, my Caesar, as his father was before him. I could even have loved him, as a son-in-law. But no!'

‘Sacred Augustus, the gods have decreed your rule...'

‘Shut up!' the emperor shouted, and Castus could almost see Scorpianus flinch. The shout died away in echoes.

‘Surrounded by traitors,' Maximian said. ‘My daughter's no better – I told her what to do! I told her to wave those huge tits of hers around a bit more. He'd soon have given up that dry old stick Minervina then, and we'd have an heir to cement the union! But, no, she'd rather sulk and pout and stuff her face, the pig...'

Silence from Scorpianus, and the others in the room. Castus was not surprised; they had learned by now that it was never wise to agree too strongly with Maximian's outbursts. The emperor had an unnervingly acute memory.

‘Send those two guards in here!' he demanded suddenly. Castus tensed, and caught Sallustius doing the same. A moment later, Scorpianus stepped through the doors and gestured to both of them.

They followed him back into the audience chamber. Maximian was slumped on a carved wooden chair set upon the low dais in the centre. Only ten days had passed since he had been acclaimed Augustus once more, but he seemed to have aged years. His face was flushed and pouched, his hair and bristling beard run through with grey, and the hands that gripped the arms of the chair were corded with veins. Shards of shattered glass and pottery on the floor showed the evidence of the emperor's rage. The two Protectores stamped to a halt at a respectful distance, saluted, and dropped to kneel before him.

‘Am I your emperor?' Maximian growled.

‘Yes, dominus,' both men said in unison. Castus kept his eyes locked on the tiled floor, but he could sense the emperor looming over him.

‘Yes? So if I ordered you to go and kill Constantine, you'd do it?'

A pause. Castus felt the blood rushing to his head. The prospect was dizzying – terrible and enticing at the same time. Escape from Maximian's court – but then what? Would he even be believed if he tried to report the truth?

Maximian was still waiting for an answer. Scorpianus bent closer, spoke under his breath.

‘What?' the emperor said, frowning. ‘Oh, maybe not, then. It seems even my own guards are not to be trusted!'

‘Your divinity, that wasn't what I meant... We have other agents, more versatile...'

‘Versatile!'
Maximian spat the word. ‘Send that bastard Constantine to me and we'll fight it out, man to man! Then we'll see who the gods favour...'

Castus slowly eased out a breath. There was another man speaking now, and it took a moment for Castus to recognise the surprised-looking civilian who had visited the torture room with Scorpianus and the eunuch. He recalled his name: Aelius Macrobius, the governor of the Viennensis diocese.

‘Our latest reports, most sacred emperor,' the man said, his voice smoothly urbane, ‘suggest that Constantine is moving south with only a small contingent of men, no more than three or four thousand. He has been obliged to leave the bulk of his army on the Rhine, to guard against the barbarians. Also, he has no siege engines and only a limited supply train – his men are already on half-rations.'

‘Really?' Maximian said with renewed enthusiasm. ‘No engines? Four thousand men?' He began to laugh, smacking his fist into his palm. ‘Then the gods truly are on my side, at last! Once my son sends his four legions and two thousand
clibanarii
across the Alps, we'll smash Constantine easily! We'll smear his little army all over the plains of the Rhodanus!'

‘It also seems, dominus,' Macrobius went on, with the faint smile of a man who knows his news is good, ‘that Ulpius Caesianus, the governor of Raetia Prima, has now declared for Maxentius. Thus cutting all land communication between Constantine's territories and those of his erstwhile ally Licinius on the Danube.'

‘Even better!' Maximian declared. He jumped up from his seat, letting his gold-embroidered purple robe slide heavily from his shoulders. ‘Once he finishes off the rebellion in Africa, Maxentius can use Raetia as a bridgehead across the Alps to strike at Licinius's western flank, while I deal with Constantine here in Gaul. By winter we'll be masters of half the world!'

Castus was still kneeling on the floor, trying not to glance up at the emperor. Maximian was pacing fiercely again, fists clasped behind his back. Scorpianus made a quick gesture, then pointed sharply at the door. Rising, the two Protectores gave another salute, but the emperor ignored them as they backed silently out of the room.

Night had fallen by the time Castus made his way back towards his quarters. A southern night: the air felt warm and soft, and every lamp along the portico was hazed with a nimbus of tiny wings. The steady chirrup of insects came from the gardens. He was still turning over Macrobius's news, still trying to determine how much of it might be true, and what it might mean. As he stepped through the passage from the garden portico and entered the darker enclosed courtyard beyond, he was too distracted at first to notice the figure waiting between the pillars of the colonnade.

‘Domina,' he said quietly as she approached him. There were others with her, a pair of slaves, a maid, a eunuch bodyguard, but they hung back at a discreet distance.

‘What happened today?' Sabina asked him, drawing very close. Castus felt himself enfolded in her scent, her presence; but she was scared too, and he could sense it. The imperial household was a place of spies, and it was dangerous to be seen talking with anyone.

‘You heard him, the emperor?'

‘I think half of Arelate heard him. What was he so angry about?'

Briefly he filled in the details of the afternoon's and evening's news: the rapid approach of Constantine, the size of his army, Maximian's swoops from rage to triumphant hubris. Sabina took his arm.

‘Then he'll fight?' They were walking together, around the turning of the pillared portico into the deeper shadow.

‘He says so.'

‘But what do you think?'

Castus frowned, only now beginning to consider some of the things he had heard. ‘Constantine has no siege engines,' he said. ‘I think after a while Maximian might remember that.'

‘But that makes no difference! The walls of Arelate are falling down – an army could just walk straight in through the breaches!'

‘Maybe they could here. But there are cities in Gaul with stronger walls.'

He felt Sabina shudder. She drew the shawl tighter at her neck. ‘Is there any news of the fighting in Africa?' she asked.

‘None,' Castus told her. He remembered that her husband was there, supporting the rebel Domitius Alexander.