Usurpers

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Usurpers Page 16

by Q V Hunter


  She turned to one of her girls, who lifted a large travelling sack off the ground and then, with a portentous clunk, dropped it back down.

  ‘There are no more words needed between the good Vetranio and myself today,’ Constantia said. ‘I have to eat and rest. Tomorrow morning, I’ll reward Vetranio for his loyalty to our family before his assembled legions.’

  Fumbling with his sword pommel, Vetranio cleared his throat and stroked his stubbly jowls. His sidelong glance reminded me of a guilty man who’s been caught plucking olives off his neighbor’s trees, as he cried, ‘Eat up, gentlemen, eat!’

  The preserved figs, fish paste flavored with capers, fresh bread and chunks of roasted lamb with anchovy gravy was as good as promised, but I noticed that Constantia ate only food separately prepared and tasted by her women. Her studied chewing while we feasted didn’t make for a jolly breakfast. I was relieved at last to leave the table.

  I accompanied Gregorius and Gaiso into a tent lent to them for the stay and helped the Commander out of his riding gear. A small iron brazier heated the shelter but it was a mixed blessing. Its goatskin walls reeked of the eight busy men who usually occupied the space, giving off the familiar perfume of leather and sweat, washing oils, wet tunics and riding tackle.

  ‘What’s in her sack?’ was Gaiso’s first question to Gregorius.

  ‘It was too solid for coins.’

  Gaiso shrugged. ‘We’re the ones who brought bribes, just in case.’

  Gregorius’ twisted mouth attempted an ironic sneer. ‘Just in case is now. She may be on the run, but she doesn’t seem short of money and nor, it seems, does Vetranio if he enjoys her support. The troops love that old man and they’ll march whichever way he pushes them—East or West.’

  Gregorius had forgotten I was there. I finished storing his gear and commented, ‘As you always said, Commander, an officer is loved by his men only because he loves and looks after them. Do these troops think Magnentius loves them?’

  They looked at me. I picked up my dispatch satchel and left. Then I eavesdropped outside the back of the tent.

  I heard Gaiso ask Gregorius. ‘Do we dare? In broad daylight?’

  ‘There are too many centurions and legates out there. The shares of this wouldn’t be large enough to make any difference.’

  ‘We have to try. We buy ourselves claques of supporters—but we’re careful. We distribute only to faces we can trust, any man we know or any unit we’ve fought with. Leave it to me.’

  The night closed in early. As the two senior men dossed down on cots, I went off to discover a corner for myself nearby. I drafted notes for Apodemius on my wax tablet by torchlight and kept an eye on their tent.

  Sure enough, well past midnight, I saw four figures leave the tent. One of them had a slight limp. Another wore a kerchief around his head. They were carrying heavy saddlebags. I heard the chink of Magnentius’ coins as they snuck away down the empty lane of silent tents and disappeared in all directions through the rows of tents.

  I didn’t enjoy spying on my own travelling companions, but I still worked for the Empire. For me, during these confusing times, that meant Apodemius.

  ***

  The first day of March dawned over mountains glowing lavender, orange and blue. I’d slept well. It was great to be lying once again on honest ground in a bedroll near a campfire, my head wrapped in a wool blanket and my eyes opening in the morning to the last star of the night sky. I felt again the simplicity of my years as bodyguard to the commander. The possibility of liberation from volo to agens, from slave to freedman, hadn’t entered my mind in those innocent days.

  The horns sounded an hour before dawn. There was freezing river water for my travel basin and warm honey cakes from a canteen tent. I shaved and washed, then headed off for the IV Flavia’s messenger team to make myself known to them. Every Roman army camp in the Empire stood staked out along the same layout. I knew where they’d be. I was nearly at their tent when more horns summoned the legions from their breakfast routines.

  Suddenly, I was caught up in a tide of hundreds upon hundreds of men trotting in the opposite direction towards the central parade ground in front of Vetranio’s tents.

  More trumpets blew and I answered the summons too, running alongside infantry and cavalry, medics and ironmongers, surveyors and engineers. It was impossible to get to the front of so many men massing loosely now, as trained, into their units, so I stood in the rear.

  Vetranio shouted to the assembly, ‘Here is your Augusta, paying respects to the men who march under the pennants of bull, Pegasus, Capricorn and lion!’

  A cheer from the men on both sides blasted my eardrums.

  ‘Loyal soldiers,’ Constantia shouted, pulling back her cloak hood to reveal her fabulous jewels and elaborate hairdo, ‘I bring you a message from my last and most beloved brother, your Emperor, Constantius II. Putting all consideration for family and private interests aside, although he mourns our brother Constans’ death deeply, he shows where his duty to you lies. He will fight on at the frontier, defending Roman Mesopotamia from our enemies in Persia, until the end of this year.’

  I could imagine Gaiso’s smile at this news. Now Magnentius had longer to consolidate his hold on the Western Empire.

  Or not—because Constantia continued, ‘In his stead, my brother asks you, the Empire’s most faithful fighters, to accept as your Emperor in his stead your own Vetranio, the Commander of all the Danubian and Illyrian forces. He sends this diadem to his loyal servant Vetranio to signify how sincerely he confers his authority and favor.’

  The troops relayed this announcement back through the ranks with a hushed gabble of excitement. Out of her mysterious sack, Constantia now produced a finely wrought circle of gold, studded with amber, garnets and emeralds. The heavy figure of Vetranio stooped over as she placed it on his thinning hair. For a moment, it looked like slipping off his balding pate but he straightened it and stood up to receive the acclaim of his legions.

  He gave an awkward smile and looked right and then left as if sure that any moment, Constantius himself would gallop through the parade ground and snatch the diadem right off his head.

  ‘Hail, Vetranio!’ Constantia screamed. She reached into the sack again and within seconds had placed a flowing purple cloak across his shoulders.

  ‘Hail, Vetranio!’ shouted the cohorts who were standing far forward, well beyond my sight but just beneath her boots. They started up a rhythm of swords beating on shields.

  ‘Hail Vetranio AND Magnentius!’ came a sudden shout from a soldier deep inside the ranks far to my right and underneath the bull standards.

  ‘HAIL Vetranio AND MAGNENTIUS!’ More shouting rose into the gray dawn, matched with enthusiastic stamping. Vetranio’s smile wavered and froze into a grimace. Constantia’s shoulders heaved under her thick, soft cloaks with rising fury.

  So everyone’s bribes had worked only too well and the troops, their pockets full of gold from all directions, ended the assembly in a stalemate of enthusiasm.

  Much embarrassed, the abashed General Vetranio rubbed his sagging chin and told Gaiso he was willing to co-rule with everybody for the peace and security of both East and West. After all, the late Emperor Diocletian had allowed for four heads of state under his Tetrarchy, so three should be no problem.

  From the speed with which Constantia’s caravan abandoned the tent camp for the comforts of the city of Sirmium, it seemed the illiterate old man had promised the Constantine family the very same thing.

  Vetranio might have been a poor scholar, but he was a good enough field tactician. He waved goodbye to our retreating delegation with a disingenuous smile—one imperial diadem, two rival emperors and an augusta in his worn-out army kit.

  Chapter 11, Fetching an Empress

  —the Palace at Aquileia—

  ‘There is no other conclusion. You both failed. Where’s your Constantine Empress?’ Marcellinus shouted across the council table at Gregorius and Gaiso.

  I
’d just entered the room to collect the late morning dispatches. I suspected things were going badly. The meeting had lasted too long. Even if there were no late morning dispatches, it was essential that I report the debate to Apodemius. Marcellinus was going to use this upset to gain the upper hand over Magnentius’ military advisers. He had never liked the idea of a Constantine retinue, even a distaff one, invading his ‘reformed’ regime.

  ‘Not entirely,’ Magnentius said. ‘From what I’ve heard this last hour, if they hadn’t swayed the Illyrian troops with their long night of bribing, we’d be facing two—maybe even four—hostile legions fencing us off from the East, with its riches. Isn’t rebuilding our economy your department, Marcellinus? You should be grateful to these men. We’ve had a close shave.’

  ‘You still have no bride,’ Marcellinus insisted. ‘As you’ll recall, Your Excellency, marriage to a Constantine was not my idea. Better to be rid of them than to wed them. We were halfway there. Now these bunglers have only showed our hand to be suppliant and weak.’

  Magnentius didn’t honor Marcellinus with an immediate answer. ‘Where’s my ring?’

  ‘Here, General,’ Gaiso returned the clunky boulder to its owner.

  ‘There’s no point in trying the little sister?’

  ‘None.’ Gregorius shook his head. ‘That would be a religious misstep that would turn all the bishops of the West against you. You’ve printed anti-Arian Christian symbols on your coins. It’s too late to woo an Arian.’

  ‘Well, scrape the barrel, men! Surely there are more kittens in that golden litter? Constantius massacred his uncles and cousins, but he didn’t slaughter all the little girls as well, did he?’

  I spotted Gaiso suppressing a smile. Gregorius suddenly had to straighten his cross belt.

  Marcellinus smelled victory. ‘You should marry a Gallo-Roman noblewoman, Imperator. I have a list of candidates—’

  ‘Yes, Marcellinus, I know your cronies are thick on the ground up north, but it’s too late for that. I’m the Emperor now! I want peace with Constantius and I need a Constantine female for the Roman Senate’s approval.’

  ‘Then choose a Roman,’ Gregorius said, looking up with a crooked smile. ‘Choose a Roman Constantine.’ He rose to his feet and beamed at Gaiso and Silvanus. ‘I’ve just remembered someone.’

  All eyes shot to Marcellinus, who scowled down the council table but nodded for Gregorius to continue.

  ‘Thank you, Magister Officiorum. She’s the daughter of Justus, Your Excellency, a praetorian prefect of Licinius. His mother was a Neratius and his father—my own father knew him well— was Vettius Justus, consul in—’

  ‘That’s still a plus?’ Magnentius interrupted him with a barbarian’s dismissive sniff.

  ‘Consul is a double plus, Imperator.’

  ‘Well, good. Titianus has fixed it up that Gaiso and I will be elected consuls later this year and Decentius next year, isn’t that so, men?’

  Gaiso gave the Emperor a brisk nod of satisfaction. ‘Ave.’

  Gregorius plowed on. ‘More important, the candidate’s mother is the daughter of Julius Constantius and his first wife Galla. Julius Constantius was the son of Constantius Chlorus and therefore a half-brother of Constantine I, making this young lady the great-granddaughter of the great Chlorus himself and some kind of cousin to the Emperor Constantius himself.’

  Magnentius rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘My God, do you Romans really carry these family trees around in your heads? It’s a miracle your brains aren’t as tangled as an hedge row, Gregorius.’

  ‘It can be useful,’ Gregorius said, resuming his seat with an air of triumph.

  ‘Not for much longer,’ Marcellinus thrust in. He turned to Magnentius. ‘Happily, we live in modern times when courage and wits, not lineage, make the man. Forget this Roman brat.’

  Gregorius took a patient breath. ‘The lady was born in Picenum while her father served as governor there. Her name is Julia. No, I beg your pardon. Justina. Yes, of course, Justina Piceni.’

  ‘More Roman than Constantine, I’ll bet,’ Marcellinus sneered.

  Silvanus slammed his palm on the table, ‘She sounds perfect.’

  Gregorius nodded his thanks.

  ‘I just hope she doesn’t pray too much,’ Gaiso muttered.

  Magnentius rose and strode down the length of the table. He handed the bulky gold ring to Gregorius.

  ‘Tell her father I’m kind with women,’ he said. ‘Propose the old-fashioned way, Atticus, the Roman way, whatever it is. And fetch her yourself. Gaiso would race her back at such speed, she might not arrive in one piece and Silvanus is too handsome.’

  Only I noticed that Gregorius gulped through acceptance of this honor. Once he had been compared to Adonis himself. Now he looked more like Cyclops.

  ***

  ‘You said, Magister Apodemius, that there would be another agens on this posting. Either I misunderstood you or my colleague is a champion of discretion and disguise.’

  The old man chuckled with satisfaction. Swaddled in fine wools against the chill of a broken heating system, he sat huddled behind his desk. There was a small pot of water boiling eucalyptus leaves in the corner. It filled the room with a cleansing cloud. From time to time, the deaf masseuse came into the office and refreshed the steaming basin from which the master was taking deep inhalations under a towel.

  ‘You didn’t mishear me, Numidianus. I miscalculated, that’s all. It seems that I sent the other agent on a wild goose chase in the wrong direction. That’s going to be remedied soon. Now tell me more about the new emperor.’

  ‘Magnentius is no Socrates, Magister, but he has a soldier’s feel for the lay of the land and the strength of the wind. He knows you can’t win battles without allies. He knew patience and timing with Claudius Silvanus was as important as force and bluster. And he has managed to keep the various voices in his council evenly balanced. You can tell he wasn’t born to the purple because he actually listens to all his advisers and sometimes changes his mind, on their counsel. That irritates certain people who would have him act more imperial—or imperious.’

  ‘Like Marcellinus.’ Apodemius shoved aside his basin and wiped the steam off his face. He started playing with an ivory stylus.

  ‘For one.’

  ‘Your reports are excellent, Numidianus.’

  ‘Thank you, Magister. But Marcellinus doesn’t trust me and has started sending all his messages by a private rider. Nor does Gaiso, for that matter, although he claims to be in my debt for saving him from Constans’ dagger in his back.’

  ‘Watch Gaiso carefully, son. Watch out for Marcellinus. And Silvanus?’

  ‘He keeps his own council, but when there’s a disagreement, he acts like an adjudicator of a horserace, his eyes always trained on the finish line, not the riders.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I can see it, now.’

  Apodemius busied himself, fetching his attendant to remove the medical water. While I waited, I went over to the wide map of the Empire hanging behind his desk. I noticed golden pins at Edessa and Antiochia punched into the cork backing, marking Constantius’ anti-Persian base camps. There were silver pins at the harbors, and dozens of ordinary pins for the legions’ positions, as well as a tight cluster of bronze pins knotted on Aquileia.

  ‘What are those scattered pins so far to the northeast?’

  ‘Oh, some raiders harassing Shapur on his border. Possibly driven towards the Persians by drought of some kind. They’re called the “Xions,” or “Huns,” or something like that. The report comes from a very inconsistent source.’

  ‘Are they a variety of Hephthalites?’

  ‘No, no, just some hungry nomads with funny-shaped skulls. I peg them around the Persian border for amusement. They’re a headache to Shapur but not important to us. “Huns” are unlikely to darken our gates! Where’s Gregorius right now?’

  I’d heard the fourth hour after dusk ring out. ‘Just finishing his dinner at the Vettius clan’s mansion, I expe
ct.’

  ‘He won’t have an easy evening of it with that Justus. Nothing’s prouder than an ambitious man fallen on rocky times and trying to hide it. He’ll negotiate hard. He has no spare daughters to waste.’

  ‘I suppose he might say “no”?’

  ‘No, Justus won’t decline this honor,’ Apodemius said. He scratched at his ruffled white hair. ‘I sent a quiet word to a few senators this afternoon and I’m sure they ran into Justus at the baths before dinner, by coincidence, of course.’

  He took off his slippers and began to rub his feet with camphor oil. ‘Constantius won’t stay in Persia forever. The gift of an only daughter to keep the Empire out of a civil war will bring that family much honor.’

  ‘You think it might come to civil war, Magister? General Magnentius has put Constantius on all his coinage and conveyed every possible message sueing for peace.’

  ‘Oh, Magnentius! Magnentius? Apodemius scoffed, ‘He’s the last man to decide, Marcus. Ask yourself, how much will Constantius swallow? How long will the army’s outrage at Constans’ insults to their honor and authority prevail over their deeper loyalty to imperial claims? Time is running out! What’s happening on these borders, here, here and here? Goths everywhere, settled all along the Dniester River basin. These Thervingi, Greuthungi, Heruli, do you expect them to go home now that they’re addicted to Roman luxuries seeping across the border into their poor markets?’

  The old man was on his bare feet now. He was stabbing back and forth across his worn out map like a conjuror calling up barbarians. ‘Yes, Marcus, they’re on the move, sniffing along the northern Rhenus, here and here. They’re testing the strength of our lines and challenging our garrisons. Do you know why?’

  ‘Because they’ve heard that Magnentius has moved all the key legions of the West to support him down to the south.’

 

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