Usurpers

by Q V Hunter

  He rubbed his gnarled hands together. ‘You’re cleverer than I thought, African. Now the game gets interesting.’

  ‘You really believe I would betray the agentes to Eusebius?’

  ‘Of course not! I’m going to do it for you.’

  He returned to his desk and got out a tablet to take notes. ‘Now I will decide what corrupted information to send east. You give me all the details on how—code words, signals, whatever you two agreed—so I can carry on while you’re put to better uses.’ He waved his knobby knuckles at me. ‘Sit down, for gods’ sake.’

  I half-collapsed with relief onto the stool opposite his desk while he jotted down my arrangements with Eusebius. While he scribbled lines in the wax, I mumbled, ‘I hope these better uses for me are more than serving as a contemptible decoy.’

  Apodemius laid down his stylus and uttered a knowing ‘Ah.’

  ‘Roxana’s reports were twice the thickness of my own. She’s bedding Silvanus, whispering your policies into his ear, as if she were the Oracle to the great Julius Caesar himself and . . . she treats me with utter contempt.’

  ‘It’s your own fault, Numidianus, for putting yourself in the limelight with Marcellinus. Once he had decided you were an obstruction, I could only make use of your, shall we call it, “youthful glow”? That girl’s got a difficult job. Without you, she hasn’t a true friend in that court. Don’t resent her. Was that a bell?’ He cocked his ear towards the window again.

  ‘No, Magister.’

  ‘Well, it’s the Ides of March. Maybe it makes me a little jumpy.’

  I doubted that, but only said, ‘So then, what’s my mission now?’

  ‘With Vetranio’s betrayal, Constantius has now equaled Magnentius’ troop strength. Did you spot the cataphracti modifications Constantius has copied from kidnapped Persian forces?’

  ‘Yes, Magister. An astonishing sight. Even the horses are draped in mail to the knees. No arrow could find an inch of flesh to pierce.’

  ‘I’ve had secret sketches sent to me. Are these accurate?’ He fumbled through mountains of fresh reports with his painfully clawed fingers and unrolled an ink drawing in front of me.

  I leaned over by the light of an oil lamp.

  ‘Yes, that’s close, but the armor is more like woven chain and covers even the riders’ toes and hands, so flexibly that he can bend his fingers. The armor also hangs lower on the horse, down to here. The riders carry maces, swords and axes as well, loaded back here or over here, the carrier fixtures hitched to one of the four saddle horns. The champrons obscure the horse’s whole face, not just his cheeks.’

  ‘Formidable.’

  ‘And terrifying for other horses not used to it. The only disadvantage is when this man is knocked to the ground. I saw it in an exercise in Sardica when we first arrived. A lighter rider can hop back into the saddle, but not a man encased up to his armpits.’ I thought back to the drills I’d watched as we settled into camp that frigid morning. ‘On the other hand, it’s quite hard to knock the rider off because he’s carrying the contus.’

  Apodemius raised a questioning eyebrow.

  ‘It’s longer than the normal lance, Magister, as long as a barge pole. It requires both hands to wield. So this rider has no shield. He relies only on the grip of his knees to keep his seat and direct his horse.’

  ‘That must require much training.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s almost impossible to get within reach of him with any regular weapon.’

  Apodemius sighed. ‘I see. Constantius has stolen every trick of the Sarmatians and Sassanids to modernize his side. He might actually have a choice—to resume the campaign against Shapur or take on Magnentius.’

  I remembered Kahina, weeping as she gazed down on me from the high window. I had not seen her now for over three months. Perhaps she had sensed the coming danger, even then.

  ‘With all respect, Magister, Constantius can’t leave the East undefended. As long as there’s a Persian challenge there, Magnentius has got time to consolidate his reforms. I know he’s trusting that Caesar Decentius will get on top of barbarian raids in the northeast. Justina will come of age within a year or two and maybe there will be a Constantine bun in the oven in time.’

  Apodemius fingered a roll of expensive vitulinum in his stack of reports but said nothing.

  ‘Peace might still take root, Magister. The Empire might heal under two emperors or even more, just as the Great Diocletian ordained—’ I was pleading now, but at Apodemius’ dour expression, I cut myself off.

  ‘I fear it is increasingly unlikely.’

  ‘Apodemius, why do you do anything to support a usurper in the West when Constantius has the claim of legitimate succession on his side?’

  ‘I was wondering when you would ask me that, Numidianus. And I’ll tell you. Succession hasn’t always been everything. You know your history. For one thing, Roman tradition holds that the approval of the imperial army is almost as good as a divine right, if honestly earned. And second, because the centuries bring change and we must change with them. The barbarian commanders have become the undeniable backbone and muscle of the Western forces, whether Roma likes it or not.’

  ‘There are times I watch these northerners and feel their fresh energy, the way their irreverence for the old ways gives them a freedom but also an unpredictability that alarms Romans like Gregorius or even that shit Titianus,’ I said.

  ‘There is no snuffing out the candle marking the passing of time, Numidianus. Personally, I’m not so sure about this Christian cult. It may spread or just die out. But the new citizens of barbarian stock are woven deep now, as deep as the threads in my tunic, into our society’s cloth. Only . . . this Franco-Breton, this Magnentius, may have moved too fast and too soon. His sponsor Marcellinus misgauged the moment—but not by much.’

  He turned away from the window and examined my thoughtful expression. ‘You realize your ex-master Gregorius is probably doomed now, don’t you?’

  ‘No. No. Surely there is hope for peace?’

  ‘Hopes hangs by a thread, and only as long as the tension holds between Constantius and Shapur, first, and second, no one else in the West defects in the meantime.’

  ‘Who might defect?’

  Apodemius hobbled forward with fresh eagerness. ‘Now that, Marcus, that is for you to tell me. I’ve read your reports, very carefully, as well as those of Roxana and other agentes in the field.’ He pointed to the wide map above us on the wall. Now I saw all the pins of the northwestern and southwestern forces had shifted far to the southeast of Gallia, leaving swathes of unpunctured space on the upper Rhenus, and the coast of Britannia with no pins at all.

  ‘I’ve narrowed the risk down to one of the leading commanders—Gaiso, Silvanus, or your dear ex-master. Gaiso is Constans’ true killer. Oh, I know you wielded the blade, but he was the hunt master. He’s impetuous and passionate but not likely to suddenly swing the other way. He knows he has no chance of securing friends in the East.’

  ‘Silvanus?’

  ‘For her part, Roxana reports that Silvanus is cautious, but loyal. That leaves one man who might tip the balance, one man so angered by the murder of his father and so true to the values and loyalties that built this Empire, including loyalty to the imperial line, he might change his mind. A defection would tip the balance, and Constantius might launch a wave of painful and crippling reprisals destroying the military leadership of the West.’

  ‘Gregorius. You’re asking me to catch out Gregorius in treason?’

  ‘It may never cross his mind. I’m asking you to protect the Empire. I recall your earlier request for an assignment close enough to Roma to protect the Manlius House from corruption and theft. I persuaded you then that you could better protect that clan by sticking close to Gregorius.’

  ‘But now you’re asking me to betray my own—?’

  ‘I’m asking you to monitor him night and day. At the first sign of communication with Constantius, at any hint that he’s thinking of
leading troops to the other side and tipping the scales of power, you know what you have to do. For the sake of thousands upon thousands of innocent people, this stalemate must force a negotiated resolution, or—’ his long white fingers brushed the game board on a side table. All the black pieces toppled over.

  ‘You can’t ask me to—!’

  Apodemius never raised his voice. Worse, when you roused his anger, he hissed like steam from an ironforger’s oven. He’d been agitated and distracted all evening. Now he lost his temper as I’d never seen before. ‘You signed up with this service to obey orders, to protect the mails and roads, to ferret out the truth, to escort the high and the low, even traitors into exile, and to execute on command, if necessary—all in the interests of keeping this Empire whole. That’s why imperial law protects you from prosecution—’

  ‘I know, Magister, but—’

  ‘Did you think that particular clause in your contract was just decoration?’

  ‘I swear, I’d kill myself first before laying a hand on the Commander.’

  ‘You still talk like the slave you once were. I tell you, you’ll do what a Manlius would do—they raised you, didn’t they? May I remind you that if it came down to the survival of the Roman Empire, Atticus Manlius Gregorius wouldn’t hesitate to run you through?’

  ***

  Later that evening, I finished off a bottle of very rough red and a reheated chickpea stew in the back cubicle Verus called home. Cheap, salmon-colored emulsion flaked off his plaster walls. Worn out reed mats stained with fish sauce and lamp oil covered his humble floor.

  Otherwise, his tiny space was immaculate. It was bad enough to cross the slums of Subura with sewage and shit dropping on your head from the cheap apartments of the wretched insulae leaning over the street. The best Roman families made sure that, once inside their gates, life was fragrant. The Manlius townhouse had running water piped straight into the atrium fountain, thanks to thirty-five miles of ancient aqueduct running from the mountains north of the city. Lady Laetitia had always made sure her household made use of it. The servants’ quarters were kept clean and healthy. Every week she inspected our basins, chamber pots and pallet mattresses for vermin or lice.

  I couldn’t speak for the slaves working here now, but I could see Verus had helped his new mistress, Lady Kahina, maintain the old standards as best they could. Coming from Numidia, where the air was dry and disease was rare, she no doubt had been shocked at Roma’s fetid valley slums and turd-strewn walks.

  ‘It was no use. I couldn’t budge him. We could hear those bastards coming up the street, savages they was, neighbors screaming for help and all. I tried to carry him off, I did, I promise, Marcus, but he wouldn’t have it. Said he was going to stay and fight’em off. I told him to lock hisself into his study at the back and don’t let nobody in, but I swear, Marcus, I tried to get the Senator out the back with the others.’

  ‘I know, Verus.’

  We sat for a long minute in sorrow. Verus didn’t think I noticed him wiping his eyes with his threadbare sleeve. I went for more of the cheap wine reserved for the servants. When I returned, his voice had returned to normal.

  ‘After the ceremony at the mausoleum, that there Clodius skipped off, “to see to the farms,” he told the Commander.’

  ‘So Clodius is getting a little dirt under his nails at last?’

  Verus sniffed. ‘He’s measuring out vineyards to sell off, if you ask me, just as soon as he can lay hands on those deeds.’

  ‘How’s the little boy doing? I wish he were here, so I could see him.’

  ‘Oh, a miracle child, that’s what he is! Lavinia says he can already count up to twenty!’

  ‘No kidding. He’s not even two years old.’

  ‘He’ll be reading before you know it.’

  ‘Are the Senator’s books still there or did the creep sell them off?’

  ‘I locked up the library, with the master’s permission, before Clodius got back from Ostia.’

  ‘Very wise. More?’ I filled his pottery cup to the brim. ‘You keep all the keys safe?’

  ‘All but one the Lady L wore on her finger, sort of a little ring-key, folded over, in the style society ladies thought was fashionable in the old days.’

  ‘But surely Gregorius knows where the deeds are kept?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. He’s not saying. The Senator was in charge of the estates’ income. Lady Laetitia ran the household. The master was always fighting on the frontier. He probably thought he’d catch up on all the family account books when he retired and put on some fancy politician’s robes. Nobody saw this disaster coming until it was too late, that’s for sure.’

  ‘That’s what the Greats always warn us.’

  ‘Yeah, well, with all respect for your learning, my boy, you don’t have to listen to a bunch of airy-fairy Greek poems being shouted on the street corner to know that the Fates can strike you down, just like that—if you don’t keep a lookout.’ He tapped the skin under his right eye. ‘Ol’ Verus, here, he’s on the watch. The master and his new lady can count on me, their own personal Cerberus, guarding their gates.’

  Not long after that, we two called it a night. It was too late to trudge back to the Castra, so I bunked down in my mother’s old room, displacing a sullen slave boy who slept rough on the floor. Perhaps by returning to my childhood room, I hoped to shrug off the awful responsibilities set on my grown shoulders by Apodemius in his office on the Caelian Hill.

  I knew what I would do and wisely, Apodemius had not actually forbidden it. I’d warn Gregorius of my assignment and urge him to lie low if things broke in the wrong direction. With that resolution for flimsy comfort, I managed to doze off.

  It must have been around the sixth hour of the night, when the moon is highest, that bells rang out across the vast city, echoing from hill to hill and reverberating off the side of the great arena.

  I went out into the corridor. Verus’ door stood open and I heard his footsteps padding across the marble leading to the entrance vestibule. I followed him out to the gate and we slid the bolt.

  ‘What’s the racket?’ Verus yelled down the street to a servant peeking outside his own gate. From one gate to the next, slaves and porters stuck their heads into the night, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and listening to the pealing bells.

  ‘Ludo’s run down to the temple to see,’ cried a woman, still adjusting her stola over her mussed-up hair. ‘Is that you, young Marcus? How’s the freedman’s life treating you, love? Come here. Well, I must say, you’re a sight, you African bastard, you! I’ll remember to watch my honey cakes now that I know you’re back prowling the alley outside my kitchen!’

  Verus and I stood there without any cloaks, feeling the spring night’s breeze tossing our hair. We waited. The bells finally stopped. The vast city fell back to rest.

  ‘Well, that was a big nothin’,’ Verus shrugged. ‘For a minute I was scared silly that it was another fire breaking out.’ He was just about to bolt the gate behind us when we heard feet pounding up the street. Little Ludo had brought back news.

  ‘There’s a new Caesar,’ he said, panting. ‘A rider just came in from the East and woke up the Senate.’

  ‘A new Caesar? Who?’ I was about to grab him by his tunic front, but checked myself.

  ‘Constantius has crowned his cousin Gallus. He’s made him the new Caesar of the East!’

  Verus shrugged. ‘Fancy that! Gallus who? I thought he killed all his relatives in their beds when the old man died.’

  I shut my eyes and forced down my anxious breathing. ‘No, Verus. The army got orders from Constantius to massacre everyone who could threaten him or his two brothers, including two uncles and six cousins, which left his two brothers—’

  ‘Constantine II and Constans—’ At least little Ludo knew that much.

  ‘And three boys too young to stage a challenge, youngsters like you, Ludo. You know what happened to Nepotianus. Gallus was eleven, so now he must be . . . about twenty
-five.’

  ‘Were the little boys brothers? Who’s the other one?’

  ‘Half-brothers. The younger one was Julian. They were locked up for years with a bunch of eunuchs standing guard. No one knew they were still alive.’

  ‘But that doesn’t make sense!’ Ludo’s face suddenly wrinkled up.

  ‘And why not?’ Verus looked ready to reprimand the boy.

  ‘How can he marry his aunt? Euuuw! She must be an old bag!’

  ‘What’re you saying, Ludo?’

  ‘Well, that’s the rest of the news from Antiochia. “The Caesar Gallus has been joined in matrimony to the Augusta Constantia, widow of the great Hannibalianus and sister of the Dominus Constantius II”.’

  So Apodemius had got warning of this somehow. He’d been preoccupied by rumors hinting at this. I’m expecting enough bad news tonight as it is. He was waiting all evening, listening for bells at his window for confirmation of this grotesque turn of events—an embittered young widow swooping a boy just out of house arrest into her royal bed.

  I didn’t even try to go back to bed myself. I’d lost my gear in Sardica, so packing up a new kit with supplies scavenged secondhand at the Castra over the past week didn’t take long.

  I squinted into the rising sun as I tightened the harness on a fresh horse plucked from the relay pack at the Porta Collina. I double-checked my new identity papers and slipped them into my satchel next to thick packets of documents addressed to all points east.

  ‘Good ride, Numidianus,’ the stable boy said. ‘Sestus said to tell you, he’s sure grateful for the lie-in this morning.’ He gave a last brush to the horse’s flanks. ‘There’s something in there for the Emperor Magnentius himself.’

  Emperor Magnentius, yes, but for how long?

  I galloped through Roma’s garden suburbs at reckless speed. Apodemius’ warning had become reality in a matter of hours. Constantius had tied up the problem of his ambitious, angry sister and the threat of the ferocious Shapur in one nasty package. What was the use of has-beens like old Vetranio, now that Constantia had a fresh Constantine of her own to whip about and Constantius had an energetic new Caesar to guard the East—all in one and the same cousin?