Fire and Sword

by Harry Sidebottom

  Like a theatre claque, the Senators called out their well-rehearsed happiness.

  Pupienus was satisfied. It was all his doing.

  Rome would be safe. The boy Gordian, when not enduring the censorious lectures of his dreadful mother and ape of a tutor, could return to his toys. Better to be a slave boy than suffer a childhood at the hands of Maecia Faustina and Gallicanus. Loyal men would watch over the seven hills for Pupienus. The new Prefect of the City, Sextius Cethegillus, was his brother-in-law. One of the Praetorian Prefects was Pinarius, once his adoptive father. The other, Aedinius Julianus, owed his position to Pupienus.

  After the neglect of the reign of Maximinus, the East demanded the presence of an Emperor. New governors, right thinking men of probity, needed to be appointed. A victory over the Persians would bring Pupienus immeasurable wealth, and the glory of Alexander.

  It had not been easy to make Balbinus agree to shoulder his duty. Only an appeal to his vanity had prised him away from his indolent vices. The Emperors were equal in honour. It was not fitting that one should win a reputation for military virtue and not the other. Balbinus was more of a child than Gordian. If neither the climate nor the natives dealt with him, if neither the gods nor the soldiery struck him down, that task would fall to the returning conqueror of the Sassanids. Balbinus was a glutton. A dish of mushrooms had translated Claudius into a spurious divinity. Another banquet had ridded Nero of an inconvenient brother.

  When Pupienus returned to Rome, wreathed in the laurels of victory, perhaps graciously he would allow Gordian to retire into private life. Of course if the boy proved unwilling some other arrangement would have to be made.

  ‘Tomorrow we declare open the Capitoline Games. To the five days of chariot racing in the Circus Maximus, athletics in the Stadium of Alexander, competitions in music and poetry in the Odeum, in our generosity we have added beast fights and gladiatorial shows in the Flavian Amphitheatre.’

  Pupienus’ thoughts were already running on the work that needed to be done.

  ‘Conscript Fathers, put off the Roman toga, and clad yourselves in a Greek mantle. Put aside the cares of office, and enjoy the hilaritas of our reign. Conscript Fathers, we detain you no longer.’

  Pupienus Augustus, Balbinus Augustus, Gordian Caesar, you have struck down the tyrant. You have restored Roman laws, justice, mercy, and morality. You have restored peace and happiness. May the gods preserve you. So fare Emperors wisely chosen, so perish Emperors chosen by fools.

  CHAPTER 39

  The Caelian Hill, Three Days after the Ides of June, AD238

  ‘You want to live forever?’

  Timesitheus did not reply.

  ‘The blood runs thin with age, nothing but a fever can warm the body of an old man. Sex is a forgotten memory. His nose drips like an infant’s, his voice trembles as much as his limbs, he mumbles his bread with toothless gums. One illness after another, and then he forgets the names of his servants, his host at dinner, his own children. If he keeps his wits, he sees urns filled with the ashes of those he loved.’

  Tranquillina had not finished. ‘Old age is perpetual grief, black mourning, a world of sorrow.’

  Timesitheus picked up a glass. ‘The past tells against an equestrian who would be the power behind the throne. Sejanus was called partner by the Emperor, and Sejanus ended dragged by a hook. People took their slaves down to the Tiber to witness them kicking the corpse of the traitor.’ He drank, his hand was steady.

  ‘Better a few years of glory than a lifetime of obscurity.’ Tranquillina prowled the bedroom. ‘Is the limit of your ambition to lord it over some sleepy rural backwater, inspecting weights, giving orders for the destruction of short-measure pint-pots?’

  ‘Cleander, Perennis, Plautianus, none of them came to a good end,’ he said.

  She ignored him. ‘Felicio is embittered by his dismissal. He will go with you. Maecius Gordianus can keep the vigiles off the streets. We will see if Serapamum can ensure the 2nd Legion does not intervene. You must act quickly before the Urban Cohorts or German Guard can be summoned.’

  ‘Someone thrust a few hairs in his daughter’s face: Behold your Plautianus.’

  Tranquillina came and stood close. ‘This was your suggestion. Were you a man yesterday, and not today? A cat that would eat fish, but not wet its paws? I could find another.’

  Timesitheus would not rise. ‘It is not lawful to execute a virgin. Before they killed her, the executioners raped Sejanus’ daughter.’

  ‘You will not use Sabinia to frighten me.’ Tranquillina looked into his eyes. ‘The executioners would not be needed. Before that happened, I would kill our daughter myself.’

  Timesitheus arranged his face.

  ‘I would not live as a coward in my own estimate,’ Tranquillina said. ‘Nor would a man such as you.’

  Timesitheus pulled her to him, rested his chin on her head.

  She was silent while he thought.

  ‘If it is to be done, it is best done quickly. All Rome is distracted by the Games, all discipline relaxed. One throw of the dice – Venus or the Dog.’

  ‘I will come with you.’

  ‘No, you will stay at home.’ Timesitheus ruffled her hair. ‘We are not barbarians. Roman soldiers will not follow a woman, not even you. Keep Sabinia close. You will know our fate by the time the lamps are lit.’

  The Praetorian Camp

  ‘So fare Emperors wisely chosen, so perish Emperors chosen by fools. That is how they regard you – fools and simpletons.’

  Timesitheus and Felicio had moved through the barracks, talking to the men in twos and threes. Now they stood on the tribunal, a sea of faces gazing up at them.

  ‘They killed the Emperor that you chose. Maximinus was a soldier, one of you. They had a barbarian kill him. They cut off his head, trampled his corpse, treated him with contempt. They hate you for choosing him. They despise you for keeping your oath to him. They think you are fools.’

  Some murmured in agreement, but Timesitheus had not won the majority over yet.

  ‘Maximinus always shared your labours and your dangers. He rewarded you, doubled your pay. They cowered far from the battle, safe behind the marshes of Ravenna and the walls of Rome. They promised you a donative in denarii, but they paid you in these.’ He flourished a coin. ‘They tell you this new coin is worth two denarii. They must think you are simpletons. Even the stupidest slave can tell this coin weighs no more than one and a half denarii.’ He tossed the coin to the ground.

  Now more were coming around. The avarice of soldiers was unbounded.

  ‘Your existence is an affront to Pupienus and Balbinus. To look at you reminds them of their treachery. Why do you think Pupienus did not send those German barbarians back to their dismal forests? Why bring them here to Rome? You know the answer in your hearts. You will be dismissed, replaced with hairy savages from the North.’

  Timesitheus paused to let the thought have its effect.

  ‘They will strip you of your arms and your honour, but you will have your lives. If only they intended to extend that clemency to their own Caesar. Once the Praetorians are disbanded, how long do you think they will suffer young Gordian to live? Already they plot against him. Torn from the safety of his ancestral home, he is at their mercy on the Palatine. Who have they appointed his tutor? None other than Gallicanus, the Senator who led the mob against your camp, the Senator who incited the plebs to the murder of your wives and children. The boy is all alone in the Palace. He cries out for your protection. Only you can save him.’

  Drag them. Swords were drawn. Drag them. Drag them. More took up the chant.

  ‘Wait!’ The ranks of the soldiers parted.

  A rustic figure approached the tribunal. Pinarius was wearing just a tunic. His hair was wild, and he looked as if he had been roused from sleep.

  ‘It is best you leave,’ Felicio said.

  ‘I will not.’ Stiff-legged with age, the old man climbed the steps.

  ‘Get back to your g
arden.’

  ‘Praetorians, do not listen to the lies of this little Greek.’

  ‘I am truly sorry about this.’ Timesitheus drew his sword.

  Pinarius tried to defend himself. The first blow cut into his forearm. He doubled up in pain, clutching the wound. Timesitheus chopped down. The blade bit into the back of the neck. The old man collapsed in a welter of blood.

  ‘So perish the creatures of tyranny.’

  Timesitheus pointed his reddened sword at the corpse.

  ‘Praetorians, you have a choice. Abandon me to the tyrants. Watch me be crucified, thrown to the beasts. Leave young Gordian to be murdered. Or follow me to the Palace, and save the young Caesar.’

  To the Palace! To the Palace!

  CHAPTER 40

  The Hippodrome at the East of the Palatine Hill, Three Days after the Ides of June, AD238

  ‘Are these the best maps in the imperial libraries?’

  ‘This one is from the Parthian Stations of Isedore of Charax, and the other I had specially drawn from the Commentaries of the Emperor Trajan.’ Iulius Africanus looked a little put out.

  Pupienus studied the Itineraries: the straight, black lines of the roads, the little drawings denoting towns and forts, the distances between carefully marked. The mountains of Armenia were depicted in the North, the Red Sea at the South, the Euphrates and Tigris snaking down to the latter. There were no other natural features. If an army was forced to leave the roads, it would be lost.

  ‘The divine Trajan campaigned in the East over a century ago. When was Isedore writing?’

  ‘At about the same time, Emperor.’

  It was close on three hundred years since Pompey had first reached the Euphrates with a Roman army. Later Crassus had blundered to disaster in Mesopotamia. After Trajan, various Emperors had fought in the East; Verus and Severus with success, Caracalla, Macrinus, and Alexander less so. Yet these were the best maps that a diligent imperial librarian could produce.

  It was only when you sat on the throne that you fully realized the limitations of the Roman empire. When you proposed to invade Persia, you found no maps, no military or diplomatic archives, no specialists in the affairs of the East. Strategic debate in the imperial consilium was little better informed than the conversation at any senatorial dinner party. Pupienus would put that right.

  ‘Next year, when we march East, like Alexander the Great, we will include geographers and map makers in our entourage. Being Roman, we will also take land surveyors as well. On our return, Iulius Africanus will collect their works in a special section in the Pantheon library. No future Emperor fighting in the East will be uncertain of the line of march of his forces.’

  ‘But, Father, after your conquest, there will be no further need for campaigning.’

  Pupienus looked at his younger son. Marcus Africanus had always been the more arrogant. Yet since his own elevation both had developed an unappealing haughtiness of manner.

  ‘You mistake my intention.’ Pupienus let his tone add the word again. ‘I am not minded to add new territories to the empire. This will be a just war. The Sassanids have broken the treaty with Alexander, and attacked our provinces. I will lead an expedition down the Euphrates. The gods willing, I will defeat the Persians, and kill or capture the faithless Ardashir. Having sacked Ctesiphon, I will crown Tiridates of Armenia as King of Kings. As an Arsacid, he has a better claim to the throne than any Sassanid. Chosroes will succeed his father as King of Armenia. On our return, we will leave behind two friendly Kings as a bulwark to our provinces. The prestige of Rome will be restored throughout the East, our cities in Mesopotamia recovered, and our baggage train laden with gold.’

  The twelve men summoned to the consilium made quiet, dignified noises of approval.

  ‘Emperor, if I may speak?’

  Pupienus gave permission to Fulvius Pius.

  ‘Will you retake Carrhae and Nisibis in Mesopotamia before or after the march down the Euphrates?’

  Pius was the scion of a noble family, but he was far from a fool. He did not attend the council merely because of his exalted descent.

  ‘I envisage three armies in the field. While I lead the main force to Ctesiphon, Lucius Virius will operate out of Armenia. With the support of the warriors of Tiridates, he will descend on the Persian province of Media Atropatene. At the same time, Valerian will enter Mesopotamia, and besiege the cities lost to the Sassanids.’

  Again the muted sounds of approbation.

  ‘Emperor, if I may speak?’ The query of Tineius Sacerdos was tentative. Once you had assumed the purple, even your oldest friends could not speak to you openly. Any criticism was constrained. The throne was a lonely eminence.

  ‘The plan is not dissimilar to that of the late Emperor Alexander,’ Sacerdos said.

  ‘That is true, but the strategy is sound.’ Pupienus kept any reproof from his voice. ‘The armies of Alexander were weakened by disease, and undermined by that Emperor’s cowardice. We will insist on discipline on the march and cleanliness in our camps. In all the commands I have held, in a long career with the armies, no reproach was levelled against my courage. It will not desert me now I am Emperor.’

  The consilium was almost indecorous in the vehemence of its denial that such a thing was conceivable.

  ‘With three armies operating independently supplies will be a concern.’ Pupienus turned to the Master of Admissions who stood by the doorway to the garden. ‘Where is Timesitheus?’

  ‘The Praefectus Annonae was summoned. His wife sent his profound apologies, he is unwell.’

  Pupienus considered what Sanctus had said. Only a bad ruler would demand a sick man attend him. No one but a tyrant would find fault with the man who gave unwelcome news. Sanctus discharged his duties with the expertise of long experience. He had served as Ab Admissionibus under Alexander and Maximinus, and now controlled who was allowed into the presence of the new Augusti. It argued both for competence and a talent for survival.

  ‘We will discuss logistics on another occasion, when the Praefectus Annonae is recovered. There were no complaints when Timesitheus oversaw the supplies in Alexander’s campaigns, and there were no shortages in the North when he still had charge of Maximinus’ baggage train.’

  ‘Emperor, we should worry about manpower rather than food and fodder. With Balbinus Augustus on the Danube, and three forces in the East, where are the soldiers to be found?’

  The bluntness of Sextius Cethegillus caused a stir of embarrassment in the chamber. Yet Pupienus was not displeased. A good Emperor was a first among equals. He should allow his advisors to speak their mind with freedom, at least within reason.

  ‘The Persians are a greater threat than the Goths.’ Pupienus spoke with certainty. ‘Apart from an honour guard of Praetorians, my co-Emperor must make do with those troops stationed along the Danube. The rest of the Praetorians, all the Equites Singulares, the 2nd Legion, and the German Guard will accompany me to the East. They will be augmented by detachments drawn from the armies on the Rhine and in Britain: two thousand from each legion, and a proportionate number of auxiliaries.’

  And from Spain and Africa too, Pupienus thought. As soon as we have those provinces under our control. The more troops under his eye, the safer an Emperor was from some governor daring to revolt.

  Cethegillus spoke again. ‘The northern frontiers will be exposed, if there are barbarian raids.’

  There was free speech, and there was impertinence. This fell just short of demanding a rebuke.

  ‘For a year.’ Pupienus spoke decisively. ‘We will only be in the East for one campaigning season.’

  From outside came the sounds of an altercation.

  ‘The Emperor has taken his seat.’ Sanctus sounded outraged. ‘The consilium is in session. No one is to be admitted.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Pupienus said.

  ‘It is me, Praetextatus.’

  ‘Let him in.’

  Pupienus’ heart shrank at the sight of the ugly face. Praetex
tatus was as foolish as he was ill-favoured. He might be father-in-law to one of his sons, but that did not mean Pupienus would welcome his company, let alone ever seek his counsel. The daughter had inherited the looks of her father. Marcus Africanus had done his duty, and got her pregnant. That would have been a task few would have envied.

  ‘The Praetorians …’ Praetextatus was dishevelled, panting.

  Pupienus and the others waited.

  ‘The camp is in uproar. They are rioting, tearing down the imperial portraits.’

  ‘You saw this?’ Pupienus said.

  ‘No, someone told me. But I heard the noise.’

  Inured to the vicissitudes of fortune, the members of the consilium waited to fit their reaction to the Emperor’s response.

  An unreliable witness, bearing second-hand news. It was the Capitoline Games. The city was full of disturbance. This secluded garden in the Palace was one of the few places that enjoyed any peace.

  ‘This report should be investigated.’

  ‘As Praetorian Prefect, that is my duty,’ Aedinius Julianus said.

  ‘Carry on.’

  ‘Emperor, in case there is any truth in it, let me go and summon the Urban Cohorts for your protection,’ Cethegillus said.

  ‘It is true!’ Praetextatus exclaimed.

  Pupienus silenced him with a look.

  ‘No, the Urban Cohorts are scattered throughout the city controlling the crowds. In any event, they and the Praetorians detest each other. In the licence of the Games, most likely they would come to blows: cause the riot they are intended to prevent.’

  And the Urban Cohorts would lose, Pupienus thought. The plebs called them sporteoli, and the ‘little-bucket-men’ were even less real soldiers than the Praetorians. Unlike the latter, they never served on campaign.

  Menophilus spoke for the first time. ‘Let me fetch the German Guard. They are quartered just outside the city. It will take some time. For safety, best I leave now.’

  The Germans were a different proposition from the Urban Cohorts. Fierce fighters, bred to war, they treated oaths, such as that they had sworn to the Emperors, with deadly earnestness.