Lion of the Sun wor-3

by Harry Sidebottom

  As he strolled along, Calgacus found himself smiling. If Ballista were here, the boy would be busy calculating the best way to repair the breakwater, dredge the harbour, how much it would all cost. Calgacus, on the other hand, did not give a fuck. He liked looking at ships, but the people of Caesarea Maritima were nothing to him. As far as he was concerned, they could all go to Hades; fuck them.

  As he walked past the inner basin, Calgacus saw a crowd at the top of the steps to the temple of Roma and Augustus. The sun on his back and the sight of the girls on the dockside, even though they were not that good-looking, had rekindled his urge. It would be an extravagance to have a girl at midday just on a whim. He would definitely want one tonight, and to pay for two in a day was too much. For distraction, he climbed the steps to see what was happening.

  A military awards ceremony was taking place. The governor Achaeus sat on a curule chair in front of the temple. He was backed by his consilium, including the miserable-faced senator Astyrius. The governor himself was beaming. Presumably, handing out awards and promotions to those who had done well in the campaign against his Jewish subjects was congenial to him.

  Off to one side, smiling in the sunshine, stood a crowd of those who had already received their awards. Calgacus thought it typical, in this as in almost everything in Rome: what you got was as much determined by who you were as what you had done. In the imperium, the social order had to be seen to be maintained.

  First, towards the bottom of the steps, were those of lower rank. They proudly sported different awards: phalerae, the metal discs attached to their chest armour; torques around their necks; and armillae on their wrists. Above them stood a smaller group, with decorations available to all ranks. These men wore crowns on their heads; of oak leaf if they had saved another citizen's life, of gold for other acts of conspicuous courage. At the top, nearest to the governor and the military standards, were those of the rank of centurion or higher. Most of them grasped the ornamental spears in precious metals deemed suitable awards for brave officers. Just two wore the Corona Muralis, the mural crown. Few officers were first over the wall of an enemy position; fewer still lived to receive the crown with its golden walls. Ballista has one of those, thought Calgacus.

  The ceremony had moved on from awards to promotions. Calgacus leant against a column to watch. Strangely, on a cloudless spring day, the stone was wet to the touch. Drops of condensation like tears ran down the fluted shaft of the column.

  The herald announced the first promotion. A vacancy having arisen in Legio X Fretensis, according to the order of seniority, the optio Marcus Aurelius Marinus was to be awarded the rank of centurion. His years of distinguished service, good birth and adequate means fitted him for the duty.

  A well-built, soldierly figure, Marinus stepped forward.

  Up on the tribunal, Achaeus was all ready to hand over the vine-switch, symbol of the rank of centurion.

  Just as Marinus came before the governor, unexpectedly, another man emerged from the ranks.

  'Dominus,' he called up the steps. Everyone was silent at this interruption.

  'By old-established laws, Marinus is debarred from holding rank in the Roman army. He is a Christian. He will not sacrifice to the emperors. By order of seniority, the post of centurion belongs to me.'

  For a moment, Achaeus looked bewildered, then he laughed. 'This is not Saturnalia, soldier. Not a time for joking.'

  Calgacus noticed that Marinus was standing stock-still.

  'Dominus, I am not joking,' the soldier persisted. 'Marinus is a Christian. He joined the disgusting sect years ago. Ask him yourself.'

  Still half-smiling, wishing to brush this off as a piece of ill-timed foolery, Achaeus turned to Marinus. There was something about the unnatural stillness of the optio that made the governor pause.

  'Is… is it true?'

  Marinus's jaw started working. He seemed to be reciting something under his breath. He drew a big, slightly ragged breath.

  'I am a Christian.'

  There was a collective gasp from the audience. A buzz of conversation flew up.

  'Silence!' The herald had to bellow. 'Silence!'

  'I am a Christian,' Marinus said again, a little louder.

  'Nonsense,' said Achaeus. The governor still looked puzzled. 'Do not be ridiculous. How can you be? Soldiers have to worship the standards and the imperial portraits at least once a year.'

  'I have sinned. God will be my judge.'

  'You have a distinguished war record. Christians do not kill.'

  'I have sinned. God will be my judge.' Marinus repeated the phrase as if drugged.

  Achaeus looked flustered. This scandal, treasonous and divisive, was not at all what he wanted for this ceremony.

  'Marinus, you are not well. You have been through a hard campaign — the constant threat of death, terrible privations, constant bad weather. You are not in your right mind. I grant you three hours to reconsider. Sit and reflect quietly. Talk to men of sense.'

  Marinus did not reply.

  'You are not under arrest. No one is to harass or detain you. Return here in three hours with a better answer.'

  Mechanically, Marinus saluted, turned, marched down the steps and pushed into the crowd of onlookers.

  Calgacus moved after him.

  Marinus had turned into the agora. It was crowded. At first Calgacus could not see him. The Caledonian did nothing precipitous, nothing that would draw attention. He just strolled on, looking this way and that — a man from out of town, travelling hat on head, taking in the sights.

  An eddy in the people, and there was Marinus. The optio was with another man: older, bearded, a civilian. The newcomer was leading Marinus by the hand, talking to him, low and earnest.

  Calgacus followed. They crossed the breadth of the agora. They negotiated the many stalls selling various goods. They walked by the imposing facades of the temples of Apollo and Demeter, the shrines of Isis and Serapis, the sanctuaries of Tiberius and Hadrian.

  The older man led Marinus out to the north-east. The centre of town was set out in regular, Hippodamian blocks. It was easy for Calgacus to trail them inconspicuously. He thought maybe he should become a frumentarius.

  After they had been walking some time, they came to the Caporcotani Gate, which led to the Great Plain and the hills of Galilee beyond. Calgacus wondered if Marinus was going to make a run for it. But as soon as they had passed under the gate, the civilian led him off to the right into the suburbs.

  Outside Herod's wall, there was no street plan. Lanes and alleys twisted and turned. Calgacus had to keep closer, but he had no great problems staying both in touch and unnoticed.

  Marinus and his companion came to an unremarkable door. They knocked and were admitted by a burly-looking man. Calgacus waited at the street corner. This was a poorish suburb. The buildings were mainly low, a bit shabby. The walls of the amphitheatre loomed over the area. Calgacus smiled. If he was right and this was a Christian meeting place, the authorities would not have to drag them far to meet their fate.

  Calgacus walked to the door and knocked.

  'Yes?' The burly man looked wary.

  'I am a Christian,' said Calgacus.

  The man just looked at him.

  'From out of town,' added Calgagus. 'From Ephesus, just docked.'

  Still the man said nothing.

  'Appian, son of Aristides, who bore witness during the persecution under Valerian, told me where to find you.' It was a shot in the dark that the man would have heard of the most renowned of the Christians, whom Ballista had killed while they were in Ephesus. Calgacus had no idea if Appian was likely to have known the location of the Christians' meeting place in Caesarea. At any moment he might be needing the knife in his boot, be testing the limits of the sect's pacifism.

  The man nodded, pulled back the door. 'The Lord be with you, brother. How can we help?'

  'And with your spirit,' said Calgacus, pulling off his hat. 'Nothing too much, just a chance to pray in peac
e.'

  'Come in the love of God. Please take a place at the rear. Our pious bishop Theotecnus is at the altar counselling one of our brothers in the time of his trial.'

  Calgacus did as he was told. He had seen and heard Christians pray. They used different styles. But some knelt and kept their heads down. That seemed to fit the bill. From under his brows, he had a good view.

  The man he now knew was the Christians' archpriest was standing in front of the altar facing the soldier. The priest leant across and drew aside Marinus's military cloak. He pointed to the sword. Turning, he picked up a book — not a papyrus roll, but a new-style codex. He placed it on the altar in front of Marinus.

  'Choose,' said Theotecnus.

  With no hesitation, Marinus stretched out his hand and grasped the book.

  'Hold fast then,' said Theotecnus. 'Hold fast to God. May you obtain what you have chosen, inspired by him. Go in peace.'

  The Christians embraced, and Marinus left.

  Possibly a little too quickly afterwards, Calgacus followed. The man on the door gave him an odd look but did not try to stop him. Maybe he put it down to the visitor's prurient desire to see what happened to the martyr-to-be.

  Calgacus caught sight of Marinus reentering the town at the Caporcotani Gate. The optio, looking neither left nor right, went to a house in the north of Caesarea, near where the aqueducts enter. He stayed inside for some time. Calgacus assumed it was Marinus's lodgings. He waited outside. It was no hardship. It was a nice day.

  Eventually Marinus came out and set off south-west. He walked purposefully. His mind on his fate, the love of God or some such, he was easy for Calgacus to shadow. As they got near the agora, people began to point, whisper to each other and openly follow. Indeed, quite a throng trailed Marinus as he reached the steps to the temple of Roma and Augustus.

  Marinus stopped. The crowd milled, taking care not to get too close to the prodigy who was both a soldier and a confessed Christian.

  'Marcus Aurelius Marinus,' a herald roared. 'Your time of grace is over. Present yourself to the tribunal.'

  With no outward fear, Marinus stepped forward.

  You had to hand it to these Christian bastards, thought Calgacus. It was impressive. It could turn the heads of some of the plebs.

  On his curule chair, the governor was not smiling now. Behind him, Astyrius and the other members of his consilium were equally stony-faced.

  Calgacus would not have been alone in noting that, this time, Marinus did not salute. The Caledonian knew why. Back in the church, Marinus had made his choice: Christian, not soldier.

  'Marcus Aurelius Marinus, our magnanimity has given you time to come to your senses.' Achaeus's voice was cold. 'What do you say?'

  'I am a Christian.'

  'So be it,' snapped Achaeus. He waved some guards forward. They seized Marinus. They stripped him of his sword belt, his cloak, his boots, anything which denoted him as a soldier.

  'You will be taken to the south necropolis. You will be beheaded. No one is to give you burial. Your corpse will lie by the road for the dogs to eat.'

  Marinus betrayed no emotion.

  'There is no reason for delay,' Achaeus announced. 'Take him away.'

  Calgacus did not need to exercise any caution in following this time. A centurion and ten legionaries, the condemned man's commilitiones, escorted Marinus. Behind them came about thirty civilians — those who especially disliked Christians or particularly enjoyed a public execution, or maybe just had nothing better to do.

  Calgacus did not go all the way. He turned off to the right and entered the empty theatre by the city walls. Once he had climbed to the top of the seating, he had a good view over the rear wall.

  Sure enough, the centurion halted his men just beyond the town walls, as soon as they reached the first tombs of the necropolis. With a minimum of fuss, a blindfold was put on Marinus.

  By the side of the road, the Christian knelt down. He leant forward to expose the back of his neck. The blade of a sword glittered in the spring sunshine. The spatha descended. It was not a good strike. Blood everywhere, but the neck was not severed. Marinus was pitched full length. He was writhing. The executioner had to steady him with a boot on his back and a firm grip on his hair. Four, five times, the spatha chopped down until the head came away.

  The soldiers left him lying by the side of the road. Without a backwards glance, they marched off into town. Some of the civilians remained standing there for a while, but soon Marinus's remains were unattended.

  High up in the theatre, Calgacus made himself as comfortable as he could and settled down to wait. The night after Ballista had killed Appian in Ephesus, someone, presumably Christians, had come and stolen the body — well, seemingly, torn it apart and taken bits of it. Calgacus thought it was worth keeping an eye on what was left of Marinus.

  Travellers came and went on the Ascalon road. In wagons, on donkeys, mules, horses, on foot, they passed, usually in groups, occasionally on their own. Some stopped to look at the fresh corpse, the blood already draining into the dirt, but most did not.

  The waiting did not bother Calgacus — he could happily do nothing for hours on end — but he was getting very hungry. Tonight, despite the cost, he would treat himself to a really good meal before a girl — maybe that new Greek girl Chloe: she had a look in her eye, made him laugh.

  The sun began to sink towards the sea. The western sky was a blaze of purples, blues and reds. The travellers had gone from the road. If nothing happened before dark, Calgacus would have to go down and creep closer.

  All that was to be heard was the sound of the surf. It might have lulled Calgacus had his hunger not been so sharp. He was getting ready to move when the file of men appeared from the town.

  At their head was a tall figure. From within the folds of his cloak could be seen a flash of shimmering white toga and, amazingly, a broad purple stripe. The man was a senator. It was Astyrius, and he was trailed by four servants.

  They reached the dead man. At Astyrius's gesture, the servants spread a magnificent, costly robe on the ground by the remains. Astyrius reverently picked up Marinus's gory head and placed it on the robe. The servants lifted the body to join it.

  The robe was carefully folded. Astyrius himself helped shoulder the burden. The illegal cortege moved off, cross-country to the east.

  Well, well, thought Calgacus, who would have thought it? As he walked stiffly down the steps, he wondered if his were the only eyes that had been watching. 'Christians to the lion,' he thought.

  Macrianus the Elder, Comes Sacrarum Largitionum et Praefectus Annonae, holder of maius imperium, father of the Augusti, washed the blood off his hands. A servant took away the golden bowl; another handed him a towel. They may well be on campaign, somewhere in the wilds between Thrace and Illyricum, but standards had to be maintained.

  The sacrifices had told Macrianus nothing. The entrails had been hard to read, ambiguous. Surely the gods would not abandon him now? He had never yet done anything without consulting them, checking they approved. All his life had been devoted to doing their work. Not even the most malevolent could deny he had been zealous in persecuting the atheist Christians. And had he not sworn to all the natural gods — in his heart, not just with his lips — that when he had done with the followers of the crucified Jew he would turn on and eradicate the Jews themselves? Let the godless emigrate beyond the frontiers, for if they remained they would die.

  Yes, Macrianus had laboured long on behalf of the Pax Deorum, the relationship between man and gods that had always sustained the imperium of the Romans. Dangerous choices had been faced, difficult decisions made. But he had been well rewarded, as his piety deserved. His rise from obscurity to riches and power, the elevation of his sons to the throne — both clearly made manifest the favour of the gods.

  Macrianus knew he had done nothing but good, had done nothing wrong. True, his conscience initially had been troubled by the idea of removing Valerian. But the old emperor had been t
oo hesitant. He had stood in the way of the work of the gods. Even so, it had been a relief to Macrianus when he received the explicit approval of Jupiter Optimus Maximus in a dream.

  The opaque entrails meant nothing. The gods would not abandon Macrianus now, not in the middle of a campaign against the godless tyrant Gallienus. As soon as news of Valerian's capture had reached Gallienus, even while his aged father was being dragged around Cilicia, Gallienus had rescinded the edict against the Christians. It was said he had gone so far as to give them back their unholy meeting places and burial grounds. There was no chance the gods could favour such a man over Macrianus and his sons.

  But if the signs from the heavens were mixed, they were not more so than those on earth. The advance expedition to the west led by Macrianus's old friend Piso Frugi had been a disaster. First, in the backwater of Thessaly, of all places, had come Piso's usurpation — what evil daemon could have prompted the fool to that? — then his death at the hands of Valens, Gallienus's governor of Achaea. The situation had somewhat recovered. The troops under Valens, a bunch of auxiliaries as headstrong and unreliable as all soldiers were these days, had mutinied. They had proclaimed Valens emperor. The unwanted eminence had lasted only a short time. Frumentarii sent by Macrianus's loyal Princeps Peregrinorum Censorinus had abruptly ended the ephemeral reign.

  Not everything had gone wrong in the aftermath of the Pisonian debacle. Byzantium had remained loyal to the regime and it afforded the Macriani father and son and their main army a safe crossing from Asia.

  As they advanced west into Europe, the mixed blessings had continued. It was a disappointment that Valentinus, the acting governor of both Moesia Superior and Inferior, had kept the provinces in the faction of Gallienus. But to balance that, the four legions stationed in the provinces of Pannonia Superior and Inferior had declared for Macrianus and Quietus. Macrianus the Elder was quite aware that this had not been prompted by love for his sons. The Pannonian legionaries were still smarting at the defeat and deaths of their candidates for the purple — Ingenuus and Regalianus — by the forces of Gallienus. They would have probably followed a trained monkey against Gallienus. Still, it gave an impression of momentum, and it was a useful addition to the expedition. When the Macriani reached Serdica, they found two large vexillationes from Legiones I and II Adiutrix had marched down to join them. There had been scenes of celebration as these newcomers mingled with smaller vexillationes from all four Pannonian legions who were already serving with the army. The four thousand newcomers roughly replaced those lost to sickness, straggling and desertion on the long march from Antioch.