The Fire Waker

by Ben Pastor

  Tonight we are housed at Gervelata, an hours riding east of Carnuntum; sacrifices are to be offered tonight at Nemesis's temple in that city. Curius Decimus and his "Romans" preceded us. It is likely that I will be invited to dine with them. My preference would be to see Decimus one on one. At this point I must wonder whether Frugi's death was foul play on his part, and if so, why. I am plagued by unanswered, perhaps unanswerable questions. What else has Decimus done? Could he not be behind Judge Marcellus's death? Could not other incidents that resulted in the death of Christians be directly or indirectly his doing, blinded as he is by his conservative hatred and his lust to ransom Casta s wealth from the State? Have I gone entirely off course by thinking up brick-makers' envious plots, or by suspecting Ag-nus's elusive person? Is the preacher a charlatan, in fact? Could not the anonymous letter accusing him of scheming with Lupus be untruthful? Would Curius Decimus go as far as killing a brick-maker in Treveri to persecute his cousin and force her out of the Empire's borders?

  All I know for sure I do not actually know, but sense. There is something dark, fearful, and negative about the fire waker. A charlatan, yes, but what if he were behind it all, somehow? Ben Matthias's nose for danger and trouble cannot be wrong. Agnus gives off that scent. Against all logic, I feel pressed to find him, face him, turn him in if he's guilty, before Casta suffers from her association with him. A guard at Arrabona told me of several spots on the river used by immigrants and smugglers to elude army patrols. If Agnus manages to disappear among the tribes hostile to Rome (and if they do not kill him after his chicaneries fail), I could lose him forever. Thus I feel the urgency to track him down, even though there are so many more important things in play. I want to see her again, too: Casta, the lady Annia Cin-cia. She was a beauty once, so said Decimus. It's been only a few years since then. Why shouldn't she be a beauty still? She means nothing to me, and yet I may be the sole friend she has. Why? Because she is elusive, as ben Matthias says, and that attracts me in a woman? Because her husband died on her, her cousin Decimus pursued her wealth, her religious teacher let her down? I am not tenderhearted, but it may simply be because, whether or not they're Christian, women have a hard time in this world, and so often we men take advantage of them.

  The frontier was like Helena: It never seemed to change. Despite the rumors of war, business thrived; one saw the same shop fronts, the same uniforms, receiving the impression that the same men served here one year after the next, one generation after the next. Even the brothels that lined the streets to and from army camps were as always, with their explicit signs and red drapes across the entrances, the same bond girls calling out from the doorstep when one went by.

  At Carnuntum, both the army citadel and the civilian city were chaotic with the influx of troops. Aelius found a well-stocked bookshop, where he secured a copy of Aeschylus's plays. "Brushing up on your classics?" the seller said amicably.

  "No, trying to find a sentence I saw scratched on a wall in the baths, back in Mediolanum."

  Nearly by accident, during the nth inquiry at the courthouse, he caught the tail of the fleeing fox. On a tip, during a police raid on a well-known Christian meeting place, a man known as the fire waker had escaped by the skin of his teeth and, despite all efforts by gendarmes, was reported to have made it across the border. "He can be no more than two or three days ahead," the courthouse employee told Aelius, "but who's going to seek him there, Commander?"

  "Did he flee alone?"

  "We assume. Our informant heard that the fugitive had a female accomplice, but she split from him somewhere between Ala Nova and Vindobona."

  The two army posts were a day's ride west of Carnuntum. Aelius had to remind himself of his responsibilities to keep from riding off. The hook that secured him to the here and now was the ceremony at Nemesis's temple; even more so, running into Curius Decimus, whose invitation to dinner Aelius expected and said yes to.

  None of the others from Cato's Sodality were present. The room was small, a private dining nook on the upper floor of an inn run by the blacksmiths' guild. When Aelius inquired, his colleague answered that Ulpius Domninus and Otho were with their men at Ala Nova. "The twins are in town; Vivius Lucianus heads a cohort at Quadrata. They send their wishes."

  Whatever Decimus's real intentions were for this get-together, Aelius saw it as an opportunity to make him talk, even if it meant submitting to the usual political palaver on the good old republican days. Asking point-blank about Frugi was inadvisable, but wine might help. There was plenty of local vintage on the side table, and Greek and Italian wines, too. "This is my treat," Aelius said. "The coming of war calls for celebration. I go up the Marus's course tomorrow, and if rumors of a possible intertribal raid are correct, it won't be a stroll."

  "I'll drink to that." Decimus did not like the cold weather. He wore a scarf even indoors, and his cloak tucked around his knees. No doubt he had his reason for this meeting, since they had not left each other in the most cordial of ways. "It's a good thing that you're not afraid," he observed after savoring the wine with a smack of lips. "Would you die for Rome?"

  "This instant."

  "Not this instant? Decimus laughed, refilling his glass. "Not before a well-prepared dinner, Spartianus! Don't your Stoics say, 'If you are sent into exile, stop on the way to have a good meal'?"

  "Wouldn't you die for Rome?"

  "I will." Letting the ambiguous words drop from his mouth, Decimus turned to the side table, crowded with cold and hot plates. They'd asked to be alone, so the Roman served both Aelius and himself. Eating on the frontier meant venison, stringy and flavorful, calling for frequent toasts. At one point, not yet altered by drink but considerably more relaxed, Decimus said, "I assume you realize you are the sole colleague of mine who has seen my Portia."

  "Thank you for the privilege."

  "Not a privilege: a proof of trust on my part." They drank to Portia, to Thaesis, to daughters in general. "And to the sons I do not have," Decimus added wryly. From a holder containing several little spoons for the many sauces, he chose one and helped himself to a spicy condiment. "Speaking of daughters, you recall what I told you about Constantine's and Maxentius's sure-to-come bid for the empire after May first. It is a fact that through his father's marriage to Max-imian's daughter, Constantine became Maxentius's brother-in-law."

  "Yes. What of it?"

  "Well, in bed I got Helena to own up that she plans to convince Constantine to divorce his present wife and marry Maxentius's sister Fausta. If that should happen, given that his father, Constantius, married Maximian's other daughter, Theodora, Constantine would become—like his own father—a son-in-law to Maximian, but also a brother-in-law to his own father, and brother-in-law to his stepmother; Theodora would become her own sister's stepmother. And as for Constantine's mother, Helena, who slept with Maximian and Max-entius both, not to speak of Constantius, I cannot even reckon her role in this confusion."

  "It's interesting, but given that strictly speaking my mother is also my aunt, I cannot say the arrangement is out of the ordinary."

  Decimus appeared suddenly annoyed, as if Aelius purposely ignored the hints contained in his argument. "Don't you see? Helena plans to keep Maxentius from fighting Constantine until they both wheedle or kill everyone else in view of the throne."

  "It wouldn't be the first time in Rome's history."

  "But if Constantine is declared vice-emperor as soon as his father dies in Treveri, Maxentius—who has gotten neither the consul's post nor a miserable generalship—will contend against him, and I wager with his father's help, since Maximian does not want to abdicate. Believe, I know whereof I speak. At the palace in Mediolanum there are open bets on how long His Serenity will stay retired before he claws his way to the throne again. Why, Aristophanes wanted you killed as soon as you put your foot in the city, because you bore the abdication command. Only because Diocletian wrote the eunuch a letter holding him personally responsible for your life did he change his tune."

  It
was possible, entirely possible. "I don't know that any of this is true," Aelius said, not to appear as surprised as he was.

  "Judge for yourself. One week before you reached Mediolanum, I was myself given orders to execute you on arrival. Because of that letter, my orders were countermanded no earlier than the morning of your coming."

  Aelius swallowed a piece of tough meat. He recalled the first night in Mediolanum, when Decimus had waited for him at a dark street corner, by the brothel where a girl's nakedness was half seen. "Why do you tell me this?"

  "Because Rome will be faced soon with two usurpers' rule, or bloody rule by whichever of the two wins. For that reason, it is necessary that you trust me as much as I trust you."

  They were coming to it now. Was this the sort of conversation Frugi had been made to hear and comment on, before his sudden death? Aelius saw through Decimus's nostalgia imperfectly, as when fog begins to thin out without lifting. "Honestly, I do not understand the need to reaffirm trust between fellow officers."

  "Are you really so dense? We need one like you to do what only one like you can do."

  "You need me. Who is you 7 ."

  Seven sauce spoons lay in front of Decimus; one by one, he set them in a row as he spoke. "You come from the same province as Constan-tine and Maxentius; your father served with their fathers. Helena trusts you." In one sweep, he discomposed the line of spoons. "On my twentieth birthday, thirty-seven years ago, a Roman emperor was murdered by Danubian officers who wanted the throne, and have kept it ever since. Now we run the risk of having Danubians make that usurpation hereditary."

  Aelius felt a cringing of the short hair on his scalp. Decimus's voice reached his ears with strange hollowness, as if he were speaking in a wooden tube from far off. In a moment, he went from thinking it an effect of something treacherously poured into his wine to realizing it was soul-fear for hearing what he did.

  "So we thought of you, given your declared love for Rome and the way you publicly exposed Rome's enemies as late as last year." Decimus now smoothed the tablecloth with his hand, and the hefty rings on his fingers left furrows in the linen. "The May first abdication ceremonies are to be held contemporaneously at Nicomedia, where Constantine will attend with Helena, and Mediolanum, where Maxentius will be at his father's side. Mediolanum is not a problem, but we need a man above suspicion in Nicomedia." The raking of the cloth halted, started again. "You look a little pale, colleague. Is it because of my words, or because the sole fact of having heard them makes you an accomplice? I can make it formal, and let the walls hear if they have ears: Aelius Spartianus, for the good of the republic which you serve both as an officer and a historian, Constantine and Maxentius must go down on May first. Especially Constantine, who is amassing foreign backers. Please note: Should you entertain the idea of denouncing me, or any of my friends, we will turn all accusations against you and bring proof that you killed Frugi at Celeia because he resisted your plan. We have powerful lawyers, and even more powerful judges on our side."

  Aelius could hear his heartbeat pound in his throat, behind his eyes. The ease with which Decimus had poured out what for over a month he had apportioned in bits, letting him see and not see, understand and not, was like the clean cut of a blade. And ben Matthias took Cato's Sodality for a harmless social club! Opening his mouth to speak was an effort. "From what I have seen, you are a handful of nostalgic fools, who will be crushed like grapes."

  "Will we? Well, we shall see. More has been obtained with less. We have no revolution in mind, Spartianus. It could never succeed, at this implosive stage of Roman history. We merely intend to attempt a partial restoration. Here, have a drink. You know better than I that entire areas of the Empire are outside of army control, de facto no-man's-land where only nominally the authority of Rome is exercised. Some of these regions are as wide as nations. Some, I wager, will become nations sooner or later."

  "You cannot think of succeeding! Whom should such a republic of yours attract? The descendants of pure Romans like yourselves? You wouldn't find enough to populate the place, much less man an army!"

  "There's time. Now we go to war, as bidden. Because victory must necessarily be declared by our emperors before May first, it is certain the campaign will be concluded or called off before the end of April." Decimus filled Aelius's glass to and over the brim. "I notice you have difficulty expressing yourself, unlike other evenings. Never mind, Spartianus, I do not expect you to give me an answer at once. There'll be occasion in days to come. Between now and then, you can choose between keeping silent or exposing us and going down as one of the conspirators, with all that it will mean for your dear provincial family; the authorities have no patience with the kin of traitors. No one, not even His Divinity, whose 'our dear Aelius' you are, will believe at a crucial time like this that you associated in blissful ignorance with me and my cohorts as long as you did. Even he, who after all began as an officer and eliminated all rivals on the way to the throne, will think you lie. A letter to him now—if that's what you're thinking—will only be a noose around your neck, and your relatives'. There's—what? Sixteen or more of your immediate family around, young and old?"

  Aelius did not recall leaving the inn and returning to Gervelata. He found himself in his quarters long after dark, in a sweat despite the freezing cold. All the questions he'd planned to ask about Marcellus, Lupus, even Frugi, had been wiped from his mind. What was there to ask anymore? Frugi had been killed because he had grown fearful. As for the rest, his thoughts were in a hopeless jumble. He tried to sleep, and couldn't. Sitting up was no better, so he paced the floor for hours. Once he had seen a bear caught in a square pit walk to the corners and slowly back up from them, incapable of turning around. No differently he was going up to Decimus's words again and again, and receding without an about-face, still staring at them.

  In the morning he ran a high fever. He concealed it in order not to miss his opportunity to go out into the field, and put action between himself and anxiety.

  Notes by Aelius Spartianus, VI day before the Ides, Thursday, 8 February

  There are gods who watch over us at times of trouble. Before it started, what should have been a routine foray into enemy territory turned into a full alert, due to a night attack on the forward post at Nemorense, far from the fortified bridgehead where we were to cross the Danube. Unhoped-for distraction! There was no time to waste, so my men and I splashed to the other side over rocks and ice and the piled tree trunks the barbarians employed to solidify the ford. The hostiles had vanished as quickly as they had shown up, of course, and for a full day we followed their tracks, to the place where the Marus River flows into the Danube. I knew it to be a wetland, treacherous in the spring and the fall, when rains swell the watercourse and everything around it for miles is nothing but flood land and wet meadows. What I did not expect was to find it only partly frozen, so that while some tracts could be traveled on horseback or at least on foot, leading the mounts by the harness, others were still in the liquid state. A table of gelid water mirroring the sky, studded with large trees whose trunks are more than half submerged. Clumps of canes and water plants make perfect hiding spots, but luckily the temperature of the water does not allow even the sturdiest barbarian to stand in it for long.

  Because southern winds have been blowing since Monday, the snow cover had melted in many spots. We could follow the enemies' tracks as well as the signs left by wild animals. Stray dogs following our patrol (there are packs of them on both sides of the Danube) rolled in the yellow grass where badgers and other creatures left their droppings, the old habit of their wolfish ancestors.

  On the third day out, by an oxbow on the river, we finally sighted the hostiles. I gave order not to attack at once, determined to ascertain whether we faced a group of scouts, a vanguard, or the front of a larger army. The fever that until then had plagued me (I think two of my captains and all of the non-coms were aware of the malaise, and worried about it) went down with the rapidity with which it had come. I
found myself perfectly lucid and well.

  By the afternoon we knew that it was in fact a vanguard of one hundred or so, coming from the distant northeast judging from their dress and equipment, foraging off neutral villages and no doubt meaning to report to their chiefs on the readiness of the frontier troops. Mobile troops such as mine, vexillationes capable of setting off at a moment's notice, are all but unknown to them. We attacked at sunset from the west, protected by the low rays that must have reflected like fire on the wetlands and blinded them. We cut through them with vigor. No prisoners can be taken or survivors left alive during such operations. More than once prisoners brought to our side for interrogation found support among barbarians allowed to live in the settlements and turned mercy into a Trojan horse.

  In Persia it was everyone's unpleasant habit to cut off the fallen enemy's right ear as a mode of reckoning a victory. I did it myself We see on the deified Trajan's triumphal column Roman soldiers carrying severed barbarian heads to their commander. As the group we fought against has a mode of hair dressing that involves a braid coiled and fastened over one temple, I had those braids cut and gathered in sacks. Seven of my men were lost in the battle, whose fierceness preoccupies me in view of having to face the same barbarians in the spring. Roman equipment, even some of our better mail shirts, was taken from the hostiles' bodies. The majority of the items, more's the shame, must have been sold on the sly by our frontier troops: worse than losing them on the field of honor!

  By dawn on the following day, villagers from the surrounding area were in front of my tent asking for permission to strip the barbarian dead; the elders come from foederati groups, and their status as nonhostile border inhabitants makes them both bold and petulant. I saw nothing wrong in allowing them to make free with clothing and mounts, although no weapons (not even knives or razors) were granted them.