by Kyle Onstott
They stirred and listened, trying to orient themselves to the strange room, to the fact that there were no slaves to answer the door and the continued threat of the pounding. Hierocles was the first to assemble his scattered wits. He wrapped a sheet around himself, toga-wise, and went out into the common room, took down the heavy wooden bar that bolted the inside of the door and opened it.
“Aegenax!” He focused his eyes on the man standing in the bright sunshine. “What brings you here, Aegenax? Why aren’t you in Rome, guarding Alexander?”
“Would that I were, but you can thank whatever god you and Caesar worship that I am here. Chaos has broken out in Rome. I had just been relieved by the morning watch when the rioting started. The Praetorians marched on the city, slew the Palace Guards, freed Alexander and have taken him with his mother and grandmother to the camp. They intend to proclaim him Emperor. I witnessed it all, hidden behind the statue of Augustus which stands in the corridor. Gordius sent me here. He had already been informed and had heard that another contingent of Praetorians is marching here. Word got out where you were and they are already halfway here from Rome. Get Caesar and flee, Hierocles, or you will return to Rome battered corpses, dragged by the Praetorians’ chariots.”
Hierocles pulled Aegenax into the house, closed and bolted the door. He looked around the room in dazed bewilderment, unable to decide what to do, his wits still dazed. Aegenax, unmindful of the law which made it a crime to touch Caesar’s person, rushed into the bedroom and shook Antoninus.
“Dress, Caesar, every moment is precious and while you and Hierocles dress, I will harness the quadriga. When I am finished you must be ready. Fortunately the Praetorians march by foot, else they would have been here before me. As it is, we have an hour’s start on them.”
“But where to, good Aegenax? Where do we go and why are we going and what is the terrible hurry? Hierocles and I have but arrived.”
Hierocles was in full possession of his senses now and he quickly explained to Antoninus the coup d’état that Mamaea had managed.
“And where shall we flee?’’ Antoninus repeated the question.
Hierocles hesitated, looking from Aegenax to Antoninus.
“Why not Caprae? Tiberius lived the last years of his life there in security.”
“Banish myself to that little island and live every day in fear? No, Hierocles. I am either Emperor of Rome or I am not. This is a test of my greatness. I thought I would be content to spend my days as a peasant farmer—and perhaps I would have been, with you beside me. But it was only a dream. I am Caesar and nothing can change that, not even my own desires, for I have a duty to Rome. I cannot let Alexander sit on the throne. I may have been a poor Emperor but, by Elah-ga-baal, he would be worse than I! I have desired many men but I have sought the death of none. He’s a bloodthirsty brute who has delighted in killing since he was a child. And first he would dispense with me, Hierocles, and then you, and then you, Aegenax, and then, in senseless vengeance, he would murder everyone on whom I have looked with favor. Were I to flee to Caprae, all of my friends would be dead by nightfall, and within a week the triremes of Rome would have landed on Caprae and Hierocles and I would die. No, we will not flee. I have a duty to Rome and a duty to my friends. Instead of running like frightened rabbits, we go to the camp of the Praetorians. We may go to our death but we go. Today it is Alexander against me. One of us, and only one of us will be Caesar tonight.”
“It is certain death, Great Caesar!” Aegenax again forgot himself and laid a restraining hand on Antoninus’s arm. “They say that even the Roman Legions have deserted you.”
“ ’Tis madness, beloved, sheer madness! The Praetorians will tear you to shreds.”
“I do not fear for my own life, only for yours, Hierocles.” Antoninus had never been more imperial as he stood there naked and shivering. “I go but I go alone. I command you to seek sanctuary somewhere. Take a cohort of the Palace Guards and go yourself to Caprae. If I know you are safe I shall be stronger.”
“And leave you to face the Praetorians alone? Never! I am the only man in Rome who can disobey Caesar. I go with you.”
“And I,” Aegenax added, “but come, unless we start now and go by a different route than that which brings the Praetorians, we shall never reach there.” He ran from the house to harness the horses to the chariot.
Antoninus and Hierocles dressed hurriedly, chewed a few morsels of dry bread and were ready when Aegenax drove up. They stopped the chariot only long enough to call the sentry posted at the point where the dirt road joined the paved road.
“Who commands the cohorts who are on guard here?’’ Antoninus asked the startled man.
“The Tribune Eubulus.”
“Then go at once. Tell the Tribune Eubulus that I go to the Camp of the Praetorians. There is a detachment of the Praetorians marching here now from Rome. Tell the Tribune to withdraw his men into the hills. He is not to enter into battle against the guards. When they arrive they will find a deserted camp. Hurry!”
The chariot thundered on. Aegenax avoided the paved roads and kept to cart tracks that wound over the hills. Once, high on a rutted road, they glanced down into the valley below and saw the sun glinting on the gold armor of the marching Praetorians. Antoninus stood erect, bracing himself with his hands on the guard rail of the chariot. Hierocles was behind him, his arms outstretched to the same rail, enclosing Antoninus.
“Farewell, little Caesar,” he whispered. “This is not the way I would bid you good-bye forever, but something tells me we shall not live to see your god set tonight. Every moment I have spent with you has been a taste of heaven. My only prayer is that they kill me before you because I could not bear to see you die.”
“Neither of us will die today, carissimus. Suddenly I feel stronger than I have ever felt before. I know not what it is that makes me strong but this I know. As my god is strong in the heavens, so have I strength. I shall outwit them all. Aegenax, whip the horses. Faster! Today Rome will see that their Emperor Antoninus can be a man.”
23
The camp of the Praetorian Guards, located just outside the City Walls of Rome, was a permanent camp—a small city within itself complete with paved streets and stone buildings. The Praetorians were the only soldiers who were allowed to be permanently stationed in Rome—in fact it was forbidden for any of the Legions to enter the city, so the Praetorians combined both military and police duties in the urbs. Being Roman residents and rarely sent away from the imperial city, they were always deeply involved in politics. Even as private soldiers they were drawn from the Eques, and the officers represented both knightly and patrician ranks so they were all from families with some political influence.
Under many reigns they had set themselves up as critics of the emperor, and every Caesar rose or fell according to his popularity and influence with this pampered elite. The Praetorians welcomed change. They knew that their own position was always secure. No Caesar had ever dared to interfere with them. Changes brought added donatives, promotions and a currying of favor from the new emperor which was always acceptable to these money-hungry younger sons of Rome’s greatest families. They had tired of Antoninus. Mamaea’s gold had influenced them towards Alexander, and with Alexander once on the throne there would be a new period of favoritism, patronage and power.
Antoninus had not encountered the marching Praetorians who were on their way to the farm to arrest him and his sudden appearance at the gates of the camp was a surprise. The chariot wheels ground to a stop before the gate and a sentry, resplendent in gold armor and scarlet cape, stepped up to challenge the three drivers in soiled tunics.
“Entrance is denied to all civilians by order of the Praefect Eutychianus Comazon.” He repeated the words mechanically, hardly glancing up at the three in the chariot. “If you have commercial transactions with the stewards, drive to the west gate. Their representatives are outside.”
“Commercial transactions!” Antoninus howled. “Commercial transactions,
you insolent puppy!” He grabbed the whip from Aegenax’s hands. “Down on your knees, guard, your Emperor speaks to you.”
The guard looked up with a silly smirk on his vapid face. “What emperor?”
“Since when has Rome had two emperors? Look well, guard, and mistake me not. I need no jeweled litter or purple toga to proclaim that I am Caesar. Unlock the gates and make way.”
The guard came closer. He scrutinized Antoninus carefully, then Hierocles. Suddenly he was frightened. “I must report this to the centurion.”
“The centurion! Since when does Caesar wait on the word of a lowly centurion?” Antoninus let fly with the lash and opened a gash in the guard’s cheek. “Open the gates or in another five minutes, you’ll be screaming on a cross.”
The commotion before the gates had caught the attention of the officer in charge. He came running from the guard house, some six guards following him. He recognized Antoninus, but he hesitated. Alexander and Mamaea were within the camp, but Antoninus was still Caesar. It was difficult to know which course was best to follow. He knew that if he refused Antoninus admission to the camp, he would be guilty of lèse majesté, punishable by death if Antoninus should win. On the other band, were Alexander to triumph, he would be equally guilty if he were to admit Antoninus now. But . . . Antoninus was still Caesar. He still lived and while he lived he was Caesar. That could not be denied.
He saluted sharply, wheeled and marched in a straight line to the gates. A ponderous key creaked in the locks and a crisply barked order sent the six guards flying inside to let down the bars which further locked the gates. In another moment the ponderous plank leaves started moving slowly inward. Antoninus took over the reins from Aegenax and drove the chariot through. Once inside, he reined the horses and beckoned to the centurion to come closer.
“Your name, centurion?”
“Gaius Lepidus Claudius.”
“A Claudian!” Antoninus could afford to smile now. “You must have imperial blood, Gaius Lepidus. This day you have chosen well. Report to the Praefect Eutychianus Comazon and tell him that your Caesar has promoted you to the rank of Tribune.” ‘
“My gratitude, Great Caesar.”
“And these men?” Antoni nus indicated the six who were now standing at rigid attention.
“Private soldiers, Great Caesar. Do you wish to know their names?”
“Later, Tribune. For the present inscribe their names along with your own for promotion. Each one of them is to be a centurion.”
“Ave Caesar!” The hail came from six throats at once, echoed by the new Tribune’s shout, “Great is Caesar! Great is the Emperor Elagabalus!”
Antoninus smiled again. “Y au confuse me with my god, Tribune. And yet perhaps it is a good omen to be identified with my god. I like the title. Continue to use it.” He touched the whip to the horses and they galloped up the broad paved avenue to the centre of the camp. Here, where the four principal streets, which Jed from the four gates of the square walled camp, converged, was the building of white stuccoed stone which housed the Praefect. Opposite it, gleaming in the light of the sun, was the gilded statue of Alexander which had been erected by the Praetorians themselves. Antoninus regarded it carefully.
“I had no idea Alexander was so handsome. I only hope the sculptor gave him clean fingernails.” He pulled up at the broad steps which led to the entrance of the Praefect’s quarters. Again he looked at the statue. He turned to Aegenax. “Wait here until the Tribune Claudius arrives.” He pointed down the avenue to where the former centurion and his six men were marching up in military formation. “When he arrives, tell him that the effigy of my son and heir displeases me. I order it torn down before nightfall and one of myself placed there. The new statue of me made for the Flavian amphitheatre can be transferred here.”
Aegenax realized that the time for informality was over. Suddenly Antoninus was no longer a youth in a soiled tunic. He was Caesar. “May I have leave to speak, Great Caesar?”
“Leave is granted.”
“The statue is the property of the Praetorians, paid for by popular subscription. Might they not resent it if it were tom down?”
“There is nothing in Rome that does not belong to Caesar. Convey my order, Aegenax. When I come out of this building later, I want to see my own face there.”
Together he and Hierocles walked past the dumbfounded guards at the door who regarded them silently, their mouths agape. This was indeed Caesar. They could not deny him admittance.
Antoninus hesitated in the marble paved atrium. On each side were leather curtained doorways. His eyes looked a question at Hierocles and Hierocles pointed to a doorway at the right from whence issued the hum of voices.
“Probably the office of Comazon,” he whispered.
Antoninus strode across the marble tiles and lifted the curtain. There was an audible gasp from those inside. He saw his grandmother, his aunt and his cousin, all of whom sat with their backs to him. Comazon, who faced the doorway, was the first to see him. With a look of frightened amazement, he rose from his chair. The others turned their heads. Mamaea turned deathly pale. Julia, faced with the necessity of making an immediate decision and not knowing whether or not Antoninus had the entire Alban Legion behind him, rose unsteadily from her chair and sank to her quaking knees.
“Great Caesar,” she mumbled.
The assembled officers, taking their cue from her, saluted, giving Comazon time to walk to the doorway. His feet seemed unsteady as he made his way through the press but he arrived at the doorway and dropped to one knee.
“Great Caesar,” he said as he scanned Antoninus’s face, trying to read his expression. All he saw was an imperial determination which he had never thought possible on the Antonine’s pretty features.
In a loud voice so that all might hear, Antoninus acknowledged the greeting.
“I received your message to attend this conference, Praefect. It is not Caesar’s habit to be summoned, but your messenger urged extreme haste and I did not have time to change clothes before coming. I trust you will pardon me for my informal attire. The Caesar Honoralibus and I were seeking relaxation at our farm. Had I been in Rome, I would have been better prepared.”
Antoninus’s words threw the assemblage into confusion. Comazon did not dare give him the lie and deny that he had sent a messenger. Mamaea and Julia turned suspicious looks in his direction and the assembled officers darted quick glances of distrust at their Praefect.
“I was waiting for you to arrive, Great Caesar,” Comazon accepted the lie. “We have some momentous affairs to discuss and it is well that you are here. My messenger must have had difficulty in finding you.”
The lie had been confirmed.
Aegenax had not accompanied Antoninus and Hierocles into the room but had remained outside in the chariot. Now, however, Antoninus felt a slight pressure on his shoulder. He turned his head to see Aegenax. He whispered low so that only Antoninus and Hierocles could hear.
“A Praetorian Guard has arrived on horseback. I heard him speak to an officer. Ten cohorts of the Alban Legion, led by their Tribune and by Eubulus and the Palace Guards, are marching double time and should arrive here in an hour. Eubulus must have sensed your need and alerted them.”
As if to corroborate his statement, a guard entered, saluted Antoninus and Eutychianus and handed the Praefect a brass-bound tablet. Eutychianus rose from his knees, asked permission from Antoninus to read it, opened it and read the words that it contained. His frown was covered by a quick smile and when he addressed Antoninus, his words had a deeper ring of respect.
“Your Praetorians welcome you, Great Caesar. We would have you address us, assembled on the parade ground. There are a few minor matters the body of Guards would like made clear.”
“The Guards would like made clear! There are some things that Caesar would like made clear,” Antoninus confronted Eutychianus fearlessly. “The Praetorians are not Rome, Praefect. It is time they realized that. Caesar is Rome! The Army is R
ome! The citizens are Rome! Even the poor feeble Senate is Rome. If there are any things to be made clear all Rome must be represented. Send messengers to the city! Tell the August Fathers that Caesar commands that they assemble here within the hour. The Alban Legion, which is on its way here, will represent the Army, and with all the city rabble heading in this direction there will be plenty of Roman citizens in the audience.”
“But that will take time, Great Caesar.” Eutychianus realized that with the coming of the Alban Legion, his power was slipping fast.
“Rome can well spend an hour in waiting while Caesar dines,” Antoninus dismissed the matter. “The urgency of your messenger this morning gave me no time for breakfast. I am hungry and I desire to eat. I shall dine here, Praefect. My Praetorians shall be my host. I shall eat whatever has been prepared for them. You shall join us, Praefect.” He pointed to his grandmother. “And you, Augusta, and my beloved aunt and my son Alexander. Where is my mother, the Augusta Soaemias? Send for her! We shall make this a family gathering, which will of course include you, Eutychianus, as I once considered you one of my family.”