Attila (57 page)

Up, up, up, till at last they reached the sixteenth floor. Valentinian was pleased to note that his breathing was less laboured than his guide's. He was proud of his body, and careful to maintain it in peak condition by regular sessions in gymnasia. Statarius knocked at one of the doors on the landing. It was opened by a white-haired man, stooped and ancient but redeemed from any hint of decrepitude by a pair of glittering black eyes, which seemed to Valentinian to strip away his outward show of haughty indifference and lay bare the secrets of his soul.

‘Niall MacCoull, Serenity,' announced Statarius, ‘a Scot from Ireland. For some of these Celts, the veil separating this world
from the next is very thin, enabling them to make contact with the world beyond the Styx – or should that be the Jordan?'

Telling Statarius to wait outside, Valentinian followed the old man into a dusty chamber, empty save for some flickering oil lamps, a truckle bed, a chest, and a curious apparatus standing in the middle of the floor.

‘Right, let us begin,' declared the Emperor. He intended to appear masterful, but confronted by those penetrating eyes he felt unsure, inadequate, his words sounding in his ears like the shrill demand of a petulant schoolboy.

‘In a little, sir,' replied the seer, politely but without subservience. ‘First, I must attune myself with the Beyond, in the hope that some spirit may answer whatever questions you wish to put.' Closing his eyes, he commenced to mutter, in an unfamiliar tongue, a prayer or incantation.

Feeling uncharacteristically subdued and, now that the moment of truth had arrived, distinctly apprehensive, Valentinian moved to the room's one window, unshuttered this warm July night, and looked out over Rome. From a height of two hundred feet, illumined by the moon, a great western section of the sleeping city lay spread beneath him: the fora of four emperors, a forest of silvered pillars; the looming bulk of the Capitol; and beyond, bounded by a great loop of the Tiber, the shining levels of the Field of Mars studded with theatres, circuses, and baths, all transmuted by the moonlight into strange abstract shapes like demonstration models from a mathematician's study.

‘It is time,' said the seer, opening his eyes. ‘Come.'

Valentinian approached the apparatus in the centre of the chamber. It consisted of a circular metal plate engraved round the rim with the letters of the alphabet, and surmounted by a tripod from whose apex a ring was suspended by a thread. Setting the ring swinging in a circular motion, the diviner said, ‘The auspices are favourable. Ask what you will.'

Valentinian licked lips which were suddenly dry; sweat sprang out on his palms. He opened his mouth to ask the question he had prepared but no sound issued from his throat. At the third attempt, the words came tumbling out in a rush: ‘Who will die first, Aetius or myself?'

Disbelievingly, he watched as the ring interrupted its oscillation to make a tiny but palpable jerk as it came opposite the letter
‘F', before continuing its circuit: ‘L', ‘A', and ‘V'; the name could only be ‘Flavius', thought Valentinian in horror, the first of his own names! Then he recalled that Aetius'
praenomen
was also Flavius. He would have to wait for the next name to become manifest, before—‘Enough!' he cried hoarsely, overcome with sudden nameless fears. With a sweep of his arm he hurled the tripod to the floor, then he rushed in terror from the room.

Statarius would have to go, thought Valentinian, following the charioteer along the way back to the palace. Divination, sorcery, call it what you will – any attempt to foretell the future, or to influence the outcome of events by contacting the spirit world, was a capital offence. In the case of an emperor being involved, that could hardly apply; but, despite being in a sense above the law, emperors were still expected not to break it. As Ambrose had put it, ‘The Emperor enacts laws which he is the first to keep.' Valentinian knew that emperors who continued to act unacceptably or tyrannically, or who openly flouted the will of the Senate, never died in their beds: Nero, Caligula, Commodus, Heliogabalus, Gallienus . . . The list was lengthy; and sobering. If news got out that Valentinian had been dabbling in the Black Arts, the loss of imperial prestige would be enormous. It might well lead to his being overtaken by the very fate he feared, but had just shrunk from discovering.

Could Statarius be trusted to remain silent? Probably not. Charioteers were notoriously boastful and arrogant. To rely on the discretion of a man from that class would be to make himself a hostage to fortune – a risk he could not afford. An ‘accident' would have to be arranged. Nothing obvious; Statarius was extremely popular, and suspicion of foul play would rouse the dangerous fury of the mob, the pampered underclass who, thanks to the state-funded dole, saw no necessity to work and lived only for the Circus and the Games. Valentinian recalled that in his grandfather Theodosius' time the imprisoning of a popular charioteer had had consequences that rocked the throne. Care and discretion must be his watchwords.

The stall gates of Rome's Circus Maximus flew open, and the four chariots representing the rival factions of the Blues, Greens, Whites, and Reds burst forth. Each driver strove to reach the
inside track round the
spina
, the long barricade running down the centre of the Circus, which the chariots must circle seven times. The roar issuing from three hundred thousand throats was deafening, the loudest shouts coming from supporters of the Blues, the colour of Statarius. The vehicles thundered along the right-hand lane, swept round the
spina
's far end, and hurtled down the opposing track. As they completed the second turn,
erectores
removed a dolphin and an egg from their respective crossbars at either end of the
spina
, signifying that the first lap had been run.

As the race continued, Statarius employed his favourite tactic of hanging back until an opportunity should present itself to cut in from behind, cross the path of the other chariots, and reach the inside track – an extremely dangerous manoeuvre, calling for the utmost skill and coolness. In the emperor's box, Valentinian began to gnaw his lip with worry. Four dolphins down and Statarius was still in the race. That fool of a
sparsor
in charge of cleaning the Blues' chariot, who had been bribed to saw partly through the shaft, must have botched the job.

The Emperor's anxious thoughts were distracted by a collective gasp from the crowd. Taking advantage of a momentary gap between the two chariots in front of him, Statarius urged his four horses to top speed, shot between the vehicles, and drew level with the leader. Then he laid his whip on the shoulder of his rear left-hand, horse. The best of the team, this was a
centenarius
, a horse which had won a hundred races. Swift and sure-footed, the
centenarius
, not yoked to the shaft but held only in traces, responded to the touch of the whip by surging forward, and swung in front of the other chariot. The two yoked centre horses, selected for their pulling power, maintained the momentum while the offside animal, running in traces like the
centenarius
, jerked the equipage round, co-ordinating the manoeuvre.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack as the shaft, subjected to tremendous stress, snapped where it had been weakened. Horses, driver, and chariot went down in a tangle of flailing limbs and splintering wood, which somersaulted twice before slamming against the
spina
. While attendants rushed out to clear up the
naufragium
, the ‘shipwreck', Valentinian sent the editor of the Races, who was beside him in the imperial box, to find out how Statarius had fared. ‘Dead, Serenity,' announced the man on his return. ‘Killed outright – a broken neck.'

‘Thank God,' breathed Valentinian, feeling himself go limp with relief.

‘Serenity?' said the other in shocked amazement.

‘I'm glad he did not suffer.'

The man's face cleared. ‘I see, Serenity. Rome is indeed fortunate to have an Emperor who cares for the least of his subjects – even a mere slave and charioteer.'

You have acted like a man who cuts off his right hand with his left

An imperial adviser's reply to Valentinian III, on being asked to approve the murder of Aetius, 454

Never have I seen Aetius so confident and positive [wrote Titus in his journal, at the Palace of Commodus in Rome] as in the days before he left for Rome to meet Valentinian. This was to promote the plans – already well advanced – for the marriage of his son Gaudentius with the Emperor's daughter Eudocia, thus uniting the house of Aetius with the royal line of Theodosius.

He was, despite everything, saddened, I suspect, to hear of the untimely death last year of Attila, his greatest friend turned bitterest foe. If so, he does not show it. Nor does he openly express concern regarding a serious consequence of Attila's removal from the stage of history. For, while solving an immediate problem, the King's death has created another, possibly even a greater. It was the terror Attila inspired that enabled Aetius to unite the federates and Romans in common cause. That threat has now passed. But with an overstretched Roman army (its numbers much reduced in consequence of the Battle of the Catalaunian Plains) to deal with the federates should they again cause trouble, can even a leader as inspired as Aetius maintain control? Only time will tell.

Meanwhile, I made ready to journey from Aetius' base at Lugdunum to Rome, ahead of the Patrician and his retinue, to prepare lodgings and give notice to the palace of his coming.

‘Here's your pass to use the
cursus velox
,' Aetius told Titus, handing him a scroll. ‘Head down the Rhodanus to Arelate, then along the coast via the Julia Augusta to its junction with the Via Aurelia
in Italy. After that follow the Aurelia to Rome – with relays of fast horses you should do it in a week. Make an appointment to see the Master of Offices and warn him of my coming; as the Emperor's in Rome, the court and Consistory will have moved there from Ravenna. Also get him to arrange an interview with the Praetorian prefect, who'll clear it with you to secure the use of Commodus' Palace for myself and my entourage.'

‘Valentinian won't like it, sir,' observed Titus dubiously. ‘Aren't the imperial palaces his personal property?'

Aetius shrugged. ‘He may not like it, but that's immaterial. He knows he can't refuse a request from the Master of Soldiers. Anyway, Prefect Boethius is a friend of mine. He'll smooth things over if Valentinian proves difficult.' He glanced at a water-clock on a stand. ‘Barely past the second hour.' He grinned and clapped Titus on the shoulder. ‘With hard riding, you'll be in Arelate by sunset.'

In a chamber in the central, private, block of the Domus Augustana, Domitian's immense brick-faced concrete palace on Rome's Palatine Hill, Valentinian was ensconced with his
amicus principis
, his favourite, the eunuch Heraclius.

‘Commandeering our Palace of Commodus,' fumed the emperor. ‘The man's presumption knows no bounds! And, to add insult to injury, he dispenses with a formal request but sends instead a lackey, this agent Titus, to inform us he intends to requisition our property. Perhaps he thinks himself above his sovereign?'

‘I would hesitate to say that he does not, Serenity,' replied Heraclius. ‘I would advise you have a care for the safety of your person. Today the Palace of Commodus, tomorrow . . . the Palace of Domitian?' Smiling and plump, he spread his hands. ‘Is Heraclius being too fanciful? I do not wish to cause Your Serenity undue alarm, but it would be wise, perhaps, not to dismiss such considerations lightly. Remember what happened to Gratian, and to the second emperor to bear your name – done away with by ambitious generals. It is no secret that Aetius intends to press the suit of his son Gaudentius for the hand of your daughter, the Princess Eudocia. One cannot but wonder: why is this of such importance to him? Should the union come to pass, and a male child be born . . .' He left the sentence hanging in the air.

‘Don't fence with me, Heraclius,' snapped Valentinian. ‘What is it you're suggesting?'

‘Why, nothing, Serenity,' the eunuch replied smoothly. ‘Merely observing that, as such a child would be of royal blood, Aetius might be tempted.'

‘Tempted!' exclaimed Valentinian, turning pale. ‘Tempted to usurp our throne in the name of his son or grandson? Is that what you're saying?'

‘I'm saying Your Serenity should be careful,' said Heraclius in his soft, whispering voice. ‘Just in case. Aetius, as we know, is no respecter of persons. He destroyed Boniface, he humiliated your mother, he rides roughshod over your decrees. Who knows what such a man might venture, to advance himself? I advise you, when you meet him, not to be alone or unarmed.'

‘Thank you, Heraclius,' said the emperor. ‘You are a loyal friend. If only all our ministers were as concerned for our welfare. You may leave us now. We shall ponder what you have said.'

The eunuch bowed and backed out of the chamber, a spiteful smile playing round his lips. Like his master, he had felt the lash of Aetius' scorn in the past. Perhaps the score could now be evened.

Handing his sword-belt to the duty
centenarius
, Aetius dimissed his bodyguard, a company of tough young Germans, hand-picked for their fighting skills, and all of proven loyalty and courage. Unarmed and alone, he advanced towards the gates of Domitian's Palace. As they swung open, he reflected that his agent Titus and others had cautioned him against seeing Valentinian without taking precautions for his own security. The Emperor was in an angry, suspicious, and unstable mood, they had said, and he had not concealed his resentment of the Patrician's presence in Rome. But Aetius had brushed the warnings aside. What could Valentinian possibly do to harm him? Shout? Threaten? If the Emperor attempted to arrest him, his bodyguard, as soon as they got wind, would make short work of Valentinian's – who were scorned as toy soldiers, for all their splendid uniforms.