The Fateful Day (11 page)

‘And that does not convince you?’

I shook my head. ‘Someone contrived to steal his ring, or make a counterfeit.’

Another uncomfortable silence fell.

I felt I had to fill it. ‘If the thieves had been content to simply steal the goods, or even sell the servants in the slave-market, I might have been persuaded that my patron ordered it – though I would have expected to have heard something of his plans myself, from Julia, at least. But murdering the household? And contriving to have the land-slaves quartered somewhere else meanwhile, then keeping them busy collecting useless wood? Why go to all that trouble, if not to ensure there were no witnesses?’

He nodded. ‘You are quite right, of course. Marcus would never have countenanced the slaughter of his slaves. He was very proud of how well they’d all been trained and how valuable they had become as a result.’ There was not a vestige of irony in his words. ‘He wouldn’t have ordered their destruction, he’d have had them sold. So I fear that your suspicions are correct. But I’m afraid I cannot help you very much.’ He went back to his desk and sat down on the stool, making a little pyramid of his fingertips. ‘Citizen Libertus, I will not mince words with you. I was prepared to see you because I thought that you might know where Marcus was by now, and whether he was staying somewhere with a trusted friend – in which case I would have sent a courier with your message willingly. I wanted to send him a warning letter of my own.’

‘A warning, commandant? You mean you knew some trouble was afoot? Perhaps you know who did this – or could make a guess? All the more reason, surely, to send a messenger – even if it only reaches him in Rome.’

He shook his head all the more emphatically. ‘What happened at the villa is no part of it. I can see that it has disturbed you very much, and another day, perhaps, I would have felt the same. But frankly, citizen, I have no time to deal with such minor incidents today.’

‘Minor?’ The protest escaped me before I could resist.

‘Forgive me, Citizen Libertus.’ He ran his hand through his thinning hair again. ‘Minor in comparison – that is all I meant.’ He raised one eyebrow at me. ‘I know that you are greatly in your patron’s confidence. I imagine that he told you why he went to Rome?’

I shrugged. ‘He thought the Emperor needed his advice. Said Pertinax was far too honest to succeed. That he would cut out the excesses of the previous Emperor and he wouldn’t try to bribe the Praetorian Guard.’

‘That is exactly what he said to me. And it turns out he was right. So if you have any care for him at all, you will not repeat what you’ve just told me, outside of this room. Marcus will have enemies enough under the new regime. It must not be thought that he was party to the plot.’

‘Plot!’ I cried out in astonishment. ‘The new regime?’ The Roman must have seen the dawning horror on my face. ‘Something has happened to the Emperor Pertinax?’

‘Pertinax is no longer Emperor. We received a messenger from Rome first thing today – there have been horsemen riding day and night across the Empire with the news.’ Suddenly the neutral tone had disappeared. There was a bitter anger in his voice and I almost thought it trembled as he spoke.

‘He’s been deposed? Imprisoned? Exiled?’

‘He’s been assassinated – by that same Praetorian Guard, and for the very reasons that your patron had foreseen. They were his personal protection and they turned on him. It’s the story of Galba all over again – only worse, if anything.’

I had only the vaguest notion of Roman history from a century before, but I knew what they said of Galba – ‘one of the finest Emperors of Rome, if he had never ruled’. And I knew about his fate. ‘You mean that both Galba and Pertinax were assassinated for the same thing: refusing to pay the guard the excessive bonus that their predecessors had done?’

A nod. ‘Apparently Pertinax attempted to reason with the men. Insisted on going to face them and trying to explain that he really could not pay because there was not enough money in the treasury. Commodus had spent it all on luxury, he said. Typical of him to take a brave and rational approach. But reason did not help him, in the end. It almost did. He was beginning to persuade them, so our informant said. But not all the guards were swayed by argument. One man lost patience and threw a spear at him. Then all Dis broke loose. Pertinax fell wounded to the ground and, at that, all the other guards surged up and stabbed at him as well. And these are the chosen men who take an oath that they’ll defend the Emperor until their dying breath! What has become of the old Roman values, citizen? Duty, bravery, honour and rational debate?’

I shook my head. ‘I can’t believe it.’ I couldn’t. It was scarcely three moons since Pertinax was hailed as Emperor by all the populace around the Roman world. More than hailed – joyfully acclaimed. Celebrations everywhere had lasted half a moon, and there were grateful sacrifices to the gods because we had an honest Emperor at last, and the corrupt and cruel Commodus had been overturned. ‘The entire Empire had such hopes of him!’ I said. ‘And now …?’

‘So swiftly passes the glory of the world – as the old adage says.’ The commander spread his hands in a gesture of despair. ‘I could not believe it, either. In fact when the first intelligence arrived, I refused to send on the messenger to the Iscan settlements till the news was confirmed by someone I could personally trust. But now it has been – several times – and more disturbing details are emerging all the time. The last courier reports that when he left the Imperial capital, the soldiers had cut off Pertinax’s head and were carrying it in triumph around the city on a pole.’

I could hardly take it in. ‘So, who has been acclaimed as Emperor in his place? His son will not be old enough to take the purple yet. And I suppose they wouldn’t want his family anyway.’

‘That, citizen, is almost the worst news of all. It almost happened that his influence went on. Pertinax’s father-in-law looked likely to succeed – he was prepared to offer the praetorians what they were asking for – and that would at least have kept a semblance of propriety. He was the Chief Prefect, promoted to the post by Pertinax himself, and would have been the obvious successor. But while he was in the palace making his offer to the guard, another candidate announced himself outside the gates – shouting that he would pay a higher sum. The two of them began to make promises of gold – bigger and bigger promises – to the praetorians.’

‘All this in public – so that anyone could hear!’ I don’t know Rome, but Marcus has described the Imperial court to me and I could visualise the scene – even though I could scarcely credit it.

‘All this in public, citizen, as you rightly say. It seems that our rulers have no shame or dignity at all. In the end Didius Julianus made a bid that his rival could not match, and his succession has been ratified.’ He looked at me and for the first time I could see that he was close to tears. ‘They auctioned the Empire, citizen – and we who supported Pertinax have lost.’

T
he enormity of this was almost too dreadful to take in. The praetorians – the select Imperial Guard – openly selling the Empire to whoever agreed to pay them most! I found myself staring, speechless, at the commandant, as if Jove had struck me with one of his famous thunderbolts and I’d been turned to stone. I was so shocked that I could hardly think at all, but one clear realisation surfaced in my brain: I could abandon hope of getting help in dealing with Marcus’s affairs. Nothing else would matter to the commandant now.

That recognition must have been written on my face. ‘I see that the implications are not lost on you,’ he said. ‘You’ll understand now, citizen, if I don’t seem as sympathetic as you might have hoped to the local troubles you report, however dreadful you may feel they are.’ That dead and neutral tone was back again, but I now realised that this lack of outward emotion – as with the mask-like expression on his face – was the product of iron self-control. Inwardly the man was seething with outrage, grief and shock.

I found my voice sufficiently to say, ‘You think this will affect us a great deal, then, even in Britannia?’ This was the most far-flung province of them all, and the most removed from the customs and fashions of the Imperial Court – as Marcus had often scathingly pointed out to me.

The old soldier looked me. ‘What’s just gone on in Rome affects everyone in the Empire – even us in Glevum, citizen. For you and your little workshop perhaps not very much. People will still want pavements, I expect, and if there are wars they probably won’t reach as far as this – though there may be extra taxes, by and by, which everyone will feel. But for me …?’ He tailed off. ‘It all depends on who’s advising Didius.’

I stared at him. ‘But surely … you have had an impeccable career. And you have kept away from politics. Marcus told me that you’d chosen to be posted here, instead of seeking a comfortable senatorial seat in Rome like most people of your rank and seniority.’

He made a wry face. ‘A praetor cannot altogether escape from politics, citizen. I have long been outspoken in my praise for Pertinax and I have no friends in the Praetorian Guard. I shall be lucky not to be recalled to Rome and – at best – relieved of my command. If I am less fortunate …’ He left the sentence hanging in the air, but it was quite clear what he meant: even his life might be in question – and his fortune, certainly.

I swallowed hard. Here was this senior Roman officer speaking frankly of his fears to a humble Celtic ex-slave in a toga, whose future was likely to be more secure than his own. An hour ago I would have said that was impossible. Suddenly the whole ordered world was turning upside down. ‘That’s why you’re searching through the records?’ I was hesitant, but anxious to make clear I’d understood. ‘Looking for proof that you’ve done nothing wrong?’

The officer gestured to the littered documents on the desk. ‘I’m looking at accounts of my career, trying to predict what imaginary failure of duty the new Emperor is going to charge me with! And trying to find anything that I can use in my defence! Ah!’ He untied the strings that held together yet another scroll and let it unroll gently between his hands. ‘This might be of help – a commendation from someone that I served with once, but unlike me went into politics. He’s kept his own counsel over many years, so he is likely to retain his senatorial seat and still have a voice in government. I saved his life once and he’s not the sort of man who would forget. I’ll send to him. If necessary he might speak in my support.’ He began to roll the letter up again with care.

There was no possible answer I could make to this. It was clear that the commander was in earnest about this. Yet this weather-beaten soldier had always seemed to me the picture of a successful, well-born, well-respected military man. I had always thought him a model of a good commander, too, ready to listen and not too quick to judge. Without his presence Glevum wouldn’t be the same. I shook my head. ‘You really think …?’

‘Citizen, you’re not familiar with the Imperial Court.’ He was carefully retying the letter as he spoke. ‘If a new man seizes power the first thing he must do is weaken the influence of his predecessor’s friends. Anyone in politics will tell you that. Sometimes this is done by semi-legal means – imposing exile or a seizure of lands and property – or sometimes by arranging a convenient demise. Failure to do so is always a mistake, as Pertinax has discovered to his cost. He was too lenient when he assumed the purple, not only with exiled criminals (he offered several pardons where he felt his predecessor’s decrees had been unjust), but also with the powerful men of Rome: both those who served Commodus while he was in power, and those who planned his overthrow. When Pertinax was first installed, he should have made an example of them all, but in fact he executed very few of them, and that was his downfall in the end. Men who bring down one Emperor with impunity tend to imagine they can do the same again.’

This was another shocking new idea to me. I had always regarded the Roman Emperors – even the half-crazed Commodus himself – as creatures set apart by destiny, close to being the deities they sometimes claimed to be. (Not that Pertinax had ever called himself a god!) This view of them as calculating and ambitious predators – human spiders spinning a web of treason and deceit and clinging to power by devouring enemies – was disquieting. ‘So what do you think the new Emperor will do?’ I managed.

‘Knowing Didius, he’ll do what he’s advised,’ the commander said. ‘Left to himself, he’d rather bribe and flatter than make enemies. So let’s hope that he surrounds himself with people of like mind and they tell him to try and buy support rather than wreak vengeance on Pertinax’s men and run the risk of popular revolt.’ He set the chosen letter to one side as he spoke, and began to gather up the other documents. ‘I wish I knew which people were advising him. It would make your patron rather safer too.’

I stared at him in horror. That aspect of events had not occurred to me. But, of course, it should have done. Marcus was no mere supporter of the murdered Pertinax – he was an intimate. He counted the late Emperor as his patron and his friend. And he was at this moment on his way to Rome, if he was not there already – an obvious target for this Didius.

‘That is why you agreed to see me!’ I exclaimed. ‘And why you said that Marcus stood to lose more than just a houseful of possessions and some slaves. You think he is in danger of his life?’

‘Of his rank and fortune, anyway. I wanted to discover where he was so that I could warn him,’ the commander said. He was absently re-rolling another of the scrolls. ‘Of course he may have heard the news already and decided to turn back of his own accord. The whole of the Empire will be buzzing by this time, and Marcus is days nearer to events in Rome than we are here. Let’s hope he doesn’t carry on to the Imperial Court and try to be heroic by making public speeches against the overthrow. He’d find himself in prison, or in exile – or worse. If he comes straight back to Glevum he should be safe enough, provided he doesn’t thrust himself into the public consciousness. The new Emperor is not a man to worry about what is not underneath his nose.’

‘You sound as if you know this Didius.’

The commander shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve met him once or twice. He commanded the twenty-second Primigenia for a time.’

I nodded slowly, trying to weigh what this might mean for us, his subjects now. Probably nothing in particular. Almost all Emperors have been military men, ever since Caius Julius, and the support of the army is obviously what keeps men in power. ‘So he will have the loyalty of the Germanic legions, as well as the praetorians, if there is revolt?’

The vestige of a smile played round the handsome mouth. ‘I’m not so sure of that. He was no soldier really – more interested in politics and power, even then, though his subsidiary officers were excellent and built a reputation for him, which he did not personally deserve. But he has powerful allies. He was raised in the court of the Aurelians and Marcus’s aged mother was his patroness. So it did not surprise anyone when he rose like cream and was promoted to be governor of a string of provinces, each one a little bigger and more important than the last.’

‘Always ambitious, then?’

He put down the rewound scroll, glanced briefly at another document, then began to roll that up as well, as if his life depended on activity. ‘I think he always dreamed of being Emperor one day. He was accused of conspiring against Commodus, once – and I expect he did.’

‘And yet he lived?’ I was astonished. Scores of others down the years had suffered nasty, lingering deaths, simply for being half suspected of that crime.

The commander nodded. ‘He was acquitted and had his accusers executed instead. As I told you, he has powerful friends.’

‘So we can expect him to be ruthless?’ I murmured doubtfully, thinking of Marcus and what his fate might be in Rome.

‘He has a reputation for it, certainly.’ The old soldier laid the second rewound document neatly by the first. ‘But I am not so sure. When he was governor of Beliga he once put down a rebellion with some force – that’s why he was promoted to the consulate. Yet he really did no more than sit in his provincial capital and sign the papers that the army brought to him. It was the officers in the field who quashed the rebel force. But Didius knew how to word the dispatch back to Rome so that he made himself look like a hero and a patriot.’

I was still trying to get a mental picture of the man. ‘Obviously he’s clever and has a way with words.’ That was a serious asset, I could see. Romans greatly value argument and rhetoric and a powerful orator can often sway the crowd.

‘Clever enough, at least, to pay someone to pay somebody who does. I’m almost sure, from what I knew of him, that he didn’t compose those dispatches himself. Any more than I think he prepared his own defence in that treason case.’ He found the storage jars he wanted and laid the rolls inside. ‘He used to keep a secretary in his retinue, a man who was born to noble rank, in fact, but had been obliged to sell himself to slavery and who had the education and skill to frame the words for maximum effect. Didius made no secret of the fact. He boasted of having paid a handsome sum for him. No doubt he still keeps someone of the kind. He’s has never been afraid to use his wealth for his own advancement.’ He stuffed a bung into a storage jar with unnecessary violence. ‘And now he’s bought himself an Empire.’

I heard the crackle of emotion in the voice and felt I must say something comforting. ‘So let us hope he goes on using bribery and he’ll simply try to buy allegiance from people who used to follow Pertinax.’

‘Gold would not tempt Marcus very much, I think,’ the commander said, as if he were considering the matter carefully. ‘But perhaps he could be bought – a position in the new Emperor’s retinue, perhaps.’

I tried to imagine Marcus as a magistrate in Rome. Perhaps that was the fate that I should wish for him. It would mean at least that he was well and safe – for a little while at least. And no doubt he would fulfil the role with skill and dignity. But I realised suddenly how much I’d miss the man. He was thoughtless and high-handed now and then – ‘arrogant and impulsive’ was what Gwellia would have said – but I was oddly fond of him. And how would I manage without his patronage? Any pavement-maker needs some wealthy man to be his advocate and introduce him to affluent prospective clients.

The thought reminded me of the customer I’d missed and – despite the seriousness of events in Rome (or perhaps because of them) – I found myself wondering selfishly how lucrative that Egidius contract would have been. With Marcus gone, I’d probably never get a big commission of that kind again. And now I’d almost certainly lost the opportunity. I sighed. The client was clearly not the type to tolerate delay, and – whatever Junio had said – was unlikely to call on me a second time.

I was brought back to the present by the commander’s voice. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if Didius did begin by trying bribery. After all, it has already got him where he is.’ He got abruptly to his feet. ‘But he won’t be able to sustain it, if he does. There are too many people who supported Pertinax, and not enough in the coffers to pay even what he has already promised to the Guard. And he won’t keep their support if they don’t get the gold. It’s a dilemma, citizen. If he isn’t harsh and ruthless, he will not last very long. It takes a stronger man than Didius to run an Empire.’

I swallowed. ‘So what do you foresee?’

‘I’ll tell you, citizen.’ He walked over and put the storage jars back on the shelf. ‘There will be wars and uprisings all round the Empire – till someone has succeeded in seizing power from him. One of the provincial governors, I expect. Maybe even the governor of Britannia – he has as good a claim to the purple as Didius Julianus has. I’m half expecting to receive a message saying so and urging me to move in his support. Perhaps I ought to think of writing to him first, suggesting it. Though Jove alone knows what the local populace would think.’ He looked wearily at me. ‘Or what they’ll think about any of these events, in fact.’

‘This news from Rome has not been publicly announced here?’ I said, though I knew the answer even as I spoke. There’d been no evidence of public disturbance on my way, as there surely would have been if the death of the Emperor were known.

The commander shook his head.

‘But there’s been an announcement to the garrison,’ I said, suddenly realising why Cerberus had abruptly changed his mind when I talked of dreadful happenings and needing to send an urgent messenger to Rome.

‘I told the senior officers at once,’ he said. ‘We made a placatory sacrifice to Jove, and decided that the news should be passed on to the other ranks.’

‘That was what was happening when I came in, I think.’

‘Exactly. But we haven’t released the information to the town. The soldiers will all be sworn to secrecy meanwhile, as they always are in anything which touches on the safety of the Emperor, and I’m refusing to see anyone from the
colonia
today, though of course there’ll have to be a public proclamation later on. Exactly when, I couldn’t say. I have left that decision to the curia.’