Iron and Rust

CHAPTER 19

The Northern Frontier

Near the Town of Viminacium on the Danube,

the Ides of May, AD236

Timesitheus watched the beaters working down the field. Next to him, Macedo, the Prefect of the Osrhoenes, sat his horse in silence. It was good hunting country: gentle timbered slopes coming down to broad plains dotted with villas and stands of mature trees. The wide channels of the Danube glinted in the spring sunshine off to the north.

The imperial field army had left Castra Regina in Raetia as soon as the worst of the winter had broken. The immense column had taken two months by easy stages to reach Viminacium in Moesia Superior. It was camped in and around the legionary fortress and town, readying itself to cross the river into Dacia. Maximinus was eager to confront the Sarmatians and other barbarians infesting that province.

The campaign was of little interest to Timesitheus. The next day, with Tranquillina and his household, he would continue on south and east. Naissus, Serdica, Hadrianoupolis — they would follow the great military highway to Perinthus, where they would pick up the Via Egnatia, and so on to Byzantium and the crossing of the Bosphorus into his new province of Bithynia-Pontus. There was a long journey still ahead, and demanding work at the far end, unravelling complex civic finances and confronting the intransigence of atheist Christians, in addition to the normal duties of a governor. He was glad to be out hunting, glad to be away from the intrigue of the court.

Macedo owned a dozen well-bred Celtic gaze-hounds. Timesitheus had always enjoyed hunting. This was very different from what he had known in his childhood on Corcyra. There, the mountainous, broken ground had meant going on foot with a few local scent-hounds and nets. It might have been back in the days of Xenophon. If he were honest, the resources of his family would never have stretched to Celtic hounds, Illyrian horses and liveried huntsmen.

The beaters, more than twenty of them in line abreast, were walking a field sown with wheat. One of Macedo’s huntsmen had been out before dawn, and reported that there were several hares. It was well known that the braver, more intelligent hares made their seats in such open, worked land. They did so, Arrian of Nicomedia had written in his Cynegeticus, to challenge the hounds. Timesitheus thought it more probable they chose such places because they could not be stalked so easily by foxes. Whatever the reason, it promised good sport.

Macedo had not invited anyone else. The two mounted men waited behind a huntsman with two hounds on slip leashes. Other hunt servants, likewise clad in thick, embroidered coats and stout boots, held the rest of the hounds further back. The red and white feathers of their scarers flashed as the beaters drove across the front of those waiting. Timesitheus ran an educated eye over the two bitches in the slips. A brindle and a black, both long in the stand from head to tail, they trembled slightly, necks arched and proud.

A shout came from one of the beaters, taken up along the line. They had put up a hare. It took three or four huge jumps from its seat. Ears pricked, it sat for a moment then bounded away from the noise and the motion.

The huntsman crouched, walked the hounds forward, getting himself down to their horizon. The bitches were well trained. They pulled lightly on their collars but remained completely silent. The huntsman released the top ends of the slip leads. In a blur the hounds were gone. No one, Timesitheus thought, could fail to thrill at the beauty of their acceleration. He put his heels into his horse’s flanks.

The hare saw the hounds and angled diagonally away.

Timesitheus and Macedo put their mounts into a fast canter.

The hare ran straight until the brindle bitch in the lead was but a pace or two behind, then jinked to the right. The brindle turned fast, but overshot. The black cut inside. She turned the hare left, then right. The brindle was coming up again, clods flying from her claws. The black turned the hare again — two, three, four times. Her strike was clean. She pulled up in a flurry of mud, shaking her prey. If the snap of her jaws had not killed the hare, its neck was broken now.

Macedo jumped down and took two eggs from a straw-packed bag on his saddle. He handed one to Timesitheus and retrieved the hare. The bitches frisked around, panting, wagging their tails. Dismounting, Timesitheus caught the brindle bitch. He pulled her muzzle up, cracked the egg and tipped it into her mouth. Both men made much of the bitches, rubbing their ears, praising them.

No sooner had they returned, and another two hounds been led out, than another hare was running. The next huntsman made a mess of things. The hare was panic-stricken, almost under them, when he slipped the hounds. Less than ten paces, and the lead dog had killed. Macedo looked furious.

‘Fine hares have often perished ingloriously, having had no time to do anything worth remembering.’ Timesitheus spoke to avert his companion’s anger from the hapless huntsman.

‘You are right.’ Macedo mastered himself. ‘Let us have a drink and something to eat.’

The hunt servants led away horses and hounds and busied themselves spreading blankets in some nearby shade. Timesitheus and Macedo were left alone.

‘“Let me at least not die without a struggle, inglorious, but do some big thing first, that men to come shall know of it.”’ As he recited the lines, Macedo looked down, brushing some dirt off his trousers.

‘Hector’s words before he fought Achilles,’ Timesitheus said.

Macedo did not meet his gaze. ‘You may think you will be well out of it in Bithynia-Pontus.’

Timesitheus made a noise of assent, his senses suddenly very alert.

‘Vitalianus has been made deputy Praetorian Prefect. You spoke against his previous appointment in Mauretania. He will prove a dangerous enemy.’

‘Most likely,’ Timesitheus said.

‘The Prefect of the Camp hates you. Domitius would like to eat your liver raw.’

‘I would rather watch someone else consume his intestines,’ Timesitheus said.

Macedo did not smile, but looked at him now, a mature consideration in his eyes. ‘Unworthy men are being promoted. Quintus Valerius has been given Mauretania, Lorenius has replaced him in Raetia. My Osrhoenes and the heavy cavalry of your relative Sabinus Modestus gave Maximinus victory against the Germans. We have received nothing. You brought to light the conspiracy of Magnus, and you are put out of the way in Bithynia-Pontus.’

There was something about the way Macedo had said ‘brought to light’. Timesitheus arranged his face. ‘Not long ago, you envied me that province.’

Macedo shook his head. ‘You will not be safe there. The last few months have shown that a governor of a distant province cannot defend himself from informers at court. Perhaps Antigonus was plotting in Moesia Inferior, but more likely he died because Honoratus wanted his command against the Goths. But harmless old Ostorius of Cilicia was condemned for his money. Domitius made the profitable accusation. The Prefect of the Camp took a quarter of the estate, the imperial treasury the rest.’

Timesitheus murmured something non-committal. He heard the scuttle of fear in his mind.

‘The Senators will never truly accept an equestrian on the throne, and when he starts to kill members of their order …’ Macedo left that sentence hanging.

Timesitheus said nothing.

Macedo continued. ‘Volo reopening the cases of those acquitted of treason under Alexander, his frumentarii dragging back those who were merely relegated from Italy — these things have terrified them all. When innocence is no defence against wealth …’

The fetid, rodent breath was hot in Timesitheus’ ear. ‘My province is unarmed.’

‘I have always admired the alacrity of your mind,’ Macedo said.

‘Thank you.’

Now Macedo smiled. ‘The province of your friend Priscus is not lacking in troops. Nor is that of his friend Serenianus. Between them they have four legions, many auxiliaries. Together, Bithynia-Pontus, Mesopotamia and Cappadocia could sway the East.’

Timesitheus battened his fear deep down. He had to keep his head. ‘You just said the Senate will never accept an equestrian on the throne.’

Macedo actually laughed. ‘No goddess has dazzled me. Another.’

‘Who?’

Macedo shook his head. ‘Someone better qualified than me.’

Timesitheus said nothing.

‘We ask nothing from you. But, after the event, when a messenger reaches the East, an early declaration by several provinces would be both good for Rome and well rewarded.’ Macedo turned towards the trees. ‘No more now. Let us go and eat.’

Following, Timesitheus felt as if he were walking on the edge of a precipice. Who were the we who asked nothing of him? Was there a conspiracy? Was Macedo trying to do to him what he had done to Magnus? Was he already implicated? Would only decisive action save him? Or could he ride away tomorrow, leave it behind him as if the words had never been spoken? Tranquillina would know the answer.

Let me at least not die without a struggle. Hector had fought, but it had not saved him from Achilles.