Blood and Steel

Chapter 29

The Northern Frontier

Sirmium,

Two Days after the Ides of March, AD238

‘The men are ready, Emperor.’

Maximinus did not acknowledge the officer. His gaze remained fixed on the fragile alabaster vase cradled in his great scarred hands. The first two days after the news had come, to get oblivion from his thoughts, he had soaked himself in wine. Neither the alcohol, nor the soft murmurings of his secretary Apsines had done any good. This morning he had stopped drinking, summoned the consilium, and ordered the troops to assemble on the Campus Martius outside the town.

‘Emperor.’

Maximinus lifted the vase to his lips, kissed it, and with great delicacy placed the ashes of Paulina in the travelling case by the throne. He looked around the imperial pavilion as if it was all strange to him, as if he had never before seen its interior or the men assembled there.

The sacred fire burnt low. Beyond, in the purple gloom, stood the serried ranks of the imperial friends. To the fore was Flavius Vopiscus, next to him Faltonius Nicomachus, the governor of Pannonia Inferior. A pace behind them were the great equestrian officers: Anullinus the Praetorian Prefect, Volo the commander of the frumentarii, Julius Capitolinus Prefect of the 2nd Parthian Legion. Further back still, merging into the shadows were the commanders of individual units: Sabinus Modestus of the heavy cavalry, Florianus of the Britons, Iotapianus of the Emesenes, and many others.

Maximinus studied each of them closely, letting nothing go unnoticed, not the way they held themselves, nor the flicker of their eyes. They were all dressed for war. Maximinus wondered if he could trust any of his so-called amici. Capitolinus owned an estate in Africa. The cousin of Modestus was a traitor. Iotapianus had betrayed his kinsman Alexander. Anullinus had murdered that ineffectual Emperor and his aged mother, cut off their heads, desecrated their corpses. While he had been drinking, Flavius Vopiscus had issued orders as if he, not Maximinus, wore the diadem. Old Tiberius had been right: when you sat on the throne of the Caesars you held a wolf by the ears.

‘Father, we should go.’

Maximinus did not look at his son, but stood, massive and powerful. Perhaps his mere presence would overawe the consilium. At least he could trust the soldiers. Enrich the soldiers, ignore everyone else.

Outside the rain had stopped. The ground was mud, but it was a fine spring day. The sun shone, and a brisk wind snapped at the standards above the massed ranks.

Maximinus ascended the tribunal. His son and the amici fell in behind him.

The troops waited in silence.

Maximinus felt a great weariness. The gods knew, he had never wanted any of this. Everything he had done, everything he would do, none of it was for himself. It was all for duty, for Rome.

Apsines had written a speech for him, full of fine sentiments and balanced cadences. It was in his hands, but he was not going to read it. Better to speak from the heart. One soldier in front of many.

‘Fellow soldiers, the Africans have broken faith. When did they ever keep it?’

The troops laughed, as he had known they would.

‘They have acclaimed the two Gordians as Emperors. One is so broken with old age that he can not rise, the other so wasted with debauchery that exhaustion serves him for old age. Terrible enemies to have — an old man close to death, and a drunkard too befuddled to crawl from one dining couch to another.’

Not the sophisticated rhetoric of Apsines, but it pleased the soldiers.

‘And what fearsome army do they bring against you? Not the Germans, whom we have defeated on many occasions, nor the Sarmatians who regularly come to beg for peace. No, they lead the Carthaginians! Men whose hard training is in rhythmic dances, choruses and witty speeches.’

He paused, letting the spring breeze chase the wine fumes from his head.

‘No one should be disturbed by the news from Rome. Vitalianus was caught and murdered by a deceitful trick. Everyone knows the fickle and cowardly nature of the Roman plebs. They only have to see two or three armed soldiers to be pushing and trampling on each other, as each man runs away to save his skin, without a thought for the common danger.

‘And if that was not treachery enough, what of our glorious Senate? We fight for their safety, the safety of their wives and children, and how do they repay us? They declare us hostes, enemies of the Res Publica. We are to be denied fire and water. It should be no surprise. Our discipline offends them. They prefer the Gordiani who share their degenerate habits. They are hostile to my rule because it is sober and strict, but welcome the Gordiani, and you all know the scandals of their lives.

‘These are the kind of people against whom we are at war, if war is the right name for it. I am convinced that we only have to set foot in Italy for all of them to hold out olive branches and bring their children to us, begging for mercy and falling at our feet.

‘Tomorrow I will lead a flying column of cavalry to the west. We will go by the Savus Valley, and seize the mountain passes. The next day, the Pannonian legions, in light marching order, will break camp. They will take the easier road through the valley of the Dravus. Flavius Vopiscus will have the command. Four days hence, the main body, under Julius Capitolinus, will follow them. The Prefect of the Camp Domitius already has gone ahead to secure our supplies.’

Maximinus wondered how to end. Enrich the soldiers, ignore everyone else.

‘This will be a good campaign; easy fighting and vast rewards. I grant every man in the army a year’s pay. When we have taken Rome, I grant you the property of our enemies, the wealth of all the Senate. You can take it, and enjoy it without restraint.’

As the cheers rang across the parade ground, Maximinus turned and climbed down from the tribunal. His son and amici jostled after him. Flavius Vopiscus was to the fore. While Maximinus had been drinking, Vopiscus had ordered Domitius ahead to gather supplies. Was that commendable foresight, or a dangerous assertion of independence? Paulina had been right; an Emperor had no friends, could not trust those closest to him.

Maximinus trudged back towards the gates of the city. He had made no mention of Sabinus and Potens. With the Urban Cohorts and the Watch at their command, they might yet crush the revolt in Rome unaided. It made no odds. When he arrived, he would keep his promise to the soldiers. The Senate was a reeking stable, mired in long generations of filth. He would scour that building, scour it remorselessly.

A woman stood in the gateway. Tall and withered, dishevelled in her attire, Ababa the Druidess did not stand aside from the Emperor.

‘Maximinus.’ Her face was deathly pale, like some wild revenant. Twice more she cried out his name. She said no more, but fell suddenly, as if a sacrificial beast stunned by the axe.

Maximinus knelt in the mud. He bent over. She tried to speak. He put his ear to her lips. ‘Succurrite,’ she murmured. ‘Help me.’

There was nothing to be done. Maximinus was alone in the roadway. The breath of life had left her.