Blood and Steel

Chapter 33

The Northern Frontier

The Small Town of Saldis in the Savus Valley,

Four Days after the Ides of March, AD238

Maximinus eventually had fallen asleep, despite the howling of his son’s pack of hounds. They should have been silent, exhausted after the long day’s run. He should never have let Maximus bring them.

Sometimes when he was very tired, after some effort of endurance, when finally he could lie down and rest, his body found it hard to accept. It ticked like a cooling stove. His heart thumped, and his muscles twitched and jumped. And then, when his resentment against those who were sound asleep had passed, he could think with a feverish clarity.

Succurrite, the Druid woman had whispered. He could no more help Ababa than anyone else. He had not been able to help Micca or Tynchanius. He had not been able to help Paulina. He was Emperor, vice-regent of the gods on earth, his will was law, and he had been unable to save those he loved, or even some barbarian priestess.

Maximinus, three times Ababa had said his name before she died. Flavius Vopiscus had been unable to hide his anxiety. The Senator had clutched at the hidden amulet he thought no one knew that he wore around his neck. What would the superstitions of Vopiscus have made of the portent? Maximinus had been on the throne for three years. Were they all the gods had allotted? Or might it mean three generations would wear the purple? Or some other triad as yet unimagined?

When he woke, it was silent. The room smelt of the waxed canvas of his travelling cloak. It was very dark, but somehow he knew it would soon be dawn. His thighs and back ached. He stretched, his huge frame overlapping the bed, and reviewed the previous day.

They had taken the more direct, although ultimately harder route. They had crossed the meandering rivers, the Savus, the Dreinos, and the Savus again, passing through riverside settlements of no fame. At times the road was built up above floodplains, where flights of duck and geese arrowed away.

Maximinus had all the cavalry with him; the cataphracts in their mail and scale, the loose-robed Moors, the Parthians and Persians with their headbands and voluminous trousers, the uniformed Roman auxiliaries, and the barbarians furnished by the recent treaties, both Sarmatians and Germans. Back in Sirmium, Vopiscus had objected to the inclusion of the latter. The Emperor Vespasian had rejected barbarian aid during civil war. Maximinus had pointed out that Vespasian had reigned before the age of iron and rust.

Among the Germans rode the young hostage that Maximinus had seen when setting out to fight the Iazyges. He had taken the son of King Isangrim as an omen that his armies would reach the northern ocean. That had not happened yet, but the purposes of the gods were slow. Maximinus liked the look of the tall youth. There was something about him that reminded Maximinus of himself.

They had left Sirmium before dawn, and halted at this undistinguished place in the Metubarbis marsh well after dark. Dozens of riders had fallen behind. Some had straggled in during the night, but many more would be left in their wake before they reached their destination. It was vital to take Emona, the first town in Italy, then cross the Alps to hold the Passes on the far side, before they could be closed by the rebels.

Somehow, with Vitalianus dead, Maximinus had little faith in the abilities of Sabinus and Potens to restore the position in Rome. If the gods willed they did, so much the better. But it was not to be relied upon.

After this headlong rush, when they descended the Alps, any number of the horses would be broken down, most never fit for service again. The north Italian plain was broad and fertile, remounts could be gathered while they waited for the infantry. Having dealt with Corvinus, the brigand whose estates dominated the mountains, Domitius should already be requisitioning horseflesh as well as provisions.

Vopiscus had ordered the Prefect of the Camp ahead without consulting Maximinus. Admittedly Maximinus had been drinking, but the assumption of power was a concern. No one knew better than Maximinus that he had only acceded to the throne because Vopiscus had put him there. Sometimes Maximinus wondered if his acclamation by the recruits had been as spontaneous as it had seemed. Certainly the response of the Triumvirate had been more than prompt. Vopiscus, Honoratus and Catius Clemens were capable men, and needed watching. Once you have made one Emperor, you might be tempted to create another.

At least there were no Senators with the cavalry. All the officers were from the equestrian order. Some of them, mainly those from obscure families, still had some ancestral virtue. To the best the mos maiorum was not just a figure of speech.

The imperial secretaries were all equestrians. Maximinus smiled. The ride would be hard on those intellectuals from the chanceries. They had insisted on accompanying him. The work of government did not cease when the Emperor was on campaign. Although how they expected him to find time to receive petitions and hear court cases he could not imagine.

It was still quiet. Far out in the marsh frogs croaked; brekekekex, brekekekex.

Maximinus got out of his camp bed, and used the chamber pot. Hearing him, Javolenus came in with some food. Maximinus told him to bring his armour.

Having washed his hands and face in cold water, Maximinus sat down stiffly on the bed. His constitution was strong, but he had lead a hard life, and was nearly sixty. He took the phial of Mithridatium out of its box, and swallowed some. The taste was unpleasant. Eating bread and cheese, he sent his thoughts scouting ahead.

On the other side of the mountains, once the infantry had reached him, the combined force would advance to Aquileia. The city in north-eastern Italy was the key to the campaign. From there he could move down the shore of the Adriatic. It was the obvious move, and the rebels, if they had any wit, would make some attempt to defend the roads across the Apennines. Alternatively, he could cross the plains, and take the Via Aurelia along the west coast. Again, if circumstances permitted, he could remain in Aquileia until reinforcements arrived over the Alps from Germany and the north-west. Then he could launch armies down both routes at once. It troubled him that the only officer of sufficient stature to lead the other expedition was Flavius Vopiscus. If only his son were a real man. But to entrust anything of importance to Maximus was inconceivable.

Javolenus reappeared, and Maximinus stood. As his bodyguard hung his cuirass on his shoulders, buckled the two halves tight together, Maximinus’ eyes rested on the white jar in its travelling case. Paulina had not been responsible for all the happiness in his life. He had been happy as a child. His father had been a big, silent man. He had not used his belt on them more than was necessary. His mother had been somewhat less stern. As she worked, she would tell them the fables of Aesop, although less for entertainment than the morals. Do not get above yourself, beware false friends, never be drawn into dispute with the powerful; all the eternal resignation that made peasant life bearable. Maximinus could remember his favourites almost perfectly. A fox elected King was being carried in a litter. Deciding to test him, Zeus sent a beetle. True to his nature, the fox leapt out, and in defiance of all propriety and regal conduct jumped about attempting to catch it.

‘Stand aside!’

Outside his son’s voice was more petulant than ever.

‘Enter.’

Maximus was red in the face, crying. How had the gods given him such a child?

‘Father …’ Maximus could not get the words out for sobbing.

‘Control yourself. You are a grown man. You are Caesar.’

‘My hounds …’

Maximinus waited.

‘My hounds are dead.’

That explained the agreeable silence.

‘All of them. They must have been poisoned. One of your barbarians must have done it.’