The North of Italy
The Stronghold of Arcia in the Julian Alps,
Four Days after the Ides of March, AD238
Even in the sunshine, the home of Marcus Julius Corvinus was not a thing of beauty, nothing like the villa of a rich equestrian. A foursquare fortress, it stood on top of a steep slope, purposeful and forbidding. The walls were of rough, irregular blocks of grey stone, but they were well mortared, crenellated above, and the pines were cut back a bowshot all around. There was just one gate in the side at the top of the track. Arcia was defensible, and extremely inaccessible: the ideal lair of a bandit chief.
Low-lying clouds had prevented Timesitheus seeing much of the first stages up into the wilds of the Alps. They had had to leave the carriage at dawn and continue on horseback from the Roman fort of Ad Pirum. A local guide had led him and the gladiator Narcissus. The path had been narrow and winding, occasionally precipitous. Sometimes it branched, and often seemed to turn back on itself. Timesitheus had wondered if they were being taken by a deliberately circuitous route.
Later in the morning, when the sun had broken through, it revealed range after range of hills, stretching into the far distance, fading from green to grey to blue. They rode through grassy meadows, dotted with purple flowers on tall, delicate stems, and crossed shallow upland streams, where bright water foamed over smoothed stones. The sun shone from a pale blue sky. Spring had come to the mountains, but snow still clung on some of the higher ridges. Timesitheus thought about the remote bleakness of winter.
The gate was open, but minded by two watchful, armed guards. The three riders clattered under a low, rounded arch, and into a dark tunnel that ran through the thickness of the wall. They emerged into a small square, faced with buildings that backed onto the outer walls. The red-tiled roofs were steeply pitched, and the chimneys were covered with raised slabs. Timesitheus noted that nothing obstructed the wall walk. A grim place to stand watch in winter, worse to assault at any season.
Stable-hands held the heads of their horses. These men too were armed. The travellers dismounted. Timesitheus stretched. He was weary to the bone. Three days from Rome to Aquileia, eating and sleeping with Menophilus in the carriage, only stopping to change horses. A further long night to Ad Pirum, and then the trek to Arcia. It would be worse for Narcissus, who had ridden the entire way. Still, it would have done the gladiator good. They were all overfed, stuffed full of beans. Every one of them carried too much weight.
‘Corvinus said to take you to the hall.’ The speaker made no show of deference. He was a tall man, wearing check tunic and trousers, and a long sword on his hip. He spoke Latin, but it was easy to picture him in a distant age, tattooed and screaming barbaric war cries, hurtling down a hillside with his kinsmen as they ambushed a Roman legion in some remote pass. It was not beyond imagining that, if chance offered, he might do the same nowadays.
A great table ran the length of the hall, from the doors to a massive, barbaric fireplace. Yet the room was plastered and painted, and old bronzes and fine statues stood on plinths. Timesitheus went and pretended to warm himself by the low fire. Inexplicably a lone boot stood on that end of the table. It was enormous, unworn and dyed scarlet.
Corvinus had known they were coming. It gave credence to his supposition there was a more direct route. Timesitheus yawned, and rubbed his eyes. It would have been good to wash. He was dirty, and he very much needed to be alert.
The governor’s palace in Ephesus, on the hill above the theatre, had the most luxurious private bath. He thought of the afternoons there, the servants sent away, Tranquillina naked, laughing, telling him exactly what she wanted him to do. Crouched between her thighs, all dignitas cast aside, abandoning himself to a pleasure, all the keener for its very degradation.
‘Health and great joy.’
Corvinus was a tall, well built man in middle age. His face had the deep tan of a life spent outdoors. He wore a crisp linen tunic, but, like the six men at his back, he had a sword hanging from his belt.
‘Health and great joy.’
Thucydides considered that only primitives carried weapons in peacetime. Yet, of course, Timesitheus came with a gladiator, and was himself armed; a sword and dagger, and a hidden blade in his boot. O tempora, o mores, as the more pretentious Romans often said.
‘Marcus Julius Corvinus, I am-’
‘Gaius Furius Sabinius Aquila Timesitheus, Prefect of the Grain Supply.’
Timesitheus produced the letter that Menophilus had given him. ‘In the names of our noble Emperors, Gordian the Elder and Gordian the Younger, the Board of Twenty elected to defend the Res Publica, has entrusted me to deliver this message.’
He waited in silence as Corvinus broke the seal, opened the block, and read.
‘Events give these lonely mountains an unexpected importance. Suddenly my remote refuge plays host to guests of the highest rank.’ Corvinus closed the writing block.
Timesitheus waited. Guests was plural. He had been offered no hospitality. Visions of a closed carriage rushing him to Maximinus came into his mind. He heard the rat-like scuttle of his own fear.
At last, Corvinus spoke. ‘Whether he marches by the Dravus or the Savus, Maximinus must come to Emona. Only two roads from there are practicable for an army to cross the Alps into Italy. One is the road you left at Ad Pirum. The other is longer, and runs to the north, through Virunum and Santicum. There are old fortifications on both, which, given time, could be repaired. With regular troops both could be defended. But, there is no time, and, while I have loyal tenants and clients, you know that I possess no soldiers.’
Timesitheus was too weary to think what to say.
‘The sonorous phrase of this letter — give all aid to the defence of the Res Publica — I take it means your masters wish me to harass Maximinus, raid and delay his baggage train.’
‘Yes,’ Timesitheus said.
‘You see that.’ Corvinus pointed at the oversize boot on the table. ‘Last winter a small convoy was taking supplies to Maximinus. It met with disaster. The mountains are dangerous. There were no survivors. Among the goods — incense, silk and papyrus, the types of things an Emperor might require — was that boot. Oddly, my men only recovered the one. The wagon had gone over a cliff. It is a very big boot. Not the sort I would wish to have stand on me. The boot was destined for Maximinus.’
Now, Timesitheus had to speak. ‘The noble Gordiani are generous, and will remember their friends.’
Corvinus interrupted. ‘The noble Gordiani are a long way away, and, I am assured, that Maximinus will be here within days.’
Timesitheus could feel the rodent breath hot on his neck, the teeth sharp, questing. ‘The Emperors believe that a man of courage, one who performed dangerous service, should have a place in the Senate. The property qualification of a million sesterces would be a gift.’
‘What status would such a man hold in the Senate?’
‘There would be no onus to attend, but he would sit among the ex-Consuls. Anything less would be beneath his dignitas.’
‘You have the authority to make good this promise?’
‘Yes.’
Corvinus smiled. ‘That is what the envoy of Maximinus said.’
Timesitheus forced his fear down out of the daylight. ‘The Gordiani are still distant, but Rome has declared for them. Maximinus is a tyrant, and he is doomed. Even if he is not struck down in his own camp, everyone will turn against him. The East is in revolt. His army will not get beyond Aquileia. The Danube will rise behind him.’
Again Corvinus smiled. ‘The East may rise, so may the Danubian armies. But you ask a great deal.’ He went and picked up the boot, turned it in his hands. ‘My ancestors were here long before Maximinus. Our citizenship was awarded seven generations ago by Augustus. We were here before Rome. I would have us here when Rome has fallen. The idea of an eternal city strikes me as improbable. The likeliest way to achieve such longevity for my family was to avoid imperial politics. But since I have no choice, my intervention should be well rewarded.’
‘What would you need?’ Timesitheus pushed down a surge of hope. If false, it would be too crushing.
‘The Consulship, the million sesterces, tax exemption for me and my descendants in perpetuity. And it is time I took a wife. For the woman I have in mind, I would need a house in Rome, a villa on the Bay of Naples, and an estate, perhaps in Sicily.’
‘Who?’
‘I would marry a great-granddaughter of Marcus Aurelius, the wife of the Caesar Maximus, the soon to be widowed, Iunia Fadilla.’
‘An excellent choice.’
‘Splendid,’ Corvinus said. ‘Let us have some wine. And I will give you something. The envoy of Maximinus left this house at first light today. With four guards and a slave, he is travelling one of the less frequented paths down to the Italian plain. From his own lips, I understand that there is a particular enmity between you and the Prefect of the Camp, Domitius.’
‘I have only one man.’
Corvinus shifted the boot from one hand to the other. ‘You can have a guide, but this is your own affair, and my men will be occupied on imperial business, preparing a reception for Maximinus. I told Domitius that I would dedicate this boot at the shrine at Archimea. I still think I should. One must honour the gods.’