Blood and Steel

Chapter 38

The Northern Frontier

Sirmium,

Five Days after the Ides of March, AD238

In the gloom of a room shuttered for the siesta Iunia Fadilla was dressed for travel; a long tunic, sensible shoes, a veil, and a cheap and plain but deep-hooded cloak. It was the third day since Maximus had departed. The absence of his brutality had threatened to undermine her resolve. Was it so bad? Perhaps she could endure, if she did everything he demanded, tried to avoid provoking him. But tomorrow she was due to leave for Italy, packed up with the rest of the imperial baggage. In a few days she would be delivered to his insults and beatings. The revolt would fail, and she would be trapped forever. No, she had to act, and the day and time were as propitious as could be found. Her husband and father-in-law had gone ahead, and Julius Capitolinus and everyone left were preoccupied with organizing the march. With the siesta it would be some hours before she was missed, and then uncertainty and indecision might well delay pursuit.

Restuta came in quietly. Iunia Fadilla had collected the minimum necessary for the journey; a spare tunic and pair of shoes, several changes of underclothes, a warmer cloak, oil and nard for washing, cosmetics and perfumes, a flask of wine and some biscuits. Restuta packed them into two bundles.

Iunia Fadilla had coins, a lot of coins. She had sent Restuta to the market to sell the necklace with the nine pearls, the sapphire bracelet, and the emeralds torn from her headdress. Iunia Fadilla had wondered about the golden brooch set with garnets, but it was very distinctive, and she both did not want to part with it, and thought it might yet be useful. Most likely the merchant had cheated Restuta, assumed the items had been stolen by the maid. If it was ever discovered that the jewels he had bought were betrothal gifts given by Maximus, the merchant would more than pay for his avarice.

Some of the coins were in a belt Iunia Fadilla wore between her shift and tunic. The remainder Restuta had sown into the lining of the two cloaks. Everything was ready. Iunia Fadilla peeped out through the shutters, checking the sun. It was time. There were no excuses not to leave.

Restuta picked up both the packages, and led the way.

There was a Praetorian at the end of the corridor, near the head of the stairs to the servants’ quarters. He smiled at Restuta and ignored what he had been told was another maid.

Iunia Fadilla followed Restuta down the narrow stairway. She had never been this way before. The boards were bare, and the walls unpainted. As they descended, there was a smell like stale cabbage or unwashed humanity.

Slipping out of a door by the kitchens, they crossed a muddy courtyard. There was another Praetorian by the wicket gate. He too grinned, and ostentatiously looked the other way. Iunia Fadilla had not asked how Restuta had bribed them, with money or other favours, perhaps both. Restuta was a good girl. If this ended well, she would have her liberty.

The alleyway was empty. Iunia Fadilla felt a rush of relief. She could return to her rooms, take off her disguise. Restuta could pack away the bundles, and it would be as if none of this had happened. Iunia Fadilla suppressed the cowardly thoughts. She might have lacked the courage to kill Maximus, but she would not go back and submit. In her eagerness, they were early.

A beggar, old and filthy, walked down the alley. He stopped, and looked speculatively at the two women. Restuta told him if he was bothering them when their men arrived he would get a beating. He called them both whores as he left.

They waited. More nervous than she could ever remember, Iunia Fadilla tried to ignore an urge to relieve herself. It was no good. She was desperate. She whispered to Restuta. The alley was empty. Restuta told her to be quick. Iunia Fadilla hauled up her clothes, and squatted. A great-granddaughter of Marcus Aurelius, an imperial princess, wife of Caesar, bare arsed, pissing in the mud. Doubtless she would suffer worse.

No sooner had she rearranged herself, than a covered litter carried by four slaves turned into the alley. Another servant walked at its head, carrying a valise. It stopped by them. Her cousin pulled back the curtains, helped her in beside him. They moved off.

Iunia Fadilla was not so foolish as to look out of the hangings, but she could hear that the streets were near empty. Almost everyone would be resting in the early afternoon. Thank the gods that the Romans had imported their Mediterranean customs to this bleak northern outpost of their imperium.

She reached over and squeezed her cousin’s hand. Fadillus smiled, and silently returned her affection. He had been a revelation. When she told him, Iunia Fadilla had thought he would be scared, quite possibly so terrified that he would refuse to help. She had been prepared to offer him anything, money, her body, promises of vast rewards if they reached Gordian. None of it had been necessary. Fadillus had known Maximus mistreated her. At court it was common knowledge. People said Maximinus had rebuked his son, not that it had done any good. Fadillus wanted to kill Maximus. He would do anything to help Iunia, anything she asked. Of course they should flee, anything was better than leaving her to such cruelty. They had not been born to live as chattel.

Fadillus had been as good as his word. He had hired the litter, sworn his own body servant to secrecy, promised him both manumission and wealth when they reached safety. She wondered if any of them would live to see that day.

The litter swayed to a stop. Fadillus looked out. They were at the gate. There was a queue. Nothing to worry about, just the customs officers. They were interested in export duties, never bothered those about imperial business. They both knew the real test would come outside the gate, when they went to requisition a carriage and horses at the post of the cursus publicus.

Obtaining the official passes had been surprisingly easy. On a pretext, Iunia Fadilla had gone to the imperial chancery. The under secretaries who had not gone with the Emperor were not about to start questioning his daughter-in-law. Restuta had distracted them — she was an attractive and resourceful girl — and Iunia had swept two diplomata under her cloak. One she had filled out in the name of Fadillus, the other in that of a wife — Sextia — he did not have. Fadillus was not prominent at court, let alone with the army, and no soldier or minor official was likely to know anything about his marital state. Maximus was negligent about such duties as he was given, often leaving more or less important documents lying about. Copying his signature had not been difficult.

The litter moved forward. Despite all Fadillus’ reassurances, despite everything she had told herself, her heart was pounding. She chest was hollow. She needed to relieve herself again.

The curtain was drawn back by Fadillus’ servant.

The customs officer was clean-shaven, and respectful. He bowed to Fadillus, did not look around the litter, barely glanced at the diplomata. Waving them on, he apologized for having delayed them.

After the hanging was back in place, Iunia Fadilla hugged her cousin. Just possibly this might work.

‘Halt!’

Again the litter stopped.

‘No travellers without diplomata beyond this point.’

Fadillus’ servant pulled open the curtains. Her cousin got out, handed her down. Until he had finished, he did not look at the junior officer.

‘I am Gaius Iunius Fadillus, amicus of the Emperor. This is my wife. These are our passes.’

The officer took the diplomata, opened and studied them. Although he was not young, he was an Optio. A man risen from the ranks, but he could read. Obviously this duty was not new to him. He must have seen hundreds of diplomata, doubtless many forged as well as genuine.

Iunia Fadilla had to force herself not to squirm.

‘My instructions are to go to the Emperor with all haste.’

The Optio did not stop scrutinizing the documents.

Had Fadillus sounded too eager?

Iunia Fadilla prayed he would not, but her cousin spoke again. ‘We need a light four-wheeled carriage, with a hood, big enough for four passengers, and two of the fastest horses in the stable.’

There were two large denomination coins in Fadillus’ hand.

Now the officer looked up. The coins vanished into a purse on his belt. He gave back the diplomata. ‘Would you care to choose the horses, Sir?’

Fadillus smiled. ‘I am sure you know the best animals on the post, Optio.’

Hood up, Iunia Fadilla kept her eyes demurely down. It seemed an age before a carriage was brought around.

‘My man will drive,’ Fadillus said.

‘The cursus publicus provides the driver.’

‘That will not be necessary.’ Fadillus produced another coin. ‘My man used to be in the Circus with the Greens. I desire to make the best time possible.’

‘As you wish, sir.’

Rattling away from the gate, Iunia Fadilla felt a strange urge to throw herself at Fadillus. At that moment she had never been more attracted to any man.

Fadillus unrolled an itinerary. ‘Where to, my Lady?’

She had considered going east. It was away from Maximus, and Gordian’s friend Fidus was governor of Thrace. But it was a long way, and too much of the road ran through territory ruled by men loyal to Maximinus. There were two choices to the west. In the Alps was Corvinus. The bandit chief had given her the brooch, offered her hospitality. But not under these circumstances. He might give her straight over to her husband. Otherwise there was Dalmatia. Another friend of Gordian had charge of that province. Yet Claudius Julianus commanded no legions. He was poorly equipped to defy Caesar. Neither alternative was safe, and first they had to get there.

‘West along the Savus. The road divides at a place called Servitium. We do not have to decide until there.’

Servitium. She hoped the name was not an omen.