Iron and Rust

CHAPTER 26

The Northern Frontier

The Town of Sirmium,

Two Days after the Ides of October, AD236

One of the advantages of a second marriage was the removal of some of the rituals. It would have been farcical for Iunia Fadilla to have feigned the terror of a Sabine girl about to be raped as she was pulled from the arms of her mother, let alone for her to dedicate her toys and child’s dress to her household gods. Anyway, her mother was dead, and this house in Sirmium was not her home.

It had struck her as high-handed that the owners of this house, solid citizens of this remote, cold northern town, had been summarily turned out. Not that they had seemed to mind. The opposite, in fact. They had said that they were honoured and hoped the Emperor’s daughter-in-law would remember them fondly. Actually, Iunia Fadilla had already forgotten their names.

A maid passed her a mirror. Iunia Fadilla disliked what she saw. A second marriage did not get rid of all the ancient customs. That morning her women had parted her hair with a bent spearhead, rusty with the blood of a slain gladiator. Then they had pulled and scraped her curls into six tight locks. They had bound these with woollen fillets into a tall cone and placed a wreath of marjoram around their creation. She looked like a sacrificial animal, an offering to some outlandish deity.

The rest of her costume was more pleasing: a plain white tunic with a flame-coloured veil and matching shoes. A girdle cinched her waist tight, emphasizing her hips and breasts. The metal collar around her neck almost hinted of servitude. The bridal outfit was meant only to be worn once. Old Nummius had found the combined suggestions of innocence and bondage irresistible. Although she had demurred at the ritual coiffure, and some of his stranger suggestions, her first husband had persuaded her to wear the rest on many less public occasions.

Iunia Fadilla stood in the atrium with her bridesmaids. The girls were the daughters of the inner circle of the imperial court. Chief among them was Flavia Latroniana. Her father was an ex-Consul the regime wished to conciliate. Iunia Fadilla knew her no better than the others. Only two members of her own family were present. Her cousin Lucius was off to one side. Looking awkward, he stood with a distant kinsman called Clodius Pompeianus, another descendent of Marcus Aurelius. Eunomia lurked at the back. As ever, her old nurse had a hand pressed to her chest, mumbling prayers.

Three pages led Maximus into the house. They were followed by his father. The Emperor would fulfil the role of auspex. Behind came a horde of men of high standing. Flavius Vopiscus, Catius Clemens, the Praetorian Prefect Anullinus, many others; most were accompanied by their wives. The latter, along with the bridesmaids, had been rushed to the North inauspiciously, in the closed carriages more usually employed conveying prisoners to the same destination.

Since the army had returned from its interrupted campaign in Dacia, Iunia Fadilla had seen Maximus on several occasions. He was young, no older than her, and he was tall, well proportioned. There was no denying his beauty, and he spoke both Latin and Greek in the tones of an educated man. Beyond that, she could say little about him. Of course, they had never been alone, and her betrothed had given no indication that such a state of affairs irked him.

A pig was brought in, and sacrificed. The attendants slit its belly and drew out its innards. As auspex, the Emperor lifted the slippery things and inspected them. He announced them propitious and said a brief prayer.

Maximinus stood, his hands dripping blood, as he waited for a bowl and towels. He was enormous; very ugly. His expression was closed, brutal. Perhaps it was to be expected. His wife had been murdered. By all accounts, Caecilia Paulina had been a gentle woman, kind-hearted. Maximinus would feel her loss, and he lacked the education which might have offered some consolations. Self-control could not be expected from a half-barbarian herdsman.

Iunia Fadilla thanked the gods for the slowness of her journey. If her carriage had not shed a wheel, if Eunomia had not prayed at every wayside shrine, she might have been in Viminacium when the revolt broke out. Her corpse might have joined that of Caecilia Paulina in the street. Perhaps Gordian had been wrong. The gods might not be far away and uncaring. Perhaps piety occasionally was rewarded.

Flavia Latroniana took Iunia Fadilla’s hand and placed it in that of Maximus.

‘Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.’ Iunia Fadilla spoke the traditional words. She had no more idea of their meaning than anyone present.

The bride and groom sat on chairs covered with the fleece of a freshly slaughtered sheep and nibbled a morsel of spelt cake. In solemn silence, ten witnesses signed the wedding document. Lucius was the only representative of her family to do so.

The thing was done.

‘Feliciter!’ The assembled party shouted their blessings. ‘Good fortune!’

In view of the lateness of the season — in Rome, the October horse would have been slaughtered two days before — and the northerly latitude, the couches of the wedding feast had been spread in the rooms opening on to the atrium. Braziers had been lit to keep the chill at bay.

In the chamber of honour, in the presence of the Emperor, the celebrations were muted. Maximinus ate vast quantities of roast meat, drank unfeasible amounts of wine. It did nothing to lighten his mood. Under his baleful gaze, even the self-assurance of his son seemed to wither. Several times Iunia Fadilla found that the Emperor was staring at Maximus and herself. There was an intensity in his look she found frightening. In his savage grief, did he resent their felicity? Her stirring of compassion gave way to anxiety. An Emperor was above the law. Nummius had told her of a wedding he had attended in the reign of Elagabalus. The bride had been attractive. Elagabalus had led her from the room. Half an hour later, he had brought her back, dishevelled, crying. The Emperor had assured her husband that he would enjoy her.

Abruptly, Maximinus announced that he needed to relieve himself. As soon as he was gone, conversation became more animated. As Catius Clemens regaled the others with an anecdote from the Dacian campaign, Maximus leant close to Iunia Fadilla. He smelt of cinnamon and roses, and he was very attractive.

‘I had imagined,’ he said, ‘my wife would be a virgin, not soiled. They say you have sucked off half the men in Rome. At least you should be good at it.’