The Fateful Day

FOURTEEN

The enormity of this was almost too dreadful to take in. The praetorians — the select Imperial Guard — openly selling the Empire to whoever agreed to pay them most! I found myself staring, speechless, at the commandant, as if Jove had struck me with one of his famous thunderbolts and I’d been turned to stone. I was so shocked that I could hardly think at all, but one clear realisation surfaced in my brain: I could abandon hope of getting help in dealing with Marcus’s affairs. Nothing else would matter to the commandant now.

That recognition must have been written on my face. ‘I see that the implications are not lost on you,’ he said. ‘You’ll understand now, citizen, if I don’t seem as sympathetic as you might have hoped to the local troubles you report, however dreadful you may feel they are.’ That dead and neutral tone was back again, but I now realised that this lack of outward emotion — as with the mask-like expression on his face — was the product of iron self-control. Inwardly the man was seething with outrage, grief and shock.

I found my voice sufficiently to say, ‘You think this will affect us a great deal, then, even in Britannia?’ This was the most far-flung province of them all, and the most removed from the customs and fashions of the Imperial Court — as Marcus had often scathingly pointed out to me.

The old soldier looked me. ‘What’s just gone on in Rome affects everyone in the Empire — even us in Glevum, citizen. For you and your little workshop perhaps not very much. People will still want pavements, I expect, and if there are wars they probably won’t reach as far as this — though there may be extra taxes, by and by, which everyone will feel. But for me …?’ He tailed off. ‘It all depends on who’s advising Didius.’

I stared at him. ‘But surely … you have had an impeccable career. And you have kept away from politics. Marcus told me that you’d chosen to be posted here, instead of seeking a comfortable senatorial seat in Rome like most people of your rank and seniority.’

He made a wry face. ‘A praetor cannot altogether escape from politics, citizen. I have long been outspoken in my praise for Pertinax and I have no friends in the Praetorian Guard. I shall be lucky not to be recalled to Rome and — at best — relieved of my command. If I am less fortunate …’ He left the sentence hanging in the air, but it was quite clear what he meant: even his life might be in question — and his fortune, certainly.

I swallowed hard. Here was this senior Roman officer speaking frankly of his fears to a humble Celtic ex-slave in a toga, whose future was likely to be more secure than his own. An hour ago I would have said that was impossible. Suddenly the whole ordered world was turning upside down. ‘That’s why you’re searching through the records?’ I was hesitant, but anxious to make clear I’d understood. ‘Looking for proof that you’ve done nothing wrong?’

The officer gestured to the littered documents on the desk. ‘I’m looking at accounts of my career, trying to predict what imaginary failure of duty the new Emperor is going to charge me with! And trying to find anything that I can use in my defence! Ah!’ He untied the strings that held together yet another scroll and let it unroll gently between his hands. ‘This might be of help — a commendation from someone that I served with once, but unlike me went into politics. He’s kept his own counsel over many years, so he is likely to retain his senatorial seat and still have a voice in government. I saved his life once and he’s not the sort of man who would forget. I’ll send to him. If necessary he might speak in my support.’ He began to roll the letter up again with care.

There was no possible answer I could make to this. It was clear that the commander was in earnest about this. Yet this weather-beaten soldier had always seemed to me the picture of a successful, well-born, well-respected military man. I had always thought him a model of a good commander, too, ready to listen and not too quick to judge. Without his presence Glevum wouldn’t be the same. I shook my head. ‘You really think …?’

‘Citizen, you’re not familiar with the Imperial Court.’ He was carefully retying the letter as he spoke. ‘If a new man seizes power the first thing he must do is weaken the influence of his predecessor’s friends. Anyone in politics will tell you that. Sometimes this is done by semi-legal means — imposing exile or a seizure of lands and property — or sometimes by arranging a convenient demise. Failure to do so is always a mistake, as Pertinax has discovered to his cost. He was too lenient when he assumed the purple, not only with exiled criminals (he offered several pardons where he felt his predecessor’s decrees had been unjust), but also with the powerful men of Rome: both those who served Commodus while he was in power, and those who planned his overthrow. When Pertinax was first installed, he should have made an example of them all, but in fact he executed very few of them, and that was his downfall in the end. Men who bring down one Emperor with impunity tend to imagine they can do the same again.’

This was another shocking new idea to me. I had always regarded the Roman Emperors — even the half-crazed Commodus himself — as creatures set apart by destiny, close to being the deities they sometimes claimed to be. (Not that Pertinax had ever called himself a god!) This view of them as calculating and ambitious predators — human spiders spinning a web of treason and deceit and clinging to power by devouring enemies — was disquieting. ‘So what do you think the new Emperor will do?’ I managed.

‘Knowing Didius, he’ll do what he’s advised,’ the commander said. ‘Left to himself, he’d rather bribe and flatter than make enemies. So let’s hope that he surrounds himself with people of like mind and they tell him to try and buy support rather than wreak vengeance on Pertinax’s men and run the risk of popular revolt.’ He set the chosen letter to one side as he spoke, and began to gather up the other documents. ‘I wish I knew which people were advising him. It would make your patron rather safer too.’

I stared at him in horror. That aspect of events had not occurred to me. But, of course, it should have done. Marcus was no mere supporter of the murdered Pertinax — he was an intimate. He counted the late Emperor as his patron and his friend. And he was at this moment on his way to Rome, if he was not there already — an obvious target for this Didius.

‘That is why you agreed to see me!’ I exclaimed. ‘And why you said that Marcus stood to lose more than just a houseful of possessions and some slaves. You think he is in danger of his life?’

‘Of his rank and fortune, anyway. I wanted to discover where he was so that I could warn him,’ the commander said. He was absently re-rolling another of the scrolls. ‘Of course he may have heard the news already and decided to turn back of his own accord. The whole of the Empire will be buzzing by this time, and Marcus is days nearer to events in Rome than we are here. Let’s hope he doesn’t carry on to the Imperial Court and try to be heroic by making public speeches against the overthrow. He’d find himself in prison, or in exile — or worse. If he comes straight back to Glevum he should be safe enough, provided he doesn’t thrust himself into the public consciousness. The new Emperor is not a man to worry about what is not underneath his nose.’

‘You sound as if you know this Didius.’

The commander shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve met him once or twice. He commanded the twenty-second Primigenia for a time.’

I nodded slowly, trying to weigh what this might mean for us, his subjects now. Probably nothing in particular. Almost all Emperors have been military men, ever since Caius Julius, and the support of the army is obviously what keeps men in power. ‘So he will have the loyalty of the Germanic legions, as well as the praetorians, if there is revolt?’

The vestige of a smile played round the handsome mouth. ‘I’m not so sure of that. He was no soldier really — more interested in politics and power, even then, though his subsidiary officers were excellent and built a reputation for him, which he did not personally deserve. But he has powerful allies. He was raised in the court of the Aurelians and Marcus’s aged mother was his patroness. So it did not surprise anyone when he rose like cream and was promoted to be governor of a string of provinces, each one a little bigger and more important than the last.’

‘Always ambitious, then?’

He put down the rewound scroll, glanced briefly at another document, then began to roll that up as well, as if his life depended on activity. ‘I think he always dreamed of being Emperor one day. He was accused of conspiring against Commodus, once — and I expect he did.’

‘And yet he lived?’ I was astonished. Scores of others down the years had suffered nasty, lingering deaths, simply for being half suspected of that crime.

The commander nodded. ‘He was acquitted and had his accusers executed instead. As I told you, he has powerful friends.’

‘So we can expect him to be ruthless?’ I murmured doubtfully, thinking of Marcus and what his fate might be in Rome.

‘He has a reputation for it, certainly.’ The old soldier laid the second rewound document neatly by the first. ‘But I am not so sure. When he was governor of Beliga he once put down a rebellion with some force — that’s why he was promoted to the consulate. Yet he really did no more than sit in his provincial capital and sign the papers that the army brought to him. It was the officers in the field who quashed the rebel force. But Didius knew how to word the dispatch back to Rome so that he made himself look like a hero and a patriot.’

I was still trying to get a mental picture of the man. ‘Obviously he’s clever and has a way with words.’ That was a serious asset, I could see. Romans greatly value argument and rhetoric and a powerful orator can often sway the crowd.

‘Clever enough, at least, to pay someone to pay somebody who does. I’m almost sure, from what I knew of him, that he didn’t compose those dispatches himself. Any more than I think he prepared his own defence in that treason case.’ He found the storage jars he wanted and laid the rolls inside. ‘He used to keep a secretary in his retinue, a man who was born to noble rank, in fact, but had been obliged to sell himself to slavery and who had the education and skill to frame the words for maximum effect. Didius made no secret of the fact. He boasted of having paid a handsome sum for him. No doubt he still keeps someone of the kind. He’s has never been afraid to use his wealth for his own advancement.’ He stuffed a bung into a storage jar with unnecessary violence. ‘And now he’s bought himself an Empire.’

I heard the crackle of emotion in the voice and felt I must say something comforting. ‘So let us hope he goes on using bribery and he’ll simply try to buy allegiance from people who used to follow Pertinax.’

‘Gold would not tempt Marcus very much, I think,’ the commander said, as if he were considering the matter carefully. ‘But perhaps he could be bought — a position in the new Emperor’s retinue, perhaps.’

I tried to imagine Marcus as a magistrate in Rome. Perhaps that was the fate that I should wish for him. It would mean at least that he was well and safe — for a little while at least. And no doubt he would fulfil the role with skill and dignity. But I realised suddenly how much I’d miss the man. He was thoughtless and high-handed now and then — ‘arrogant and impulsive’ was what Gwellia would have said — but I was oddly fond of him. And how would I manage without his patronage? Any pavement-maker needs some wealthy man to be his advocate and introduce him to affluent prospective clients.

The thought reminded me of the customer I’d missed and — despite the seriousness of events in Rome (or perhaps because of them) — I found myself wondering selfishly how lucrative that Egidius contract would have been. With Marcus gone, I’d probably never get a big commission of that kind again. And now I’d almost certainly lost the opportunity. I sighed. The client was clearly not the type to tolerate delay, and — whatever Junio had said — was unlikely to call on me a second time.

I was brought back to the present by the commander’s voice. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if Didius did begin by trying bribery. After all, it has already got him where he is.’ He got abruptly to his feet. ‘But he won’t be able to sustain it, if he does. There are too many people who supported Pertinax, and not enough in the coffers to pay even what he has already promised to the Guard. And he won’t keep their support if they don’t get the gold. It’s a dilemma, citizen. If he isn’t harsh and ruthless, he will not last very long. It takes a stronger man than Didius to run an Empire.’

I swallowed. ‘So what do you foresee?’

‘I’ll tell you, citizen.’ He walked over and put the storage jars back on the shelf. ‘There will be wars and uprisings all round the Empire — till someone has succeeded in seizing power from him. One of the provincial governors, I expect. Maybe even the governor of Britannia — he has as good a claim to the purple as Didius Julianus has. I’m half expecting to receive a message saying so and urging me to move in his support. Perhaps I ought to think of writing to him first, suggesting it. Though Jove alone knows what the local populace would think.’ He looked wearily at me. ‘Or what they’ll think about any of these events, in fact.’

‘This news from Rome has not been publicly announced here?’ I said, though I knew the answer even as I spoke. There’d been no evidence of public disturbance on my way, as there surely would have been if the death of the Emperor were known.

The commander shook his head.

‘But there’s been an announcement to the garrison,’ I said, suddenly realising why Cerberus had abruptly changed his mind when I talked of dreadful happenings and needing to send an urgent messenger to Rome.

‘I told the senior officers at once,’ he said. ‘We made a placatory sacrifice to Jove, and decided that the news should be passed on to the other ranks.’

‘That was what was happening when I came in, I think.’

‘Exactly. But we haven’t released the information to the town. The soldiers will all be sworn to secrecy meanwhile, as they always are in anything which touches on the safety of the Emperor, and I’m refusing to see anyone from the colonia today, though of course there’ll have to be a public proclamation later on. Exactly when, I couldn’t say. I have left that decision to the curia.’

‘Really? Isn’t it really a matter for yourself?’

He ran a distracted hand through his thinning hair again. ‘It affects the civic powers as much as anyone — and besides, citizen, I am in need of their support.’ He said it simply, but I could see the force of it. ‘I called them here as soon as the message was confirmed,’ he went on, ‘and they went away to discuss exactly what to say, and when — though they want me to put troops out on the street when the announcement’s made. And I agreed. It would be a wise precaution. There were civic riots when Commodus was deposed.’

I nodded. ‘I have vivid memories of that night. I was almost trampled by excited crowds.’ Almost lynched, was nearer to the truth. They had been dragging down a statue of the hated Emperor and setting fire to anything that had his name on it: sign-boards, carvings — even coins — while anyone who didn’t join them in these activities found themselves in danger of being set upon. The frenzy of that violent mob had been terrible to watch — like some sort of new-hatched monster which uncoiled itself and devoured anything which crossed its path.

‘That night was frightening,’ I said. ‘But Commodus was loathed — Pertinax is … was … well-respected, if not exactly loved.’

‘Which makes it very likely to be worse this time, unless we fill the streets with soldiers first — and even then it might be difficult to maintain control. Pertinax was governor of this province once, and gained a name for justice and fair play, so Mars alone knows what disturbances this news is going to cause. And if I don’t handle this with care — if a citizen gets injured or a soldier killed — I’ll give the new authorities the opportunity they need to have me relieved of duty and recalled to Rome.’

I could see his dilemma. ‘So you are in no hurry to have the news proclaimed.’

He had taken up station by the wall again. ‘Frankly, I would prefer to do it as soon as possible — I don’t want to be rebuked for reluctance to acknowledge Didius. But I suspect that the announcement may be made at dusk, when the gates are due to close to travellers and most people are abed. Let’s just pray to all the gods that rumour doesn’t get there first. There must be traders on their way to us by now who have already heard the news elsewhere.’

‘Then wouldn’t it be wiser to insist?’ I said, defying convention by proffering advice. ‘Rumour seems to spread faster than messengers can ride. And the tales will just get more exaggerated all the time.’

He did not turn around. ‘And no doubt Didius will claim it’s my fault, if they do. I shouldn’t have delayed when the first courier arrived. But I think that I can prove it was the magistrates who didn’t want the announcement to be made at once. There’s a long will to be read out in the forum, today.’

I could not see the relevance of this, but I nodded anyway. ‘I believe I saw the mourners gathering,’ I said, remembering the dark-clothed citizens and their slaves who’d crowded me off the pavements while I was coming here. ‘Oh,’ I added, remembering suddenly, ‘that will be Gaius Publius, I suppose.’

Gaius had been a councillor himself but when he died last moon he left a fortune and not much family, and there were conflicting rumours over his estate. It was said that many wealthy men had been promised a bequest in return for favours previously received, while other gossips said he’d left his money to the town for public works in the hope of having his name inscribed on some of them. Still others said he’d spread these differing stories purposely to ensure a good attendance at his funeral and at the reading of his testament.

The commander nodded. ‘Gaius Publius — exactly, citizen. And some of the richest men in Glevum will be there. The curia felt it would be better to let that group disperse before the dreadful information is released — out of respect for the dead man, if nothing else. They didn’t want to interrupt the reading of a will with something that was likely to create a riot. I did not press the point. I dare not offend the curia over this. I shall have sufficient charges at my door.’

Of course! Several councillors would have an interest in that will themselves, I thought — and not only in relation to the public purse. They would not want the legacy delayed or set aside, as it might be if the augurers declared the reading was ill-starred because it was interrupted by the dreadful news from Rome. I was about to say so to the commandant when we were interrupted by a tapping at the door.

The commander turned abruptly and went over to the desk. He picked up the letter which he’d said might be of use, and put it inside his breast-plate, out of sight. Only then did he reply, as he had done before, ‘Identify yourself.’

A muffled voice responded. ‘Auxiliary Lucus Villosus returning with a message, sir.’

‘Enter, Villosus!’ And the soldier sidled in.

‘In the name of …’ he began, and trailed off hopelessly. I understood now why the formal exchanges had been missing, earlier.

‘The Emperor Didius Julianus — till you hear otherwise,’ the commander said, so coolly it was difficult to recall how unwelcome that official formula must be.

‘In the name of His Imperial Excellence, the Emperor Didius Julianus,’ the soldier repeated in an obedient tone, ‘I am sent to tell you that there is another messenger — this time from the Governor’s palace in Londinium.’

The commander raised an eyebrow at me, saying ‘I told you so’ as plainly as if he’d said the words. What he did say was rather a surprise. ‘Show him to my usual office. I will see him there. And find the duty octio while you are gone. Get him to send a couple of his men to tidy up in here. I have finished with the records.’

Villosus looked ready to salute and hurry off, but the commander checked him. ‘And when you’ve done that, report to the guardroom and accompany this citizen to the docks. I’ve already posted a soldier down there — just in case of rumours coming in by boat. Tell him to make an announcement that no ships must sail today. All captains are to report to the forum before dusk and await a proclamation from the curia.’

‘You’ll send a written message, sir? Otherwise they might not credit what I say.’

The commander shook his head. ‘There is no time for that. I’ll send a tubicen along with you to blow a trumpet blast — that will give you all the status that you need. The signal will make the sailors and the dockers gather round, so the soldier can tell them what they are to do. He’s not to say what’s happened, even if he knows — just that something of international importance has occurred.’ He gave me a curt nod. ‘It’s not much, citizen — but it’s the best that I can do.’

The soldier looked startled. ‘The guard will want a watchword, sir, to take commands from me. I wasn’t on duty when it was announced — I have been on infirmary fatigues.’

‘The watchword for the day is “let us be soldiers”.’ The commander raised a sardonic brow at me. ‘Ironically it is the one that our late Emperor preferred.’ He turned back to Villosus. ‘“Let us be soldiers”,’ he repeated, pensively. ‘Remember those words, soldier, whatever happens to the Empire from now on.’ He turned to me. ‘I shall be sending a courier to Londinium later on, and he’ll be changing horses at Corinium. I’ll get that message to the lady Julia, for you. So now, with your permission, citizen, I’ll ask you to retire to the usual waiting room. Your escort will be with you as soon as possible.’

And I was ushered out of the principia, accompanied to the guardroom block again and left on that all-too-familiar bench to wait.