Blood and Steel - Harry Sidebottom

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Prefect of the City Pupienus was on his feet. Not exactly pompous, although his luxuriant beard would support such an interpretation, there was something stiff and slightly off-putting about his evident self-control.

      ‘Conscript Fathers, we have heard good advice, both from the scion of a patrician house, and from a man whose virtus is its own nobility. Balbinus should be thanked and honoured, perhaps with a statue listing his qualities. Certainly his name must be the first put forward for election to the Twenty. Now, it would be a travesty if the man who conceived this excellent board of magistrates to save the Res Publica were debarred from serving in its ranks. Therefore, I recommend that, for the good of Rome, we elect Gallicanus as a Suffect Consul.’

      Menophilus calculated rapidly how these measures would affect the following of the new Emperors. Egnatius Proculus was an ex-Praetor, as was Celsus Aelianus, and he was an ineffectual reprobate to boot. Menophilus himself and his friend Virius Lupus mere Quaestors. The latter’s father was a good man, and had held the Consulship. So had Valerian and Egnatius Marinianus, although each had his limitations. Appius Julianus was another ex-Consul, but he was old and infirm. As things stood, the Gordiani only had four men here in the Senate House who had held the highest office, and only one of them could be relied on to advance their interests on this new committee.

      The presiding Consul was preparing to call a vote.

      If only Arrian and Sabinianus were not in Africa, if Caudius Julianus not governing Dalmatia, and Egnatius Lollianus likewise in Bithynia-Pontus; all of them were of Consular status, devoted to the Gordiani, and men who could get things done. No point in crying over spilt wine. Menophilus had to think of something quickly.

      ‘Let good auspices and joyful fortune attend the people of Rome.’ On the tribunal, Fulvius Pius had begun the injunction which proceeded a proposal.

      Menophilus stepped forward. Romulus and his slaves would provide the answer. With only a hint of irritation at this late intervention, he was granted permission to address the House.

      ‘Conscript Fathers, everything that has been proposed will gladden the hearts of our noble Augusti. Another fast ship will take the news to Carthage.’ No point in not reminding them where real power would soon reside, and his proximity to it. ‘Although I am but a Quaestor, my respect for the traditions and procedure of this House could not be more profound. As such, I hope my elders will forgive my temerity in reminding them of the date. There is only one mark against the Nones of March, and that is the letter N. On this day Romulus consecrated the Temple of Veiovis. Whoever you are, he said, take refuge here, and you will be safe. From that small beginning Rome took its rise. Our ancestors believed that no meeting of the Senate or people should be held on a day that is marked Nefastus. While fully supporting the proposal of Domitius Gallicanus, the amendment of Caelius Balbinus, and the call from Clodius Pupienus for the election of new Suffect Consuls, I move for a postponement to a more auspicious day.’

      As he resumed his seat, every Senator present fell over himself to support his motion. Again, Menophilus tasted the bile of contempt. Nothing could be more urgent than restoring order to the city, and guarding Italy against Maximinus. Yet all the Conscript Fathers rushed to embrace the opportunity of a few days’ clandestine manoeuvring. Not one put the safety of the Res Publica before factional interest. Of course, much of Menophilus’ contempt was reserved for himself.

      ‘Conscript Fathers, we detain you no longer.’ The Consul spoke, the doors were opened, and the Senators began to depart.

      Outside the rain fell, and the mob jeered.

      Menophilus sat very still. The safety of the Res Publica must come above everything. He did not like to think about the previous morning, about Vitalianus. All that mattered was the safety of the Res Publica. Stern measures were necessary to secure the city. Sabinus had left Rome to the mob. Sabinus commanded six thousand soldiers, and was a friend of Maximinus. Something must be done about the Prefect of the City.

       Chapter 9

       The Northern Frontier

       The Town of Sirmium,

      Eight Days before the Ides of March, AD238

      Iunia Fadilla kissed her nurse for the last time. She closed the eyes of the dear old woman, and said her name. ‘Eunomia.’

      Rain spattered on the window. Through the glass the world was dark and distorted. The rain had come down across the Danube the day before, melting the ice on the eaves and turning the snow in the streets to slush. It had come too late for Eunomia. The cold of the North had killed her. It gave Iunia Fadilla another reason to hate her husband.

      Eunomia’s decline had been sudden, but there had been time to summon those who prepared the dead from their quarters outside the town. Now, the Pollinctores stepped forward in their colourful and sinister caps. They lifted Eunomia from the bed and placed her on the bare floor. They said the ritual words.

       The end is to the beginning as the beginning is to the end.

      Eunomia had been with Iunia Fadilla since the beginning. A happy childhood, peripatetic yet peaceful; the big house on the Caelian in Rome, the villa in Sicily overlooking the Bay of Naxos, the retreat in the hills of Apulia. Iunia Fadilla’s mother had been the granddaughter of Marcus Aurelius. Her father also was rich, and had had the good sense to keep out of politics. Eunomia had gone with her when she married old Nummius. If her nurse had been shocked by the couple’s life in their luxurious home on the Esquiline, she had voiced no disapproval. Eumonia had liked Iunia Fadilla’s lover Gordian. Sometimes, when she had taken a drink, she had said what woman would not be happy taking an agreeable husband and a vigorous younger man to her bed, separately or together.

      If Gordian had proposed when Nummius died, things might have been different. Iunia Fadilla had thought he would, but he had claimed it was against his Epicurean principles, and by then he was more often abroad, in Syria then Achaea. As far as she knew he had not returned to Rome once in the three years since he went to Africa.

      Widowed at eighteen, she had enjoyed her independence. Nummius had left her well provided for. She had the house on the Esquiline, and her tutor, her cousin Fadillus, was not the type of man to go against her wishes. In the round of parties and recitals, of visits to the baths and harmless flirtations, of quiet nights reading, she had grown close to Eunomia again.

      Everything, except Eunomia, had changed when Vitalianus had come to the house. The deputy Praetorian Prefect had announced that she was to marry Maximus the son of Maximinus. Refusal was not an option when the man seeking your hand was the son of the Emperor. On the long journey north, Eunomia had consoled her with reports of her betrothed. The Caesar was tall, good looking. He was cultured, wrote poetry that rivalled Catullus. Rumour had it he was an attentive lover of women and girls; no danger he would be one of those husbands who preferred page boys, or was held back by stern Stoic principles. When he saw her beauty, he would not desert her bed for concubines or the wives of other men.

      There was no denying the beauty of Maximus. At their wedding, he smelt of cinnamon and roses as he leant close to whisper. They say you have sucked off half the men in Rome; at least you should be good at it. He had first beaten her that night. She had fought, but he was stronger. If I have to marry a whore, I will treat her like one. Since then, he slapped and punched her thighs, her buttocks and her breasts. This new year she had had to wear a veil at the ceremony renewing the oath of loyalty. The night before he had claimed he could smell wine on her breath. When a woman drinks without her husband, she closes the door on all virtues, and opens her legs for all-comers.

      Iunia Fadilla would have given anything for her husband to desert her bed. And now Maximus was coming back. Laurelled letters had arrived. The Emperor had won another great victory. The Sarmatian Iazyges were routed. The army had recrossed

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