Buch lesen: «Blood and Steel»
Copyright
Harper
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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2015
Copyright © Harry Sidebottom 2015
Maps © John Gilkes 2015
Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover photographs © Stephen Mulcahey/Arcangel Images (Roman eagle and Soldiers); Shutterstock.com (texture)
Harry Sidebottom asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it, while at times based on historical figures, are the work of the author’s imagination.
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Ebook Edition © MAY 2015 ISBN: 9780007499908
Source ISBN 9780007499915
Version 2017-10-27
Dedication
To Katie and Jeremy Habberley
Do not fear god,
Do not worry about death;
What is good is easy to get, and
What is terrible is easy to endure
PHILODEMUS (HERCULANEUM PAPYRI 1005, 4.9–14)
One could press on or draw back in a private enterprise, and commit oneself more deeply or less at will, in accordance with the prospects of the moment. But in the pursuit of an empire there was no mean between the summit and the abyss
TACITUS, HISTORIES 2.74
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Maps
Cast of Main Characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Historical Afterword
Thanks
Blood & Steel: Glossary
About the Author
Also by Harry Sidebottom
About the Publisher
CAST OF MAIN CHARACTERS
IN ROME
Vitalianus: The Praetorian Prefect in Rome, and Sabinus, Prefect of the City, officers of Maximinus
Menophilus and Valerian: Envoys of the Gordiani
Pupienus: Sometime Prefect of the City
Pupienus Maximus: His elder son
Pupienus Africanus: His younger son
Gallicanus: A Senator of Cynic views
Maecenas: His intimate friend
Balbinus: A patrician of dissolute ways
Timesitheus: The ambitious Prefect of the Grain Supply
Tranquillina: His even more ambitious wife
Maecia Faustina: Daughter of Gordian the Elder, sister of Gordian the Younger
Marcus Junius Balbus: Her young son
The die-cutter: A workman in the Mint
Castricius: His young and disreputable neighbour
Caenis: A prostitute visited by both
IN AFRICA
Gordian the Elder: Formerly governor of Africa Proconsularis, now proclaimed Emperor
Gordian the Younger: His son and legate, also now proclaimed Emperor
Arrian and Sabinianus: Their supporters
Capelianus: Governor of Numidia, and enemy of Gordian
IN THE NORTH
Maximinus Thrax: The Emperor
Caecilia Paulina: His deceased wife
Verus Maximus: His son and heir
Iunia Fadilla: Wife of Verus Maximus
Apsines of Gadara: Secretary to Maximinus
Flavius Vopiscus: Senatorial governor of Pannonia Superior
Honoratus: Senatorial governor of Moesia Inferior
Anullinus: Senior Praetorian Prefect
Volo: The commander of the frumentarii
Domitius: The Prefect of the Camp
Julius Capitolinus: Equestrian commander of 2nd legion Parthica
Sabinus Modestus: Commander of the heavy cavalry, cousin of Timesitheus
IN THE WEST
Decius: Governor of Hispania Tarraconensis, loyalist of Maximinus
IN THE EAST
Priscus: Equestrian governor of Mesopotamia
Philip: His brother
Otacilius Severianus: Governor of Syria Palestina, brother-in-law of Priscus and Philip
Catius Clemens: Governor of Cappadocia, longtime supporter of Maximinus
Ardashir: Sassanid King of Kings
Chapter 1
Rome
The Palatine Hill,
The Day before the Nones of March, AD238
It was still dark. The Praetorian Prefect liked to walk in the imperial gardens before dawn. No attendants were with him, and he carried no torch. It was a moment of calm and solitude, a time for reflection, before the duties of the day, the duties that always seemed to stretch away like a vexatious journey with no evident ending.
Vitalianus often thought about retirement, about living quietly in the country with his wife and daughters. He pictured the house in Etruria. The Via Aurelia and the busy market town of Telamon were only a couple of miles away over the hill, but they might have belonged in a different country or another age. The villa lay between the shore and the terraced slopes, looking out over the sea. It had been built by his grandfather. Vitalianus had added two new wings and a bath house. The estate now extended inland along both banks of the Umbro. It was ideal for retirement, for reading and writing, appreciating the views, for passing time with his wife, and enjoying the company of his daughters in the last few years before they married. No place was better suited for a man to lay down the cares of office.
Certainly Vitalianus had earned a time of leisure. His career had been long – commander of an auxiliary cohort in Britain, legionary tribune with the 3rd Augustan in Africa, Prefect of a cavalry unit in Germania, Procurator of imperial finances in Cyrenaica, four years with the Moorish cavalry, leading them through the eastern campaign and then to the Rhine – decades of service, across the breadth of the empire. He was no longer young: past fifty, and needed to rest. But duty still called, and the additions and improvements to his patrimony had not come cheap. The stipend and other profits of another three, perhaps four years as Praetorian Prefect, and he could call it a day.
The white marble borders of the paths shone in the darkness. The cunningly sculpted box hedges and the fruit trees were indistinct black shapes, the plane trees and the ivy that linked them a solid black wall. It was quiet in the Hippodrome, just the rill of water in the fountains; almost hard to believe he stood in the centre of a city with a million inhabitants. Vitalianus was glad he had removed the previous Emperor’s aviaries. The murmuring and shifting of the doves – had there really been twenty thousand of them? – had disturbed his morning walks. It was typical of Alexander that he had occupied his time issuing imperial pronouncements about the birds, sanctimoniously boasting how the sale of eggs financed his collection, even produced a modest income, while his mother had stolen fortunes from the treasury, and great swathes of the east were overrun by the Persians, and German tribes put the northern provinces to the torch. Vitalianus had not been party to the plot, but Alexander was better off dead.
Stopping by a marble nymph, Vitalianus absentmindedly ran a hand over her smooth thigh. He could find his way around these twisting walks blindfold. His thoughts took their own course. Risen from the ranks, Maximinus might be uncultured, even crude and violent, but he was a better Emperor than his predecessor. At least the Thracian could fight; for the last three years he had done nothing but campaign beyond the Rhine and Danube. Vitalianus had done well out of the regime; promoted first to governor of Mauretania Caesariensis, then to deputy Praetorian Prefect. It was a remarkable achievement for an equestrian from a backwater of Italy, a man with few significant backers. A member of the second order should legitimately aspire to nothing higher. And Vitalianus continued to serve the regime diligently. The endless court cases that awaited him today and almost every day were only the start.
With the majority of the praetorians accompanying the field army, it had proved difficult for Vitalianus to maintain order in Rome. The remaining one thousand men were not enough to disperse the crowds occasioned by certain arrests, or to clear the mobs occupying those temples whose treasures were to be requisitioned to help pay for the war. Efficiency would be served if he could issue orders to the six thousand men of the Urban Cohorts as well. But that would never happen. The very first Emperor, Augustus, had separated the command of the troops stationed in Rome. An equestrian Prefect led the Praetorians, while a Senatorial Prefect of the City controlled the Urban Cohorts. One officer watched the other, and the Emperor could be reassured that no individual could seize the Eternal City, at least not without an armed struggle. To be sure, things had been better once Sabinus had replaced Pupienus as Prefect of the City. The Urban Cohorts and the Praetorians might have no love for each other, but under firm leadership together they could contain the turbulent plebs urbana. The hand of Maximinus lay heavy on the city, but the northern war demanded sacrifices, and so far the Emperor had not struck down those who served him loyally. Safety lay in prompt obedience, no matter what the order. Three or four more years and Vitalianus could withdraw from the fray.
A scream of gulls brought Vitalianus back to his surroundings. The sky was lightening. It was time to take up the reins. He adjusted his sword-belt, the very visible badge of his office, hitched up his tunic, and walked up the stairs to where his secretary and two praetorians waited. Together they set off through the heart of the palace.
Apart from a handful of servants and guards, there was no one in the main imperial audience chamber. The echoing near-emptiness revealed its more than human scale. Three storeys of columns soared up a hundred feet to where the great beams of cedar supporting the wide span of the ceiling were lost in shadow. At the far end of the hall the gathering light outlined the monumental door through which an Emperor would appear to the press of his subjects assembled below on the palace forecourt. Opposite the opening, a seated statue of Maximinus occupied the apse where the living ruler would sit enthroned to receive the Senate and favoured petitioners, should he ever return to Rome. Along the walls, the gods in marble gazed down from their niches at their adamantine colleague.
Vitalianus performed adoration, bowing his head and blowing a kiss from his fingertips. Suddenly he wondered what it would be like to hold court in this hall, not to bow but to receive obeisance, to be lord of all you surveyed. Two Emperors had risen from the equestrian order. As a child Maximinus had herded goats. Vitalianus’ mind shied away. Even to entertain such thoughts was treason. A careless word or gesture, something muttered in your sleep, any of them could lead to an accusation. From there events would run their course; a closed carriage to the north, the pincers and claws wielded by skilled hands, until you begged for the executioner’s sword. Your head set on a pike. The crows feasting on your eyes. He straightened up, and marched purposefully towards the door to the neighbouring basilica.
When he entered, the hum of conversation died. The first petitioners had been admitted. This hall was smaller. Twin Corinthian colonnades running down the long walls further encroached on the floor space. Among those waiting, he saw Timesitheus.
As he marched down the nearer colonnade, Vitalianus brought the case to mind. The little Greek was embroiled in a private dispute over an inheritance. Timesitheus was in charge of the grain supply. His opponent was a leading Senator. All things being equal, neither was a man one would choose to alienate. But things were not equal. Timesitheus had a sworn enemy in Domitius, the Prefect of the Imperial Camp, and the latter was one of the few patrons Vitalianus had close to the Emperor. And there was a personal animosity. Three years before in the consilium, in front of all the councillors of the Emperor, Timesitheus had argued against the appointment of Vitalianus as governor of Mauretania Caesariensis. The Graeculus had to be desperate to seek his aid now. The desperation would do him no good.
A centurion of the Praetorians stepped forward as Vitalianus approached the apse where the tribunal stood.
‘Soldiers have arrived from the north, Prefect. The despatches bear the imperial seal. Their officer says he has a private message of the utmost importance from Maximinus Augustus himself. It concerns the security of the Res Publica. They are waiting in the portico outside.’
Vitalianus nodded. ‘Tell them I will hear them in a moment.’ He ascended the raised dais, and faced the hall. ‘Forgive me, the court will delay its sitting. Orders have come from the most noble Augustus.’ Despite his politeness, a sea of anxious faces gazed up at him. They knew as well as he what it meant: more arrests, more leading men rushed under close guard to the north, never to be seen again. It could be any one of them. The Graeculus Timesitheus, his senatorial opponent and every man present would be consulting his conscience, calling to mind every recent conversation, no matter how trivial. They did not fear just for themselves. All knew the dreadful repercussions for the family of the victims: the headman’s block, or, at best, exile, confiscation and abject poverty.
Outside the sun had risen. The light flashed back from the highly polished cladding of the walls. Treachery and fear were nothing new in Rome. Long ago the Emperor Domitian had had the white reflective stone brought from distant Cappadocia. Like all Emperors, he had wanted to see what happened behind his back.
Two soldiers were talking to the centurion and the four Praetorian guards by the rear doors of the basilica. They fell silent, and snapped to attention, when they saw Vitalianus. The centurion gestured out beyond the portico into the open space.
An officer was standing by the central fountain. He had his back to Vitalianus, and seemed to be studying how the waters ran down the island that depicted Sicilia and gave the courtyard its name. At the sound of footfalls, he turned. He was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, dark haired and good-looking. He was vaguely familiar, but Vitalianus could not place him.
‘Prefect.’ The young officer saluted. Close up, he was pale and looked tired. His tunic was travel stained. Among the ornaments on his military belt was a memento mori, a skeleton in silver. He handed over the despatch.
Vitalianus turned the diptych in his hands: ivory and gold, clumsily sealed in imperial purple with the eagle of the Caesars. He broke the seal, unfolded the hinged block, and read.
Imperator Gaius Iulius Verus Maximinus to Publius Aelius Vitalianus, our most loving and loyal Prefect of the Praetorians. While marching against the Sarmatians, it was with great sadness we received information of yet another conspiracy. The eminence of the traitors precludes writing their names. The bearer of this letter will tell you their identity. Now I entreat you that in the same spirit in which you were chosen as Prefect and have conducted your duties you will spare no efforts in apprehending these evil-minded malefactors and convey them to us, so that with careful inquiry we can ascertain how far they have spread their sacrilegious poison.
Our son Verus Maximus Caesar sends his greetings, and his wife Iunia Fadilla, too, greets both you and your wife. To your daughters we will send a present, worthy both of their virtue and your own. We command you to hold the troops in the city in their allegiance to the Res Publica and to ourselves, my most loyal, most dear, and loving friend.
Below the courtly hand of the imperial secretary was the rough scrawl MAXIMINUS AUGUSTUS.
‘Who?’ Vitalianus said.
Unexpectedly the officer smiled. ‘The Prefect of the City, Sabinus, and he is only the first.’
Vitalianus looked up sharply. A movement caught his eye reflected in the wall opposite. He turned. The two soldiers had drawn their swords.
A whisper of steel. Dropping the diptych, Vitalianus tugged his own blade from its scabbard. ‘Guards!’ Yelling, he spun back, and blocked the cut aimed at his head.
‘Guards!’ He parried a thrust. Hearing running feet, he risked a glance over his shoulder. The two soldiers would be on him in a moment. The centurion and the Praetorians had not moved.
A searing pain in his right arm told Vitalianus that he had paid for his inattention. Somehow he fended off another blow.
‘Why?’
The young officer said nothing.
‘I have done everything. Never betrayed him.’
Vitalianus felt the steel slice into his left thigh from behind. He staggered. The blood hot on his leg.
‘Why?’
Another slash into his left leg, and he collapsed. His weapon gone from his hand, he curled on the ground, one hand half covering his head, the other outstretched in supplication. What of his daughters? They were children, virgins. It was unlawful to execute virgins. Gods, not the fate of the children of Sejanus. No, dear gods, no!
One of the soldiers moved to finish him.
‘Wait.’
Vitalianus peered from behind his fingers up at the speaker.
‘It is my responsibility.’ The young officer rolled him onto his back, put his boot on his chest, the tip of his sword at his throat.
Vitalianus looked into his eyes. ‘Spare my children. Please spare my daughters.’
‘Yes,’ the officer said, and thrust down.