“You stinkers at the back,” Trajan said, as his amused smile suddenly returned. “What do you have to say about the situation? You!” Trajan pointed a finger straight at Marcus. “What are your thoughts on this new war with Parthia?”
Marcus blushed but stood his ground as around him, the distinguished men turned to look at him. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Nigrinus fixing him with a tense, warning glare.
“Sir,” Marcus said clearing his throat and looking Trajan straight in the eye, “the war is just. The Parthians have clearly violated the treaty with us. To do nothing would invite ridicule from the people and the scorn of the Gods. But if we are to go to war can I enquire whether you have plans to raise any new legions? It seems to me that this war is going to stretch our military resources.”
“Ah,” Trajan said lightly, “a good question. The answer,” Trajan said, as his eyes slipped away from Marcus and turned to his principal advisers, “is no. There are no plans to raise new legions for the coming war. Mainly and sadly because there is a limited supply of Roman citizens who are willing to serve in the army.”
“So, there are limits to what we can do, Sir,” Marcus said boldly. “Should that not dictate the limits of this war?”
From the corner of his eye Marcus noticed Nigrinus beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable. Catching Marcus’s eye, Nigrinus slowly shook his head, a silent message telling Marcus to shut up.
“There are always limits to what a man can do,” Trajan said tiredly, “but we shall have to make do with the legions which we have got.”
“Sir,” Celsus said smoothly as a little grin appeared on his face, “I have no doubt that with you leading our armies we shall be victorious just like Alexander the Great was. You will follow in his footsteps and conquer the whole Parthian empire. You will bring the Roman frontier up to the borders of India. If a mere Macedonian prince can do this, then surely an emperor of Rome can do the same. And once all of Parthia bows down to you Sir, your glory as the greatest emperor Rome has ever known, will be unmatched for all eternity. We, your loyal generals and friends will be there with you to witness it all. We shall follow in Alexander’s footsteps.”
Trajan turned to Celsus and grinned but said nothing. The emperor was an expert at keeping his thoughts to himself, Marcus thought as he watched Trajan. Then before anyone else could speak the emperor of Rome raised his hand. From his body language, it seemed Trajan had come to a decision.
“I have heard enough,” Trajan said. “I am going to order the preparations for war to begin immediately. To this purpose, I am promoting Hadrian to Legate and am sending him to Antioch in Syria in advance of our arrival. He will be leaving his position at Athens shortly, to take up his new assignment. Hadrian will be assuming general logistical responsibilities for our armies in the east. His task will be to organise and concentrate eleven legions and auxiliary units, a total of eighty to ninety thousand men, at Satala on the Armenian border, ready for the invasion to begin in the spring of next year. Attianus will act as liaison man between Hadrian and myself. Quietus, Palma, Celsus, all of you will be given field commands when we reach Antioch. I have also promoted Similis, current prefect of Egypt and summoned him to Rome. He shall be in charge of all security matters in the city whilst we are away in the east.”
Trajan’s announcement was met by a long unhappy and awkward silence amongst the gathered senators and advisers of the War Party.
“You have promoted Hadrian,” Nigrinus muttered at last, as unhappily he looked down at his feet. “May I ask whether Hadrian will be holding a field command?”
“Hadrian will be responsible for all general logistics of the campaign,” Trajan replied, fixing Nigrinus with a careful look. “I know it sounds rather vague but I want him to gain some experience of planning and leading a campaign on this scale. I need him to remain in Syria to protect our rear once the campaign begins so no, he will not be given any troops to command in the field.”
“Hadrian does not believe in this war,” Nigrinus hissed. “You know his thoughts on the expansion of the empire. How can we rely on him to do a good job if he does not believe in what we are doing?”
Unhappily Nigrinus shook his head.
“You are taking a risk, Trajan,” Nigrinus snapped, “with the success of the whole campaign by promoting him to this position. Hadrian does not realise that Parthia and the Dacian’s were once allied and plotting our defeat. He ignores the very real threats that Rome faces. I urge you, I beg you, appoint another man to this position, a man who believes in what we are doing. I can suggest many men who are eminently qualified and loyal to you.”
“Hadrian will go to Syria and start the preparations for war,” Trajan replied. “I have made up my mind and will not change it.”
“May I beg you then,” Nigrinus said quickly bowing to Trajan, “settle the issue of your succession before we depart for the east. Name your successor and banish the discontent within the senate once and for all.”
Trajan sighed and for a moment Marcus thought he looked bored.
“Regards my successor,” Trajan said calmly, “let him be more fortunate than Augustus and better than Trajan.” Then turning to look at the anxious senators and advisers clustered around him, the emperor continued, “I and the imperial family will be leaving Rome in October on the day of the sixteenth anniversary of my adoption by the great deified Nerva, my predecessor. We shall travel by ship to Antioch and then in the spring I shall personally lead our armies into Armenia. And gentlemen, once my Parthian war begins, the world will hold its breath for this is going to be the largest and most ambitious military campaign ever undertaken by Rome. This is going to be bigger than the conquest of Dacia. This Parthian war is going to be known as the last Parthian war. It is what we are going to be remembered for.”
Standing at the back, Marcus could not help a smile appearing on his lips as he slowly turned to glance at Paulinus. The finance minister winked at him in reply. Let him be more fortunate that Augustus and better than Trajan, Marcus thought, as his smile grew. It was the perfect reply from a man who did not wish to reveal his thoughts or make a decision about the succession.
The meeting with Trajan had broken up and Marcus, Paulinus and a few other senators were about to leave the imperial palace when Quietus, accompanied by Palma and Celsus appeared and to Marcus’s surprise came up to him in the hall. The tough, battle-hardened military men were clothed in their fine toga’s but they had the looks of men used to a hard, dangerous and uncompromising life.
“Gentlemen,” Marcus said as he hastily stretched out his hand in greeting, unsure of why they had approached him.
“Marcus, isn’t it? You are the Batavian veteran. Paulinus’s friend,” Quietus replied quietly, as he grasped Marcus’s outstretched hand in a hard but friendly grip.
“That’s right Sir,” Marcus replied as he quickly turned to shake hands with Palma and Celsus, both of whom nodded at him in a respectful manner.
“I have heard about your charity work,” Quietus said, studying Marcus carefully, “You run the hospice for army veterans down near Augustus’s mausoleum. It is good work that you are doing. As soldier’s ourselves we appreciate what you are doing. So, the three of us wanted to provide your hospice with a sizeable donation, so that it can remain open all year round, even after you return to your estates. Would that be acceptable?”
“A donation?” Marcus eyes widened in surprise. Ever since he had been coming to Rome no one had bothered to offer the hospice a donation.
“Of course,” he stammered. “The veterans need all the support they can get and if the hospital can stay open when I am not here, then that would be brilliant news but it’s not just a question of money. I struggle to get volunteers, qualified volunteers to help me and my wife with the work. I need people who want to do this job. People who can be trusted to do it properly. They are hard to find, I’m afraid.”
“We shall send you some men,” Quietus replied in a solem
n, genuine-sounding voice. “Choose the best from amongst them and they shall be yours.”
“I am grateful Sir,” Marcus replied, lowering his head in a respectful manner. “You all honour me with this gift. I shall not forget your kindness.”
Quietus nodded as a little smile appeared on his lips. Then the Berber prince patted Marcus on the shoulder in a friendly fashion and walked away, followed by Palma and Celsus.
Chapter Three - A Pleasant Walk Along the Tiber
There was only light traffic on the Pons Cestius as Marcus and Ahern, followed at a respectful distance by Indus, the quiet Batavian bodyguard, approached the bridge. It was a warm and humid evening and along the road leading to the bridge, a few pedestrians hurried home and from somewhere out of sight a dog was barking. The smell of wood smoke mingled with the stench of raw sewage and the scent of exotic cooking spices coming from the nearby houses. Marcus took a deep contented breath as he gazed at the temple of Aesculapius, the god of healing, that sat on Tiber island in the middle of the river. He loved these leisurely evening strolls into the centre of Rome and along the banks of the Tiber. It was the best time of the day. Years ago, when he had first set up his military charity he had started to walk around Rome, visiting the places where the beggars and rough sleepers gathered, hoping to find veterans amongst them. He was just doing it to show off, Kyna had pointed out with brutal honesty, and to feed his ego, but if that were true Marcus thought, it wouldn’t stop him. These walks, just like his garden, were his reward . It was his way of relaxing after a busy and sometimes stressful day and it also provided him with a chance to talk to Ahern and find out what the boy was up to.
In the street, a few pedestrians, recognising his fine senatorial toga nodded at him respectfully and an off duty urban policeman raised his hand in a silent greeting. A few shopkeepers did the same as they prepared to close their businesses. The locals had long ago begun to recognise him, for he always followed the same route at the same time in the evening. Contentedly Marcus turned to gaze at his young companion. The boy might not have the physique or inclination to become a soldier but the gods seemed to have gifted him with a brilliant mind. A genius, Lady Claudia had said, a mind that needed nurturing and challenging. It was upon her recommendation and with her support that Marcus had brought Ahern to work as an apprentice to one of the leading scientists and teachers in Rome. Ahern was fifteen now and he was growing up fast. Already he was as tall as himself - Marcus thought as he studied him. The thin, lanky boy was clothed in a white toga that was slightly too large for him and he was absentmindedly gazing at the greenish waters of the Tiber.
As they strolled along towards the bridge Marcus lowered his eyes remembering the shock of the first time he had met Ahern. It had been on a freezing cold, snowy winter’s day, ten years ago, when he had returned home to the farm on Vectis. He had seriously considered killing the boy, for Ahern was Kyna’s son by another man, an illegitimate boy, a product of a fling Kyna had had with a passing soldier. As father and head of his family he had the right to kill the boy. His wife’s affair had happened whilst he’d been serving far away with the 2 nd Batavian auxiliary cohort on the Danube frontier. Kyna had brought disgrace to him and the family and it had not been easy to forgive her. But he had, and strolling along here now with Ahern on this warm evening in Rome, he was glad he had spared the boy’s life and forced Jowan to adopt Ahern as his son. Time had healed the family rift and the two of them had become firm friends on their evening walks through Rome. And one-day Marcus was convinced, Ahern would make the family proud by creating a machine or an invention, which no man had ever seen before.
The fine stone arches of the Pons Cestius spanned the river between the western bank and Tiber island. As Marcus and Ahern, with Indus trailing, started to cross the bridge, Ahern suddenly pointed at a group of dishevelled beggars sitting outside the gates of the Temple of Aesculapius holding up their hands to the few passers-by.
“What about them, uncle? Any veterans amongst them,” Ahern said in his boyish voice.
Marcus turned to peer at the beggars and then shook his head.
“No, they look too young. There will be more rough sleepers around the Flavian amphitheatre. Come on, let’s have a look.”
As they left the Temple of Aesculapius behind them and started to cross the Pons Fabricius that connected Tiber island to the eastern bank of the Tiber, the traffic seemed to grow heavier. Pausing to allow a horse-drawn wagon to noisily trundle across the bridge, Marcus turned to gaze across the greenish waters of the Tiber. The river level was low and a solitary cargo-ship had just cast off from the river port and was beginning to make its way downstream to the sea.
“I met the emperor today,” Marcus said, glancing at Ahern as they set off again across the bridge and towards the Forum.
“You did?” Ahern sounded impressed. “What was he like?”
“He is getting old,” Marcus replied. “Nigrinus pressed him again today to decide the succession but Trajan would have none of it.”
“If Hadrian is announced as the next emperor,” Ahern said in a sharp inquisitive voice, his eyes fixed on the street up ahead, “does that mean we are all going to die? Will Hadrian have us all murdered? We are his sworn political opponents after all.”
Marcus raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath.
“I don’t think it will be that bad,” he muttered. “I am sure that Hadrian is a decent, honourable man.”
“But an emperor cannot tolerate having rivals to his power around him,” Ahern said, turning to look at Marcus. “It would be unwise of him to let anyone live who could threaten his position. Don’t you agree, uncle?”
“I agree,” Marcus replied hastily averting his eyes. “But Trajan has not made any decisions and our faction stands a good chance of getting one of our own nominated as the successor. Now let’s talk about something else. How are your projects coming on? Is your master pleased with your progress?”
At Marcus’s side Ahern was silent, as they passed on through the city gate and the walls of the city of Rome and into the ancient cattle market just beyond. The commander of the squad of urban guards posted to the gates, dipped his head in greeting, which Marcus acknowledged as he passed on by. And as they began to make their way towards the Forum the stench of the city hit them.
“My master is pleased with me,” Ahern said with a frown, as they pushed their way through the crowd of noisy pedestrians and commuters. “He says that I have potential. The new project that I am working on is going to change everything.”
“What do you mean?” Marcus asked frowning.
“You know who Heron of Alexandria is, right,” Ahern said, turning to look at him with sudden youthful excitement.
“I think so,” Marcus replied in an unconvincing voice. He had heard the name before but the details of who and what the man was famous for escaped him.
“Heron was a Greek mathematician and engineer,” Ahern said smoothly. “He lived in Alexandria in Egypt and he invented the first steam machine.”
“Steam machine?” Marcus muttered, raising his eyebrows.
“I won’t bore you with the exact mechanics,” Ahern said impatiently as the passion in his voice grew. “Heron proved that by using steam he could make wheels and objects move. He invented a new source of power, steam.”
“So?” Marcus said, smiling at the boy’s enthusiasm.
“So, I am taking Heron’s invention a step further. I am still on the theory mind you,” Ahern exclaimed. “But what if I could combine Heron’s steam machine with pistons and wagon wheels. It is theoretically possible that by combining them I could create a wagon that moves on its own, propelled forwards by nothing more than steam power. How amazing would that be, uncle?”
“A wagon that would move without the use of animal, wind or human power” Marcus exclaimed in surprise. “Well, well, that is indeed a novel idea but what would you use it for?”
“That’s the beauty of it all,” Ahern said looki
ng at Marcus, his eyes blazing with excitement. “If I could create such a machine it would mean we would no longer need horses or slaves to pull heavy loads. If adapted to give power to boats it could mean ships being able to sail, even if the wind is unfavourable. It would mean grain could be shipped from Egypt to Rome all year round. It would mean we would become invisible at sea. And the same for on land. Imagine a network of roads along which my steam machines could roll all day and all night without stopping. We would be able to ferry troops from one frontier to another much quicker than we can today. The possibilities and benefits are endless, uncle.”
Marcus nodded as he thought about it. Then he turned to Ahern and patted the boy on his shoulder.
“I like your enthusiasm,” Marcus said, “but you have just highlighted a serious problem with your theory.”
“What’s that then?” Ahern said with a frown.
“Your steam wagons would make horses and slaves redundant,” Marcus replied. “That’s the problem. Do you think all those horse breeders and slave owners will meekly accept your new machines? You would ruin them in one go. You would cause the price and value of horses and slaves to collapse. Those vested business interests will not allow it. And you have another problem. What material will you use to power your steam machines? Wood, coal? You would need huge quantities and if I remember correctly, you told me once that there is not much coal in Italia.”
Ahern suddenly looked glum and for a long while he remained silent. Then he sighed and looked down at his shoes.
“I will find a way to get around these problems,” he said at last.
* * *
The triumphal column stood alone in the middle of Trajan’s Forum just to the north east of the Capitoline hill. Marcus sighed with sudden emotion as he caught sight of it. The column had only been completed a few months ago. They had just entered the brand-new market piazza which Trajan had ordered built after the Dacian wars. The huge open space, one thousand feet long and six hundred feet wide, with its gleaming stone porticos, looked magnificent. A few people were still about but most of the shops, businesses, temples and libraries had already closed for the day. In a corner of the piazza a small group of spectators had gathered around a bawdy puppet-show and graffiti and political slogans were scrawled across some of the brand-new walls. Silently leading Ahern across the grand space towards the stone column, Marcus turned to fondly look up at the top of the one hundred and twenty-five feet high structure. The stone panels from top to bottom were beautifully engraved with carvings featuring military scenes. As he reached the base of Trajan’s column Marcus paused and laid his hand on Ahern’s shoulder.
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