Emperor's Axe

by Emperor's Axe (retail) (epub)

  Silus turned it over in his hands.

  ‘You can trust me,’ said Silus.

  ‘Can I?’

  Silus looked him in the eye. ‘Yes. You can.’

  Oclatinius nodded, looking satisfied.

  ‘Now, take your slave, and your dog, who incidentally smells like she drinks from the Cloaca Maxima…’

  ‘She does,’ muttered Atius.

  ‘And get some rest,’ continued Oclatinius, ignoring the interruption.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Silus ushered Apicula and Atius out, holding Issa under one arm. He considered how best to conceal the tablet now. Depositing wealth and important goods at temples was a common way of ensuring security, but they didn’t seem particularly safe after they had been pillaged by the Praetorians. He resolved to find a small-time private banker and deposit it in his safe for the time being, although at a later time he thought he would take it out into the countryside and bury it.

  He closed the door behind him and wondered how soon it would be before he was summoned to this office again for another distressing duty.

  * * *

  Soaemias felt the man behind her quickening his pace. His hands were on her hips, gripping her as he thrust into her. His balls slapped against her with a soft damp noise with each thrust, and she moaned aloud every time he pushed inside her. He was getting closer, but so was she. It was going to be a race – would she get there before him? She reached between her legs to stimulate herself and then she was arching her back, eyes rolling as the climax washed over her.

  She recovered herself just in time to pull away. He groaned, and his seed spurted over her back rather than inside her. She turned over and looked up at him with a satisfied grin.

  ‘That was close,’ he said.

  ‘Risky,’ she agreed. ‘But doesn’t that make it more exciting?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said.

  She reached out and cupped his balls, two soft fruits in his sack, and squeezed gently. He winced as she increased the pressure.

  ‘You think this painful. Imagine what it would have been like if you had genuinely been castrated, as everyone believes.’

  Gannys raised an eyebrow. ‘I prefer not to think about that. Besides, how would you feel if I had been castrated? Not as good as you feel right now.’

  ‘Maybe. I’ve never had a eunuch, but I’ve heard that if they were castrated as adults, they can still perform adequately, and with no chance of an unwanted pregnancy.’

  Gannys carefully eased himself free from her grip and lay on his back on the bed.

  ‘We have my mother to thank for this, of course,’ said Gannys.

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘You never met her, of course. But she wanted a daughter, not a son. When I was young, she tried to dress me as a girl, but I always resisted, much to her resentment.’

  Soaemias sighed. ‘Avitus likes to dress as girls without any prompting from me.’

  ‘And you indulge him.’

  ‘I find him hard to say no to. I want wonderful things for him, Gannys, the very best. He is such a wonderful child – intelligent, thoughtful, utterly devoted to our god.’

  ‘Blessed be the name of Elagabal. Anyway, whether out of spite or some unhinged desire to believe it true, she put it about that I was a natural-born eunuch, that I had been born without balls.’

  Soaemias giggled. ‘Surely your encounters with women quickly disproved that?’

  Gannys shook his head. ‘Mother was very controlling. She considered herself paterfamilias since father died before I was born. When I was young, Mother would not allow slaves to care for me. Only she bathed me or dressed me. When I was older, she did not allow me to mix with girls. By the time she died, the lie was so much part of me, I didn’t know how to let it be known that I had been whole all along. So I was only ever intimate with slaves who were sworn to silence, or with whores who did not know I was supposed to be a eunuch born to a minor equestrian family. You are the first free woman I have been intimate with.’

  ‘You honour me,’ said Soaemias. ‘And I must admit it is a wonderful pleasure. Marcellus is old and boring and was never interested in my satisfaction in bed. But it is so hard for a noblewoman in Rome to seek comforts outside her marriage without causing scandal. To have a real man who everyone believes a eunuch living in my house, able to spend time with him alone without tongues wagging – it’s a precious gift from your mother.’

  ‘Not one she would have been happy to bestow, I feel, the mad old cow,’ said Gannys sourly, and Soaemias laughed.

  ‘Regardless, you are here in my bed, while my husband waits on our insane Emperor.’

  Gannys looked around nervously, though it was obvious they were alone in her bedchamber. Cuckolding the commander of the Praetorian Guard was dangerous enough, but it was nothing compared to uttering words of sedition against Caracalla.

  ‘Please, Gannys, stop looking like a scared hen. Caracalla is unstable, a murderer, a tyrant, and unfit to rule.’

  ‘He will not rule forever.’

  Soaemias regarded him steadily. ‘This is true. Now, you may think you are a true Roman man. But you work for me, and it is your job to keep me content. Do your job.’

  She grabbed him by the hair, and forced his head down, across her body, between her legs. As she felt his tongue go to work, in an act no dominant Roman man would consider, she closed her eyes and gave herself to the sensations.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Numidia is on the verge of open rebellion,’ said Oclatinius. Giving bad news to an Emperor, especially one currently as unstable as Caracalla, was always a risk, but Oclatinius had lived long enough and seen enough to feel little anxiety, and to show none. ‘I have had a report from an informer in Cirta. The city is split between Geta’s supporters and your own, Augustus. The province itself is split along the same lines.’

  ‘And where stands the governor?’ asked Caracalla.

  ‘Publicly, Quintus Cornelius Valens has sworn an oath to you. Privately, my informer tells me he is intriguing against you. Gauging the level of support he has in Numidia, and even sounding out powerful men in Rome.’

  ‘Like who?’ asked Caracalla in a dangerously low voice.

  ‘My informer didn’t say.’

  Caracalla looked at Marcellus. ‘What are your thoughts?’

  ‘Rome is yours, Augustus. If there is going to be a threat to your rule, it is going to come from the provinces.’

  Caracalla gave a thin smile. ‘I admire your confidence. There is much work to be done before my position in Rome is secure, but I think we are making progress. I think you are right about the provinces, though. Which legions are based in Africa now?’

  ‘In Numidia, just the III Augusta, plus a few detachments from other legions. The II Traiana in Alexandria is a long way from Numidia but easily reached along the coast by boat or foot. The VII Gemina in Hispania is closer, but the governors in the peninsula are solid. I think.’

  ‘But I don’t have to tell you how close Numidia is to Sicily,’ said Oclatinius, ‘and from there, it is a short distance to Rome. You may command the loyalty of the legions in Britannia, Germania and Syria, but if Valens brings his legion to Rome, gathering troops on the way, you would have only the Praetorians and the II Parthica to oppose them. Probably enough, but not by a comfortable margin. More worrying would be if he marched east to Egypt or persuaded the Egyptian prefect to join him with the II Traiana. He could then cut off the grain supply to Rome, and the city would starve. Your rule depends on providing bread to the mob.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that,’ said Caracalla sourly. He sighed. ‘I need to send someone loyal to take control, someone with authority.’

  ‘Dioga?’ suggested Oclatinius.

  ‘No, not enough military experience.’

  ‘What about Oclatinius here?’ suggested Marcellus.

  ‘I’m sorry to say this, Oclatinius, but you don’t carry the authority. Fear and respect, yes, but you are not in a position to c
ommand legions or take over governorships. And I need you here in Rome now more than ever.’

  ‘Then it has to be Marcellus,’ said Oclatinius.

  Marcellus spread his hands. ‘Augustus, my place is at your side.’

  ‘Is there no one else?’ asked Caracalla, somewhat plaintively. ‘I am loath to lose Marcellus at this difficult time.’

  ‘As Marcellus said, Rome is all but secure. The risk is from the provinces. Marcellus is your closest ally, and he has the intelligence and sense to squash this threat.’

  Marcellus glowered, clearly reluctant to take this posting far away from the centre of power, but unwilling to contradict Oclatinius’ positive assessment of his capabilities.

  ‘You are right, Oclatinius. I’m sorry, Marcellus. It has to be you. You will go to Numidia and you will relieve the governor there.’

  Marcellus nodded, resigned. ‘Thank you for the honour, Augustus.’

  And in truth, it was an honour. Marcellus’ rise to a high position from relatively humble beginnings had been rapid, particularly since the death of Plautianus, the confidant-turned-traitor of Septimius Severus a few years before, who had hated Marcellus. Since then he had held the prestigious role of procurator of the aqueducts, and later procurator of Britannia. In all that time, though, he never been promoted to senator.

  ‘Augustus, I agree with your decision. But may I suggest that you take action to increase Marcellus’ authority even further. He is currently Praetorian prefect and Urban prefect, but he is still an equestrian. His task would be much easier if he was senatorial rank.’

  ‘You are right, Oclatinius. What do you suggest?’

  ‘Admit him to the Senate with the rank of propraetor. That should make it obvious to all that he is a man who commands respect and who wields the authority of the Emperor and the Senate.’

  ‘It shall be done.’

  Marcellus gave Oclatinius a genuine smile of thanks, but Oclatinius merely shrugged it away.

  ‘There are precious few military resources I can spare to assist you with this, Marcellus,’ said Caracalla. ‘With only one legion and the Praetorians in Italy, if another governor decides to march on Rome, I will need every man. I’ll give you a small detachment of legionaries from the II Parthica. You will have to win the loyalty of the III Augusta for yourself.’

  Marcellus looked uncertain, and understandably so. Marching into a province on the verge of revolt with little more than his personality as sword and shield was a challenge.

  ‘If I might suggest,’ said Oclatinius. ‘I could spare my men Silus and Atius to accompany Marcellus. Their skills may prove invaluable in assisting Marcellus with his task.’

  ‘But what if they are needed in Rome?’ asked Caracalla.

  ‘I believe we have sufficient resources here for what we need to do between the Praetorians, the Urban Cohorts, the speculatores, the frumentarii, Festus’ staff of the sacred bedchamber, Festus’ and my network of priests, seers and astrologers who act as informers. Besides, given what they have done for you lately, their lives may be in danger from Geta supporters wanting revenge. A posting outside Rome might be prudent…’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Caracalla. ‘You have made your point. Send them with Marcellus.’

  Marcellus shot Oclatinius a grateful look.

  ‘We will need to discuss replacements for your two positions, Marcellus,’ said Caracalla.

  ‘Well, you have Quintus Maecius Laetus,’ said Marcellus. ‘He could continue in his current role as co-Praetorian prefect and do the job on his own.’

  ‘There is recent precedent for a position once shared to be continued by just one man,’ said Caracalla wryly.

  Oclatinius and Marcellus looked at each other, uncertain whether a laugh was expected. Fortunately, Caracalla continued before they had to decide.

  ‘Laetus is hopeless. I have never fully trusted him, and when word got out that he might be part of my proscriptions, he feigned illness so he didn’t have to present himself at the palace. I was never going to have that coward executed anyway. He is too ineffective for there to be any point. So no, he cannot do it alone.’

  ‘How about Gnaeus Marcius Rustius Rufinus?’ said Oclatinius. ‘He is a man with a good reputation and has served Rome and its emperors well for many years.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Caracalla. ‘And the Urban prefect.’

  ‘How about Gaius Julius Asper?’ said Marcellus. ‘He and his son are consuls for the year, he has a lot of experience, and his loyalty to your father and yourself has never been in question.’

  ‘Oclatinius?’

  Oclatinius looked thoughtful. ‘I have some concerns about his… competence. But Marcellus is right, his loyalty is impeccable. And at this moment, that counts for more.’

  ‘Good. It is decided. Now, I believe there are some senators waiting to see me. You will both attend me while I hear them.’

  ‘Before you do, Augustus, there is one matter I would like to bring to your attention,’ said Oclatinius. This was going to be even more delicate than the problem with Numidia, he knew.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The vestals.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘Are you aware of their importance to us?’

  ‘Talk to me as if I’m not.’

  ‘Well, obviously, their main duty is to keep the sacred fire burning in the Temple of Vesta, and all the sacred duties which go with their office. The mob think very highly of the importance of this role in keeping the city and the Empire safe. Famine and floods have been blamed on the vestals failing to perform their duties diligently, or being let down by those responsible for the vestals’ well-being.’

  Caracalla nodded non-committally. Oclatinius realised he was likely telling the Emperor things he was very familiar with, but for what was to come, he needed to be clear as to what was at stake. He continued.

  ‘The people also believe the vestals capable of various magics through their prayers – capturing runaway slaves, finding lost children, healing disease. If the vestals are impious, the people get very angry at the thought of the danger that can put them in personally. We also need to consider that the loyalty of the vestals to the Emperor is of paramount importance. The vestals are too highly regarded to allow any doubts about their allegiance.’

  ‘Get to the point, Oclatinius.’

  ‘Augustus, there is a rumour going around the population regarding the chastity of four of the vestals.’

  ‘Four?’ exclaimed Marcellus.

  ‘Four.’

  ‘There are always rumours about the chastity of the vestals,’ said Caracalla. ‘It was once even said that I had deflowered one myself.’

  ‘This rumour does not concern you, Augustus, but your brother.’

  Caracalla became suddenly very still. Oclatinius swallowed.

  ‘Augustus, it is being said that after your father’s death, Geta visited the temple secretly on a regular basis. That he regularly debauched four. Only the very youngest, and the Virgo Vestalis Maxima, were untouched, and they were only left alone because of the extremities of their age.’

  ‘Six years old and sixty years old,’ put in Marcellus.

  Oclatinius watched mixed emotions play across Caracalla’s face as the implications sunk in. On the one hand, this showed his brother in a terrible light, and the more Geta’s character could be tarnished, the easier it was to justify Caracalla’s actions. On the other hand, Caracalla was the Pontifex Maximus, and thus in charge of the vestals. The people would not allow him to let this sacrilege and treason against the city itself go unpunished.

  ‘Is it true?’ he asked.

  Oclatinius spread his hands in apologetic uncertainty.

  ‘I have not been able to confirm it at this stage. My spies have observed Geta entering the temple on multiple occasions, but that could be for political reasons, attempting to gain support, finding out secrets confided to them by those consulting them as seers and sages, or even attempting to find out the contents o
f the wills they keep.’

  ‘The visits themselves will be enough proof in the minds of many.’

  ‘I could torture some of the slaves that attend the vestals to find out more. With your permission.’

  Caracalla shook his head. ‘It would add nothing. The belief of the people is all that matters here. Anyway, we both know that slaves under torture will just say whatever it is they think we want to hear, so are likely to condemn the vestals, whatever the truth, to save their own skins.’

  Oclatinius inclined his head in agreement. He had no compunction about using torture where it was necessary or deserved, but he agreed that it usually served little purpose, and just ended up with broken or dead slaves, with the rest of the servants of the household or institution scared and resentful rather than productive. And Oclatinius took no pleasure in inflicting suffering for its own sake. He caused enough death and misery as part of his job that he had no need or desire to take it up as a pastime.

  ‘What is your command, Augustus?’

  Caracalla sighed. ‘They must be tried, found guilty and executed. Marcellus, attend to it before you depart.’ He rubbed his face wearily. ‘Now, send in the senators.’

  * * *

  ‘We are going where?’ Soaemias’ voice was like the screech of a vixen.

  Marcellus shook his head. His wife was still adjusting to the new reality or their household, but at least her anger was directed at him in private, so he was prepared to tolerate it.

  ‘It is a great honour, my dear,’ he said. ‘I am made a senator at last. With the rank of an ex-praetor. And I am going to become a governor.’

  ‘You are currently both Urban and Praetorian prefect. That is where the real power lies. If you doubt it, just read your Suetonius. Find out about who made Claudius emperor. And Galba. Look at the power Sejanus wielded. The Praetorians even sold the throne to Didius Julianus!’

  ‘Calm yourself. The Praetorian prefectship is a poisoned chalice. You want examples from history, look no further than Plautianus and Papinianus.’