Caracalla stood and shook the barbarian chief’s hand. Argentocoxos was much taller than Caracalla, and despite his recent poor nutrition, was still a well-built man. And yet Caracalla, with his broad chest and thick arms and square jaw, looked physically superior. They locked eyes and gripped hands for an uncomfortably long moment, testing each other’s wills, even at this late hour in their conflict. Then Caracalla smiled, safe in his victory and superiority, and let go. He clapped Argentocoxos on the back.
‘Come, let us drink. Though I’m afraid I have never become fond of this beer of yours.’
‘And I have never understood the appeal in wine,’ said Argentocoxos.
‘We can toast each other with our own preferred beverages then,’ said Caracalla, and he led the chief away. Domna rose from her throne smoothly and offered a hand to Barita. The small party moved to a sumptuously laid-out tent, with fine wines and foods from around the Empire, specially selected to impress the barbarians.
It all seemed so easy. All that death and destruction, all the misery. In Silus’ mind, not least of which was the suffering inflicted on himself and his family. Now the Emperor and the barbarian chieftain treated each other like they had been combatants in a friendly wrestling match. He shook his head and spat.
Oclatinius approached the spies. ‘Get in there, stay out of the way, listen to what the barbarians are saying to each other, and tell me if there is anything I should know about.’
Silus doubted there would be anything of importance. Everyone was glad to see the back of this war, the Romans to be going home, the barbarians to be rid of the invaders. But Oclatinius hadn’t grown old by being lazy or incautious.
Silus, Atius and Daya entered the dining tent, and began to circulate. It was a sizeable space, and there were Roman officers, Caledonian nobles and serving slaves, drinking, eating and talking. Mostly, people talked to their own compatriots, sending suspicious glances across to their recent enemies, but in some cases curious individuals approached and struck up halting conversations with the other side. Daya kept herself to herself, standing near the entrance to the tent, her darting eyes missing no details. Atius, on the other hand, was already chatting up a young red-headed barbarian girl. Though neither spoke the other’s language particularly well, Atius leant in close and whispered in her ear which sent her into fits of giggles. Silus shook his head and turned his attention to where Julia Domna was talking to Barita.
The two noblewomen were similar in age, similar in height, and both had retained fine features, despite traces of lines around the corners of their eyes and mouths. There seemed to be a tension, but a respect and understanding between them, as they spoke. Silus moved a bit closer so he could eavesdrop. He doubted that Oclatinius had meant him to spy on the Empress when he had sent him in here, but he could see nothing else of interest going on, so he decided to indulge his curiosity.
Domna was admiring the gold ornaments that decorated Barita’s hair. She reached out to touch one, flicking it with her finger so it swung back and forth. Barita smiled, then indicated Domna’s hair. Domna had created her own fashion which was much imitated among the wealthy Romano-British, especially after she arrived in the country and Britons saw her in the flesh rather than just on coins. The style was of waves set in tight lines running from forehead to the back of the neck, with smaller waves within the larger ones at right angles, the overall effect being of a beautiful seashell.
‘How long does it take your slaves to make it look like that?’ asked Barita.
‘My personal slaves spend about two hours when I wake attending to my hair and make-up. How long does your braiding take?’
‘About an hour, but I leave it in overnight.’
‘Doesn’t the jangling wake your husband?’
Barita laughed. ‘My husband, or whichever man I am sharing my bed with that night. They seem to think it is worth it.’
Silus saw Domna’s eyes widen slightly, though she otherwise kept her composure.
‘Of course, I was told that your men share their women around like they are meats to pass around at a banquet. In Rome, we comport ourselves to higher moral standards, and swear ourselves to just one man.’
‘Oh,’ said Barita. ‘I have heard about your Roman morals. To the world, so right and proper. But we fulfil the demands of nature in a much better way than do you Roman women. For we sleep openly with the best men, whereas you let yourselves be debauched in secret by the vilest.’
Domna blanched at these words, even beneath her white lead make-up, and cast an involuntary glance towards Caracalla, who was talking seriously to Argentocoxos. Barita was not looking in the right direction to see the recipient of her glance and no one but Silus was paying them any attention. Domna looked away quickly, but Silus had caught the look of distress on her face. He remembered another glance between them he had seen when he had first met the Imperial family at a banquet in Eboracum, and his mind started whirring. Was it possible? Surely not. She was his stepmother and at least fifteen years his senior. He considered telling Oclatinius his suspicions, then shook his head. It was ridiculous. The old man would laugh in his face, then have him beaten for making treasonous remarks.
Silus looked across to Atius. His friend was getting closer to the barbarian girl, and as Silus watched, Atius started to pucker his lips. Silus was on him in two long strides, taking his arm and guiding him away.
‘Silus,’ protested Atius. ‘What the fuck are you doing? I was on a promise there!’
‘Jupiter and Mithras, Atius,’ said Silus as he led him out of the tent. ‘Do you want to create a diplomatic crisis? Peace is breaking out here. An end to war, and an end to us being in constant danger. Don’t fuck it up for everyone.’
But even as he said the words, Silus thought of the conflict between Geta and Caracalla, and knew that he was talking bollocks.
* * *
Euodus walked through the camp, straining his eyes in the darkness. Praetorians patrolled the streets of the marching fortification that the Imperial party had erected for the night, built on the remains of one of the Severan camps from the previous summer. A pair of owls called to each other in the distance, and a vixen let out one of those weird screams that always chilled Euodus to the core. He couldn’t sleep, and now his bladder was full and he would need to look for somewhere to piss.
He wasn’t entirely sure where he was. He had been wandering for around half an hour, occasionally being challenged by a patrol, but otherwise alone with his thoughts.
It was Septimius Severus himself who had selected Euodus as the tutor to Caracalla and Geta. He had seen the boys grow into men, watched them develop in intellect as well as physique. Neither were stupid, and Caracalla was prepared to apply himself when he found an interest. Geta was the more bookish of the two, however, and had always secretly been Euodus’ favourite.
How would things play out now? he wondered. Severus had been so dominant for so long that it was hard to imagine a world without him. And what would happen between the two boys he had tutored? Caracalla was clearly the more ambitious of the two, but Geta was not prepared to give up his right to rule merely to appease his older brother. And if Caracalla did win power for himself, where would that leave Geta?
And then Euodus thought about his own role. He had been the boys’ tutor for so long that he had retained their confidence as trusted advisor. Even now, a week would rarely pass when one or the other didn’t turn to him for advice on a weighty matter. Would they continue to do so now they were rulers, with a court of experienced men and intellectuals at their beck and call?
He looked around him, trying to remember the way back to his own tent. Then, full bladder overcoming him, he hitched up his tunic and sighed as a long stream came out. Good flow, he thought, for a man of his age. Galen would be impressed.
The nearest tent was nondescript, some sort of depot, but he heard low voices coming from inside. He wondered who was awake and desperate for supplies at this time of night. He edged clo
ser, expecting to hear sounds of a theft in progress, ready to raise the alarm. But instead he heard a woman’s voice.
‘And then she said, “For we sleep openly with the best men, whereas you let yourselves be debauched in secret by the vilest.”’
It took a moment for Euodus to place the familiar voice, but with her next words it all became clear.
‘She besmirches Roman honour, with the ashes of my husband, bless Septimius, barely cooled.’
Domna? thought Euodus. What was she doing here? And then he heard the unmistakable, deep voice of Caracalla.
‘Let it go,’ he said in a half-chuckle. ‘She is a defeated queen. Give her no more thought.’
‘Doesn’t it anger you that she considered you vile?’
‘She wasn’t referring to me specifically, now, was she? She can’t have known about you and me. Anyway, all that matters is whether you think I am vile.’
‘I’m not entirely sure about that,’ said Domna, her voice playful.
‘Hmm, then maybe I should show you just how vile I can be,’ said Caracalla, laughing.
‘Antoninus, what are you…’ Her sentence was cut off by a gasp, and then some low moaning.
Euodus stood frozen like a statue, his hand over his mouth, mind whirling, terrified of being caught. He backed slowly away from the tent, and as soon as he judged he had retreated a safe distance, he ran.
It took a few false turns and some directions from a helpful Praetorian, but eventually he found his way back to the tent he shared with Castor, the bedroom attendant of Severus, and Proculus Torpacion, Caracalla’s childhood attendant.
He let the tent flap close behind him, and stood in pitch darkness, sucking in wheezy breaths. Castor stirred, sat up.
‘Euodus? Is that you? What’s all the noise? Do I need to fetch Galen?’
‘No, no, I just… need to catch my breath.’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Torpacion, his voice slurred from being freshly woken. They spoke Greek, the language of the cultured and educated elite of the Empire.
‘It… I…’ Euodus slumped onto a small wooden stool. ‘Shit.’
‘Tell us, old friend,’ said Castor. ‘Is something wrong? Can we help?’
‘I just… heard something. When I was out walking. I shouldn’t say.’
‘Come on,’ said Torpacion. ‘We tell each other everything.’
It was true. The three old men had known each other for decades, and there were no secrets between them.
‘I heard…’ He swallowed. ‘I heard the Augusta and the Augustus together.’
‘Domna and Geta? Has our little protégé had a nightmare and needed his mother?’
‘Not that Augustus. The other one.’
‘Oh,’ said Castor. ‘That one.’
‘And when you say together…’ said Torpacion.
‘I mean together!’
‘Oh,’ said Castor.
‘Oh,’ said Torpacion.
Then in unison they all said, ‘Shit.’
They sat in silence for a while. Then Torpacion spoke.
‘Should we tell someone?’
‘Who?’ exclaimed Euodus. ‘He is the Emperor now!’
‘Not the only Emperor,’ said Torpacion.
‘You think we should tell Geta? How would that go down, to discover his brother is fornicating with his mother?’
‘It’s disgusting,’ said Castor.
They all murmured agreement.
‘He is the poorer of the two of them, isn’t he?’ remarked Euodus.
Although such an indiscreet remark could be construed as treason, it was nothing they hadn’t discussed many times before. Caracalla wasn’t stupid, but Geta had more of a natural inclination to learning. He was also more malleable, and they found it much easier to guide Geta, or manipulate him, depending on your point of view. That was partly his age, being much younger than Caracalla, but partly it was Caracalla’s innate stubbornness and self-belief.
‘He would certainly make a more… pliable Emperor,’ said Castor.
‘We would retain much more influence with Geta than Antoninus.’
‘But Geta doesn’t have Antoninus’ strength, nor his influence with the army. If we took this information to him, what would he do with it? Could he confront Antoninus directly?’
‘Maybe, but not here, in Britannia, with the army behind Antoninus. He would have to wait until getting back to Rome to secure a power base. Get the Praetorians on side, by gaining their respect, or just plain bribery.’
‘But if we wait until he gets to Britannia, it will be old news, dismissed as a rumour spread on campaign. And Antoninus will have had time to consolidate his power.’
They fell silent again.
‘How bad would it be if we just announced what we know? Told the council, the army commanders, the troops?’ asked Torpacion.
‘It would be devastating for Antoninus. And sadly for Domna too.’
They all shook their heads at the damage it would cause the Empress – they bore her no ill will. ‘But as bad as it would be for Antoninus, it would be worse for us. He would have to deny everything, regardless of whether we were believed, and he would have to execute us for treason to make his point.’
‘But surely this is too good an opportunity to waste?’
They sat and thought for a while. In the darkness, Euodus could only dimly make out the forms of his colleagues and friends, Torpacion skinny and bent, Castor corpulent, while he had maintained himself with good diet and regular exercise as Galen had recommended.
Suddenly Castor thrust a finger into the air.
‘Heureka!’ he said, mimicking one of his philosopher heroes.
‘What is it?’ asked Torpacion.
‘We blackmail Caracalla into giving power to Geta.’
There was an intake of breath, then silence as they all worked through the implications.
‘But he would just kill us,’ said Euodus.
‘Not if, not if,’ said Castor, working it out as he went, ‘I go alone and tell him the three of us know his secret. And if anything happens to any one of us, the others will make it known far and wide.’
‘It could work,’ said Torpacion.
‘If we do this, it has to work, or we are all dead men,’ said Euodus.
‘And if it works and we persuade Antoninus to cede at least some power to Geta to make him the senior Augustus, then the Emperor will be someone we can manipulate to our advantage,’ said Castor.
For a while there was only the sound of the stertorous breathing of three old men.
Then Torpacion said, ‘I’m in.’
Euodus hesitated longer and then said, ‘Very well. Me as well.’
‘Then there is no point in delaying. Tomorrow, we arrive back in Eboracum. I will request a private audience with Antoninus, tell him what we know and present our demands.’
There was no conversation to be made after that. Nor sleep to be had. Just three old men, lying on their beds, staring into the darkness with cataractous eyes, contemplating the morrow.
* * *
Caracalla looked around the room in the palace in Eboracum that had been designated a council chamber. While a few men of rank remained in Rome to continue to govern, Severus had brought with him to Britannia the majority of the most important men in the Roman elite. Domna too had her own circle of intellectuals, philosophers and poets, some of whom had travelled with her and acted as her advisors. Domna was seated between the two Augusti, Caracalla to her right, Geta to her left. Aemilius Papinianus, seated next to Caracalla, was the more senior of the two Praetorian prefects. He had been truly loyal to Severus and was a relative of Domna. Caracalla felt that Papinianus’ loyalties tended towards himself, but he tried to maintain an air of neutrality which irritated Caracalla. On the other hand, Caracalla didn’t trust the other Praetorian prefect, Quintus Maecius Laetus, who was still in Rome, at all.
Domna had many members of her intellectual circle in attendance – Ulpianus, the re
nowned jurist; Galen, the world-famous physician; Philostratus the philosopher. All men who were jealously proud of their intellect and could be trusted as a group to have sincere, deeply held and contradictory opinions on almost everything.
Geta’s adherents included Gaius Septimius Severus Aper, their cousin, who had been consul a few years before, as well as others of north African heritage related to Severus.
The Syrian faction of the court, most of them related to Julia Domna, was more closely allied to Caracalla. Sextus Varius Marcellus, the husband of Julia Domna’s niece Soaemias, was as loyal a follower as he could wish for. Other notables present that Caracalla could count on included Severus’ Imperial companion Julius Avitus, who was married to Julia Maesa, Julia Domna’s elder sister, Gaius Julius Asper, Julius Paulus who had long sat on Severus’ council, Quintus Marcius Dioga and Fabius Cilo, the former urban prefect. And of course, sitting inconspicuously at the far end of the room, but nevertheless a presence noted by all, was Oclatinius.
Quiet conversation filled the room, low voices talking in sombre tones. Caracalla rose to his feet, and silence fell.
He paused, locked eyes with loyalists and antagonists, gauging their mood and challenging them, holding the moment to make sure everyone could see that the authority in the room belonged to him. When the tension started to become uncomfortable, he spoke.
‘Friends, family, compatriots. We are in mourning. Rome has lost an Emperor the likes of which it has never seen and may never see again. My father was a brilliant general and an accomplished ruler. He took the throne that was rightly his from a horde of usurpers, and went on to achieve stunning martial victories throughout the Empire. He left the Empire in rude health, financially and militarily.
‘Now he is gone, and while he can never be replaced, Rome needs a new ruler. My father had two sons, and we sit before you as co-Augusti and co-Emperors. But I must ask you, trusted advisors and counsellors, is this what is best for Rome? Are the people and Senate best served by a divided rule, or will they be stronger under a single Emperor?’
Emperor's Knife Page 7
