The Philosopher Prince

by Paul Waters

  Turning, I caught my breath. Far below, like a vast blue-green tapestry, the wide plain of Thrace lay spread before me, divided by the distant line of the river Hebrus, glinting like a silver filament in the sunlight.

  Julian came up beside us.

  ‘See there!’ he said pointing, shouting over the roar of the gale that came rising over the escarpment, ‘That is Philippopolis.’

  I looked out. The city was as small as a toy, with white walls snaking over tree-covered hills. Among the roofs I could make out the stadium, and theatre, and temples.

  Julian’s eyes shone. ‘It is the key to Thrace,’ he said. ‘After we take it, nothing will stand between us and Constantinople.’

  I gazed down into the valley. Beyond the distant city, the plain stretched out endlessly before me, all the way to Asia. Julian’s enthusiasm was catching. It seemed we could do anything, just by trying for it.

  But later, back at the fort, Nevitta came up to me, while I was alone, tethering my horse. He crept up soft-footed, so that I did not hear him approach.

  ‘I don’t know why Julian is so bright,’ he said. His small eyes probed my face, sly and searching.

  I looked back at him, wondering what he wanted. Never had he sought me out before. He was overdressed as usual, in a heavy fur-collared cloak, with an elaborate brooch of worked gold.

  When I did not answer he went on, ‘Constantius has men enough in Thrace, even if the army is in Asia still. It is madness to think he will allow Philippopolis to fall.’

  The magic and light-filled power I had felt on the summit bled from my soul. I felt a creeping in my flesh, which I could not account for. I recalled what Marcellus had once said of Nevitta: that he was a killer of dreams. Since the news from Aquileia, a change had come over him. His vaunting had ceased. Suddenly, all about, but with no clear source, there were complaints of the difficulties and risks. I asked myself again what he was seeking from me.

  ‘Perhaps you are right, Nevitta,’ I said carefully. ‘Perhaps it is madness. Yet we have taken Illyricum, and now we have taken the pass. A man might have said that this was madness too; and yet here we are.’

  I turned and busied myself with the catches on the horse’s bridle, wishing he would go away. I heard him take a step. At my side, in a quieter voice, he said, ‘You have Julian’s ear. He calls you his friend.’ He made the word sound ugly.

  I paused, frowning at the leather strap in my hand. ‘We are all his friends, are we not, Nevitta?’

  He gave a cool laugh. ‘You know my meaning. Some are saying it is time for Julian to make another approach to Constantius. Some are saying we cannot win.’

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see him studying me, waiting for a sign of assent, or complicity. I realized my hand was trembling with anger. I left the bridle and turned.

  ‘I will not persuade Julian of what I do not believe myself,’ I said in a hard voice I had never used to him before. ‘Let those men you speak of go to Julian themselves. Why not? Are they ashamed, as they should be? Or are they merely cowards?’

  He sucked in his breath. My words had been clear enough, even for him. I knew there were few things that could have insulted Nevitta more, vain brute that he was.

  I turned my back on him, and patted the horse, trying to still my anger.

  No one else was about. I guessed he knew that already. He was clever in his schemes, with all the skill of a street-thief. Was he sounding me out, or was he testing me? Either way, he could easily deny it all.

  I heard him take a step closer.

  ‘Watch yourself, Drusus,’ he muttered in my ear, so close that I felt his hot breath. ‘There are no cowards here.’

  He did not say more. Whatever he was seeking, he had not found; and after a bristling moment he grunted, and went striding off.

  When he was gone I paused for a while and thought. I did not regret what I had said, not quite.

  But I had let my anger master me; and I had exposed his pretences for what they were.

  It was too late in the year to press on over the mountains into Thrace. Leaving the pass at Succi strongly garrisoned, Julian returned to Naissus for the winter; and there he set about writing to the cities of the empire, justifying to them his move against Constantius. He worked hard at these letters, believing that the cities, when they heard the truth, would support him. But I do not think either Eutherius or Oribasius was surprised when they did not reply, or sent hedging, evasive answers. The Senate in Rome even wrote to say he ought to show more respect to the man who had made him what he was.

  ‘And how much respect,’ asked Julian, ‘do they think I owe the murderer of my own father, or have they forgotten that?’

  But Eutherius raised his eyes to the dome of the lapis-inlaid ceiling and said, ‘Ah, the Senate! Behind their guise of principle lies nothing but self-interest. They think they will ingratiate themselves with Constantius with their toothless bite. But if Aquileia falls, the senators will be stumbling over themselves like a herd of startled sheep in their haste to support you.’

  ‘Then I have no use for such friends! Where is their ancient dignity? Where is their sense of who they are, and the great men in whose footsteps they walk?’

  ‘Gone, my dear Julian. Gone. Fear and sycophancy change men. Their dignity was lost long ago. These are no more than grovellers, waiting to kiss the ground the emperor walks on.’

  But one city wrote back supporting him – his beloved Athens. It made up for all the rest.

  That winter, while we waited, he turned his attention to the business of government, which was always close to his heart.

  As with Gaul, Constantius had imposed a heavy tax on Illyricum, which the people could not pay. Julian issued an order cancelling it, and this time there were no fussing bureaucrats to oppose him. Constantius, and Constantine before him, had drawn all power to themselves. Julian’s intention was to restore the freedom of the cities, permitting them to see to their own affairs, and raise their own finance as they saw fit. ‘How can a man have pride in himself, if he is not his own master?’ he would say. ‘And as for men, so for cities of men. Each city knows its own needs better than a court of strangers and a distant army of functionaries.’

  At the same time, he announced measures to encourage citizens back to the city councils; he ordered public buildings to be reopened – theatres, libraries, basilicas and baths; he authorized funds to restore the crumbling aqueducts – the soaring canals that fed the cities with water, built when men still believed in the idea of Rome.

  Winter came on. At Naissus, an icy wind scoured down the river valley from the mountains, and we shivered amid the gilded splendour of Constantine’s summer palace. The tall, airy rooms had been built for coolness.

  Meanwhile, Marcellus was finding Nevitta harder to bear than usual.

  The siege at Aquileia was dragging on. Somehow the rumour took hold that Julian had overreached himself, that he should have slaughtered Lucillian’s two legions rather than send them west. It was a foolish idea; but once it took hold it smouldered on with all the stubbornness of a winter fever. Marcellus, who tried to engage the boy whenever he could, first heard it from Rufus.

  ‘He talks without hope, as though we were defeated,’ he said, telling me of it.

  I shrugged. ‘Is that Nevitta speaking, or Rufus?’

  ‘Who can tell? I expect he got it from Nevitta, like most things.’

  Nevitta was a man who could not be still. That winter, he was constantly busying himself in pointless activity, and blaming those who served him when they did not do likewise, accusing them of indolence. Whether he singled out Marcellus because of me I do not know; but during that time Marcellus was always being called out on one errand or another – up to the high uplands on manoeuvres in the bitter cold; or needlessly escorting dispatches from Naissus to the Succi pass, or to Serdica, which lay between.

  When I saw what Nevitta was doing, I confided to Marcellus his sinister private words to me, and what I had
said in return. I had not wanted to burden him with it; but now, seeing Nevitta’s petty spite, I felt I was the cause.

  ‘Yes,’ he said frowning, ‘well, let him play his games; but you are right to keep clear of him. He brings trouble. He may dress like a king, but under all those furs and finery he has the mind of a mercenary.’

  I asked him what he meant.

  ‘He cares only for himself – and he doesn’t know himself enough to know what he is caring for. I think, in the end, he wants only riches and power. The rest of what Julian is about – the love of wisdom, the good ordering of the soul, or the art of ruling – is all beyond him. Well, you’ve seen it in his face, the way it goes blank when Julian talks of those things. He is a looter at heart. He does not understand the virtues of a statesman.’

  Then, one cold, wind-blown morning, to my surprise Rufus came to me in my workroom – an echoing, absurdly grand chamber of soaring malachite columns and gilded capitals, large enough to hold a hundred men.

  I was busy with an adjutant, a young officer called Ambrosius, disposing of the requisitions for a train of winter supplies for the garrison at the Succi pass. I had planned to ride out with Marcellus later that day. He had finally secured a few days’ leave, and we had arranged to go up to the pass together.

  Rufus waited, shuffling about beside the tall double-doors until I had finished with Ambrosius. I called him in, and asked him how he was.

  ‘I was wondering,’ he said, keeping his eyes on a basket of rolled-up scrolls on my work-table, ‘who is taking the convoy up to Succi?’

  ‘I am. And Marcellus too… But why?’

  ‘I saw Marcellus at the stables. He has had to take a troop of men up into the hills.’

  ‘Are you sure? He didn’t say anything to me.’

  ‘No, Drusus; it was sudden. Nevitta sent him. It was something urgent and he’ll be gone for some days. He asked me to let you know.’

  I shrugged, and silently cursed Nevitta. ‘Very well,’ I said, ‘then I must go alone.’ I thanked him for coming to tell me.

  Instead of leaving, however, he paused, looking rather rigid and formal. He had not spoken to me since the day at the baths.

  I set aside the papers in my hand. ‘Is there something else?’ I asked. I expect I had sounded rather cool; so now I smiled, to put him at his ease.

  ‘I was thinking, Drusus,’ he said, flushing slightly, ‘if Marcellus cannot go, perhaps I could ride out with you instead. Nevitta says I may, and I have nothing else to do.’

  I looked at him, surprised. ‘Why, yes – yes, of course. But are you ready? We leave at midday.’

  ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Very well; then good. Go along with Ambrosius and see to the mule-train.’ And I added, ‘Oh, Rufus, I’m glad to have you with us.’

  He nodded, serious-faced; then turned and hurried off.

  We rode out soon after, under grey skies, following the river valley, climbing into the foothills of Mount Haemus.

  Rufus was civil when spoken to; but otherwise quiet. I left him to his thoughts. His usual silver mare was lame. In her place, he had taken one of the standard-issue army mounts from the common stable, a stolid, dun-coloured creature, as sullen as he.

  Still, I thought, it was good that he had come along. His awkwardness would no doubt lift in time.

  We reached the pass at Succi without incident. That night, over dinner in the mess, the captain of the garrison – a young officer who had fought with me in Gaul – mentioned that one of his scouts had reported movements. ‘Probably no more than local herders,’ he said. ‘We see them often, ranging along the tracks. Sometimes they call at the fort, with a goat or sheep to sell.’

  But Rufus, who seemed eager to see the pass, said, ‘We could go up tomorrow and look for ourselves.’

  ‘Why, yes,’ I said, ‘why not indeed?’ So next day, after a fine breakfast with the captain and his men, we set out alone, taking the mountain track up between the trees towards the rocky summit.

  Overnight the cloud had moved off. The morning air was sharp and fresh and smelled of pine. High above, golden-brown against the crystal sky, an eagle balanced on the updraught, waiting for a leveret or a rock-rabbit to show.

  We trudged along in silence, the only sound our footfalls on the track, and the wind sighing in the branches. I did not burden Rufus with talk; I felt his brooding presence and sensed he had things to say. I would wait till he was ready.

  Before long the pines thinned, and we came out at a rocky clearing that overlooked the sheer drop of the pass. I paused, and gazed out at the endless sky. I knew there would be no enemy here; I had wanted to climb for its own sake. On mountain tops I feel the presence of gods; and now the fullness of soul I had felt with Julian returned, and the whole world seemed charged with possibility and promise.

  I filled my lungs with the cold air. Somewhere in the distance I could hear water tumbling on rock; and, far below, the sound of the wind as it eddied in the narrows of the pass. ‘It is a fine view,’ I said to Rufus, who was standing somewhere behind me. ‘See there, beside the river? That is Philippopolis; and beyond it all of Thrace, until the sea and Constantinople itself.’

  ‘I heard something!’ he said abruptly.

  ‘Oh, I expect it’s just a bird, or some mountain cat.’ ‘No; down there, in the ravine.’

  I took a step forward to the edge and looked, wondering at the sudden tension in his voice. Below me I could see nothing but dense trees, and clefts of rock with gathered snow. I was going to tell him not to worry; but already he was moving off, saying, ‘It will only take a short while, and we can see better from over here.’

  I turned with reluctance from the glittering vista of earth and sky, and began to follow.

  ‘This way,’ he called, stepping ahead and vanishing behind a pine-covered outcrop.

  I remember thinking to myself that he seemed suddenly sure of his way. Half-serious, I called out, ‘Then where is your training, Rufus? You have not even drawn your sword.’

  Fool that I was, I had not drawn mine either. Beyond the shoulder of rock, there was a dense thicket of mountain bush. I could not see him. I took a step forward, and spoke his name.

  There was a swift movement. Something pressed into my back. It took me a moment to realize it was the point of a blade.

  ‘I am sorry, Drusus,’ he said, ‘that it had to be like this.’

  He called out once. Then, from the cover of the undergrowth and rocks, men with drawn spears appeared and surrounded me.

  TWELVE

  THEY HELD ME AT bay, like a dangerous animal. Sharp mountain sunlight, slanting through the canopy of pines, flashed on the steel of their blades.

  I blinked, unable at first to work out what had happened.

  One of them prodded me hard with his spear-end. ‘Drop your sword,’ he said.

  I took my sword from its sheath and let it fall. They were wearing imperial uniform, and some insignia I did not recognize. For a moment, in my confusion, I thought they must be from our garrison. But they were not our men.

  ‘Your knife too,’ said Rufus, stepping from behind, ‘your hunting knife; the one you keep inside your tunic. The one Marcellus gave you.’

  I glared at him, then took the knife from where it was concealed and threw it down. For a moment I had been like a man woken from a deep sleep, who cannot tell where he is. But now, too late, my mind was working.

  ‘You have done this,’ I said to Rufus. ‘But why? How have I wronged you?’

  In a sudden flare of anger he cried, ‘Now you will see for yourself how it feels to lose everything that matters.’

  I shook my head. Around me the men with spears gazed on.

  ‘This is not your work alone,’ I said. ‘Who has helped you?’

  ‘No one helped me!’

  But he could not hold my gaze, and looking down he went on, ‘We are not going to win this fight; anyone can tell you. We cannot win.’

  ‘That sounds like Nevitta sp
eaking.’

  ‘It’s not. I can think for myself.’

  ‘Very well.’ I nodded at the spears pointing at me, ‘Then what is this about?’

  ‘You’ll see soon enough. He told me there could be a settlement, if I brought you here.’

  ‘Who told you? Nevitta?’

  ‘No! A powerful man, an emissary of the emperor’s.’ His voice was shaking. The boy was overwrought. For a moment he stared at me. Then, to my horror, he added with a violent sweep of his arm, ‘It is Constantius’s personal agent, the notary Paulus. He says he wants only peace.’

  My eyes met his. ‘By heaven, Rufus, do you realize what you have done? That man is my sworn enemy. He is a torturer and a murderer, and if he wants me, it is so he can kill me. You have been deceived. This has nothing to do with peace, or any kind of settlement. He has used you.’

  The leader of the soldiers silenced me with a prod of his spear. From where he stood behind the ring of men, Rufus gave a forced, uneasy laugh. ‘What! Is the brave Drusus afraid? Is this now the real man behind all those high words?’

  I ignored him; he was no longer important. Already my mind was on my escape. I knew what the notary would do, once he had me in his hands.

  The soldiers knew it too. They bound me tightly, with cord of twined leather, and led me off at the point of a sword. We passed a dead man lying among the trees. I knew him. He was one of the garrison scouts; he must have stumbled across them.

  We came to a wooded covert where horses were waiting. I was trussed up like a run-down stag, and we set off through the pass, descending eastwards into Thrace.

  Presently, after hours of following winding, downward-sloping tracks between the trees, we arrived at a small, walled camp, set among the foothills overlooking the plain. There were a few military tents; and in their midst a tall, square pavilion with the imperial banner fluttering from its pole. I regarded it bleakly, guessing what lay within.