Emperor's Spear

by Alex Gough

  Oclatinius, who stood before the emperor at Silus’ side, seemed unperturbed. To the right of the throne sat Macrinus, dark hair cropped short in contrast to a long curly beard which was streaked with white. Silus knew Caracalla had made him Praetorian prefect after Sextus Varius Marcellus was sent to Numidia as governor, but as he had not been back to Rome since he had left with Marcellus, he had had nothing to do with Macrinus since his promotion. Silus sized him up, coming quickly to the hasty conclusion that he was no Marcellus. Was it something in his eyes that made him seem untrustworthy, or was he just jumping to unfounded conclusions?

  ‘Yes, Augustus. Who would you have me kill?’

  ‘His name is Suabgast. He is the leader of one of the Alamanni factions.’

  ‘It will be done, Augustus. Would it be helpful for me to know why?’

  Caracalla exchanged a glance with Macrinus, who narrowed his eyes fractionally.

  ‘There is a delegation of Alamanni leaders currently in this city. They are here to discuss an alliance between their people and Rome.’

  ‘That is great news, Augustus,’ said Silus. ‘My experience of the Alamanni people has been very positive. The Alamanni are much closer to Rome than most barbarians, and I’m sure want nothing more than peace. My guide, Odo, was…’

  Caracalla waved him into a silence. ‘That’s all very well, but it is clear from Festus’ spies that this Suabgast is secretly opposed to peace, and will do anything to prevent it. You are to kill him, discreetly. It must look like an accident. And you are to tell no one outside this room. Is that clear?’

  ‘Perfectly, Augustus.’

  ‘Be careful. He is a strong fighter, a skilled military tactician and a persuasive, charismatic leader. Do not give him any chances. Do this well for me, Silus, and I might consider recalling your young friend back from Lipari.’

  ‘You will?’ Silus couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘You are most generous and merciful, Augustus.’

  ‘Yes, yes. You are dismissed. Oclatinius, take him away and tell him how to find Suabgast.’

  Silus bowed and retreated, a thrill of hope and excitement growing inside him.

  * * *

  The Alamanni delegation were housed in a large domus on the outskirts of Colonia, one of several properties owned by the Emperor in the city. Oclatinius had told Silus that Festus’ spies had reported on Suabgast’s movements. He was said to hate the city, preferring the forests and open fields, and felt hemmed in, penned in the domus all day. Since his own guards would not permit him to walk the streets alone, he had taken to visiting the roof of the domus after dinner, where he could look out over an open expanse, albeit of stone and timber, not living trees, and he could breathe the clear air, high above the stench of the city streets.

  It simplified things greatly for Silus. Killing someone and escaping without being caught was never straightforward. Making it look like an accident was fraught with problems. Shoving someone under the wheels of a heavy cart on a busy street ran a high risk of witnesses. Setting things up to look like a random mugging ran the risk of raising suspicions, and there were often bodyguards to overcome in that situation. Dropping some masonry on the victim’s head from high up as they passed could work, but it meant knowing their precise movements in advance, and besides, it was incredibly hard to aim a roof tile or brick with any precision from three storeys up. It often came down to attempting to administer a poison that made a death look like it was from natural causes, but getting the victim to consume the substance voluntarily in a sufficient quantity meant hiding it in food, and then the poison had to act slowly enough that it wasn’t obvious the food had been tampered with, but quickly enough that he did actually die in a reasonable timeframe.

  Falls, on the other hand, were commonplace. Anyone walking on a rooftop took a risk, what with the poor construction and crumbling stonework of many buildings. So Silus waited until dusk, and them clambered up a side wall that was mainly in shadow. It wasn’t a trivial climb, but there were sufficient handholds where bricks had come loose or cement had cracked that he made it to the top with only one heart-stopping moment, when his foot had slipped and he had dangled from the fingertips of both hands before his feet found their grip once more.

  Once he was on the roof, he settled down behind a marble pot in which narcissi were growing, their buds forming, ready to flower. The rooftop was flat, designed to offer a garden space to the occupants, as an alternative to the enclosed peristylium which Silus could see at the far side. This building was not the tallest in Colonia Agrippinensis. Some distance away were a few large insulae, nowhere near as numerous as in Rome, but plentiful enough to house some of the urban poor. Nevertheless, the view was clear enough that Silus could see why a man used to the countryside would want to come up here. He settled himself comfortably, watched the top of the stairs, where they led up from the peristylium, and waited.

  Silus heard the footsteps before he saw his prey. Though the sun was below the horizon, there was still enough of a glow in the sky to illuminate Suabgast clearly as his head appeared at the top of the steps. Though his hair was long, he was balding on top, and he was older than Silus had expected. But like all the Germanic leaders, he was bulky, and he carried himself with an air of assurance. Silus watched him, staying motionless, his breathing steady and even, mouth open so his broken nose didn’t whistle.

  Suabgast stretched his arms out wide and took a deep breath, his barrel chest expanding. He looked around him, and Silus ducked down as the German’s gaze drifted in his direction. After a moment he peeked over the edge of the pot again. Suabgast strolled towards the edge of the rooftop to look out across the streets. His attention was caught by a scuffle in the street, two soldiers drunkenly and ineffectually wrestling and throwing punches.

  Silus drew his knife from his belt. He hoped not to use it, but he realised he might need it if his victim put up a fight. He came closer, footsteps silent. One push was all it would take. Simple.

  ‘You are here to kill me?’

  Suabgast hadn’t moved, his back still firmly to Silus. How had he known he was there? These Germans had sharp senses. Silus halted, not sure whether to reply. Suabgast slowly turned. His gaze dropped to Silus’ knife, and he nodded as if confirming it to himself.

  ‘May I ask why?’ His voice seemed full of sadness. Silus knew he shouldn’t engage in conversation with the person he was about to kill. It only ever made him feel more guilty later. But somehow he felt he owed this stranger an explanation.

  ‘You are going to ruin the peace talks.’

  ‘Am I really?’

  ‘Peace between the Alamanni and Rome is such a precious and fragile thing. I have Alamanni friends. I don’t want to be on the opposite side of a war with their people.’

  ‘And you think I am an impediment to this?’

  ‘So I have been informed.’

  ‘I am thinking it would be useless to try to change your mind.’

  ‘Even if you did, I would still have a job to do.’

  ‘And I will try to stop you. But if I am unsuccessful, I want you to know that I desire peace for my people more than life itself. I do not trust that Rome feels the same, whatever words come from your Emperor’s mouth tomorrow.’

  There was nothing more to say. Silus took two slow, cautious steps forward, his knife held in a firm grip by his side, watching for any sudden movements. Even so, when Suabgast pounced, Silus was nearly taken by surprise. He was quick for a big man, and he lunged forward for Silus’ knife hand. Silus jerked it away, twisted, and then found himself in a grapple. Suabgast hugged him with both arms, and squeezed hard. The pressure built on Silus’ chest, until he couldn’t get a breath.

  He thought about bringing the knife round and plunging it into Suabgast’s back. But he wasn’t sure he could get the angle to deliver a blow with any power, and besides, stab wounds would not make it look like an accident. Instead, he pushed himself backwards, and as Suabgast tottered forward, he twisted and stuck a stra
ight leg out. Suabgast tripped, teetered, then fell heavily. When he hit the ground, his head slammed backwards into the tiles and his grip broke. Silus twisted free and took two deep breaths.

  Suabgast was slow to recover. He rolled onto his hands and knees, but by the time he had got back to his feet, Silus was behind him, with the knife against his throat.

  ‘Walk forward,’ said Silus. Suabgast did as he was told, until he was at the edge of the rooftop once more. He paused there, looking up at the sky rather than down at the drop. Silus prepared to shove him in the back.

  ‘Let me take this step myself,’ said Suabgast. Silus hesitated, then took the knife away. He kicked some masonry off the edge of the rooftop, making it look like part had crumbled.

  ‘Go to your gods,’ said Silus, ‘and ask them for peace.’

  Suabgast stepped out. He made no sound as he plummeted downwards, until the thud of his impact on the cobbles below. Silus looked down. Suabgast lay still, limbs askew.

  The two soldiers who had been fighting earlier and were now drinking together rushed over to him, checking him for signs of life. Silus ducked back into cover before they could look up and see him. He looked around him, making sure there were no signs of disturbance. He righted a small marble statue that had toppled over but fortunately not smashed. Then, with one last glance towards the spot from where Suabgast had fallen, he scurried back to the far side of the roof, and scuttled back down the wall. Once on the street, he made sure no one had seen his descent, and then took a slow and casual walk back to his quarters.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Silus waved as he caught Odo’s eye on the far side of the pavilion. Odo smiled and waved back. Beside him Oclatinius exchanged a look with Atius that Silus couldn’t read, and he felt an unease for which he couldn’t quite pinpoint the source.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’ replied Atius.

  Silus turned back to Odo. He was seated on a bench next to his father Boda, about halfway back in the audience. Not the most important of the Alamanni, not the least. Odo nudged his father and pointed to Silus, and Boda lifted his hand in a salute which Silus returned. Seeing them together gave Silus a pang of guilt. He was sure they wouldn’t approve, if they knew about him and Ima. But he had nothing to really be sorry for. Ima had seduced him, after all. Twice. And though he still thought about his wife every day, she had been dead a long time now.

  Still, there was a nagging feeling that he had somehow let Odo down, and for reasons that weren’t clear to him, the boy’s approval felt important.

  The general chatter died down as Caracalla entered the pavilion, followed by Julia Domna and Macrinus and four of his German bodyguard. The Germans chosen over the usual Praetorians at important conferences to impress the gathered Alamanni, no doubt. Politics over ceremony.

  Caracalla walked to the raised seat that had been prepared for him, but remained standing. He waited until Domna and Macrinus were seated, then spoke.

  ‘My friends of the Alemmani confederation, greetings. To all you chiefs and leaders and noble warriors, I bid you welcome to the part of Germania that belongs to Rome.’

  There was a smattering of polite applause. Silus thought he detected an air of caution amongst the Alamanni, willing to hear what Caracalla had to say, but reserving judgement on whether to accept it or not.

  ‘Rome and the tribes of Germania have a long history of warfare and strife,’ continued Caracalla. ‘Since the Teutones and Cimbri first clashed with the Roman Republic, and were defeated by Gaius Marius, through the time of your famous victory under Arminius against Varus in the Teutoburg forest, to a time within living memory when the Marcomanni fought our great Emperor Marcus Aurelius, Rome and Germania have struggled along our mutual border.

  ‘This has brought great suffering and destruction. Armies on both sides have been massacred and enslaved. It drains our resources when we both have problems elsewhere.

  ‘I have recently defeated the tribes of Caledonia, in a tremendous victory for which I was awarded the title Britannicus Maximus. And soon I must march to the opposite end of the empire, to deal with the troublesome Parthians. It would help Rome and myself greatly to know there was a settled border along the Rhenus.

  ‘For your part, I know you want no war with Rome. Yet not all the tribes of Germania feel the same. The Chatti and the tribes at the mouth of the Albis river plot against us, and against you. They resent your romanisation, your closeness to the Empire, and they wish to crush you just as much as they wish to drive us from our territories in Germania, maybe all the way back to Rome.’

  There was a general murmur of agreement among the Alemmani leaders, though a minority shook their heads and muttered angrily.

  ‘Noble chiefs, the Chatti and their allies are our common enemy. I propose today an alliance between the Alamanni confederacy, and their true friend, myself, Imperator Caesar Marcus Aurelius Severus Antoninus Pius Augustus Britannicus Maximus, on behalf of the senate and people of Rome.’

  This now brought cheers of approval from the majority of the audience, though some remained sullen and silent.

  ‘Together, we shall join forces, and crush the Chatti. I will then depart for my war in the east, and the Alamanni will rule Germania Magna as the unrivalled power in the region. What say you?’

  There was a long pause, then a grey-haired, stooped man who had been seated on the front row got slowly to his feet. Though he obviously spoke Latin well, with only a light Germanic accent, his voice was hesitant and slow.

  ‘Augustus, I thank you on behalf of the Alamanni confederation for inviting us here today. I am Chnodomar, son of Serapio, son of Chnodomar. The chiefs and princes of the tribes of the Alamanni elected myself and Suabgast as joint Paramount Kings of the confederacy. After Suabgast’s unfortunate accident yesterday, I find myself in the troubling situation of having to speak for the whole of the Alamanni alone.’

  At the mention of Suabgast’s name, Silus’ heart suddenly started pounding, and he felt a drop of sweat trickling down the back of his neck. The thought that anyone would notice his discomfort made him sweat even more, not helped by some angry, disbelieving mutters at the mention of an accident. Still, they remained in the minority. Obviously enough believed that Suabgast’s death had not been deliberate to keep the peace talks on track, and that was what mattered. And no one seemed to have noticed Silus’ sudden outbreak of perspiration. Oclatinius put a calming hand on his forearm. He took a deep breath, and his racing pulse began to slow.

  ‘It is no secret that Suabgast had doubts about an alliance with Rome. His family suffered in the Marcomanni wars, and it was hard for him to adjust. My grandfather too fought against your Emperor Marcus Aurelius. But I was taught at his knee that the Romans are men of honour, men of their word, and though they may be fierce and ruthless in battle, their dignity and honesty is more important to them than their lives.

  ‘I will do nothing without the agreement of the princes and chiefs with me today, but I tell you now that my desire is to accept your proposal for peace.’ He turned to the seated conference delegates behind him. ‘What say you? If you wish for peace, stand.’

  For a moment, no one moved, an obvious reluctance to show the roll of the dice too soon. Then Odo stood, and yelled, ‘I am for peace!’

  Boda looked at his son with an expression equal parts exasperation and admiration. Then he stood as well, and with a hand on Odo’s shoulder announced, ‘I, too, am for peace.’

  Their declarations broke the dam, and soon most of the chiefs, princes and minor nobles from all the tribes of the Alamanni were standing and declaring themselves for peace with Rome, amid cheers and clapping on their backs. A significant minority remained seated, glowering and cursing, but it was clear what the majority decision was.

  Chnodomar turned back to Caracalla.

  ‘On behalf of all the people of the Alamanni, I accept your offer of an alliance.’

  ‘I ask you then,’ said Caracalla, ‘to su
mmon your warriors. Bring them here, outside the walls of Colonia, ready for war, in seven days. That day, we will feast as brothers. And then, as one, we will march on the Chatti, and defeat them utterly.’

  The Alamanni chiefs cheered and Chnodomar bowed his head. ‘It shall be so.’

  Caracalla smiled broadly, and for a brief moment, the deep lines in his forehead disappeared. He stepped forward and took Chnodomar’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. The meeting broke up as the delegates, at least those in favour of the outcome, mingled with the Romans and their German bodyguards. Those who didn’t approve slunk quietly away.

  Odo and Boda came over to Silus, who had been standing near the back of the pavilion next to the ever watchful Oclatinius.

  ‘How does a lowly soldier like you get invited to an important peace conference like this?’ said Boda.

  Odo gave his father a backhand slap on the arm. ‘He is not a lowly soldier. He is one of the Arcani, and you know it.’

  Boda’s grin showed that he did know it, and had been teasing Silus, although Silus himself wondered what made Oclatinius invite him along to these sort of events. Oclatinius had told him in the past that it was part of his ongoing education, to be familiar with the politics and strategies of the Empire, but Silus always felt out of place, that at any moment someone would turn to him and ask what he thought he was doing there. As Boda just had, albeit in jest.

  ‘Oclatinius, this is my father Boda. Father, this is Oclatinius,’ said Odo. ‘He is the head of the Arcani.’

  ‘The secret organisation, the Arcani, you mean,’ admonished Oclatinius, though he was smiling. In truth, though the organisation of the Arcani kept a low profile, and its members tried to be discreet, most of the army and the politicians of Rome had heard of the Arcani, feared them, and only spoke of them in whispers, if at all. Which meant it could be very useful to announce that one was an Arcanus, from time to time. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Boda. Silus has told me how brave and resourceful your son has been. I thought he would be. I have an eye for talent. Maybe one day, he will become an Arcanus himself.’