‘That’s a very sound answer,’ said this fourteen-year-old boy, as judiciously as if he were an elderly legate. ‘At Antioch I was merciful, more merciful than anyone had a right to expect. All my life I shall be merciful. I have promised my god that I shall never take life merely for amusement, or because I feel frightened. Under my rule there will be no executions save by due process of law. There have been none so far, and I have held the Purple for half a year. But I shall make those stuffy Romans see that a Syrian of ancient lineage is as worthy of respect as a Senator who can trace his pedigree from King Numa; and if I find them stubborn I shall make them grovel before me.’ He frowned across the room, looking much older than his years.
I have remembered every word of that declaration, for it justified my loyalty. I knew the Emperor would keep a vow made to his god, and he did. No Emperor has been more merciful, or a better friend to the soldiers and the poor.
But there was another side to his nature, which he could never suppress for long. When he discussed policy he talked like an intelligent adult, but about the private life of his subjects he had the insatiable curiosity of a small boy.
At the end of the feast the usual dancing-girls performed. They were not good dancers, nor pretty, and stable boys seldom take much interest in women. But a party must end with dancing-girls, and the Emperor had provided them lest his friends should feel slighted.
‘I don’t see how anyone can enjoy making love to those girls,’ he burst out, ‘and they don’t enjoy it either. I know, I have talked to them. They lead a miserable life. I can’t stop slaves being miserable, that’s the way the world’s made. But some of these girls are free. When I get to Rome I shall do what I can to improve the condition of harlots.… Perhaps the priests of Cybele are wiser than the rest of us. They look happy enough, and they are spared a great deal of bother. I might try joining in their dance, to see if the Mother can comfort me also. But dancing is not a subject to discuss with you, Duratius, is it?’
‘I’m not a dancing man, my lord, that’s true. But you can go into all these matters after you have taken possession of Rome. In the west you will find many interesting things to occupy your time, perhaps things more interesting than the wrongs of harlots. There’s the best racing in the world, for one thing, not to mention the amphitheatre.’
He turned away from me to whisper to Gordius. I had bored him, but I had bored him on purpose. If the conversation had continued he would have begun to ask indiscreet questions about my own private life, whereas nothing he said to Gordius could make that young man feel shy.
We set off towards the end of April, and once in Europe travelled very slowly along the Via Egnatia. The Emperor had read somewhere that the Divine Nero travelled with 500 carriages, so he had ordered that his baggage must fill at least 600. But even that enormous train was not too much for the needs of such a numerous court. The Augusta brought a considerable household; the Clarissima demanded nearly as many servants: the lady Mamea and little Alexianus had the entourage of Caesars, though they lacked the title; the priests of Cybele gathered more colleagues at every halt; the sky-stone, attended by 300 Syrian priests, travelled in even greater state than the Emperor himself; Gordius, who liked company, brought a number of other stable boys.
The carriages travelled midway in the column, with the Praetorians in the van and the Alban Legions in the rear. The army and its encumbrances filled many miles of road. But during the long march every man was encouraged to persevere by seeing the Emperor several times a day.
Daily we covered the usual legionary stage of twenty miles, which was easy for me since I rode a comfortable hack. But the Emperor must have driven more nearly eighty miles than twenty. As soon as we started he set off in a fast two-horse gig, which he drove at a hand-gallop up and down the column. Sometimes he wore armour with all his badges of rank, sometimes the fantastic tunic and headdress of his high priesthood, sometimes the billowing cloak of a racing driver with nothing at all underneath it. He loved speed, and to steer round the obstacles of the baggage train was an added thrill; he would leave the road when he came to a block, urging his team through standing crops or down a steep hillside. He was a magnificent driver, and the troops loved it; you could hear the wave of cheering travelling down the column long before he came into sight. The grooms who managed his stud were hard put to it to have a fresh team ready whenever he thundered up to change horses.
The only thing that would make him pull up and look dignified was a deputation waiting to deliver a loyal address. Every city for miles round sent councillors to greet the Emperor as soon as it was known that this pleased him; even the peasants sent their headmen, with speeches written in a queer jargon, saying how glad they were that the Emperor should pass through their fields and see with his own eyes how much of their crop they had to deliver to the tax-gatherer.
For all these loyal addresses, whether composed by skilled rhetoricians in great cities or by ignorant village schoolmasters, ended with a plea for protection from the tax-gatherer. It is the one subject that unites every inhabitant of the Empire, citizen or peasant – save for the minority of soldiers who depend on the taxes for their pay. I think the Emperor was surprised to discover that taxation was such a universal grievance.
The first two or three deputations were granted all they asked, forgiveness of arrears of tribute and a lightening of the future burden. Then Eutychianus woke up to what was happening; if the Emperor went on in this way Thrace and Achaea would soon contribute nothing to the revenue. At a stormy meeting of the family council it was arranged that in future some responsible adviser should drive with the Emperor in his gig.
The Augusta, in view of her age, refused to travel at full, gallop; at a hint from the Praetorian Praefect, Gordius explained that any good charioteer hates to be driven as a passenger. The rest of that strangely-composed council had to take a turn at galloping up and down the line every day. I think the only one who enjoyed it was little Alexianus, recently promoted to the council in recognition of his cousinhood. But the Emperor took care to drive cautiously when accompanied by his mother or his aunt.
That meant that he could let himself go only when Eutychianus or I were his companions. Soldiers are used to concealing their fright, and anyway chariots are no more dangerous than hostile swords, which we had faced often, enough. The real danger was that the Emperor might kill himself. Then the army, or perhaps the Senate, would choose a successor; and the favourite Eutychianus, with the favourite Duratius, would be executed as left over from the old reign. It was unfortunate that my patron chose to live dangerously; on the other hand, he was very young, and if no accident befell him he ought to last my time. It was safer than being the chosen favourite of a senile ruler.
As he drove the Emperor never stopped talking. He was bursting with happiness, which added to his almost superhuman charm. His beauty increased every day, as his superb body filled out into manhood; he had a delightful voice and a natural felicity of expression. He wanted everyone to be as happy as he was, and he was young enough to believe that as a ruler he could bring this about.
We had been talking with a group of peasants. I had done my duty as a councillor by finding out which of the taxes oppressed them most, and the Emperor had done his duty by promising to consult with his advisers before he gave a definite answer to their plea. The spokesman of the peasants was most disappointed; until Gordius offered him a lift in another gig, to spare him the long walk to our next halting place. In the end we drove away leaving the peasants cheerful and grinning.
‘I begin to understand,’ said the Emperor, speaking quietly as a well-behaved boy should speak to an adult. ‘The government has been trying to do too much. The army must be paid, of course, and that comes first. It’s a very heavy burden, but the peasants would be dead if they did not pay it. But these people must also pay for schools, and universities, and games and shows, in some city that claims to be the capital of their territory; and that does them no good at all. They o
ught to be let off all payments, except annona to the army, at least until they are more prosperous.’
‘That’s all very well, my lord,’ I answered, ‘but you know what the council will say to you. The Empire is civilized because we have free education, and endowments for philosophers, and great shows and public buildings. We can abolish these things if you think them too expensive; but then we shall live like German barbarians. Besides,’ I added to clinch the argument, ‘do you think money wasted if it is spent on chariot-racing?’
‘Well, no, of course not. We must improve the breed of horses, for the sake of our cavalry. Every racing man will tell you that if you query the expense. But I don’t see why country farmers should pay for aqueducts and baths in faraway cities.’
‘Because without baths there would be no city, my lord. There must be cities, everyone is agreed on that. You yourself took some pains to preserve the fine city of Antioch, when it would have been easier to let your army sack it.’
‘That wasn’t because it was a city. Anyway, Emesa is a finer city; perhaps one day I shall make it the capital of Syria. It would be fun to give Antioch the status of an open village. I could do it, too, with a stroke of the pen. The Divine Severus made Byzantium an open village, and it’s still one. The Emperor can do anything.’
‘Yes, but that makes it all the more important that his deeds shall benefit his subjects. The Divine Severus punished Byzantium because it had rebelled aginst him; but the historians do not praise him for it. Whereas your mercy to Antioch, which had been the headquarters of Macrinus the usurper, will be remembered as evidence of your kindness until the end of time.’
‘I want to be remembered as the high priest who introduced the Sun-god to Rome. That is my real life-work. As well I want all my subjects to be happy and prosperous. They will be, when they have asked in due form for the favour of the Sun-god. My sky-stone is actually and truly the phallus of the Sun, and the Sun can make the whole world prosperous if he likes.’
‘That is quite another matter, my lord, on which you know far more than I. My duty as your councillor is only to advise you against granting every petition you receive. And by the way, my lord, I am not really of sufficient rank to be a councillor, and I find the work very difficult. Would you consider dismissing me from your council, so that I may revert to the duty I know how to perform, that of centurion?’
I looked anxiously in his face as I said this; he might take it as evidence of disloyalty. But I had chosen my moment well, when he was so pleased with life that he could not suspect anyone of evil-doing.
‘I need you while we are on the march,’ he answered gravely. ‘But as soon as we get to Rome, where the Augusta says wise advisers will be waiting for me, you may revert to your old rank. That is my imperial decision, and you may remind me of it if I forget.’
I heaved a sigh of relief. What had been great fun in the ramshackle atmosphere of Nicomedia was looking more and more dangerous as we approached Rome. He would find wise advisers in plenty there, right enough; and if they chose to intrigue for my downfall, a simple soldier would not stand a chance against them. But the pay and allowances of an employed centurion would not tempt even the most greedy courtier. If I sank back to a humble station I might yet die of old age.
Then the Emperor whipped up his horses, and for the next half hour he was too busy driving, and I was too busy holding on, for either of us to spare breath for conversation.
By the time we reached Dyrrhachium the march had settled into a routine. At every halt the Emperor conferred with Eutychianus and the Augusta about the answer he should give to petitions. Very rarely these petitions asked pardon for convicted criminals; these could be granted without any bother. The Emperor liked mercy, and there was no danger that his mercy would encourage crime; a pardon won by direct personal appeal to the Emperor was such a rare accident that no intending brigand would count on it. All the other petitions were appeals against the tax-gatherers, and here the Emperor and his advisers asked first how the money was to be spent. If it was needed for the army of course it had to be paid; if it was to support some amenity in a city half was remitted, and the city left to struggle on with a diminished revenue; if, as sometimes happened, it was to build something new, something a particular city had managed without ever since it was founded, then the whole tax was remitted. As the Praefect said, this age of iron, when the whole human race was unnaturally impoverished, was no time for building new gymnasia.
So on the whole the petitioners got something, though not all they had asked for. The Emperor was amazingly popular. For the first time in recorded history the passage of a great army and a numerous court was bringing benefit to the countryside instead of renewed poverty.
From Dyrrhachium we made an easy passage to Brundisium, and then travelled comfortably on the fine roads of Italy. July had come, and the harvest had been reaped, when we settled down for the last night of our journey. It had been a good harvest, and the peasants were glad to sell their grain to this great body of soldiers who paid cash for all they took. We were greeted with rejoicing that was genuine, and we all went happy to bed. Tomorrow a deputation from the Senate, with the curule magistrates, would escort us into Eternal Rome.
For this last stage the Emperor had decided to travel with his sky-stone, so that the magistrates might greet both of their new rulers at the same time. The Clarissima and the Augusta were borne behind him in their ornate litters. Immediately behind the Clarissima came the litter of the lady Mamea, which also carried little Alexianus; because these held no official rank they were all the more watchful of their rights as members of the imperial household. For the rest of us no official precedence had been laid down; in theory the baggage train might crowd the road in no particular order. But I had pushed my horse to the front, just behind the last official litter, and beside me Gordius drove a spanking pair of horses; all his racing friends followed him, to watch the official welcome of the Roman People.
Coming towards us I saw a small escort of foot, a little knot of horse, and a long file of litters. They had difficulty in moving; for they had to pass the marching Praetorians, who did not willingly make room for civilians. As they came nearer I saw that even their guard were almost civilians; an urban cohort, men who dress up as soldiers and then pass their time in keeping back crowds and putting out fires among crowded houses, to the contempt of real fighting legionaries. They approached to the sound of some very rude catcalls from the marching Praetorians.
But they drew up in a straight line and gave a creditable version of the imperial salute; as they should, since they spend so much of their time on parade and never see a battlefield. Through a gap in their ranks came the horsemen, young nobles representing the whole order of Roman Knights. They wore old-fashioned tunics, with the badge of their order, and carried instead of spears long poles tipped with laurel; they had been chosen for their horsemanship as well as their birth, and looked very fine in the antique mode.
Then the Consuls and the urban praetor emerged from their litters, to pay their respects to the Emperor. They wore official togas and their lictors marched before them, in accordance with the ritual that had been devised when the kings were driven from Rome more than 700 years ago. They walked with dignity, responsible men who followed the ways of their ancestors, themselves descended from Consuls and praetors. They lifted their arms in greeting, and the senior Consul began to read from a scroll.
Suddenly I noticed the expression on the face of the urban praetor, and for a moment I saw this ceremony through his eyes. Before him was a great four-wheeled cart, fantastically decorated; in the middle of the cart, under a silken awning, a little black phallus poked impudently at the sky. In front of the phallus, holding the reins of the four white stallions who drew the cart, was the master of the Roman world. The Emperor was in fact a handsome youth in his fifteenth year; but in his priestly robes he looked more like an image than a human being. His tall mitre was garnished with floating silk streamers; his huge
ear-rings covered his cheeks; his eyes shone through concentric lines of blue and gold paint, and his lips also were gilded; his hands blazed with jewelled rings, and his arms were hidden by long close-fitting sleeves; his clinging tunic was belted with a wide silk sash, in which were daggers, a ceremonial whip, and the ritual divining-sceptre of his high priesthood.
Round the cart capered the half-naked eunuchs who serve Cybele, in Roman eyes creatures less than human.
Behind the high priest came the litters of his grandmother and his mother, Syrians bedizened with facepaint such as only whores use in Rome; each bore the insignia of high official rank, which in Rome is forbidden to women. They were women and rulers, a combination disgusting to all conventional Romans. Behind these again came the chosen companions of the Emperor, stable boys who were slaves or who had been slaves; skilled artists in a calling which to every Roman is ignoble.
I thought back to the battlefield of Immae. There the Emperor by his courage had shown himself a true son of the Divine Caracalla; by his beauty, a true son of Roman Mars. His grandmother might ride to war on a camel, but to soldiers long stationed in Syria that had not appeared odd. He had been as Roman as Macrinus, and a more inspiring leader.
Then at Antioch, and even more during the long winter in Nicomedia, one thing had led to another. The Emperor had grown more devoted to the service of his god, he had given rein to his liking for horses and his more ardent liking for handsome grooms. He wore the dress he felt at home in, and we became accustomed to it. He behaved as he wished, because he was the master of the world; and we fell in with his whims. No one had taken him to task for his eccentricity, or even noticed that his conduct was strange.
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