The Fateful Day

by Rosemary Rowe

  I nodded slowly, trying to weigh what this might mean for us, his subjects now. Probably nothing in particular. Almost all Emperors have been military men, ever since Caius Julius, and the support of the army is obviously what keeps men in power. ‘So he will have the loyalty of the Germanic legions, as well as the praetorians, if there is revolt?’

  The vestige of a smile played round the handsome mouth. ‘I’m not so sure of that. He was no soldier really – more interested in politics and power, even then, though his subsidiary officers were excellent and built a reputation for him, which he did not personally deserve. But he has powerful allies. He was raised in the court of the Aurelians and Marcus’s aged mother was his patroness. So it did not surprise anyone when he rose like cream and was promoted to be governor of a string of provinces, each one a little bigger and more important than the last.’

  ‘Always ambitious, then?’

  He put down the rewound scroll, glanced briefly at another document, then began to roll that up as well, as if his life depended on activity. ‘I think he always dreamed of being Emperor one day. He was accused of conspiring against Commodus, once – and I expect he did.’

  ‘And yet he lived?’ I was astonished. Scores of others down the years had suffered nasty, lingering deaths, simply for being half suspected of that crime.

  The commander nodded. ‘He was acquitted and had his accusers executed instead. As I told you, he has powerful friends.’

  ‘So we can expect him to be ruthless?’ I murmured doubtfully, thinking of Marcus and what his fate might be in Rome.

  ‘He has a reputation for it, certainly.’ The old soldier laid the second rewound document neatly by the first. ‘But I am not so sure. When he was governor of Beliga he once put down a rebellion with some force – that’s why he was promoted to the consulate. Yet he really did no more than sit in his provincial capital and sign the papers that the army brought to him. It was the officers in the field who quashed the rebel force. But Didius knew how to word the dispatch back to Rome so that he made himself look like a hero and a patriot.’

  I was still trying to get a mental picture of the man. ‘Obviously he’s clever and has a way with words.’ That was a serious asset, I could see. Romans greatly value argument and rhetoric and a powerful orator can often sway the crowd.

  ‘Clever enough, at least, to pay someone to pay somebody who does. I’m almost sure, from what I knew of him, that he didn’t compose those dispatches himself. Any more than I think he prepared his own defence in that treason case.’ He found the storage jars he wanted and laid the rolls inside. ‘He used to keep a secretary in his retinue, a man who was born to noble rank, in fact, but had been obliged to sell himself to slavery and who had the education and skill to frame the words for maximum effect. Didius made no secret of the fact. He boasted of having paid a handsome sum for him. No doubt he still keeps someone of the kind. He’s has never been afraid to use his wealth for his own advancement.’ He stuffed a bung into a storage jar with unnecessary violence. ‘And now he’s bought himself an Empire.’

  I heard the crackle of emotion in the voice and felt I must say something comforting. ‘So let us hope he goes on using bribery and he’ll simply try to buy allegiance from people who used to follow Pertinax.’

  ‘Gold would not tempt Marcus very much, I think,’ the commander said, as if he were considering the matter carefully. ‘But perhaps he could be bought – a position in the new Emperor’s retinue, perhaps.’

  I tried to imagine Marcus as a magistrate in Rome. Perhaps that was the fate that I should wish for him. It would mean at least that he was well and safe – for a little while at least. And no doubt he would fulfil the role with skill and dignity. But I realised suddenly how much I’d miss the man. He was thoughtless and high-handed now and then – ‘arrogant and impulsive’ was what Gwellia would have said – but I was oddly fond of him. And how would I manage without his patronage? Any pavement-maker needs some wealthy man to be his advocate and introduce him to affluent prospective clients.

  The thought reminded me of the customer I’d missed and – despite the seriousness of events in Rome (or perhaps because of them) – I found myself wondering selfishly how lucrative that Egidius contract would have been. With Marcus gone, I’d probably never get a big commission of that kind again. And now I’d almost certainly lost the opportunity. I sighed. The client was clearly not the type to tolerate delay, and – whatever Junio had said – was unlikely to call on me a second time.

  I was brought back to the present by the commander’s voice. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if Didius did begin by trying bribery. After all, it has already got him where he is.’ He got abruptly to his feet. ‘But he won’t be able to sustain it, if he does. There are too many people who supported Pertinax, and not enough in the coffers to pay even what he has already promised to the Guard. And he won’t keep their support if they don’t get the gold. It’s a dilemma, citizen. If he isn’t harsh and ruthless, he will not last very long. It takes a stronger man than Didius to run an Empire.’

  I swallowed. ‘So what do you foresee?’

  ‘I’ll tell you, citizen.’ He walked over and put the storage jars back on the shelf. ‘There will be wars and uprisings all round the Empire – till someone has succeeded in seizing power from him. One of the provincial governors, I expect. Maybe even the governor of Britannia – he has as good a claim to the purple as Didius Julianus has. I’m half expecting to receive a message saying so and urging me to move in his support. Perhaps I ought to think of writing to him first, suggesting it. Though Jove alone knows what the local populace would think.’ He looked wearily at me. ‘Or what they’ll think about any of these events, in fact.’

  ‘This news from Rome has not been publicly announced here?’ I said, though I knew the answer even as I spoke. There’d been no evidence of public disturbance on my way, as there surely would have been if the death of the Emperor were known.

  The commander shook his head.

  ‘But there’s been an announcement to the garrison,’ I said, suddenly realising why Cerberus had abruptly changed his mind when I talked of dreadful happenings and needing to send an urgent messenger to Rome.

  ‘I told the senior officers at once,’ he said. ‘We made a placatory sacrifice to Jove, and decided that the news should be passed on to the other ranks.’

  ‘That was what was happening when I came in, I think.’

  ‘Exactly. But we haven’t released the information to the town. The soldiers will all be sworn to secrecy meanwhile, as they always are in anything which touches on the safety of the Emperor, and I’m refusing to see anyone from the colonia today, though of course there’ll have to be a public proclamation later on. Exactly when, I couldn’t say. I have left that decision to the curia.’

  ‘Really? Isn’t it really a matter for yourself?’

  He ran a distracted hand through his thinning hair again. ‘It affects the civic powers as much as anyone – and besides, citizen, I am in need of their support.’ He said it simply, but I could see the force of it. ‘I called them here as soon as the message was confirmed,’ he went on, ‘and they went away to discuss exactly what to say, and when – though they want me to put troops out on the street when the announcement’s made. And I agreed. It would be a wise precaution. There were civic riots when Commodus was deposed.’

  I nodded. ‘I have vivid memories of that night. I was almost trampled by excited crowds.’ Almost lynched, was nearer to the truth. They had been dragging down a statue of the hated Emperor and setting fire to anything that had his name on it: sign-boards, carvings – even coins – while anyone who didn’t join them in these activities found themselves in danger of being set upon. The frenzy of that violent mob had been terrible to watch – like some sort of new-hatched monster which uncoiled itself and devoured anything which crossed its path.

  ‘That night was frightening,’ I said. ‘But Commodus was loathed – Pertinax is … was … well-respected
, if not exactly loved.’

  ‘Which makes it very likely to be worse this time, unless we fill the streets with soldiers first – and even then it might be difficult to maintain control. Pertinax was governor of this province once, and gained a name for justice and fair play, so Mars alone knows what disturbances this news is going to cause. And if I don’t handle this with care – if a citizen gets injured or a soldier killed – I’ll give the new authorities the opportunity they need to have me relieved of duty and recalled to Rome.’

  I could see his dilemma. ‘So you are in no hurry to have the news proclaimed.’

  He had taken up station by the wall again. ‘Frankly, I would prefer to do it as soon as possible – I don’t want to be rebuked for reluctance to acknowledge Didius. But I suspect that the announcement may be made at dusk, when the gates are due to close to travellers and most people are abed. Let’s just pray to all the gods that rumour doesn’t get there first. There must be traders on their way to us by now who have already heard the news elsewhere.’

  ‘Then wouldn’t it be wiser to insist?’ I said, defying convention by proffering advice. ‘Rumour seems to spread faster than messengers can ride. And the tales will just get more exaggerated all the time.’

  He did not turn around. ‘And no doubt Didius will claim it’s my fault, if they do. I shouldn’t have delayed when the first courier arrived. But I think that I can prove it was the magistrates who didn’t want the announcement to be made at once. There’s a long will to be read out in the forum, today.’

  I could not see the relevance of this, but I nodded anyway. ‘I believe I saw the mourners gathering,’ I said, remembering the dark-clothed citizens and their slaves who’d crowded me off the pavements while I was coming here. ‘Oh,’ I added, remembering suddenly, ‘that will be Gaius Publius, I suppose.’

  Gaius had been a councillor himself but when he died last moon he left a fortune and not much family, and there were conflicting rumours over his estate. It was said that many wealthy men had been promised a bequest in return for favours previously received, while other gossips said he’d left his money to the town for public works in the hope of having his name inscribed on some of them. Still others said he’d spread these differing stories purposely to ensure a good attendance at his funeral and at the reading of his testament.

  The commander nodded. ‘Gaius Publius – exactly, citizen. And some of the richest men in Glevum will be there. The curia felt it would be better to let that group disperse before the dreadful information is released – out of respect for the dead man, if nothing else. They didn’t want to interrupt the reading of a will with something that was likely to create a riot. I did not press the point. I dare not offend the curia over this. I shall have sufficient charges at my door.’

  Of course! Several councillors would have an interest in that will themselves, I thought – and not only in relation to the public purse. They would not want the legacy delayed or set aside, as it might be if the augurers declared the reading was ill-starred because it was interrupted by the dreadful news from Rome. I was about to say so to the commandant when we were interrupted by a tapping at the door.

  The commander turned abruptly and went over to the desk. He picked up the letter which he’d said might be of use, and put it inside his breast-plate, out of sight. Only then did he reply, as he had done before, ‘Identify yourself.’

  A muffled voice responded. ‘Auxiliary Lucus Villosus returning with a message, sir.’

  ‘Enter, Villosus!’ And the soldier sidled in.

  ‘In the name of …’ he began, and trailed off hopelessly. I understood now why the formal exchanges had been missing, earlier.

  ‘The Emperor Didius Julianus – till you hear otherwise,’ the commander said, so coolly it was difficult to recall how unwelcome that official formula must be.

  ‘In the name of His Imperial Excellence, the Emperor Didius Julianus,’ the soldier repeated in an obedient tone, ‘I am sent to tell you that there is another messenger – this time from the Governor’s palace in Londinium.’

  The commander raised an eyebrow at me, saying ‘I told you so’ as plainly as if he’d said the words. What he did say was rather a surprise. ‘Show him to my usual office. I will see him there. And find the duty octio while you are gone. Get him to send a couple of his men to tidy up in here. I have finished with the records.’

  Villosus looked ready to salute and hurry off, but the commander checked him. ‘And when you’ve done that, report to the guardroom and accompany this citizen to the docks. I’ve already posted a soldier down there – just in case of rumours coming in by boat. Tell him to make an announcement that no ships must sail today. All captains are to report to the forum before dusk and await a proclamation from the curia.’

  ‘You’ll send a written message, sir? Otherwise they might not credit what I say.’

  The commander shook his head. ‘There is no time for that. I’ll send a tubicen along with you to blow a trumpet blast – that will give you all the status that you need. The signal will make the sailors and the dockers gather round, so the soldier can tell them what they are to do. He’s not to say what’s happened, even if he knows – just that something of international importance has occurred.’ He gave me a curt nod. ‘It’s not much, citizen – but it’s the best that I can do.’

  The soldier looked startled. ‘The guard will want a watchword, sir, to take commands from me. I wasn’t on duty when it was announced – I have been on infirmary fatigues.’

  ‘The watchword for the day is “let us be soldiers”.’ The commander raised a sardonic brow at me. ‘Ironically it is the one that our late Emperor preferred.’ He turned back to Villosus. ‘“Let us be soldiers”,’ he repeated, pensively. ‘Remember those words, soldier, whatever happens to the Empire from now on.’ He turned to me. ‘I shall be sending a courier to Londinium later on, and he’ll be changing horses at Corinium. I’ll get that message to the lady Julia, for you. So now, with your permission, citizen, I’ll ask you to retire to the usual waiting room. Your escort will be with you as soon as possible.’

  And I was ushered out of the principia, accompanied to the guardroom block again and left on that all-too-familiar bench to wait.

  FIFTEEN

  My presence in the guardroom caused little interest today, though usually there was at least one octio to stare. Now all eyes were on the flamboyant messenger from the provincial governor in Londinium, who was already waiting on the bench when I arrived. Even when he had been shown up the steep stone staircase at the back, which led up to the commander’s offices, none of the junior officers gathered in the room so much as glanced at me. Instead, with one accord they stopped their calculations and their scribblings and seemed to be trying to will themselves to hear the interview – although, of course, that was impossible.

  Nobody spoke, but there was an air of suppressed tension in the silence which ensued and I knew that every soldier there was wondering about what was happening upstairs and whether the messenger was bringing a request for military support for the provincial governor against the upstart emperor in Rome, thus forcing decisions about their loyalties.

  If so, there could be battles here in Britannia soon.

  However, I did not have very long to worry about this. After a few moments Villosus hurried back, now swathed in a handsome military cloak. He was accompanied by a sulky-looking youth in uniform, carrying a tuba – the long straight trumpet which the Roman army uses for signalling.

  ‘Citizen, if you would accompany us now?’ The auxiliary sketched a bow and opened the door for me to pass. His earlier diffidence had wholly disappeared. His voice was suddenly stentorian and he held his chin unnaturally high – almost pink with self-importance at having been selected for the current escort task. He swaggered proudly beside me to the gate, while the trumpeter trailed morosely after us. ‘Let us pass, please, sentry,’ Villosus almost barked, then seemed to notice that the man on duty was a full centurion, and the
refore greatly his superior, of course. ‘We have an urgent mission to perform, special orders from the commandant himself,’ he added, in a more conciliatory tone.

  Cerberus looked dispassionately at him, and then at the unwilling tubicen and finally at me. ‘Ah, you, citizen!’ he said, in a tone which made it clear whom he held responsible for this breach of discipline. ‘I should have guessed as much!’ He turned to Villosus. ‘Watchword?’ he demanded.

  Villosus gave it – smugly – and the sentry moved aside, though I heard him muttering underneath his breath. ‘A tradesman, an auxiliary and a horn player – who else would be entrusted with an “important mission” by the commandant? The Empire has gone crazy!’ But he let us past.

  It was strange to move out of the tension of the camp and into the normal hubbub of the town. The streets were still bustling with the business of the day, the inhabitants oblivious of the dreadful news from Rome. Our little party attracted some curious stares, of course – the young trumpeter in particular was an unusual sight – but people were too busy with their errands and their trades to do much more than gawp and nudge their neighbours as we hurried past.

  We did hurry. Villosus saw to that. He was taking his role as courier very seriously and, being a trained soldier and used to route-marching, kept up a pace which I soon found impossible to match.

  ‘You’ll have to slow down, soldier,’ I managed, between heaving gulps of breath. ‘I’m just an old tradesman. I’m not used to this.’ I clung to a pillar in a portico and tried to get some air into my gasping lungs. I knew my face was scarlet with effort, and my toga was threatening to dislodge itself and fall in embarrassing festoons around my knees. I hitched it up. I felt ridiculous – even the horn-blower was looking half-amused. Despite his awkward instrument, he’d kept up easily, without so much as seeming to bestir himself. ‘Let me rest a moment here,’ I pleaded, breathlessly.

  Villosus looked doubtful. ‘We can’t be too long, citizen. Any message from the commander must be delivered with all possible dispatch – every messenger will tell you that. Besides, we don’t want any shipping slipping out of port because we contrived to miss it while we were loitering here.’