Child of the Sun

by Kyle Onstott

  Antoninus touched Eutychianus’s arm. “The latrinae, good Eutychianus. You will show us where it is and you will accompany us.”

  Eutychianus followed them through the leather-curtained door. When they had passed the sentry who stood before the door and were half-way down the narrow hall, Eutychianus, who had asked permission to precede Caesar and show the way, stopped.

  “Your comment on my messenger took me by surprise, Antoninus.”

  “The title is Caesar, Praefect, and Great Caesar at that. Once you called me Varius and I can remember casting jealous eyes on you when you were my mother’s lover. But . . . it seems that even the friendship we had for each other then does not influence you now. You were about to betray me and place the crown on Alexander’s head. It was stupid of you, Eutychianus. You underrate my intelligence.”

  “Not only your intelligence but your bravery, Great Caesar. Only a brave man would have dared to come here today. That is why I accepted your lie about the messenger and cast my lot in with yours. I shall never underrate either your intelligence or your bravery again.” He looked up at Antoninus, searchingly, “That is, if I live beyond today.”

  “You shall live, Praefect. If you remain loyal to me, you are more valuable alive than dead. But make not a second mistake. I am still Caesar, and in the eyes of your men and all Rome you are now my ally. The fact that no messenger but a cohort of Praetorians were dispatched to arrest me is our business.”

  Eutychianus commenced to walk again. He turned his head and his eyes disclosed his fear.

  Antoninus reassured him. “I have no sword, Praefect, and had I one I would not stab you in the back. Once again you can consider yourself in Caesar’s favor. I owe you something for the quick wit you showed about the messenger. It is time you became a general, Eutychianus.” This time Antoninus used the name instead of the title.

  “A general!” He clutched Antoninus’s hand and kissed it. “But a general does not command the Praetorians, and it would be well for your safety if I remained in command.”

  “Would it?” Antoninus smiled. He did not remove his hand from Eutychianus’s lips.

  “It shall be. My solemn promise.”

  “How easily men are bought, Eutychianus. Today since I arrived at your camp, I have purchased a centurion, six private soldiers and now the Praefect himself. Yes, I think you will be loyal to me until Mamaea offers you more, so we shall create the post of General of the Praetorians.”

  “You will not regret it, Great Caesar.”

  “Now that I have bought you, Eutychianus, you can again call me Antoninus. And stop slobbering over my hand and get up off your knees. Show me where your cursed latrinae are, otherwise I shall spatter your clean walls!”

  When they returned to the officers’ muster room, they saw that a table had already been set up with a collection of chairs, benches and stools for the diners, rather than the usual formal couches. Someone had found a folding bronze camp chair, furbished it with cushions and had placed it in the centre of the table for Antoninus. Hierocles sat on his right, the young Alexander on his left. Aegenax, unused to such lofty company, was placed on Alexander’s other side, balanced by Comazon beside Hierocles. Directly across the narrow board from Antoninus, an empty place was reserved for Soaemias, flanked on one side by her mother and on the other by her sister, neither of whom had been successfully able to hide their chagrin over the unexpected turn of events.

  A few moments after they sat down to eat, Soaemias arrived, perturbed and worried—the expression on her face showing all too plainly that she did not know whether she had been summoned to the Praetorians’ camp to be murdered or honored. She had gained some assurance from the cohorts of the Alban Legion drawn up in front of the gates, and still more when she entered and saw Antoninus, already seated at the head of the table.

  He rose to welcome her and sent Aegenax to escort her to her seat. The sight of this new, handsome, and strikingly masculine face set Soaemias entirely at ease, despite the fact that her mother and sister were fidgeting in their seats. One by one the white-togaed senators arrived from Rome, and when there were no longer places for them at the table they stood around the walls of the room, discussing their strange summons in whispers, and trying vainly to arrive at some conclusion as to why they had been so summarily summoned.

  Antoninus did full justice to the rough meal of boiled pulses, stringy beef, and turnips, washed down, however, with a superior wine, which evinced that the Guards, although not particular about their stomachs, did favor their palates. Despite Antoninus’s attempts to give the meal some semblance of ordinary conversation, it was a strained and difficult occasion. He paid particular attention to Alexander, trying to draw him out by leading questions, but all be received in reply was a monosyllabic yes or no, failing that, a nod or a grunt. Alexander did not quite comprehend why he was there, or what had happened but be sensed by the dark looks on his grandmother’s and mother’s faces that once again Antoninus had managed to triumph. Never before had Antoninus so openly shown as much favor to his cousin, keeping his wine glass filled, cutting off the tenderest portions of meat and transferring them to Alexander’s plate and all the while, touching him affectionately, calling him “beloved son” and giving him his full title of Consul of Rome.

  This display of affection only served further to confound the two women who, separated by Soaemias, were unable to communicate with each other except by their startled glances. Soaemias was quite oblivious of their unease. She had eyes only for the handsome Aegenax, to whom she directed all her conversation, accompanied by languishing glances and a provocative dropping of her eyelids which promised much to the youth whenever the present festivities would be over.

  He, nothing loath to court the favor of the Augusta herself, rose to her coquetry. Antoninus, anxious to please everyone, requested that his grandmother change places with Aegenax, which placed the old lady beside Hierocles and even farther away from Mamaea.

  As each senator entered, Antoninus greeted him effusively, inquired about his health and that of his family, supplied places at table as long as they lasted, and then regretted most lamentably that there was no more room.

  At length the meal was finished and Comazon, who had adopted the role of host, followed Antoninus, with Hierocles and Alexander a step behind him, from the room. Once out in the hall, with permission from Antoninus, he led the way out. Antoninus paused for a moment, noting with interest that a crew of men were already engaged in moving the gilded statue of Alexander, and glanced back at his relatives to see if they had also noticed. Apparently they had, for Mamaea looked blacker than ever, although Julia Maesa only appeared more puzzled. Both women were conscious that their carefully laid plans had gone astray. Where or how they did not know, but somewhere along the line vital information had leaked out and they didn’t know who were their friends or their enemies. Antoninus’s sudden arrival at camp, ostensibly at the invitation of Comazon, pointed to the latter as the traitor. At least he would serve as a convenient scapegoat.

  The entire procession of senators, Praetorian Officers and officers of the Palace Guards, with some prominent Roman citizens, followed the imperial party. They descended the steps of the building and took their places on the already crowded parade ground. Here the officers’ reviewing stand had been hastily draped with scarlet military cloaks, and chairs had been placed upon it. Comazon bowed low for Antoninus to ascend the platform. He was followed by the family which included Hierocles and Aegenax, from whom Soaemias refused to be separated. Below them the entire parade ground was filled—the Senators in the front ranks, behind them the serried ranks of the Praetorians, the Legionaries and the Palace Guards, with the civilians of Rome in the rear.

  Comazon rose, and with another deep bow to Antoninus walked to the rostrum. Although he received no ovation he held up his hand for silence which served to quiet the host before him. Movement and conversation ceased.

  He turned to the imperial party.

 
“Great Caesar, Caesar Honoralibus, Consul Alexander, The Augusta, Augusta Mother and the Lady Mamaea.” He then faced the assemblage. “Senators, Praetorians, Soldiers and Citizens of Rome, I bid you welcome to our camp as Praefect of the Praetorian Guard.”

  No sooner had he spoken than Antoninus arose, walked to the stand beside him at the rostrum, and with one arm around Comazon’s shoulders, took Comazon’s place.

  “You are far too modest, General Comazon. Or, perhaps in your modesty you have forgotten that you are no longer merely a Praefect of the Praetorians, but a General of the Praetorians. Today, my faithful Guards have been raised to the rank of a Roman Legion with you, General Comazon, as their commander.”

  There was a brief silence.

  Antoninus dismissed Comazon, who went back to his chair. For a long minute or two, Antoninus looked at the sea of faces before him. He realized that the danger was not entirely over. Three enemies were behind him—his aunt, his grandmother and his cousin, and there were many more in front of him. The Praetorians were not, and never had been, his friends, but if he could not befriend them, at least he could make them fear him. Caesar did not rule through love. It was not time for half measures. Either he was Caesar or he was not. Perhaps it would be necessary to give a little in order to gain his ends. He had not entirely made up his mind to that point but he was convinced of one thing: from this day on he would be Caesar! The Divine Julius had staked his all when he crossed the Rubicon to lead his armies to Rome. The Senate had forbidden it. Well, curses on the Senate, he would dispense with it before he crossed his Rubicon. There might be death on the other shore but he would leave the Praetorians’ camp this night either as Caesar of all Rome or a bleeding corpse.

  He had an audience, not the largest but perhaps the most critical he had ever faced, and all he wore was a sweat-stained linen tunic that reached halfway to his knees and a pair of leather sandals. But his confidence in himself was certain. He would win as many as he could through his charm and generosity. Those whom he could not win be would command through fear.

  He raised both hands from the rostrum and lifted them, palms up, to the crowd below.

  “My Romans,” he began. He inclined his head to the front line of white-togaed corpulence which represented the Senate.

  “August Fathers!”

  He looked over their heads to the gold armour and the scarlet capes of the Praetorians behind them.

  “My Praetorians!”

  There were a few cries of “Ave Caesar,” and a few scurrilous epithets but these he ignored.

  “Brave soldiers of my Alban Legion!”

  Now the air was full of shouts for Caesar.

  “And my beloved Palace Guards who have come from the ends of the Empire to serve me and the great god Elah-ga-baal, both as priests and soldiers.”

  Again the Aves rang out.

  “Illustrious Citizens of Rome!”

  There was only a smattering of shouts.

  “General Eutychianus Comazon of the Praetorians and I have summoned you here today that we may meet together and discuss a few matters of great importance to our Empire. First, I would like to inform you, without taking undue credit to myself about the state of our Empire today.

  “My illustrious father, Antoninus Caesar, established the boundaries of Empire from the island of Britain to the outposts of Syria and the great desert that lies beyond. From Mauretania to Egypt, we control Africa and we have penetrated far into the interior of that vast continent, establishing other outposts of Empire so that from north to south and from east to west, our boundaries are secure and greater in extent than Rome has ever known before.

  “During my reign Rome has fought no wars, lost no legions, paid no money for costly campaigns . . .”

  “And won no victories . . .” an anonymous voice from the audience interrupted.

  “Or taken no plunder,” another voice called out.

  “No, we have won no victories and taken no plunder because we have had no need for either. We have conquered all the world and I can only sigh, as did Alexander, that there are no worlds left for us to conquer. Today Rome is the world and the world is Rome. That is sufficient. I intend my reign to be one of peace—a strong peace, upheld by my legions throughout the breadth of Empire, and I do not desire that one of my brave soldiers loses his life in battle or is buried on an alien shore.”

  “Ave Caesar!” The men of the Alban Legion raised their voices in a mighty shout.

  “And for the man who just complained that there was no plunder, I shall satisfy even him. A donative of a thousand sestercii will be paid from the treasury of the Temple of Elah-ga-baal to every legionary.”

  “Ave Caesar!” This time there was a tumultuous roar from the throats of the legionaries but the Praetorians kept silent.

  Antoninus had bought the legion and all the soldiers of Rome.

  “And now for my Praetorians!”

  He lowered his gaze to take in the ranks of gold and scarlet. “Today your status has changed. No longer are you . merely the Praetorian Guards, because I have placed a general over you. Now you will rank with the Legions of Rome, as soldiers of Rome.”

  “We’ve always ranked above them,” a voice from the ranks cried out.

  Antoninus happened to see the man who spoke and now he answered him directly, pointing his finger at him. “As a Praetorian, you are ignorant of the history of your organization. The Praetorians were formed merely as a police force for Rome. They have never legally been soldiers. You have never had precedence over any Roman legion. Do you wish to remain merely as policemen, or do you desire status as military men? You there, state your name and rank and then answer me!”

  The guard who had been so vociferous now found difficulty in speaking.

  “My name is Antoninus Marcus Torus, private in the 8th Maniple of the 1st Cohort.”

  “You bear the same name as I do.” Antoninus had decided to be gracious. ‘Surely if Antoninus is Caesar, his namesake should not be a mere private. Caesar raises you to command of a maniple, and trusts that you will show sufficient ability to become a centurion. And now, Antoninus, again my question: do you wish to be merely a policeman or a soldier?”

  “A soldier, Great Caesar!”

  Antoninus had bought another man.

  “Then soldiers you shall all be, and you shall continue with your police and guard duties. As soldiers you will receive the same donative as the legions but,” he paused and smiled at the men below him, “for the extra duty which you will incur in policing Rome, I add another 500 sestercii for each Praetorian, to be paid from the treasury of the Temple of Diana at Ephesus.”

  This time it was the guards who led the shout, “Ave Caesar!”

  But it was neither as loud nor as strong as the applause from the Legion. Antoninus had purchased some of the guards but many were not for sale. He felt, however, that he had made a substantial inroad.

  The row of white-togaed elders before him made him aware of the deficiency of his costume. And yet by the very deficiency of his costume he had aligned himself with the soldiers and the common citizens of Rome rather than with the patrician nonentities who sat before him.

  The Senate had lost all power in Rome. To be sure they met daily for long-winded arguments, but since the time of Tiberius they had merely voiced the opinions of the Emperor.

  Antoninus regarded them with distaste. They had outlived their usefulness and the government of Rome was none of their concern. He was Caesar! The camaraderie which had been apparent in his words to the Praetorians was now lacking in his voice. His words were coldly formal.

  “August Fathers,” the flashing smile had gone from his face, “I regret having called you from your homes, and from your deliberations in the Senate today, for I realize that you are not young men. And truly this troubles me, for many of you are approaching senility and it does not seem fitting that the burden of government should rest on your shoulders. Old age is a time for ease, for contemplation, and for writing
memoirs. I have kept you at your tasks too long. Rome has demanded too much of you.”

  He had caught their attention. They were already apprehensive. What was coming next? Surely the Senate was necessary to Rome. Since the early days of the Republic it had met, deliberated, and supposedly solved Rome’s problems. Could Antoninus dare? Antoninus dared.

  “Therefore I relieve you of your duties. I order the Senate disbanded. You will return to your homes today and tomorrow you will quit Rome.”

  One of the senators rose and harrumphed, preparatory to one of his usual long-winded orations, but Antoninus impatiently gestured to him to be seated.

  “Any senator remaining in Rome after tomorrow will be arrested.” He had spoken, and as he had expected there was a rumble of opposition in the white-togaed ranks but he looked over their beads to the soldiers behind them.