Attila (60 page)

At that moment, Fronto returned bearing a tray on which were a silver flagon and two glass drinking-vessels decorated with hunting scenes in relief. Placing the tray on a table, Fronto filled the glasses, handed one to me, and was in the act of passing the other to Gibvult, when it slipped from his hand to smash on the mosaic floor. He began to tremble, and his skin turned from black to dusky grey.

‘Oh, Fronto,' murmured Maximus, shaking his head, the angry glitter in his eyes belying the mildness of his tone. ‘My Rhenish beakers – irreplaceable.'

The mess was quickly cleared up and Gibvult supplied with a fresh tumblerful, but the trivial incident had taught me several things about our host. I realized as I sipped my wine – vinegary stuff from the Vatican vineries – that he thought Gibvult and myself unsophisticated barbarians who would neither notice that they were being fobbed off with an inferior vintage, nor expect it to be diluted with water in the Roman fashion. The reactions of Maximus and his slave to the breaking of the beaker showed that Fronto could expect to be severely punished. Maximus clearly had an arrogant, mean, and cruel streak, which gave the lie to his reputation for benevolent urbanity.

‘What would this task involve, Your Gloriousness?' I enquired.

‘For a start, a transfer from your present unit to the
scholae
, the imperial bodyguard. An enviable advancement, most would think.'

‘What, serve Valentinian?' I exclaimed in outrage. I stood up, as did Gibvult, his face suddenly gone red. ‘I'm afraid, Senator, you've chosen the wrong men.'

To my amazement, Maximus beamed delightedly. ‘Splendid,' he declared. ‘Just the reaction I hoped for; you've proved beyond doubt your loyalty to your murdered master, Aetius. Please hear me out. I will explain.'

Whatever strings Maximus pulled to secure entry for Gibvult and myself to the
scholae
(mainly sprigs of noble families), we were not to know; for a man of his influence it would not be difficult, I think. Suffice to say that a week from our meeting with the great man, we were reporting for duty with the
scholae
at Domitian's Palace. We were issued with splendid parade armour: muscled cuirass and crested helmet, fashioned by the
barbaricarii
, smiths who normally made armour only for officers. Our duties were light: mainly standing outside the main entrance to the palace looking impressive, or escorting the emperor on the rare occasions when he left it. At first, some of our new comrades tried to make mock of us, resenting us as low-born upstarts, I suppose. However, in a fight arranged on waste ground in the Fourteenth District, Transtiberina, Gibvult and I demolished their two champions. After that, we were accepted.

As for the task for which we had been chosen, our only instructions at this time were that we note the Emperor's behaviour towards his wife, the Augusta Eudoxia, a kind and gentle lady, daughter of Theodosius, the late Eastern Emperor. Maximus had assured us that the purpose of our posting to the
scholae
was not to serve the Emperor but to help see justice done for the memory of Aetius; details would be disclosed to us later. On no account were we to communicate with the senator; he would make contact and give further instructions in due course. Although Maximus, accompanied by his beautiful wife, was a frequent guest at the palace, neither by word nor look did he ever acknowledge our presence.

Then, early in the year following that of Aetius' murder, the summons came. Gibvult and I were off duty in our barracks when a slave arrived from Maximus, requesting that we accompany him to his master's villa.

‘Your duties at the palace are congenial, I trust?' asked the senator, when we were ensconced once more in his
tablinum
.

‘I've no complaints, Your Gloriousness,' I said. ‘They're hardly taxing, after all.'

‘
Ja, sehr gut
,' confirmed Gibvult, whose command of
Latin was rather less than mine, causing him to lapse at times into German.

‘And the Empress?'

‘He neglects her, although clearly she loves him; why, I can't imagine. I've hardly once heard him address a civil word to her.'

‘He treat her shameful – worse than a
Hund
,' declared Gibvult hotly. ‘In Germany, such a man would be
Ausgestossene
, outcast. And she such a kind lady, always with smile or
Trinkgeld
for us
Soldaten
.'

‘I see,' mused Maximus. ‘Your opinion, then, would be that the marriage is a sham – at least on the Emperor's side; that Valentinian no longer has any interest in his wife?'

‘That is correct,' I said. I sensed that, bizarrely, the senator was pleased by this intelligence.

‘So presumably he looks elsewhere to gratify his desires?'

‘I've no means of knowing,' I said. Where was all this leading? ‘The
scholae
are never with the Emperor on any occasion that could be termed intimate. You'd have to ask the palace eunuchs – especially Heraclius, who has the emperor's ear. But I'd be surprised if you weren't right, Your Gloriousness. After all, Valentinian's fit, healthy, and still young.'

Maximus rose and began to pace the room, then halted and stood with furrowed brow, lost in thought. Eventually, ‘You have proved yourselves both discreet and reliable,' he said in a low voice, almost as if he were speaking to himself. He turned to face us. ‘The time has come to take you into my confidence. I'm sure you need no reminding that anything I say must go no further than these walls.'

Gibvult and I assured him that our lips were sealed.

‘Then I must tell you this: the Emperor has begun to cast lustful eyes on my wife. She is the soul of honour and fidelity, and would never willingly betray the marriage bed. But that would not deter Valentinian, for whom to desire something is but the prelude to possessing it. He has no honour and would not scruple to force himself upon my wife, if he could find the opportunity. Despite my high position, how could I prevent him? After all, he is the Emperor.'

Gibvult and I exchanged concerned glances. To be party to this knowledge was horribly dangerous.

Maximus must have noticed, for he continued, ‘Why am I telling you all this? I will keep nothing from you. Should Valentinian succeed in ravishing my wife, I would be compelled to uphold the honour of my
gens
, the Anicii.'

‘By disposing of the Emperor?' I suggested bluntly.

Maximus gave a wry half-smile, then shrugged. ‘As a Roman, and Anician to boot, I would have no choice.'

‘And we would do the “disposing”,' I observed sourly, as realization dawned. Maximus was planning nothing less then seizing the purple for himself – a move which might well succeed, given Valentinian's huge unpopularity. Avenging his wife's honour would give Maximus a convincing motive for killing Valentinian, as well as being guaranteed to enlist public sympathy. I could see it all clearly. The information we had given the senator, slight though it was, had convinced him that the time was ripe to use his wife as bait for Valentinian's lust. Gibvult and myself, chosen because of our proven loyalty to Aetius and, I suppose, our boldness, were simply to be convenient tools to implement the deed. Well, no matter. If falling in with the senator's plans, however base, would enable us to avenge our beloved leader, we could ask for no greater privilege. I looked at Gibvult, and we both nodded.

I turned to Maximus. ‘Whenever you are ready,' I declared heavily.

‘Excellent; we understand each other, then,' he returned briskly. ‘Instructions will be given you in due course. Meanwhile, you will carry on as normal with your duties at the palace.' He shot us a calculating glance. ‘Never fear – you'll both be well rewarded.'

Something snapped inside me. ‘You Romans think that everything must have its price!' I heard myself shout. ‘Can't you realize that some things are done for honour's sake alone? Come, Gibvult.' And turning on our heels we marched from the
tablinum
.

Soon after that second meeting with Maximus, Rome was rocked by a scandal, the details of which the senator did nothing to conceal; in fact, short of putting up posters, he did everything he could to publicize them. What happened
was this. In a gaming session with the Emperor, Maximus lost heavily – more than he could afford to settle on the spot. Valentinian insisted that the senator surrender his signet ring as a pledge that he would repay the debt. Following the incident, Valentinian had a message sent to Maximus' wife purporting to come from her husband (together with the ring as proof of identity). She should come at once to the palace to attend the Empress Eudoxia on some urgent business. Unsuspecting, Maximus' wife complied. On arrival at the palace, she was taken to a remote bedchamber where she was raped by Valentinian. Predictably, when word got out (as Maximus made sure it would), the Emperor's stock plumbed even lower depths.

Despite the scandal, in a gesture of defiance in the face of public opinion, the Emperor announced that he intended shortly to open, in person, a display of military Games to be held in the Campus Martius – a great plain in the west of Rome, between the Tiber and the city's hills. The day before the event, I was approached by one of Maximus' slaves, who handed me a note. It contained five words: ‘When he drops the
mappa
.'

My pulses quickening, I sought out Gibvult. ‘Tomorrow the Emperor will start the Games by dropping a white cloth,' I told him. ‘That's when we strike.'

He took the news calmly. ‘Better make sure we're picked for duty, then,' he grunted, without looking up from the task he was engaged in – buffing up his cuirass with a paste of fine sand and vinegar. ‘And check our swords are keen.'

Because of the extra spit-and-polish involved, attendance at ceremonial occasions was not exactly welcomed by members of the
scholae
; so it was easy enough to ensure our names were on the duty roster.

It was a cool, bright, mid-March morning when the procession set out from the Palatine, the Imperial couple accompanied by the guard and followed by a train of courtiers and attendants. Along the Sacred Way we passed through the Forum Romanum, where we were joined by the Senate (headed by Maximus), resplendent in their archaic togas, then below the Capitol, and on up the Flaminian Way.
Turning left off the great street at the Arch of Diocletian, we headed into the Campus Martius past the Pantheon and the Stadium of Domitian, to a roped-off open area where the contestants were assembled. The first event was to be a display of mounted archery by units of the
vexillationes palatinae
, the cream of the cavalry. The participants began lining up a hundred paces from a row of targets, which they would gallop towards, then shoot at as they passed.

Accompanied by Heraclius, and flanked by select members of the
scholae
(which I had made sure included Gibvult and myself), Valentinian mounted the steps of the podium. He took the white cloth that Heraclius handed him, and raised it aloft. I have to admit that, vile degenerate though he may have been, he was certainly imposing. With the purple robe and glittering diadem setting off his tall, athletic figure, he looked every inch a Roman emperor.

‘Let's take Heraclius as well,' Gibvult whispered. I nodded, my heart beginning to thump violently. Everyone knew that Heraclius had poisoned Valentinian's mind against the Patrician. But for the eunuch, Aetius would still be living.

The
mappa
dropped.

Time seemed to freeze as we drew our swords and closed on Valentinian. He turned towards us, hand still uplifted, eyes widening in shock as the glittering blades moved towards his breast. I was vaguely aware of the riders surging forward from the starting-line, the crowd rising, mouths opening to shout encouragement. The illusion of time slowing lasted a mere heartbeat; I felt my sword jar briefly against bone, then it slid deep into Valentinian's chest. I wrenched it free, blood spurting from the wound, saw Gibvult withdraw his own reddened blade. With a choking, gurgling cry, Valentinian staggered and collapsed. Stepping over the dying Emperor, we cut down Heraclius before he had grasped what was happening. At our feet, the two figures twitched briefly, then were still.

Slowly, the hubbub of the crowd died away as news of the killing spread. Then the vast silence was broken by a
stentorian voice, that of Maximus: ‘People of Rome, you are free. The tyrant Valentinian is dead.'
⁶

A mighty shout (clearly pre-arranged) issued from the assembled ranks of senators: ‘Romans, behold your new Augustus, Petronius Maximus.'

A brief pause, then from the packed multitude arose a swelling roar, ‘Maximus Augustus! Maximus Augustus! Maximus Augustus!'

With the permission of the new Emperor (whose purpose anyway we had served), we left the
scholae
and, having had our fill of Rome and Romans, prepared to return to our homes in Germania. But before departing, we received a message that one Titus Valerius Rufinus, who had been an officer on Aetius' staff, desired to see us. It could do no harm, we thought. We decided I should speak for both of us, and the meeting was arranged.

The rest you know, Titus Valerius, my friend.

My tale is done [wrote Titus in the
Liber Rufinorum
], as will soon be Rome's, if Romulus' vision should prove true. The twelve vultures he saw represented, according to the augur Vettius, the twelve centuries assigned to the lifetime of his city. Fable that may be, yet I cannot think the Empire of the West will long outlive the man whose genius alone for so long nourished hope for its survival. Maximus is no Aurelian to subdue the barbarians and restore the state. Already, in Gaul the Franks and Visigoths begin to push beyond their boundaries, and our army there is starved of men and resources to contain them. Hispania is ravaged by Bagaudae and the Sueves, Africa in Vandal hands, Britain lost beyond recovery. Only Italia, Provincia, and central Gaul remain inviolate. But for how long? Our armies dwindle by the day; the Treasury is empty; we look to the East for aid – which does not come.