Swords Around the Throne (22 page)

‘Do you think?' Sabina said, and looked mildly offended for a moment. Then she laughed again and swatted lightly at his shoulder. ‘How unexpectedly cynical of you!'

‘I also think it means we should find the carriage and get back to the palace as soon as we can, before anyone notices we're gone.'

They took the straight way back to the city, out through the fringe of the necropolis and onto the main road that led towards the Mogontiacum gate. In the back of the carriage Castus sat with Sabina clasped to his side; it was all too soon that the wheels slowed beneath them, he heard the driver calling out, and he leaned from the carriage to see the massive buttressed towers and double arched portals of the gateway looming in the torchlight. He spoke to the sentries himself: he was past caring whether any of them identified him now, and they would be seeing plenty of travellers that night far more exalted than he.

On the paved streets of the city the carriage jolted and rolled. A short ride, a turning, and they were drawing to a halt outside the stable gate of the palace once more. Castus made to get out, but Sabina clasped his arm. The faint light of a torch showed through the gap in the carriage curtain. She looked at him for a moment.

‘You're very ugly, aren't you?' she said.

‘And this is why you choose to trust me?'

‘You have kind eyes,' she said. ‘Sometimes.'

Then her arms were around him, her lips pressed against his, and the carriage creaked and swayed as he embraced her.

* * *

It was past midnight as he stepped back through the gateway to the precinct of the Protectores. The watch had just changed, and Victor was standing guard.

‘Have you heard the news?' the young man said. Castus could hear the sour disappointment in his voice. He shook his head.

‘The emperor's coming back early from Britain,' Victor went on. ‘And Maximian's leaving the palace. Which means we're going with him... to somewhere called the Villa Herculis, wherever that is.'

Castus knew of the place: it was a few miles up the river. He thanked Victor for the information and walked on towards his chamber. Perhaps it was best to get out of the Sacred Palace, he thought. He had grown used to it over the last year, but it felt hazardous all the same. Would this Villa Herculis be any better?

Back in his chamber he threw himself down on the bed. Sabina's scent was still lingering in the folds of his cloak and tunic, and he stood up again and stripped them off. Sweat ran down his back. For a few heartbeats he stood in the gloom, remembering keenly the sensation of her body pressed against him, her mouth...

But then another thought came to him:
M... A... X...
Was the name supposed to be Maxentius? Or was it Maximian? Somebody in that subterranean room had known the answer, he was sure. The same person who had paid to ask the question. The same person, perhaps, who had rushed up to stop it when only the first three letters of the name had been uttered. Castus thought back to the faces in the crowd, trying to place them. The eunuch, Gorgonius, Maximian's steward: what had become of him?

Pointless to try and work it all out. The whole strange scene was lost to mystery and confusion. Castus felt his mind growing foggy with weariness, the images of the night turning into a smoky whirl of distorted sensations. He needed to sleep, but he had just eased himself down onto the bed again and closed his eyes when a recollection jolted him awake.

The figure he had seen at the front of the gathering, the woman with the hood. In the brief instant before the lamps had gone out, as the man with the sword had pushed through the crowd, she had turned her head and he had seen her face. Had he recognised her at the time? If so, the sudden confusion that followed had driven it from his mind.

But now, abruptly, he was sure: the woman in the hood had been the nobilissima femina Fausta, the emperor's wife.

‘Only twice in her life,' Maximian declared, pushing himself up from the couch, ‘is a woman is of any worth... Once on the night of her wedding, when you take her virginity. And again on the day of her funeral, when you get rid of her!'

Polite laughter from the dinner guests, the former emperor's intimates and officials gathered on the couches around him.

‘Oh, very good, dominus!' said the eunuch Gorgonius. Scorpianus, one of the Praetorian tribunes, rubbed his big blue chin. He had a smile pasted to his face.

‘I remember one occasion during the campaign in Mauretania against the Quinquegentiani – you remember it, Scorpianus: you were there!'

Scorpianus inclined his head and made a self-deprecatory gesture.

‘Anyway,' Maximian went on, ‘we'd surrounded one of their strongholds in the mountains; walls looked as old as Troy... We had the son of their chief, a boy of about nine or ten, and we brought him up before the gate and threatened to kill him if they didn't surrender. So then the boy's mother, fine-looking woman in a barbaric sort of way, stands up on the wall in sight of the whole army and pulls up her robe... shows off everything! And do you know what she said?
Do you think this body is too old to make more sons?
'

Maximian tipped back his head and laughed, then banged his cup down on the table. ‘Well, we took the fort in the end. Executed her and the boy, and everyone else in the place too! Or did we sell the boy...? Scorpianus?'

‘I don't recall, dominus,' the tribune said with a grimace.

‘A marvellous story,' Gorgonius said, with an air that suggested he would prefer to move on to a different subject. But his master was not finished yet.

‘What do you think, Constantine?' Maximian said. ‘Wasn't there some female chief among the Picts, up there in Britain? What did you do with her?'

Standing on duty at the door of the dining room, Castus suppressed a jolt of concern at the words. He had heard nothing these last four years about Cunomagla, the formidable chieftainess who had, so briefly, shared his bed. Had the emperor learned more about her during his recent visit to Britain?

Constantine was reclining in solitude on the couch facing his father-in-law. He took his time replying. He had drunk as much as Maximian, but held it better. ‘I think I recall something of the sort,' he said at last. ‘She ran away, I believe, to some cave in the mountains, and was never seen again. I expect she died...'

Castus exhaled slowly in relief. Clearly the emperor knew no more than he did.

But now Maximian was heaving himself up from the couch, calling for Constantine to join him. The other men around the table promptly stood as well, and fell in behind the emperor and his father-in-law as they moved for the door. Behind them, the slaves closed around the circular table, removing the debris of dinner and helping themselves to the scraps left on the dishes.

Maximian walked beside Constantine, throwing one hefty arm around the emperor's shoulders. As they passed him, Castus heard them talking quietly together; he waited for the entourage to pass through into the reception chamber, then followed behind them at a discreet distance. Beyond the reception chamber was the broad front portico of the villa, lined with tall arched windows with brass grilles that let in a cool whisper of night air. Castus saw Constantine nodding gravely, Maximian swaying as he spoke, no doubt pressing his advice on the great matters of state. The others dropped back, lingering around the tall inlaid doors of the reception chamber, and let the two men walk on alone down the portico, through the pools of light spilled by the lamps across the marble floor.

Maximian and his household had been in residence at the Villa Herculis for over a month now, but in all that time the old former emperor had never uttered the slightest disloyalty. He railed against his disrespectful children, his wife – who had remained in Rome with Maxentius – his former colleague Diocletian, and the fickle Roman people, who had so soon neglected his grandeur. Even against the gods. But never a word against Constantine. Maximian had nothing but praise for him.

The emperor had been keeping himself deliberately aloof from his father-in-law since his return from Britain, and this appearance at the villa was a rare event. Castus knew why the emperor had at last decided to visit: the news that Licinius, the rival emperor based on the Danube, had invaded Italy, seized Istria from Maxentius and besieged Aquileia had circulated quickly. Perhaps, he thought as he followed the two men along the portico from the dining hall, Constantine had finally decided to listen to the old man's advice.

It was later that night, as he returned towards his room, that Castus saw the figure sitting alone at the end of the rear portico. He paced closer at once, suspicious, but only as he opened his mouth to call out a challenge did he recognise the plainly dressed man with a cup of wine in his hand. Castus was momentarily shocked; he had believed that Constantine had retired to his own chambers an hour before.

‘Dominus,' he said quickly, bowing, and began to kneel.

Constantine raised a finger, dismissing the gesture. ‘No need for that,' he said curtly. ‘We are not in the palace now.' His voice was hoarse. ‘Approach.'

Castus moved closer, just three paces, then halted and fell into a parade rest posture. His breath was caught in his throat: he hoped the emperor did not require him to sit down, join him in a drink, perhaps...

‘Tell me, soldier,' the emperor said. ‘Do you believe that the gods send us signs, messages? Do they guide us to the right path, or do they leave us to choose our own way...?'

The directness of the question caught Castus unprepared.

‘I don't know, dominus,' he said. He tried to stop himself frowning, but could not determine what answer the emperor wanted to hear. Or even if he wanted an answer at all. For a moment Constantine sat musing.

‘I am waiting for a sign,' he said. ‘I have waited a long time now, and nothing is clear. So what do I do, eh? The cause of war must be just, would you agree?'

‘Of course, dominus.' Castus hoped the emperor was not expecting a more insightful answer.

‘Then is it just to declare war against my brother? My brother
-in-law
, I should say... Or should I aid him against Licinius? I find that I receive contrary advice, mainly from fools and flatterers, and nothing that feels like a clear sign.' He looked up suddenly, staring at Castus with a piercing eye. ‘So what should I do?' he said.

Castus shifted his stance, uncomfortable. ‘Seems to me, dominus,' he said, slowing his words, ‘that it's like the story of the fox and the lions.'

Constantine stared, and for a moment Castus feared he was offended – was it sacrilege to compare the affairs of emperors to a children's parable? But perhaps Constantine had never been told the story when he was a boy? He gestured for Castus to continue.

‘Well, dominus,' Castus said, trying not to let his nerves mangle the words, ‘the story asks who would win in a fight between a fox and two lions. The lions are proud and strong, but the fox is cunning... The ox speaks slyly to the lions, asking which is stronger, and the lions start boasting and then fall to fighting. Of course, the stronger lion wins, but he's so weakened by the battle that the fox can defeat him with a single blow.'

It would not, Castus thought as he spoke, be the strategy he favoured himself: for him it was always the bold frontal attack and the gods could decide the consequences. For a long moment the emperor said nothing, staring with a fierce frown. Perhaps he thought the same? But then he barked a laugh. ‘Yes, I like that,' he said. He stood up, throwing the cup out into the darkness of the garden, and gathered his cloak around him. As he passed, he clapped a hand on Castus's shoulder. ‘The sophists say that if a man wants peace he should prepare for war. So if I want war, perhaps I should feign peace, hmm?'

Castus nodded, tense with discomfort. Then the emperor turned and moved away down the portico towards his chambers. Castus even heard him singing to himself.

It was two days later that the women invaded. As the carriages approached along the road from the river, the birds rose and shrieked around the eaves, as if in warning. For over a month the Villa Herculis had been a male domain, only Maximian and his staff of secretaries and eunuchs, his slaves and his bodyguards in residence. But now his daughter Fausta was to pay her father an official visit.

Since the night at the necropolis Castus had barely seen Sabina, and had not once had an opportunity to speak with her. He was not accustomed to frustrated desire; always before in life he had sought women when he needed them, and found them easily enough. Afrodisia in Britain he had cared for deeply, even perhaps loved in a way, but she had been a prostitute. Marcellina the envoy's daughter had been the only woman to tempt him to greater feeling, and she was far beyond his hopes.

With Sabina it was different, and for the first time he had experienced the racking torment of longing. She had used him, he thought, and it pained him that he felt unable to erase her from his mind.

When Fausta and her entourage arrived at the villa, Maximian was waiting on the front steps to receive her. His eight Protectores flanked him, and the courtyard and the road beyond were lined with the slaves of his household, crying out salutations. Fausta descended from her carriage, bowed her head and stood before Maximian, reciting the customary greeting.

‘In the name of Juno, Isis and Minerva and all the gods I salute you, Father. If you are well I am well. May my presence here bring good fortune upon your house.'

Maximian stiffly descended the steps and kissed his daughter, then turned without another word and walked back inside.

‘Here they come,' Sallustius muttered from the side of his mouth. ‘A torrent of hairdressers. A cascade of eunuchs...'

But Castus could only stare at the carriages drawn up in the courtyard. The ladies descended one by one, first Plautiana and then Crescentilla, then several others he did not know. Finally he saw Sabina, a veil partly covering her face. With the other Protectores he stood at attention as the ladies filed up the steps to the rear portico of the villa. Only as she passed him did Sabina glance up, lifting the veil for a moment. She met his eyes, and seemed to mouth something to him, but he could not catch the words.