Blood and Steel

Timesitheus: The ambitious Prefect of the Grain Supply

Tranquillina: His even more ambitious wife

Maecia Faustina: Daughter of Gordian the Elder, sister of Gordian the Younger

Marcus Junius Balbus: Her young son

The die-cutter: A workman in the Mint

Castricius: His young and disreputable neighbour

Caenis: A prostitute visited by both

IN AFRICA

Gordian the Elder: Formerly governor of Africa Proconsularis, now proclaimed Emperor

Gordian the Younger: His son and legate, also now proclaimed Emperor

Arrian and Sabinianus: Their supporters

Capelianus: Governor of Numidia, and enemy of Gordian

IN THE NORTH

Maximinus Thrax: The Emperor

Caecilia Paulina: His deceased wife

Verus Maximus: His son and heir

Iunia Fadilla: Wife of Verus Maximus

Apsines of Gadara: Secretary to Maximinus

Flavius Vopiscus: Senatorial governor of Pannonia Superior

Honoratus: Senatorial governor of Moesia Inferior

Anullinus: Senior Praetorian Prefect

Volo: The commander of the frumentarii

Domitius: The Prefect of the Camp

Julius Capitolinus: Equestrian commander of 2nd legion Parthica

Sabinus Modestus: Commander of the heavy cavalry, cousin of Timesitheus

IN THE WEST

Decius: Governor of Hispania Tarraconensis, loyalist of Maximinus

IN THE EAST

Priscus: Equestrian governor of Mesopotamia

Philip: His brother

Otacilius Severianus: Governor of Syria Palestina, brother-in-law of Priscus and Philip

Catius Clemens: Governor of Cappadocia, longtime supporter of Maximinus

Ardashir: Sassanid King of Kings

Chapter 1 (#ue2f898c9-1381-5f3a-88c0-8c69ccbe8866)

Rome

The Palatine Hill,

The Day before the Nones of March, AD238

It was still dark. The Praetorian Prefect liked to walk in the imperial gardens before dawn. No attendants were with him, and he carried no torch. It was a moment of calm and solitude, a time for reflection, before the duties of the day, the duties that always seemed to stretch away like a vexatious journey with no evident ending.

Vitalianus often thought about retirement, about living quietly in the country with his wife and daughters. He pictured the house in Etruria. The Via Aurelia and the busy market town of Telamon were only a couple of miles away over the hill, but they might have belonged in a different country or another age. The villa lay between the shore and the terraced slopes, looking out over the sea. It had been built by his grandfather. Vitalianus had added two new wings and a bath house. The estate now extended inland along both banks of the Umbro. It was ideal for retirement, for reading and writing, appreciating the views, for passing time with his wife, and enjoying the company of his daughters in the last few years before they married. No place was better suited for a man to lay down the cares of office.

Certainly Vitalianus had earned a time of leisure. His career had been long – commander of an auxiliary cohort in Britain, legionary tribune with the 3rd Augustan in Africa, Prefect of a cavalry unit in Germania, Procurator of imperial finances in Cyrenaica, four years with the Moorish cavalry, leading them through the eastern campaign and then to the Rhine – decades of service, across the breadth of the empire. He was no longer young: past fifty, and needed to rest. But duty still called, and the additions and improvements to his patrimony had not come cheap. The stipend and other profits of another three, perhaps four years as Praetorian Prefect, and he could call it a day.

The white marble borders of the paths shone in the darkness. The cunningly sculpted box hedges and the fruit trees were indistinct black shapes, the plane trees and the ivy that linked them a solid black wall. It was quiet in the Hippodrome, just the rill of water in the fountains; almost hard to believe he stood in the centre of a city with a million inhabitants. Vitalianus was glad he had removed the previous Emperor’s aviaries. The murmuring and shifting of the doves – had there really been twenty thousand of them? – had disturbed his morning walks. It was typical of Alexander that he had occupied his time issuing imperial pronouncements about the birds, sanctimoniously boasting how the sale of eggs financed his collection, even produced a modest income, while his mother had stolen fortunes from the treasury, and great swathes of the east were overrun by the Persians, and German tribes put the northern provinces to the torch. Vitalianus had not been party to the plot, but Alexander was better off dead.

Stopping by a marble nymph, Vitalianus absentmindedly ran a hand over her smooth thigh. He could find his way around these twisting walks blindfold. His thoughts took their own course. Risen from the ranks, Maximinus might be uncultured, even crude and violent, but he was a better Emperor than his predecessor. At least the Thracian could fight; for the last three years he had done nothing but campaign beyond the Rhine and Danube. Vitalianus had done well out of the regime; promoted first to governor of Mauretania Caesariensis, then to deputy Praetorian Prefect. It was a remarkable achievement for an equestrian from a backwater of Italy, a man with few significant backers. A member of the second order should legitimately aspire to nothing higher. And Vitalianus continued to serve the regime diligently. The endless court cases that awaited him today and almost every day were only the start.

With the majority of the praetorians accompanying the field army, it had proved difficult for Vitalianus to maintain order in Rome. The remaining one thousand men were not enough to disperse the crowds occasioned by certain arrests, or to clear the mobs occupying those temples whose treasures were to be requisitioned to help pay for the war. Efficiency would be served if he could issue orders to the six thousand men of the Urban Cohorts as well. But that would never happen. The very first Emperor, Augustus, had separated the command of the troops stationed in Rome. An equestrian Prefect led the Praetorians, while a Senatorial Prefect of the City controlled the Urban Cohorts. One officer watched the other, and the Emperor could be reassured that no individual could seize the Eternal City, at least not without an armed struggle. To be sure, things had been better once Sabinus had replaced Pupienus as Prefect of the City. The Urban Cohorts and the Praetorians might have no love for each other, but under firm leadership together they could contain the turbulent plebs urbana. The hand of Maximinus lay heavy on the city, but the northern war demanded sacrifices, and so far the Emperor had not struck down those who served him loyally. Safety lay in prompt obedience, no matter what the order. Three or four more years and Vitalianus could withdraw from the fray.

A scream of gulls brought Vitalianus back to his surroundings. The sky was lightening. It was time to take up the reins. He adjusted his sword-belt, the very visible badge of his office, hitched up his tunic, and walked up the stairs to where his secretary and two praetorians waited. Together they set off through the heart of the palace.

Apart from a handful of servants and guards, there was no one in the main imperial audience chamber. The echoing near-emptiness revealed its more than human scale. Three storeys of columns soared up a hundred feet to where the great beams of cedar supporting the wide span of the ceiling were lost in shadow. At the far end of the hall the gathering light outlined the monumental door through which an Emperor would appear to the press of his subjects assembled below on the palace forecourt. Opposite the opening, a seated statue of Maximinus occupied the apse where the living ruler would sit enthroned to receive the Senate and favoured petitioners, should he ever return to Rome. Along the walls, the gods in marble gazed down from their niches at their adamantine colleague.

Vitalianus performed adoration, bowing his head and blowing a kiss from his fingertips. Suddenly he wondered what it would be like to hold court in this hall, not to bow but to receive obeisance, to be lord of all you surveyed. Two Emperors had risen from the equestrian order. As a child Maximinus had herded goats. Vitalianus’ mind shied away. Even to entertain such thoughts was treason. A careless word or gesture, something muttered in your sleep, any of them could lead to an accusation. From there events would run their course; a closed carriage to the north, the pincers and claws wielded by skilled hands, until you begged for the executioner’s sword. Your head set on a pike. The crows feasting on your eyes. He straightened up, and marched purposefully towards the door to the neighbouring basilica.

When he entered, the hum of conversation died. The first petitioners had been admitted. This hall was smaller. Twin Corinthian colonnades running down the long walls further encroached on the floor space. Among those waiting, he saw Timesitheus.

As he marched down the nearer colonnade, Vitalianus brought the case to mind. The little Greek was embroiled in a private dispute over an inheritance. Timesitheus was in charge of the grain supply. His opponent was a leading Senator. All things being equal, neither was a man one would choose to alienate. But things were not equal. Timesitheus had a sworn enemy in Domitius, the Prefect of the Imperial Camp, and the latter was one of the few patrons Vitalianus had close to the Emperor. And there was a personal animosity. Three years before in the consilium, in front of all the councillors of the Emperor, Timesitheus had argued against the appointment of Vitalianus as governor of Mauretania Caesariensis. The Graeculus had to be desperate to seek his aid now. The desperation would do him no good.

A centurion of the Praetorians stepped forward as Vitalianus approached the apse where the tribunal stood.

‘Soldiers have arrived from the north, Prefect. The despatches bear the imperial seal. Their officer says he has a private message of the utmost importance from Maximinus Augustus himself. It concerns the security of the Res Publica. They are waiting in the portico outside.’