‘They may be everything you say, Father,’ Titus replied. ‘But I’ve found them also to be brave and honourable — unlike many of today’s Romans. And once you’ve made friends with him a German’s loyal to a fault. Anyway, whether we like them or not is academic. They’re here to stay. We can’t beat them, we need them in the army; the best thing we can do is try to get along with them. You know, they actually admire most things Roman, and want to integrate with us as stakeholders in the empire. We’d be insane not to take full advantage of that. Constantius made a good start, forging friendships with the tribes before he died. And this new general, Aetius, seems to have the same idea.’
‘Defeatist talk,’ retorted Gaius, his voice hardening again. ‘Aetius is a traitor to his people. We destroyed the Cimbri and the Teutones under Marius. We can do the same again.’
‘That was five hundred years ago,’ Titus exclaimed in exasperation. ‘Things have changed just a little since then, don’t you think. What about Hadrianopolis? You were there, remember? Rome’s worst disaster since Cannae, they say.’
‘Rome recovered after Cannae,’ Gaius retorted, ‘and went on to defeat Hannibal.’
‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this,’ Titus sighed. He plucked the first scroll of the Liber Rufinorum from its pigeon-hole, unrolled a section and began to read: ‘“Having inflicted severe losses on the Goths, as we ourselves had sustained many casualties we decided on a tactical withdrawal to the city in order to regroup.”’ He furled the scroll and replaced it. ‘You’ve convinced yourself Hadrianopolis really was like that, haven’t you? You know what your trouble is, Father — you can’t face the truth about what’s happening to Rome. You blame the Germans, when you should be blaming Rome herself.’
‘Explain yourself,’ snapped Gaius, nettled by his son’s blunt criticism.
‘If Rome really wants to get rid of the Germans, she needs one thing above all else: patriotism. Well, that’s being very efficiently destroyed by the Roman government’s corrupt tax policy. The “barbarians”, as you call them, are being welcomed as deliverers by the poor, who are being taxed out of existence. People are ceasing to care whether Rome survives or goes under. Is any of this registering with you? No, I can see it isn’t. I take it, then, you’re not having second thoughts about my marrying Clothilde?’
‘Once he has made his mind up, a true Roman does not change it.’
‘That’s the most pompous, stupid thing I’ve ever heard!’ Titus shouted, aware that he was widening the gulf that yawned between them, but past caring. ‘There’s something else you should know. I’d meant to break it gently, but we seem to have gone beyond such niceties. I’ve decided to become a Christian.’
A terrible silence grew. At length Gaius rose. ‘Go,’ he said, in a flat, expressionless voice. ‘And take your German slut with you. You are no longer my son.’
With his ties to home and family irrevocably sundered, Titus felt a huge loss and sadness. But in a curious way he also felt free. He knew that, like Julius Caesar five hundred years before, he had reached a crossroads in his life, a Rubicon. In a flash of insight, he saw what he must do. First, he would send Clothilde back to her own people, pending arrangements for his baptism and their marriage. (There might be tribal barriers to overcome, but no religious ones; unlike most of her fellow Germans, who were Arians, Clothilde had been raised a Catholic.) Then he would try, somehow, to join Aetius, whose policy of integrating the German tribes into the structure of the empire seemed to offer the best, perhaps the only, way forward for Rome. Having come to a decision, Titus felt relief tinged with excitement sweep over him. The die was cast.
1 Lake Constance
2 12 October
3 Milan.
TWO
Hail Valentinian, Augustus of the West
Flavius Placidius Valentinianus, Emperor of the West Romans — the third of his name to wear the purple — son of the Empress Mother Galla Placidia, Most Noble One, Consul, Defender of the Nicene Doctrine, et cetera, et cetera, was bored. Earlier, he’d given his tutor the slip (anything to avoid another history lesson about the Carthaginian Wars) and hidden in the palace gardens where, at the edge of the miniature lake, he’d caught six fine bullfrogs. It had been tremendous fun blowing them up with a straw until they burst. They swelled up like bladders and just before they popped, their eyes, staring into his, had blinked. That gave him a wonderful feeling of power. He looked forward to the day when he was old enough to take over ruling the empire from his mother. Then he would have power over Romans, not just frogs. He could kill anyone he wanted to, just for fun if he chose. Would his victims blink before they died? The thought gave him a delicious thrill.
He could hear in the distance, his tutor, a Greek freedman, calling him. Valentinian chuckled. The man sounded not just anxious but terrified. As well he might: if his royal charge was found to be missing, he could expect a severe whipping plus loss of manumission. The frog episode had left Valentinian feeling both excited and restless. No good looking for cats to bait; the strays that prowled the palace grounds had long since learnt to hide on sighting him. Then a delighted smile broke over the boy’s face as a faraway sound came to his ears, the clucking of chickens from the imperial hen-coop. Uncle Honorius, the late Emperor, had doted on the fowls; hand-feeding them had been his favourite occupation. Though they were now surplus to requirements, no one had found a pretext to remove them. Eyes shining with anticipation, the Emperor headed for the chicken-run.
‘I want you to take a message to Galla Placidia,’ Aetius told Titus. They were in the villa outside Ravenna that the general had commandeered for his headquarters. (Since the incident with the catafractarius, Aetius had taken Titus more and more into his confidence.) ‘Tell her my terms are these: that my Huns be paid off in gold; that I dismiss them on condition that they be ceded Pannonia; and’ — Aetius grinned wolfishly — ‘that I be made Count.’
‘You can’t mean it, sir!’ exclaimed Titus, shocked by the cool effrontery of the general’s demands. ‘We’re hardly in a position to bargain, surely? The battle with Aspar was a stalemate. And with Ioannes betrayed and executed three days before we arrived, it seems to have been, well, a bit of a futile gesture, if you ask me. Pannonia — you’re actually proposing to give it away? To use a Roman province as a bargaining chip?’
‘My dear Titus,’ sighed Aetius, in the tones of a patient school-master explaining a point to a slow-witted pupil, ‘you’re failing to grasp the bigger picture. In fact, we’re in an excellent position to put pressure on our beloved Empress. Aspar can’t wait around indefinitely; he’s needed back in the East. And with the Franks and Burgundians flexing their muscles in Gaul, Placidia daren’t withdraw troops to counter any moves I might make. Also, she’s desperate to see the last of my Huns. As to Pannonia, it’s finished anyway; devastated during the Gothic Wars and never really recovered since. If we let the Huns have it, at least it becomes a useful barrier against further German encroachment. And Ioannes? He was never destined to be more than a puppet, with me pulling the strings. With him gone, at least I can play an open game.’
‘Sir, may I ask you a question?’
‘You may, young Titus, you may.’
‘There’s something that’s been bothering me for some time, sir.’ Titus paused uncomfortably, then pressed on. ‘Why is it, sir, that you’re so against Placidia taking power in the name of her son? After all, Valentinian is the legitimate heir. To some, your stance might seem like treason.’