That’s what he would do when…
He was interrupted as the main door opened.
Four servants scurried in, one of the numerous palace officials hurrying along behind them and pausing to close the door. The servants bowed deeply to the guest before rushing across to the wall. The minor functionary in his silks and robe of office, his beard combed and intricately plaited, inclined his head respectfully and smiled.
“Forgive our interruption, eminence.”
Vaballathus frowned.
“You have not come for us?”
“I regret no, sire.”
The Palmyrene prince watched in confusion as the four servants grasped the sagging body of the Roman emperor, his frozen rictus vaguely comical, and hurried across the floor with it. The official bowed once more and then the five opened a previously unnoticed door at the far end of the room and passed through it carrying their strange, macabre load. Vaballathus stared at the door as it closed.
“What in the name of Baal?”
Almost as the second door closed with a quiet click, hiding the strange procession, the first door opened once again and the vizier who had first greeted them hours ago entered with a deep bow.
“Good morning once again, Prince Vaballathus. I must apologise for the delay. I have been consulting with my master.”
The prince turned and strode toward him angrily.
“And will his majesty be joining us now?” He tried to keep the irritation from his voice. Everything depended upon their success, which would require patience and a show of respect.
The vizier stepped back, giving a strange, oily smile.
“I am afraid not. His majesty is tied up with affairs of state. In the meantime, though, his majesty would very much like me to introduce you to our other visitor.”
The four guards reached for their sword hilts, remembering too late that the scabbards were empty. Vaballathus’ eyes widened as a full century of Roman legionaries stomped into the room, their hob-nailed boots clattering as they chipped the delicate marble flooring. The horn-players and standard bearers stepped to one side as their fellow soldiers surrounded the four Palmyrene guards. The centurion followed his men in and stood beside them as they came to attention in ordered rows in the hall.
A man appeared behind them in the doorway; a tall man with aquiline features and severe, iron grey hair. He wore the decorative breastplate and Hercules knot of a senior officer in the Roman army, his crimson cloak settling as he came to a halt.
“Gaius Attius Severinus at your service, Prince Vaballathus. I must say, the Imperator Aurelian is very much looking forward to meeting you.”
He smiled.
“You are looking well, highness. Let’s see if we can change that.”
Temple Trouble
(A short story set ten years before the events of Marius’ Mules)
Marcus Falerius Fronto rolled over to stare into the eyes of the girl next to him. Vibia smiled back at him, her voluptuous lips framing her perfect teeth. She languished in the bed next to him, half-wrapped in light, wispy garments that did little to hide her shape and…
Fronto swallowed and his eyes bulged dangerously.
“You’re a what?”
Vibia smiled in an astoundingly relaxed way to Fronto’s mind.
“Relax, Marcus. I’m not actually a vestal virgin.”
Fronto, still staring, allowed himself to heave a deep sigh of relief. Last night’s debauchery among the taverns in the subura had left him with a dull thumping in his head, a number of gaps in his memory of the night before and an otherwise entirely unfamiliar young lady at his side. He’d been out to celebrate his assigning to Spain, where he’d join the new quaestor, taking ship from Ostia in a few days’ time. And things had become a little blurred. He distinctly remembered losing a number of wagers and chasing a number of young women along the street with Geganius. The end of the night was still shrouded in mystery, though.
“Shit, girl! You can’t go round saying you’re a vestal. You’ll get in serious trouble, and you nearly gave me a bloody heart attack.”
He saw the amusement flickering in her eyes and growled.
“Where the hell are we, anyway? Last thing I remember was that little bar below the Tabularium.”
Vibia’s mouth split into a wide grin.
“We’re in the house of the vestals, Marcus.”
“What?”
Fronto shook his head. Was the girl deliberately trying to break his brain, or was he just plainly beyond simple understanding this morning?
Vibia sighed lightly.
“I’m the most unusual girl you’ll ever sleep with, Marcus. I was chosen late to be one of the vestals. I’m not a girl any more, despite what they all think, but I haven’t taken the vow as yet.”
Fronto frowned.
“I wasn’t aware there was a delay?”
“There usually isn’t but they had trouble finding someone quick to replace one of the priestesses who just passed on, and I was what you might call a ‘last-minute find’ by the pontifex maximus. Normally they would deliberate for a lot longer, but the public opening of the temple for the festival is in two days and they need a full complement of novices and priestesses.”
She grinned.
“I was on the way to the temple last night when you and your friend found me. I will be taking the vows in…” she frowned and tried to judge the light outside the window, “… about two hours.”
Fronto shook his head madly.
“That’s insane! Why would you do such a thing? You might not be official yet, but you might as well be. If they catch us they’ll bury you alive anyway, and they’ll whip me to death in the forum!”
He bit his lip and pulled the covers up to just below his eyes as though people could see him already. Grumbling, he pointed a finger accusingly at the girl beside him.
“You had no right to go marching around the backstreets of the city unescorted at night. You might as well have been inviting it. It’s your father that should be whipped!”
Vibia laughed a light laugh.
“For Vesta’s sake, Marcus…”
“Don’t say that!” interrupted Fronto, a panicked look in his eyes.
“Marcus, I wasn’t alone. Your friends sort of ambushed my escort and you promised to walk me on. You’re a patrician with a good name, Marcus. And as for ‘why would I do such a thing?’: well, you were fairly insistent, Marcus. I hardly think all the blame can be laid at my door, now can it?”
Fronto’s eyes were darting back and forth nervously.
“Oh shut up!”
Again Vibia laughed. Her lightness was really starting to grate on him.
“How the hell do I get out of here?”
“Do you remember how we got in?”
“Vibia,” Fronto growled, “the state I was in last night I’m lucky I woke up in Latium with two legs and not chained to some Cilician slaver and rowing for my life!”
Again that gratingly happy laugh. Fronto growled once more and slowly slid sideways out of the bed, closing his eyes and wincing until his feet fell to the cold marble with a ‘plop’.
“Where are my clothes?”
“The way you flung them off last night, they could be anywhere.”
Fronto grunted, once again vastly unhappy with his own inability to think past the present. His sister had always said that wine would be the death of him. He’d always assumed she meant through ill health rather than stupidity and girls.
“Never mind… I think I can smell them!”