‘You have a Pannonian look,’ the notary went on. ‘Where were you born?’
‘Taurunum, dominus, on the Danube. My father was a veteran of the Fourth Flavia Felix.’
‘Ah, following in his footsteps, good…’
Hardly, Castus thought. His father had been invalided out of the legion before he himself had been born. He had taken up blacksmithing, but was a bitter man and a bad drunk, and had never wanted his son to join the army. You’re too stupid to be a soldier, he had said, grimacing through another morning hangover. What use would the legions have for you? I suppose they could use that great thick head of yours as a battering ram!
‘And you served for some time with the Herculiani prior to your promotion, I understand, in Persia and on the Danube?’ the notary asked. Castus nodded again, staring at the far wall.
‘Yes, dominus. First in the cohorts, then assigned to the lanciarii. I was draco-bearer of my cohort before I was promoted.’
‘Ah, really?’ The notary spoke quietly, and far too smoothly. He settled himself deeper into his cloak, although with the brazier glowing the room was not cold. ‘Then you must know the condition of the Danubian army very well, I should say?’
Something in the man’s tone was angling, ominous. Castus felt a slight prickle of perspiration at the back of his neck. He nodded, staring at the wall and trying not to let his discomfort show. The noise of the rain outside was a steady rushing hiss.
‘And how would you describe this condition? Are the troops… loyal?’
‘Yes, dominus!’ Castus declared, surprised. ‘Of course… All soldiers of Rome are loyal to the emperors.’ He had spoken loudly to cover his apprehension. His distaste as welclass="underline" the suggestion that the elite Danubian legions might be less than loyal felt like a personal insult.
‘To the emperors, yes. But are they loyal to all the emperors equally, would you say?’
Sweat broke on Castus’s back and trickled down his spine. He had the bizarre sensation that he was being accused of something. What was happening here? What had these men been discussing before he entered the room? His sense of intuition had almost deserted him. Worryingly, he noticed that Arpagius was looking increasingly uncomfortable, dabbing at his brow with his cuff. The tribune, Rufinius, looked grimmer than ever.
‘Yes, they’re loyal to all the emperors. Dominus.’
The notary smiled and made a slight humming noise. ‘That’s good to know,’ he said. ‘But tell me – I believe the son of our western Caesar Constantius was on the Persian expedition. A man named Constantine. He would have been a junior tribune then. Did you happen to see him at all?’
‘Yes, dominus. He led one of the allied cavalry squadrons at Oxsa. After the battle he… gave me this torque with his own hand.’ Castus dropped his chin, feeling the clasp of the golden circlet at his throat.
‘And was he popular with the troops?’
‘Certainly. He was a good soldier.’
Tribune Constantine – Castus remembered him well enough, even years later. That long bony face and solid jaw, those deep-set, rather intense eyes. He thought back to a day in the south of Mesopotamia: the imperial party had gone to view the ancient ruins of Babylon, and Castus had been one of the guards. He remembered the young Constantine standing alone on a dusty mound, staring out across the burnt brown walls with a look of deep concentration. Look at him, one of the other soldiers had muttered. Reckons he’s Alexander the Great…
‘Perhaps,’ said the governor, Arpagius, abruptly, ‘perhaps we’ve questioned the centurion enough now?’
‘Ah, yes, my apologies, I was only curious,’ the notary said. He shifted forward a little, still gazing at Castus.
‘The notary Nigrinus has brought a certain matter to our attention,’ Arpagius went on. ‘We considered that, since you have some experience of the, ah, the mood of the troops outside the province, we might share it with you, centurion.’
‘A matter, dominus?’
‘Yes. Some rather momentous news. But we must bind you with the strictest secrecy. What you are about to hear must not leave this room. Soon enough everyone will know about it, but for now we must keep it quiet. Do you understand?’
‘I understand,’ Castus said warily. He had no desire to know of any secrets.
‘On the first day of next month,’ Arpagius went on, ‘our lords the Augusti Diocletian and Maximian will resign their imperial power at Nicomedia and Milan, and transfer supreme rule to the Caesars, Galerius and Constantius. New Caesars will be appointed to the junior positions. In this way the em shy;pire will be rejuvenated and stability maintained.’
Castus opened his mouth, but could not speak. His body felt suddenly rooted to the floor. All his life, Diocletian and Maximian had been the rulers of the Roman world, akin to the gods. A cold sweat spread across his brow. How could men like gods simply resign? How could others replace them? He was dizzy, as if the world had shifted on its axis.
‘The new Caesars’, Arpagius said, ‘will be Flavius Severus in the west and Maximinus Daza in the east.’
The names fell limply across the table. Castus was lost in shock.
‘Are these men familiar to you?’ the notary asked.
‘No, dominus. I’ve never heard of them.’
‘Hah, yes,’ the tribune said, speaking for the first time. ‘Neither have we!’
‘Anyway, as you can imagine, we must handle the transfer of allegiance with the utmost care and tact,’ Arpagius said. ‘It may be, you see, that some of the barbarian peoples will see this as evidence of weakness, rather than of strength.’
‘Strength?’ Castus spoke without thinking. He noticed Nigrinus’s quiet nod.
‘Of course,’ the notary said. ‘To step down from absolute power, and peaceably hand the direction of the state to a chosen successor, surely demonstrates the stability and strength of the imperial system, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I suppose so, dominus. It’s just… It’s going to be a shock for the men.’
‘Naturally,’ the governor said. ‘Which is why we’re inform shy;ing certain selected centurions of the legion well in advance. The news will be circulated in good time, so all the men are acquainted with it by the time of the ceremony. There will be, I need not add, an acclamation bonus for every soldier and officer.’
Castus raised his head. He had not even thought of bonuses.
‘I can see you approve of that! Good. But for now, as I said, speak nothing of this to anyone.’
‘Not a word, dominus.’
Along the corridor and down the steps, Castus thought back over what had happened. Already his memory of that short strange interview was becoming blurred. Had he imagined the odd insinuations in the notary’s questions? Why had he asked about the Danube legions, and the tribune Constantine? Halfway down the stairs he paused suddenly. He had already forgotten the names of the two new Caesars. But neither of them was Constantine: the son of the current Caesar was being passed over. So why had the notary asked about the loyalties of the troops?
Shaking his head, Castus tried to quell the questions in his mind. He was a soldier, a simple man, and matters of politics were far above him. Still, he felt needled, apprehensive. Something had been going on in that room, and he had seen only a part of it, a brief glimpse exposed. Whatever it was, it was surely none of his concern, but he felt implicated anyway.
In the entrance hall he paused again before the statues of the emperors. Those mighty figures, rulers of his life, seemed different to him now. Sad, somehow, and lost, for all the strength of their mutual embrace. He touched his brow once more in quiet salute, then he marched out into the darkness and the rain.
A month later, on the first day of May, Legion VI Victrix assembled in full strength on the broad expanse of the parade ground outside the western wall of the fortress. Under a slate-grey sky, every man stared forward at the distant tribunal and the rising smoke from the sacrificial altars. They all knew what was happening now; there were no more secrets. But the promise of four gold pieces and a pound of silver per man had dulled the initial shock, and only the excitement of novelty stirred their ranks.