After what seemed an age, Cledonius reappeared. This time the ab Admissionibus went to the chair where the other equestrian sat. In a few moments the purple curtains closed behind them, too, and Ballista and the two remaining senators were left in the cloying near-darkness. Although both the other men were silent, their faces expressionless, Ballista could sense their annoyance. An image came into his mind of senators long ago waiting on the Italian mainland opposite Capri, forced to petition the sinister equestrian praetorian prefect Sejanus for permission to cross over to the island to see the emperor Tiberius. The rule of the emperors was difficult for senators. For centuries, while Rome was a Republic, they had been the masters. When the first emperor Augustus had reintroduced monarchy, things had changed. In the new order, the 'restored' Republic, the senators remained the highest social class, but now they had a master. Power now came with access to the emperor, and the emperor could call anyone he wished to his side. It was no longer to do just with the social hierarchy. Nowadays, senators sat in the gloom of the imperial vestibule and watched their social inferiors being admitted before themselves. Cledonius' face was now peering down at Ballista. Lost in his own thoughts, the notherner had not noticed him come back into the room. Cledonius was leaning close, softly saying something. Ballista did not hear the words. It did not matter, their meaning was plain – come with me. He scrutinized the other's face, trying to read it in the gloom. It was hopeless. The best-trained physiognomist in the empire would have learnt nothing. The ab Admissionibus presented the same inscrutable face to a man he was ushering in for the emperor to shower with gold and one he was leading to his death. As he stood up, Ballista wondered about the secret passages that must run from the imperial audience hall, down which the condemned would be manhandled. He stopped himself. It was always best not to think about what might happen down in the cellars of an imperial palace.
Cledonius turned away, expecting Ballista to follow. He did not instantly do so. Instead he put his commission down on his chair and used both hands to smooth out the voluminous folds of his toga. Picking up the codicil, he noticed the smear of his sweaty hands on the ivory and gold. Not quite as brave as you hoped, he thought to himself. He did not look at the two seated senators as he followed Cledonius across the vestibule. There was no need, he could feel their animosity pressing hard on his back: not just an equestrian, but a barbarian to boot.
Beyond the double hangings of heavy royal purple, the imperial audience chamber looked just as it had over a year earlier. Light blazed through the windows of the great apse. There was the emperor on his elevated throne, golden radiate crown glinting. Behind his left shoulder were the bank of secretaries, behind his right Successianus the Praetorian Prefect. At the foot of the steps, the sacred fire burned on its low altar. There were just four togate figures primly seated near the fire: a small, intimate consilium.
The ritual played out as all the times before: the long walk down the silent room, the introduction by the ab Admissionibus, Ballista's face close to the cool marble floor for the proskynesis, the hand with the heavy ring held out to be kissed, the taste of the jewel and metal, the cold, formal words of welcome from the gods' vice-regent on earth.
Ballista stood just by the sacred flame. Covertly, he checked the seated members of the consilium. There were the Comes Largitionum Macrianus the Lame and the Princeps Peregrinorum Censorinus, one in charge of imperial finances, the other the spymaster controlling the frumentarii. Both were sinister in their different ways. The other two were senators unknown to Ballista. While he recognized one of these senators from having been seated outside, there was no sign of the equestrian Cledonius had shown in.
At length, the prominent chin of the emperor lowered. He looked full at Ballista. The corners of the imperial mouth were up-turned, but Valerian was not smiling.
'Marcus Clodius Ballista, last year, five days before the ides of March, you received a written imperial order signed by me and addressed specifically to you, which ordered you to oversee that every soldier in the army you then commanded as Dux Ripae was to make sacrifice to the natural gods. You were ordered to implement this immediately on receipt of the order.'
'Yes, Dominus.'
'You did not see fit to administer this oath until the kalends of April, twenty-two days later.' Valerian paused as one of the senators began to cough. When the man did not stop, Valerian started to speak again, louder than before. 'During that interval there were…' he consulted a document '… some twenty soldiers who left the standards without permission. One of these deserters came into the hands of the frumentarii. After some… persuasion' – the emperor nodded benignly at Censorinus – 'this deserter confessed that the reason for his flight was that he was a Christian. Quite possibly the same reason motivated the others. Your dilatoriness allowed these enemies of the gods and man to escape.'
'Dominus, we were fighting for our lives then. It may be that these men ran to try to seek safety.'
'Are you a Christian?' The question was sharp and unexpected.
'No, Dominus.'
'Are you sympathetic towards Christians?'
'No, Dominus.'
'What do you know about this deadly superstition?'
'Very little, Dominus. What I can remember reading in Tacitus and the younger Pliny. Like the latter, I have never been present at the trial of one. All I know is that they lost your sacred majesty Arete, and your army many good men.'
Valerian paused. Ballista thought he saw the emperor's eyes flick towards Censorinus. The Princeps Peregrinorum did not respond. The senator's coughing had subsided. It was very quiet in the audience chamber.
A new voice spoke. 'Dominus, if I may?' It was Macrianus. He rose carefully to his feet, favouring his lame leg. 'Dux Ripae, what are your feelings towards this cult?'
'I think they are fools and traitors,' Ballista replied.
'Because some of them betrayed the city of Arete?'
'Yes.'
'What do you think about persecuting them?'
'It is a thoroughly good idea.'
'Would you be happy to persecute them yourself?'
'Delighted.' As Ballista spoke, Macrianus smiled a big smile and cumbrously sat down.
The emperor spoke. 'Your words please the Comes Sacrarum Largitionum et Praefectus Annonae, and they please our sacred majesty.' Valerian paused to allow time for Ballista to duck his head in acknowledgement of the imperial favour.
'This degraded and disgusting superstition, which preys on the weak and the ignorant – women, children, slaves and the feebleminded – has spread like a plague through the imperium. And the reason, I am sad to say, has been the complacency and inertia of the emperors. Time and again, our loyal subjects have risen up and demanded the sacrilegious Christians be thrown to the beasts. Some have been, but not enough, not nearly enough. Persecution has been local and sporadic. Only our predecessor, the emperor Decius, attempted to stamp out these scum empire-wide. His untimely death, the death of a hero, sword in hand against the Goths at Abrittus, brought an end to his commendable initiative.'
Valerian sat brooding for some moments.
'Our edict of last year has been widely ignored or flouted. This cannot continue. Our patience is at an end.' The heavy face turned to survey the whole room. 'We have drafted a new edict. It will be imposed across all the imperium, both here in the east, and in the west, where my son Gallienus commands. It will have the full weight of the law and the swords of the army behind it. There are three areas especially where we are led to believe these evil-doers swarm like flies: Africa, Hispania, and the Provincia of Asia.