“Over here,” came a voice from the back of the room. Maxian descended the short flight of steps onto the raised wooden floor. Steam hissed up from the floor below as water flowed in from pipes under the platform. The heat felt delightful after the chilly pool. Sitting on a bare step at the back of the chamber was a familiar figure, even wreathed in steam. A conspicuous space had been cleared around the old man, though the caldarium was so large that there was no lack of benches.
“Ave, Gregorius Auricus,” Maxian said, settling into the warm seat.
“Ave, Maxian Caesar,” the magnate replied, dipping his head in greeting. Maxian frowned at the honorific. Gregorius, his eyes bright even in the gloom, nodded. “It is one of your titles now, you will have to get used to it.”?
“I suppose. It does not seem to be right, somehow, that I should bear the titles of my brothers. Not fitting, in a way.”
Gregorious sighed, rubbing his thin arms. “Your brothers have taken a great deal of trouble, over the past years, to follow the wishes of your mother. They have carried the burden of the Empire themselves, letting you follow the path that your gifts led you on.” He reached out and took Maxian’s hand, turning it over, running his callused old fingers over the Prince’s young, smooth palm and thumb.
“If Lucian Pius Augustus had not been stricken by the plague, you would be the most revered member of your family today. And you would still be in Narbonensis, doubtless spending your days walking from mountain village to mountain village, tending to the sick and the poor, as your mother hoped.”
Maxian smiled at the pastoral image. “I would like that,” he said.
Gregorius shook his head, saying “You will never see it. You have a different purpose now. I caught sight of you the other day, when your esteemed brother and I were arguing in the Offices. I heard afterward that the Senate had acclaimed you Caesar and Consul, to rule at your brother Aurelian’s side while the Augustus Martius Galen is away, in the East.”
“It is so,” Maxian said slowly, wondering what favor or proposition the old man would put to him now.
Gregorius smiled slowly at him. “You must learn to guard your expression more closely, young Caesar, I can all but read the thought in your look. No, I do not want anything from you today. What I want is but a moment of your time. I have known you, your brothers, your family, for many years. I do not know if you remember, but when you were young and your father came to the city, he would ofttime stay with me in my family’s house on the Coelian Hill. On at least one occasion, he brought you to see the Circus, I believe. The ostriches frightened you. Your father was a friend of mine, and you know well that I supported your brother in his campaign against the pretenders.
“I say this to you not to gain your favor but to show you that I have always supported your family, your father, your brother. Martius Galen is a good Emperor. Perhaps the best we have been blessed with in the West since the Divine Constantine. He is cautious in his policies, frugal with the assets of the state. He is just and, impartial in his judgments. He appoints with an eye to merit and not to wealth or personal gain. He does not confiscate the estates or possessions of the Senators. In all, a most able and practical ruler. The temples are well blessed with his presence.”
Gregorius paused, sighing deeply. His old face was lined with concern. “Yet at the same time, he is a man, and men are often blind in some manner. I know that you must have remarked yourself from time to time on the precariousness of the Western Empire. Our population is scant following the plague. Our own people are weak, given to idleness and sloth. Have you not noticed, in your work, how frail our people seem, in comparison to the German, the Briton, or the Goth?” Gregorius waved at the mist and the other men taking their ease in the baths.
“In a crowd of a hundred, you can tell each man’s nation by his appearance-the Roman is short, with poor skin and an unhealthy pallor. The Briton is tall and fair, abrim with health. The German the same, the Goth another, save gifted with great strength. I have many clients, as you doubtless know. They come to me to discuss their troubles and their successes. First among the lament of the Roman is the death of his children, his heirs, from disease, or weakness or accident. The Goth deplores the state of his finances but rejoices in the strong children born to him. It is a terrible shame, but I have had to repopulate whole farms, or fabri-cae here in the city, with freedmen of Briton or German blood.”
Maxian stared at him in undisguised horror. The blood lines of the rural patricians were as jealously guarded as the Vestals.
“Yes, I see the look on your face-yet there was no other way! The blood of my cousins had grown too weak to sustain itself. It pained my senatorial heart to adopt these people from beyond Italy as my sons and daughters. I am old and I have seen a great deal in my life, but this frightens me the most, the deterioration of the Roman people. The state cannot hope to stand when there are none to support it. New blood must be inducted to the body of the people, to sustain the Empire. Is this not so in the East?
“There are many different nations given citizenship there. Here the boon of citizenship is so carefully guarded… What I have asked of your brother is nothing less than accepting the Gothic people, and the friendly Germans, and the loyal Britons, into our state as equals. I have spoken to many, many of their dukes, headmen and chiefs. They are a loyal people-have they not fought beside Rome for the last three centuries? They should be rewarded for that, at least.”
Maxian pursed his lips, considering the issue. Gregorius had a valid point. At last he said, “Each man may seek his own way into the service of the Empire and thence to citizenship. Such has it been for a long time.”
Gregorius nodded in acknowledgment but replied, “So it has always been, but that is no longer«a suitable response. What of the carpenter who labors for the statd? What of the matron whose husband has died, yet she struggles on, raising ten children by herself? The children in turn may serve the state and become citizens, yet she cannot. Is there justice in this? When the Romans were a strong people, it made good sense; now it does not. I know that I cannot convince your brother of this, and rest easy, I shall give him the ships, the money, the supplies that he needs. I agree that the Eastern Empire must be aided. There will always be disagreements, even among friends.”
The tractator arrived and Maxian signaled to him. Turn ing to the Senator, he said: “Thank you for your words, and thank you for supporting our family in the past. It means a great deal to me, as it did to my father. So that you understand clearly, I do not always agree with my brother, but I will always support him. Good day, sir.”
Gregorious nodded, with a little smile on his face, resting his hands on the head of his walking stick.
“A good day to you as well, young Maxian. Oh, one thing before you go. A client of mine, a Briton named Mor-dius Arthyrrson, came to see me yesterday. He said that he was returning home arid giving up his share of his family’s business here in the city. This was troubling to me, though I wished him well. He was a fellow of good promise. He also said that he had talked to you about what had happened. I did not press him about it, for other of my men had told me the tale already. I think that you should know that this is not the first time that this sort of thing has happened.”
Maxian stared at the old man for a moment, then nodded and went out.
OSTIA MAXIMA, THE COAST OF LATIUM
The staccato of drums echoed off the brick buildings facing the great harbor of Trajan. Thyatis turned, shading her eyes against the late-afternoon sun as it slanted in golden beams through the remains of the rainclouds. Hundreds of ships, riding at anchor in the mile-wide hexagon of the Imperial Harbor, lit up, their colored sails gleaming in the perfect light. Seagulls circled overhead in the cool rain-washed air, cawing. Apollo and his chariot were preparing to descend beyond the western rim of the world in glorious display. The rainclouds were lit with purple and gold and reds in a thousand hues. A fresh breeze had sprung up, carrying the deep smell of the sea to her. The funk of the harbor was blown away, and with it the stinks of the city behind her.