Whatever the shortcomings of some of its men, the stability of the dynasty was exhibited to the world by this marriage. No matter what further trials it might undergo at the hands of a malignant fortune, it was well stocked with heirs beyond young Marinianus, the emperor’s one remaining son.
Tears pricked Gallienus’s eyes. Outside Greek tragedy, had any family been so afflicted? Gallienus’s father remained in eastern captivity. Reports said Valerian was shamefully treated. Whenever the Persian king came out to ride, the frail old man who had been emperor of Rome was forced to his hands and knees. There in the dirt, Valerian was forced to hear vile words and to take the boot of his conqueror on his shoulders. The cruel gods had reduced the ruler of the Oikoumene, their own vice-regent on earth, to no more than an animate mounting block. Yet it was not that which brought the tears to Gallienus’s eyes. His eldest son, Valerian the Younger, had been on the Ister in the care of the protector Ingenuus when he died. The doctors had blamed a fever. Rumours had whispered of darker causes. The subsequent rebellion of Ingenuus lent them credence. No doubt shrouded the fate of Gallienus’s second and favourite son. No more than a terrified child, far from home he had been betrayed, hauled out and butchered. His body desecrated, the shade of Saloninus could know no rest. The cruelty of the gods was infinite. As he did every day, almost every hour, Gallienus tried to force away thoughts of the last moments of his son.
The procession retraced its steps through the forum, between the tall, shadowed façades along the Sacred Way.
Hymenaee Hymen, O Hymen Hymenaee.
So far the nuptial songs were seemly enough. This one had been composed for the occasion by Cominius Priscianus, a Studiis to Gallienus. Of course, it had been previously performed in private for the approval of the emperor. It was a reworking of a poem by Catullus; the story of Theseus and Ariadne, with a more uxorious hero, and a happier outcome.
Henceforth let a woman believe a man’s oath, let all believe a man’s speech can be trustworthy.
Its conceit barely stood up to public scrutiny. Despite repeated betrayal — despite Ingenuus, Regalianus and all the others; despite even Postumus — Gallienus wanted to believe the oath of at least some men could be trusted. He had given charge of the eastern provinces to Odenathus the Lord of Palmyra, had given him the high office of Corrector Totius Orientis. The Palmyrene had sworn oaths of loyalty. He had taken the war to the Persians, had burnt their capital, Ctesiphon. Now despatches from the frumentarii claimed Odenathus’s wife, Zenobia, was urging him to strike for something higher. Gallienus had sent imperial mandata east. The governors of Syria Coele and Egypt, Fabius Labeo and Theodotus, were to return to the imperial court. Virius Lupus was to move from Arabia to replace Fabius Labeo. New governors had been sent from Italy to govern Arabia and Egypt. If Odenathus acknowledged imperial authority and allowed the appointments to go ahead, probably all was well. If not, next year the field army would have to march east, and the long-meditated revenge on Postumus would be postponed yet again. Another two campaigning seasons would have passed and Saloninus remain unavenged. Gallienus prayed to his special companion Hercules, to all the gods, that Odenathus remain true to his word. In the chill wind, the emperor’s tears were cold on his face.
As the procession snaked up to the Palatine, mannered verses gave way to traditional songs; ripe figs were plucked, fields ploughed and swords found their sheaths. Attendants threw nuts to the crowd and the choir sang of the joys of the night, the daring joys of the next day. The contest awaited: Eros was the umpire, Hymen the herald, the bed the wrestling ground.
Bawdy songs failed to return Gallienus’s thoughts to pleasures of the flesh. Postumus had sent an agent to Rome to suborn Placidianus, the Prefect of the vigiles. Placidianus had remained loyal. When Gallienus had first come to the throne, what happened in the cellars of the palace had turned the young emperor’s stomach. The years had hardened him. The previous night he had watched the torture of the agent with an equanimity approaching pleasure. On the wooden horse, under the terrible steel claws, much had been revealed. One thing had been most providential. It was common knowledge that Bonosus, the commander of the rebel Legio III Italica Concors in Raetia, was a notorious drunk. Yet Bonosus was trusted by the usurper Postumus because he was a Spaniard. Now Gallienus had learned the Spanish estates of Bonosus were all mortgaged, his patrimony squandered. In the dead of night a cloaked horseman had ridden north. Venutus was said by Censorinus to be the most resourceful centurion among the frumentarii. Dressed as a sutler, or wine merchant, Venutus would approach the impecunious Spaniard. If Venutus failed, most likely he would find himself at the mercy of Postumus’s torturers. His agony would yield nothing — Censorinus had given assurances the centurion knew nothing of grave importance — and his mere presence might serve to sow doubts in the mind of Postumus about the loyalty of his commanders in Raetia. And that would be most timely. For, although next to no one knew it, Gallienus and his field army would be in Raetia within two months. Postumus traded in treachery, and — the gods willing — treachery was the coin in which he would be paid. The evidence extracted in the cellar implied Bonosus was not the only supporter of the child murderer whose loyalty might not be above suspicion. Even Postumus’s Prefect of Cavalry, Lollianus, might repay discreet blandishments.
They had reached that part of the palace given over to the household of Licinius. The torch which had led the procession was thrown. Sparks streamed as it tumbled through the night air. A bold onlooker caught it and gained the promise of long life. The bride wreathed the door posts with wool and rubbed them with oil and wolf fat. The latter was hard to obtain, but Gallienus had declared the traditions of the ancestors should be observed at an imperial wedding and parsimony was out of place.
Attendants carried the bride over the threshold. While she was taken off to touch fire and water in her new home, Gallienus led his wife into the atrium. The other guests followed. They stood around the marriage bed set for the genius of the bridegroom and the similarly incorporeal juno of the bride. A slave offered drinks to the imperial couple. Chosroes of Armenia presumed upon his royal status to approach and speak to Gallienus. He had been expelled by the Persians more than a decade before, but the last king of the Arsacid dynasty was a useful bargaining tool. Politics might dictate Chosroes was treated as if he were a reigning monarch, but the Roman emperor felt under no obligation to listen at all closely to his platitudinous conversation in oddly accented Greek.
Gallienus gestured for another drink. He sensed the disapproval of Salonina and felt a flash of anger. What cares did the woman have to carry? How to spend money? Which philosophical sect to patronize? It was as if she had forgotten the existence of their murdered son. Gallienus had not forgotten, drunk or sober. The gods willing, this summer the first acts of his revenge would fall on Postumus. They would fall on the child-killer both in Raetia and at the same time from a less expected direction. Admittedly, the previous expedition Censorinus had sent into the far north had disappeared without trace. But the centurion Tatius had not impressed Gallienus, and the titular leader of the mission, a fat equestrian called Julianus, a collector of amber, had been like an actor in a bad mime. Ballista was a different proposition. Although some in the north may not welcome his return, Ballista was a princeps among his own people. Gallienus had known him since they were young, knew his capabilities. Things would have been easier if the previous mission had not failed, but Gallienus could imagine no one more likely to succeed among the Angles than Ballista.