‘They might consider it impolite not to give a gift, and they are in a rather better position than us.’ Ballista seemed unconcerned. ‘The silver dinner service with the hunting scenes might be well received.’
‘That is intended for the king of the Angles.’
‘My father has many plates and bowls. He will not miss a few more.’
Zeno looked round to tell one of his slaves to bring the precious things. They were already dragging them out of his baggage. Yet more annoyingly, as they did so they were tossing his treasured papyrus rolls anyhow on the ground. Zeno would let them feel his displeasure later.
The tall Goth called Tuluin examined the embossed huntsmen, hounds and beasts cursorily, passed them to the others. He said something else.
‘What?’ How could Zeno be expected to conduct diplomacy with people so savage they spoke neither Greek nor Latin?
‘He has invited us to a feast. He says our boats make excellent fuel.’
‘The boats!’ Zeno exclaimed.
‘I think he is joking.’
Tuluin smiled. ‘Health and great joy,’ he said in good Greek.
XVI
Gallia Narbonensis
A gust of wind took the purple hangings, and, before an attendant gathered them, it gave a glimpse outside. Beyond the forum, the emperor Postumus saw the theatre built into the side of one of the hills at the eastern end of Colonia Vienna. It was a fine morning. Briefly, he heard the sounds of the port, and could smell the water.
It would be good to be out on the river. He had always found fishing soothing, ever since his childhood on the Rhine. After the ordeal of the day before he needed to be soothed.
The heavy curtains back in place, a reverent silence and gloom was restored. There was nothing to smell but the incense burning on the sacred fire.
A morning of leisure — fishing, hunting or just staying at home — was out of the question. Postumus was emperor, and an emperor had little leisure and no home. There were always demands on him; he was always in motion. Postumus had arrived only three days ago. Colonia Vienna was one of the leading cities of the province of Gallia Narbonensis, and thus one of the most important communities in his imperium. When an emperor arrived, everyone clamoured for justice.
The will of the emperor was law. He could make new laws, ignore, alter or abolish old ones. No jurist would demur. Yet no one was more constrained by the processes of law. This was the first of four days Postumus had set aside to sit in judgement. The curia of the town council had been transformed into an imperial courtroom. Postumus sat as judge, the senate as his assessors. They had already heard two cases: a boundary dispute and the unpaid inheritance of an orphan. At least the one before them now was more amusing. It was the sort of thing that pleased Postumus’s son. The boy sat forward on his bench, jotting notes.
The son of a local worthy had put on the rough cloak and staff of the Cynic philosophers and taken to their ascetic lifestyle in public. The father had disowned him. The son had brought a case for wrongful disinheritance. The father was speaking in his own defence, upbraiding his son.
‘Why are you embarrassing me by begging food from other people when you have a home and a father? Are you training yourself against fortune? What worse can happen? Do you suffer cold and hunger for fear they may happen some day? You and your kind have a new type of ambition — you seek veneration for misery.’
Having ended on a note of righteous indignation, the father glowered across the curia, the very embodiment of outraged provincial decorum. Hairy, straggle-bearded and rather dirty, the son stood on the other side, as if virtue itself arraigned. In order of precedence, the assessors murmured their advice. Postumus listened with all signs of attentiveness before delivering his verdict.
‘Not all philosophy is hostile to the mores of Rome. True lovers of wisdom, those who honestly seek virtue, are at one with the spirit of our age.’
Actually, Postumus had no time for any of them, but an emperor was expected to be a man of culture. It was the sort of thing he should say.
‘Philosophy concerns itself with the highest good, the soul of man. Material things it rejects as irrelevant and unworthy of consideration. Therefore, by bringing this case the son has shown he is not a philosopher at all. In which case his father’s argument that he has adopted these ways as a form of ambition has validity. The Cynics are the most debased of false philosophers, always yapping against their betters and the established order, outraging public decency. The son should either welcome the removal of the distraction of worldly goods and become a philosopher in reality, or take himself to the baths, put on respectable attire, comport himself according to the station of his birth and seek reconciliation with his father. Having consulted my consilium, I dismiss the case.’
As the plaintiff and the defendant were removed, the assessors voiced decorous approval. Postumus regarded the senators benignly. He had never had any intention to invade Italy and attempt to seize Rome. Civil war was to be abhorred. Having been forced to take the purple, he was content to rule over those the gods had allotted to his care. But to have legal authority, an emperor must have his powers voted to him by the senate; without a Lex de Imperio, there was no legitimacy. There had been enough senators serving as magistrates or living on their estates in the west for Postumus to constitute his own senate.
Postumus had never hidden his humble Batavian origins. But, unlike Maximinus Thrax, the first emperor to have risen from the ranks of the army, he had no desire to be seen as a military autocrat at odds with the traditional elite. With Gallienus ever more estranged from his own senators, conspicuous respect for rich landowners might bring advantage.
There were more than forty toga-clad senators on the benches around Postumus. The governor of Gallia Narbonensis, Censor, sat on his right hand. The governors of two neighbouring provinces, Honoratianus of Gallia Lugdunensis and Aemilianus of Hispania Tarraconensis, were on his left. All three had held the consulship since Postumus’s accession. The curia of Colonia Vienna paraded a fine spectacle of loyalty.
As the previous day had shown, loyalty could never be taken for granted. Lollianus was an old friend. He had commanded Legio XXX Ulpia Victrix when Postumus had defeated the Franks at Deuso. He had counselled Postumus to take the purple. His rewards had been vast: money, land and promotion to Prefect of the Imperial Cavalry. No one had stood higher in the regime. Postumus had not wanted to believe the treachery, but the evidence left no doubt. Lollianus had approached an officer, Probinus, in his command. This Liberalinius Probinus had reported everything that Lollianus had said. Postumus was a half-barbarian usurper. He must be struck down, and the west restored to the rightful ruler, Gallienus. Worse yet, Lollianus — the very man who had proposed the horrible deed — had condemned Postumus as the cold-blooded killer of a defenceless child. Lollianus had urged Probinus to think how Gallienus would thank those who brought him the head of the man who had murdered his son, Saloninus.
It had been terrible to watch, but Lollianus had incriminated himself under torture. A man had come to him from Rome. Although dressed as a civilian, Lollianus had known him for a soldier. The frumentarius had handed over a letter from Rufinus, the Princeps Peregrinorum of Gallienus. It had contained many promises: the consulship, command of Gallienus’s comitatus, admission to the ranks of the protectores and five million sesterces would be granted to Lollianus when he had killed Postumus. As the claws tore his flesh, Lollianus had sworn his innocence. Fear of unjust suspicion was what had stopped him reporting the approach. He had destroyed the letter. The latter was damning. It had been a relief to Postumus, as well as the bloodied hulk of the man on the rack, when he ordered Lollianus executed. The body had been disposed of discreetly.