That recognition must have been written on my face. ‘I see that the implications are not lost on you,’ he said. ‘You’ll understand now, citizen, if I don’t seem as sympathetic as you might have hoped to the local troubles you report, however dreadful you may feel they are.’ That dead and neutral tone was back again, but I now realised that this lack of outward emotion — as with the mask-like expression on his face — was the product of iron self-control. Inwardly the man was seething with outrage, grief and shock.
I found my voice sufficiently to say, ‘You think this will affect us a great deal, then, even in Britannia?’ This was the most far-flung province of them all, and the most removed from the customs and fashions of the Imperial Court — as Marcus had often scathingly pointed out to me.
The old soldier looked me. ‘What’s just gone on in Rome affects everyone in the Empire — even us in Glevum, citizen. For you and your little workshop perhaps not very much. People will still want pavements, I expect, and if there are wars they probably won’t reach as far as this — though there may be extra taxes, by and by, which everyone will feel. But for me …?’ He tailed off. ‘It all depends on who’s advising Didius.’
I stared at him. ‘But surely … you have had an impeccable career. And you have kept away from politics. Marcus told me that you’d chosen to be posted here, instead of seeking a comfortable senatorial seat in Rome like most people of your rank and seniority.’
He made a wry face. ‘A praetor cannot altogether escape from politics, citizen. I have long been outspoken in my praise for Pertinax and I have no friends in the Praetorian Guard. I shall be lucky not to be recalled to Rome and — at best — relieved of my command. If I am less fortunate …’ He left the sentence hanging in the air, but it was quite clear what he meant: even his life might be in question — and his fortune, certainly.
I swallowed hard. Here was this senior Roman officer speaking frankly of his fears to a humble Celtic ex-slave in a toga, whose future was likely to be more secure than his own. An hour ago I would have said that was impossible. Suddenly the whole ordered world was turning upside down. ‘That’s why you’re searching through the records?’ I was hesitant, but anxious to make clear I’d understood. ‘Looking for proof that you’ve done nothing wrong?’
The officer gestured to the littered documents on the desk. ‘I’m looking at accounts of my career, trying to predict what imaginary failure of duty the new Emperor is going to charge me with! And trying to find anything that I can use in my defence! Ah!’ He untied the strings that held together yet another scroll and let it unroll gently between his hands. ‘This might be of help — a commendation from someone that I served with once, but unlike me went into politics. He’s kept his own counsel over many years, so he is likely to retain his senatorial seat and still have a voice in government. I saved his life once and he’s not the sort of man who would forget. I’ll send to him. If necessary he might speak in my support.’ He began to roll the letter up again with care.
There was no possible answer I could make to this. It was clear that the commander was in earnest about this. Yet this weather-beaten soldier had always seemed to me the picture of a successful, well-born, well-respected military man. I had always thought him a model of a good commander, too, ready to listen and not too quick to judge. Without his presence Glevum wouldn’t be the same. I shook my head. ‘You really think …?’
‘Citizen, you’re not familiar with the Imperial Court.’ He was carefully retying the letter as he spoke. ‘If a new man seizes power the first thing he must do is weaken the influence of his predecessor’s friends. Anyone in politics will tell you that. Sometimes this is done by semi-legal means — imposing exile or a seizure of lands and property — or sometimes by arranging a convenient demise. Failure to do so is always a mistake, as Pertinax has discovered to his cost. He was too lenient when he assumed the purple, not only with exiled criminals (he offered several pardons where he felt his predecessor’s decrees had been unjust), but also with the powerful men of Rome: both those who served Commodus while he was in power, and those who planned his overthrow. When Pertinax was first installed, he should have made an example of them all, but in fact he executed very few of them, and that was his downfall in the end. Men who bring down one Emperor with impunity tend to imagine they can do the same again.’
This was another shocking new idea to me. I had always regarded the Roman Emperors — even the half-crazed Commodus himself — as creatures set apart by destiny, close to being the deities they sometimes claimed to be. (Not that Pertinax had ever called himself a god!) This view of them as calculating and ambitious predators — human spiders spinning a web of treason and deceit and clinging to power by devouring enemies — was disquieting. ‘So what do you think the new Emperor will do?’ I managed.
‘Knowing Didius, he’ll do what he’s advised,’ the commander said. ‘Left to himself, he’d rather bribe and flatter than make enemies. So let’s hope that he surrounds himself with people of like mind and they tell him to try and buy support rather than wreak vengeance on Pertinax’s men and run the risk of popular revolt.’ He set the chosen letter to one side as he spoke, and began to gather up the other documents. ‘I wish I knew which people were advising him. It would make your patron rather safer too.’
I stared at him in horror. That aspect of events had not occurred to me. But, of course, it should have done. Marcus was no mere supporter of the murdered Pertinax — he was an intimate. He counted the late Emperor as his patron and his friend. And he was at this moment on his way to Rome, if he was not there already — an obvious target for this Didius.
‘That is why you agreed to see me!’ I exclaimed. ‘And why you said that Marcus stood to lose more than just a houseful of possessions and some slaves. You think he is in danger of his life?’
‘Of his rank and fortune, anyway. I wanted to discover where he was so that I could warn him,’ the commander said. He was absently re-rolling another of the scrolls. ‘Of course he may have heard the news already and decided to turn back of his own accord. The whole of the Empire will be buzzing by this time, and Marcus is days nearer to events in Rome than we are here. Let’s hope he doesn’t carry on to the Imperial Court and try to be heroic by making public speeches against the overthrow. He’d find himself in prison, or in exile — or worse. If he comes straight back to Glevum he should be safe enough, provided he doesn’t thrust himself into the public consciousness. The new Emperor is not a man to worry about what is not underneath his nose.’
‘You sound as if you know this Didius.’
The commander shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve met him once or twice. He commanded the twenty-second Primigenia for a time.’
I nodded slowly, trying to weigh what this might mean for us, his subjects now. Probably nothing in particular. Almost all Emperors have been military men, ever since Caius Julius, and the support of the army is obviously what keeps men in power. ‘So he will have the loyalty of the Germanic legions, as well as the praetorians, if there is revolt?’
The vestige of a smile played round the handsome mouth. ‘I’m not so sure of that. He was no soldier really — more interested in politics and power, even then, though his subsidiary officers were excellent and built a reputation for him, which he did not personally deserve. But he has powerful allies. He was raised in the court of the Aurelians and Marcus’s aged mother was his patroness. So it did not surprise anyone when he rose like cream and was promoted to be governor of a string of provinces, each one a little bigger and more important than the last.’
‘Always ambitious, then?’