Blood and Steel Read online

  Copyright

  HarperCollinsPublishers

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2015

  Copyright © Harry Sidebottom 2015

  Maps © John Gilkes 2015

  Jacket layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

  Jacket photographs © Anja Weber-Decker/Arcangel Images (hand, chains); Shutterstock.com (coins)

  Harry Sidebottom asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  While some of the events and characters are based on historical incidents and figures, this novel is entirely a work of fiction.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

  Ebook Edition © MAY 2015 ISBN: 9780007499908

  Source ISBN 9780007499885

  Version 2015-04-29

  Dedication

  To Katie and Jeremy Habberley

  Do not fear god,

  Do not worry about death;

  What is good is easy to get, and

  What is terrible is easy to endure

  PHILODEMUS (HERCULANEUM PAPYRI 1005, 4.9–14)

  One could press on or draw back in a private enterprise, and commit oneself more deeply or less at will, in accordance with the prospects of the moment. But in the pursuit of an empire there was no mean between the summit and the abyss

  TACITUS, HISTORIES 2.74

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Maps

  Cast of Main Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Historical Afterword

  Thanks

  Blood & Steel: Glossary

  About the Author

  Also by Harry Sidebottom

  About the Publisher

  CAST OF MAIN CHARACTERS

  IN ROME

  Vitalianus: The Praetorian Prefect in Rome, and Sabinus, Prefect of the City, officers of Maximinus

  Menophilus and Valeria: Envoys of the Gordiani

  Pupienus: Sometime Prefect of the City

  Pupienus Maximus: His elder son

  Pupienus Africanus: His younger son

  Gallicanus: A Senator of Cynic views

  Maecenas: His intimate friend

  Balbinus: A patrician of dissolute ways

  Timesitheus: The ambitious Prefect of the Grain Supply

  Tranquillina: His even more ambitious wife

  Maecia Faustina: Daughter of Gordian the Elder, sister of Gordian the Younger

  Marcus Junius Balbus: Her young son

  The die-cutter: A workman in the Mint

  Castricius: His young and disreputable neighbour

  Caenis: A prostitute visited by both

  IN AFRICA

  Gordian the Elder: Formerly governor of Africa Proconsularis, now proclaimed Emperor

  Gordian the Younger: His son and legate, also now proclaimed Emperor

  Arrian and Sabinianus: Their supporters

  Capelianus: Governor of Numidia, and enemy of Gordian

  IN THE NORTH

  Maximinus Thrax: The Emperor

  Caecilia Paulina: His deceased wife

  Verus Maximus: His son and heir

  Iunia Fadilla: Wife of Verus Maximus

  Apsines of Gadara: Secretary to Maximinus

  Flavius Vopiscus: Senatorial governor of Pannonia Superior

  Honoratus: Senatorial governor of Moesia Inferior

  Anullinus: Senior Praetorian Prefect

  Volo: The commander of the frumentarii

  Domitius: The Prefect of the Camp

  Julius Capitolinus: Equestrian commander of 2nd legion Parthica

  Sabinus Modestus: Commander of the heavy cavalry, cousin of Timesitheus

  IN THE WEST

  Decius: Governor of Hispania Tarraconensis, loyalist of Maximinus

  IN THE EAST

  Priscus: Equestrian governor of Mesopotamia

  Philip: His brother

  Otacilius Severianus: Governor of Syria Palestina, brother-in-law of Priscus and Philip

  Catius Clemens: Governor of Cappadocia, longtime supporter of Maximinus

  Ardashir: Sassanid King of Kings

  Chapter 1

  Rome

  The Palatine Hill,

  The Day before the Nones of March, AD238

  It was still dark. The Praetorian Prefect liked to walk in the imperial gardens before dawn. No attendants were with him, and he carried no torch. It was a moment of calm and solitude, a time for reflection, before the duties of the day, the duties that always seemed to stretch away like a vexatious journey with no evident ending.

  Vitalianus often thought about retirement, about living quietly in the country with his wife and daughters. He pictured the house in Etruria. The Via Aurelia and the busy market town of Telamon were only a couple of miles away over the hill, but they might have belonged in a different country or another age. The villa lay between the shore and the terraced slopes, looking out over the sea. It had been built by his grandfather. Vitalianus had added two new wings and a bath house. The estate now extended inland along both banks of the Umbro. It was ideal for retirement, for reading and writing, appreciating the views, for passing time with his wife, and enjoying the company of his daughters in the last few years before they married. No place was better suited for a man to lay down the cares of office.

  Certainly Vitalianus had earned a time of leisure. His career had been long – commander of an auxiliary cohort in Britain, legionary tribune with the 3rd Augustan in Africa, Prefect of a cavalry unit in Germania, Procurator of imperial finances in Cyrenaica, four years with the Moorish cavalry, leading them through the eastern campaign and then to the Rhine – decades of service, across the breadth of the empire. He was no longer young: past fifty, and needed to rest. But duty still called, and the additions and improvements to his patrimony had no
t come cheap. The stipend and other profits of another three, perhaps four years as Praetorian Prefect, and he could call it a day.

  The white marble borders of the paths shone in the darkness. The cunningly sculpted box hedges and the fruit trees were indistinct black shapes, the plane trees and the ivy that linked them a solid black wall. It was quiet in the Hippodrome, just the rill of water in the fountains; almost hard to believe he stood in the centre of a city with a million inhabitants. Vitalianus was glad he had removed the previous Emperor’s aviaries. The murmuring and shifting of the doves – had there really been twenty thousand of them? – had disturbed his morning walks. It was typical of Alexander that he had occupied his time issuing imperial pronouncements about the birds, sanctimoniously boasting how the sale of eggs financed his collection, even produced a modest income, while his mother had stolen fortunes from the treasury, and great swathes of the east were overrun by the Persians, and German tribes put the northern provinces to the torch. Vitalianus had not been party to the plot, but Alexander was better off dead.

  Stopping by a marble nymph, Vitalianus absentmindedly ran a hand over her smooth thigh. He could find his way around these twisting walks blindfold. His thoughts took their own course. Risen from the ranks, Maximinus might be uncultured, even crude and violent, but he was a better Emperor than his predecessor. At least the Thracian could fight; for the last three years he had done nothing but campaign beyond the Rhine and Danube. Vitalianus had done well out of the regime; promoted first to governor of Mauretania Caesariensis, then to deputy Praetorian Prefect. It was a remarkable achievement for an equestrian from a backwater of Italy, a man with few significant backers. A member of the second order should legitimately aspire to nothing higher. And Vitalianus continued to serve the regime diligently. The endless court cases that awaited him today and almost every day were only the start.

  With the majority of the praetorians accompanying the field army, it had proved difficult for Vitalianus to maintain order in Rome. The remaining one thousand men were not enough to disperse the crowds occasioned by certain arrests, or to clear the mobs occupying those temples whose treasures were to be requisitioned to help pay for the war. Efficiency would be served if he could issue orders to the six thousand men of the Urban Cohorts as well. But that would never happen. The very first Emperor, Augustus, had separated the command of the troops stationed in Rome. An equestrian Prefect led the Praetorians, while a Senatorial Prefect of the City controlled the Urban Cohorts. One officer watched the other, and the Emperor could be reassured that no individual could seize the Eternal City, at least not without an armed struggle. To be sure, things had been better once Sabinus had replaced Pupienus as Prefect of the City. The Urban Cohorts and the Praetorians might have no love for each other, but under firm leadership together they could contain the turbulent plebs urbana. The hand of Maximinus lay heavy on the city, but the northern war demanded sacrifices, and so far the Emperor had not struck down those who served him loyally. Safety lay in prompt obedience, no matter what the order. Three or four more years and Vitalianus could withdraw from the fray.

  A scream of gulls brought Vitalianus back to his surroundings. The sky was lightening. It was time to take up the reins. He adjusted his sword-belt, the very visible badge of his office, hitched up his tunic, and walked up the stairs to where his secretary and two praetorians waited. Together they set off through the heart of the palace.

  Apart from a handful of servants and guards, there was no one in the main imperial audience chamber. The echoing near-emptiness revealed its more than human scale. Three storeys of columns soared up a hundred feet to where the great beams of cedar supporting the wide span of the ceiling were lost in shadow. At the far end of the hall the gathering light outlined the monumental door through which an Emperor would appear to the press of his subjects assembled below on the palace forecourt. Opposite the opening, a seated statue of Maximinus occupied the apse where the living ruler would sit enthroned to receive the Senate and favoured petitioners, should he ever return to Rome. Along the walls, the gods in marble gazed down from their niches at their adamantine colleague.

  Vitalianus performed adoration, bowing his head and blowing a kiss from his fingertips. Suddenly he wondered what it would be like to hold court in this hall, not to bow but to receive obeisance, to be lord of all you surveyed. Two Emperors had risen from the equestrian order. As a child Maximinus had herded goats. Vitalianus’ mind shied away. Even to entertain such thoughts was treason. A careless word or gesture, something muttered in your sleep, any of them could lead to an accusation. From there events would run their course; a closed carriage to the north, the pincers and claws wielded by skilled hands, until you begged for the executioner’s sword. Your head set on a pike. The crows feasting on your eyes. He straightened up, and marched purposefully towards the door to the neighbouring basilica.

  When he entered, the hum of conversation died. The first petitioners had been admitted. This hall was smaller. Twin Corinthian colonnades running down the long walls further encroached on the floor space. Among those waiting, he saw Timesitheus.

  As he marched down the nearer colonnade, Vitalianus brought the case to mind. The little Greek was embroiled in a private dispute over an inheritance. Timesitheus was in charge of the grain supply. His opponent was a leading Senator. All things being equal, neither was a man one would choose to alienate. But things were not equal. Timesitheus had a sworn enemy in Domitius, the Prefect of the Imperial Camp, and the latter was one of the few patrons Vitalianus had close to the Emperor. And there was a personal animosity. Three years before in the consilium, in front of all the councillors of the Emperor, Timesitheus had argued against the appointment of Vitalianus as governor of Mauretania Caesariensis. The Graeculus had to be desperate to seek his aid now. The desperation would do him no good.

  A centurion of the Praetorians stepped forward as Vitalianus approached the apse where the tribunal stood.

  ‘Soldiers have arrived from the north, Prefect. The despatches bear the imperial seal. Their officer says he has a private message of the utmost importance from Maximinus Augustus himself. It concerns the security of the Res Publica. They are waiting in the portico outside.’

  Vitalianus nodded. ‘Tell them I will hear them in a moment.’ He ascended the raised dais, and faced the hall. ‘Forgive me, the court will delay its sitting. Orders have come from the most noble Augustus.’ Despite his politeness, a sea of anxious faces gazed up at him. They knew as well as he what it meant: more arrests, more leading men rushed under close guard to the north, never to be seen again. It could be any one of them. The Graeculus Timesitheus, his senatorial opponent and every man present would be consulting his conscience, calling to mind every recent conversation, no matter how trivial. They did not fear just for themselves. All knew the dreadful repercussions for the family of the victims: the headman’s block, or, at best, exile, confiscation and abject poverty.

  Outside the sun had risen. The light flashed back from the highly polished cladding of the walls. Treachery and fear were nothing new in Rome. Long ago the Emperor Domitian had had the white reflective stone brought from distant Cappadocia. Like all Emperors, he had wanted to see what happened behind his back.

  Two soldiers were talking to the centurion and the four Praetorian guards by the rear doors of the basilica. They fell silent, and snapped to attention, when they saw Vitalianus. The centurion gestured out beyond the portico into the open space.

  An officer was standing by the central fountain. He had his back to Vitalianus, and seemed to be studying how the waters ran down the island that depicted Sicilia and gave the courtyard its name. At the sound of footfalls, he turned. He was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, dark haired and good-looking. He was vaguely familiar, but Vitalianus could not place him.

  ‘Prefect.’ The young officer saluted. Close up, he was pale and looked tired. His tunic was travel stained. Among the ornaments on his military belt was a memento mori, a skeleton
in silver. He handed over the despatch.

  Vitalianus turned the diptych in his hands: ivory and gold, clumsily sealed in imperial purple with the eagle of the Caesars. He broke the seal, unfolded the hinged block, and read.

  Imperator Gaius Iulius Verus Maximinus to Publius Aelius Vitalianus, our most loving and loyal Prefect of the Praetorians. While marching against the Sarmatians, it was with great sadness we received information of yet another conspiracy. The eminence of the traitors precludes writing their names. The bearer of this letter will tell you their identity. Now I entreat you that in the same spirit in which you were chosen as Prefect and have conducted your duties you will spare no efforts in apprehending these evil-minded malefactors and convey them to us, so that with careful inquiry we can ascertain how far they have spread their sacrilegious poison.

  Our son Verus Maximus Caesar sends his greetings, and his wife Iunia Fadilla, too, greets both you and your wife. To your daughters we will send a present, worthy both of their virtue and your own. We command you to hold the troops in the city in their allegiance to the Res Publica and to ourselves, my most loyal, most dear, and loving friend.

  Below the courtly hand of the imperial secretary was the rough scrawl MAXIMINUS AUGUSTUS.

  ‘Who?’ Vitalianus said.

  Unexpectedly the officer smiled. ‘The Prefect of the City, Sabinus, and he is only the first.’

  Vitalianus looked up sharply. A movement caught his eye reflected in the wall opposite. He turned. The two soldiers had drawn their swords.