Rivals in Blood

  Rivals in Blood

  D A V I D G A L V I N

  D G P

  MMXVIII

  To John

  This edition first published December 2018

  David Galvin Publications DGP

  Granary Cottage

  East Melbury

  Shaftesbury

  Dorset

  SP7 0DW

  ISBN 978 0 9563681 4 0

  CONDITIONS OF SALE

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  This book is sold subject to the conditions that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  SYNOPSIS

  The far off war horns of roman legions marching to battle won’t be heard from the Villa Juliana, but their coming together will have its repercussions as Britannia’s army is usurped by the rebel Magnentius and unless a ruling compromise is agreed with the legitimate emperor Constantius, citizen soldier will again face up to citizen soldier. None is forthcoming.

  Therefore, from the mosaic splendour of rural pagan life, the Briton Salvius Castus is unwittingly drawn into this struggle against his will. Fighting far from home and uncertain that he will ever return, what is to be left of his father in law’s promises for him? Will the cautious and politically sensitive Flavius Martinus rise up against the new order or will he too succumb? What of Salvius? What is he set to lose?

  Chapter I

  AD349

  WEDDING DAY

  The fingers of a green fern had broken loose from the woodland bank that supported them and in the silent, light deprived darkness of the glade they helplessly awaited the oncoming deluge of summer rain. Stooping lower, they bowed as drops of water cascaded through the foliage to accumulate on outstretched arms where with sufficient weight the plant yielded before slowly recovering its posture and shaking the burden off. From the porch of the villa, Flavius Martinus, Roman vicarius of the province of Britannia, stared miserably at this torrent as black clouds wrestled for control of the heavens. Today his daughter was to marry. Where were the propitious omens he sought? Where were the signs that Hymenaeus and Averruncus were listening?

  The etched palm of his hand pushed gently against a damp column for support and by its appearance the new golden stone had been freshly repaired and scraped free of lichen by the mute mason. He was identifiable by quickly darting from shadow to shadow so as not to be seen or to offend the vicarius or Hymenaeus with his lowly presence. Retreating gracefully inside where his guests mournfully crouched, greasy cloak still over his head, Martinus couldn’t help but remain vigilant to the sound of the dribbling of rain water dropping into the sacred pool constantly feeding the baths. At that chosen time, and to everybody’s combined acknowledgement, he audibly promised a large offering at the day’s end to the nymphs that protected them if all was to go well after which he was annoyingly summoned to uncomfortably, yet politely, push his way outside to greet the arrival of a single horseman. He little expected the flash of light in the sky or warring bodies of dark clouds colliding, throwing a white arrow scorching its way down the trunk of a moss laden tree and causing him to reel back in fear, drawing his hood tight across his face. A branch broke off, cart-wheeling to the ground and crushing the foliage as it went before finally coming to rest at an awkward repose. The greater roar of wind accompanied the commotion whilst Favonius reared his head and old Jupiter threatened to add more violence at will. Nervously the horseman fought for control of his mount. Then it stopped. It was a spent force and Martinus struggled to understand. Was this the sign in Julius mensis?

  Additional drops of water, softly yet rhythmically, dripped from the dull washed tiled roofs of the villa and gently patting the ground they accumulated into puddles that lay as mirrors reflecting the brightening sky, whilst the soft sound of the spring feeding the pool again became audible. It was now towards the eastern horizon and across the river meadows that the storm clouds stalked their way whilst from the western ridge behind, the air felt fresher, drawing the few brave faces out from one of the reception rooms to enquire as to whether or not today’s wedding was being abandoned? Martinus, now respectfully bareheaded, quietly reassured them that it was not and an unpredictable summer storm would never postpone the arrival of Salvius Castus, wherever he happened to be. The superstitious man had been given every reason to believe that this moment was right and that the Villa Juliana, just to the east of Corinium Dubonnorum, was a good one in which to conclude matters that he had already put into hand. In return for marrying his daughter Faustina and to receive beneficial help, Salvius was to extol in his worship of the pagan ways and to not succumb to the Christians. There had been decades of uncertain years and the congregation there were not to be identified. Therefore only the trusted few had been invited and those who were already sworn into the old religion and educated enough not to believe or be tricked into anything other. Martinus had witnessed the rising of the church and watched as its political influence spread. From afar new persecutions were ordered and landowners willingly handed over their wealth in return for salvation. It was for his own protection that the villa owner who worshiped the ancient values too, allowed this ritual to take place in secret.

  To get to the estate which was deeply hidden in a small amphitheatre of woodland infused with the aroma of wild garlic one had to ride off the Corinium road and travel a few miles north. Once there every privilege had been supplied for the congregation. The baths were warm, the bedrooms swept clean and the inviting flavours of a wedding feast drifting lazily to where the river meandered below. Silently, and without fuss, the slaves prepared the food to the recipes that spoke of every indulgence. Martinus had provided the cook from his own household and had him swear silence to all he may witness; names and faces. Everywhere was busy yet the road still empty of its most important traveller and without wishing to draw attention to itself the day was wearing on and had reached the fourth hour. The horseman, happily dismounted, had himself come off the road from Corinium whereupon Martinus took him to one side and in official code heard that all was quiet in the town and that no guards had been called out. Nobody was to be any the wiser as to his whereabouts that day but if suddenly required for any reason then he was on private business. Uninvited friends would lie for him. He filled the rider’s hand with silver coinage asking that he ride away again and watch the road below. If Salvius was coming then it had better be soon.

  A resurgent Sol regained his strength and allowed Aurora to point the golden way across the heavens. The orb illuminated the wings of the villa in a beautiful warm light drawing the guests out to admire the playful spirits of the river nymphs shimmering and dancing by the water’s edge. It seemed that everywhere was at peace and had been for many years in the earthy richness of the countryside. In total there were ten guests, all friends. Faustina’s mother however was absent as she had been abducted by a Saxon raid years earlier leaving Martinus heartbroken. Neither a military nor a violent man he anxiously wanted to ensure the safety of his only daughter and was rightfully cautious of those who ruled over him. Throughout his court career he had learnt well the wounding art of whispering, and in the privacy of his own official country villa far enough to the south east of Aquae Sulis he could speak quietly of palace plots and the possible threats to his life. At fifty one years of age his days would come to their end and he sought compassionately all
means to protect Faustina. Although unwilling to lie at first, he later began to find it expedient. The right word here, the right praise there, and you were left alone. However, the discord of constant imperial fighting, having to report to the Praetorian Prefect in Augusta Treverorum and the ever rising power of a new religious order meant that the island was becoming disunited, sluggish and lacked discipline in the face of any threat. He believed that this is what had taken his wife, leaving him yearning to see the past glories return if only for his daughter’s sake.

  Faustina, braving the puddles and the indignity of having to trouble her father for scant information regarding Salvius, came out of the porch. She too looked at the clearing sky before being drawn to the smouldering tree trunk that framed the view to the ridge above. The light catching her noble face through the orange-yellow veil revealed her true innocence. At home she had eaten well, was educated and had all the attractions of being the daughter of an important man. No other person would dare contradict her without authority from her father. She believed what he believed and today her trust was in the man she was to marry.

  ‘My child, stay inside’ said the protective Martinus.

  ‘Your clothes will spoil. If not for Salvius, then look your best for yourself.’

  He tried not to reveal his frustration at all the delays before his guests.

  ‘Come...’, and he led her proudly back into the villa and past the embarrassed enquiring faces that hadn’t yet started whispering.

  ‘Have you seen all the dining room mosaics? Let me show you. Some are grander than ours,’ he said, knowing that his position wasn’t as important as it had been in times gone past.

  He was now a weaker, less influential man and temporarily regretting his involvement in the whole affair regarding his future son in law. It was still possible to venerate the ancient deities of Roma in private. Nobody had dared to banish them from the home and nobody would. Furthermore, here in the provinces of Britannia, who would know what was being invoked? Except the emperors disliked secrets, and prayers to an unpopular deity were seen as that. Martinus chose not to dwell on it and instead relayed in greater than necessary detail the story of the central figure in the mosaic, Bacchus, and the four panels depicting the seasons that surrounded him. Faustina tried her hardest to look interested – perhaps on another day? The aroma from the adjacent kitchen had caught her imagination instead. It was venison and lamb being roasted with the twin spices of cumin and coriander wafting on the morning air. She closed her eyes and from afar thought she could hear the light notes of happiness, a pipe playing with male shouts of stupidity to accompany it. Closer they came and closer until her father heard them too and excusing himself quickly left the dining room to go outside.

  The groom’s party were expected to have arrived from the east and taking the road that followed the river to where the small temple lay, yet that wasn’t where the jocularity was coming from. It came out of the west and from amongst the wooded banks where a steep, slender path had divided them. Down it, and full of some merriment, came Salvius Castus accompanied by two others making enough noise to excite an army. The kitchen slaves keen for an opportunity to witness scandal before them, glanced up from their work before quickly glancing eyes down again and attempting to look the other way. Martinus, now standing at the terminus of the path, glared before raising an arm authoritatively to bring dignity to the affair. Behind him Sol climbed a little higher in the sky and the day stretching itself to become warmer and more inviting.

  ‘Greetings, Salvius Castus, come to me’, said Flavius Martinus wanting to impose his authority before them all.

  Separated, he led him the short distance towards a bank covered in vibrant green ferns, and in private spoke so few words that none were in danger of being overheard. The boy was seen nodding in compliant agreement before gladly breaking free of the embrace and rejoining his companions, but where was Faustina? She was sent for and emerged from amongst the throng of wealthy friends spilling from the villa’s entrance. Salvius looked longingly upon his bride before noticing that a slave had come out with her too but he quickly disappeared into the gardens and the groom forgot about it. Instead he clutched a pine torch in his hand from the ones that were being distributed amongst the congregation and which were being carefully lit by another slave whilst nuts were being thrown upon the floor about them. Not so mild vocal obscenities that deeply embarrassed Martinus started to be exchanged between the guests intermingled with a few bawdy songs, in an attempt to prevent bad fortune from seeing Salvius and Faustina as lucky and blessed. Sweet pipe notes continued to play along. It was to the temporary altar erected in the garden to examine the auspices that they were next led; the ones that Martinus had already influenced. The omens, the choice of incense and the warm entrails were correct and Hymenaeus it was felt was with them that day. Everybody relaxed at the right signs before more obscenities ensued resulting in Martinus clapping his hands loudly together and proclaiming to everyone there:

  ‘It is you Hymen, who transfers

  the flowering girl from her mother’s lap

  into the hands of a lusty young man,

  O Hymen Hymenaeus

  O Hymen Hymenaeus.

  Without your blessing, Hymen

  love cannot have the benefits

  which a good reputation establishes;

  with your blessing, unrivalled god,

  it can.’

  Memories of his own wife, their wedding day and his loss filtered through his mind before quietly departing in the beat of a heart. Yet he had to stop a moment to give respect to his thoughts before carefully going on:

  ‘Without your blessing, no home

  can produce legitimate heirs, no parent

  can count on offspring’ he said.

  ‘With your blessing, unrivalled god

  it can.

  Without your rites

  no land could protect

  its boundaries;

  with your rites, unrivalled god,

  it could.’

  Nothing served to disturb the collective happiness of the congregation that day. Nobody looked up from the ground and nobody made comment on wanting to start feasting early on the roasting meat that patiently popped and crackled in the clay oven. It was nearly over and Faustina, her head covered in a saffron veil, was encouraged towards Salvius and away from her father’s side where she had faithfully stood for so long.

  ‘Step forward, new bride...’ Martinus said.

  ‘Don’t be frightened. Hear our words.

  See! Our torches burn like golden hairs.

  Step forward new bride.

  As the clinging grapevine

  embraces the nearby tree,

  so will you fold your new husband

  in your embrace. But the day is waning.

  Step forward new bride.

  What joys await you new Lord,

  what pleasures

  during the dark night,

  or even at midday. But the day is waning.

  Step forward, new bride.’

  Now an adult and free of her father, Faustina gently took the hands of her husband and smiled. Nervously she readied herself for the final insult that was to follow.

  ‘Raise up your pine torches, boys!’ said Martinus, encouraging them to do so.

  ‘I see her saffron veil.

  Come on, sing in harmony

  O Hymen Hymenaeus,

  O Hymen Hymenaeus’ he cried.

  Salvius threw down his torch and through the token of smouldering pine flame and smoke the pair danced towards the dining room kicking off their shoes for the slaves to pick up. In the background and noticeable along the corridor, she could hear Salvius’ two friends shouting out wildly:

  ‘And you bride, don’t deny to your husband

  the things that he wants

  lest he seeks them elsewhere.

  O Hymen Hymenaeus

  O Hymen Hymenaeus.’

  But she didn’t care and quickl
y forgot about them. He was what she wanted.

  Once inside, with clean sandals and couched around the dining room tables, the party feasted with Martinus proudly preparing to give the father’s speech. To begin with there were small but plentiful servings of fresh smoked fish from the river below, cooked in vine leaves with cheese, asparagus lightly fried in olive oil and ham in a wine and fennel sauce. Slaves busied themselves refilling coloured glass beakers with cool white wine, herbs and honey. Some were waved away, others not. Some took water with strong wine, others not.

  Martinus, slightly troubled by such manners himself eventually rose to speak from the head of the tables:

  ‘My guests,’ he freely began.

  ‘Relax. In this rural seclusion we are all joined together. In the belief of our ancient rites we allow ourselves to celebrate the old customs and see that Faustina and Salvius enjoy the protection of the gods afforded to them this day. May they in their turn afford this right to their children and their children thereafter. Today they progress into marriage with joyful hearts and a bond that will tie them together.’

  He looked towards his only daughter and smiled. She smiled back and Martinus all too briefly saw his absent wife in her face before duty again drove him on.

  ‘Salvius will join the army soon’ he declared for the boy no more than twenty two years old and appearing timid.

  ‘I will speak for him with Constans’ prefect and ensure that he gets a good promotion.’

  A small wave of enthusiastic applause echoed about intermingled with a chance to fidget for nobody knew how long Martinus was going to talk. After all he was an imperial official.

  ‘There are changes happening and we must resist them resolutely if needs be’ he said but quickly stopped abruptly to check his words as if realising that he had erred from the day’s meaning.

  ‘All of those who are witness today have been chosen for their strength of character and tomorrow we must continue in our way; the only way that we have known.’