Rivals in Blood Page 12

  There was no reply forthcoming.

  Wishing for more time, he would have apologised profusely to his father in law more than he ever could have done to Constantius. To him he had merely lied to preserve his life and felt little empathy for the changes that he believed in. Then with nothing more that he wished to say Martinus left and they were the last words that the two men were to exchange.

  Salvius sat on the edge of the bed and wept. He cried first for himself and for the unforeseen dangers that he had found himself in. He then cried for spirits of the family of Flavius Martinus who had supported him in their choice of son in law. He felt unworthy, dispirited and powerless. His life was now seemingly ruled over by the distant Constantius whom he vowed to fight wherever he could and in whatever way. No one man would govern him.

  As for himself he felt renewed yet weak as he began to dress in the cold clothes of last night, but raised voices shouting outside the door and running feet along a corridor brought with them a chilling memory that he hadn’t known since being taken from here four years ago. Had Magnentius survived only to reach Britannia and punish his deserters? Had the remnants of his army raised yet another banner against the east?

  Getting the last of the damp cloth to annoyingly stretch over his head he pulled his filthy tunic tight across his waist, grabbed his cloak and climbed out of the ground floor window and into the garden. Outside there was crisp bright sunshine but with a sharp frost hiding in the shade. He carefully took a few steps to the side not wishing to alert anybody to his presence by the cracking of ice beneath his feet and through a window shutter partially open he suddenly noticed his father in law. Although having only recently left him the man looked pale, agitated and resentful at the many accusations that were being made against him.

  Salvius couldn’t see the accuser or recognise his name which he only just heard as being Paulus.

  Soldiers of various ranks stood there by his side. Others in chains were being led away as men he knew as friends were paraded before the vicarius for him to identify by name. He refused and for that he was abused by men who clearly disrespected his authority which was now visibly waning.

  The chill of wearing damp clothes began to tell and Salvius shivered needing to get into the youthful sunlight if he could. Not expecting anybody to be out in the garden nobody inside came to close the shutters enabling him to slide under the frame and into the daylight where he continued to watch and listen intently to what was being said. Tight fingers clung to the stone ledge and his head bobbed to and fro. His anger at seeing his father in law being treated like this pushed his blood harder and his muscles trembled with anxiety at being caught. Moments earlier that day he had vowed to take responsibility for his life but was this the time? Martinus could defend himself. He was the legal representative of the emperor and answerable to the Praetorian Prefect of Gallia but there were explicit charges to answer that Salvius knew nothing about so he decided not to act. In his own thoughts he heard it repeated over and over that Magnentius had fled the field of battle at Mursa without any conscience, only for his men to perish in their thousands. Salvius had been left there to die. The memory of being abandoned was very real.

  The next accusation that he could just about make out was of worshiping the old gods and not respecting the new church. Martinus ferociously denied this declaring that it had to be proven and couldn’t simply be fabricated. The island was deeply divided and in many hidden rural villas there was still an observance to the old ways. Mosaics were popular with the wealthy but for this he was reprimanded again by Paulus who demanded that in future riches and land be given to the church and not squandered on mere decoration. His master, Constantius, would be enforcing this rigidly. Martinus knew of no such decoration that had been laid in the three year conflict and if he had then the panels of Bacchus could easily be defaced in support of Christos. That didn’t fall under his responsibility he stated. His clerks also held no records as to who owned which villa. The information would have to be gleaned from the provincial capitals and that could take him months.

  Not satisfied with the answer, Paulus demanded to know if he had ever participated in any ancient rituals and Martinus replied that he unashamedly had; his daughter’s wedding.

  Another man was then paraded before the tiring vicarius.

  ‘Do you know him?’ asked the tall, burly accuser who had been personally chosen by Constantius for this task.

  ‘Yes’ replied Martinus.

  The soldier fidgeted at the instant trial going on before him.

  ‘He commands in Eboracum’ he said.

  ‘And is it true that he provided men and arms for Magnentius to be used against Constantius?’

  Martinus wanted the accusation to be levelled at the man himself as he couldn’t be responsible for everybody’s part in the rebellion. There was a lot that he didn’t know and Magnentius had arrived unannounced and had taken what he wanted. However he bore his office with pride and reluctantly consented, at which the soldier was dragged away as yet another prisoner.

  Salvius, suffering a little cramp himself, moved slightly to alleviate it without interrupting his viewing. This was dangerous evidence that he was witnessing and above anything else he had heard in his life. Quickly scanning about the garden he was confident of escaping if he had to but chose to continue in his observation of events unfolding before his very eyes.

  Paulus was seen to amble menacingly towards the vicarius whom he demanded prostrate himself at his feet in submission to the new emperor. The conversation was again inaudible but visibly terse to Salvius. Both men were reluctant to give in and at his refusal Martinus was grabbed from behind and pushed face down onto the mosaic floor by two guards. Around him the men previously in support of his authority were now too scared for their own lives, and one by one, swore their own loyalty to the house of Constantius.

  ‘This is the evidence of a traitor’ shouted Paulus before allowing the vicarius to recover and get to his feet.

  He called loudly for a particular sword to be brought forward.

  ‘See before you the weapon of Magnentius, the instrument of his death’ and he handed it to Martinus in expectation of him committing the same honourable deed.

  Watching every move, Salvius twitched nervously at what he couldn’t do to intervene.

  In Martinus’ hand the sword felt so heavy as if it had been crafted specifically for a huge man. He noticed that on its blade were specks of dried blood and its cutting edges were pitted with signs of violent usage. In his right hand he let it drop slightly under its own weight before recovering it with just enough strength to be able to grip the handle more tightly. He looked across to Paulus who was undeniably anticipating the end of the trial and with guards beside him had no reason to expect anything. Martinus didn’t hesitate. Running straight at the man before him he attempted to drive the sword home but with insufficient strength to inflict the mortal blow it couldn’t penetrate the folds in the accuser’s cloak. Now with the sword still hanging in his hand and watching the guards rapidly withdrawing their own, a terrified Martinus chose to fall to the floor and onto the blade. All Salvius could see, and he had witnessed everything, was the hunched life of a good man fading away. He too was now completely alone.

  ‘Stop!’ shouted the bodyguard patrolling the garden.

  He had been stalking him silhouetted against the white plaster walls but with little now to lose Salvius didn’t and despite suffering the discomfort of cramp ran for his life as a spear point narrowly missed his head to graze a tree. Swerving through the snow covered garden he found the dark swirling river of Londinium appearing before him and without any thought, in he leapt. The guard remembered hearing the splash. Beneath its mud brown surface a shock of cold water froze his face and then his limbs before taking his breath away as the current gently swept him beyond the shouts coming from the palace and events that had occurred there. He wouldn’t survive such a leap so the pursuit was abandoned and the river was allowed t
o keep his body and all it knew.

  Chapter IX

  AD354

  BELIEVE IT’S TRUE

  An iron boathook snagged on the cloak sufficiently well to enable the lifeless body to be pulled to the shore but had a few more strands of wet woollen fibre stretched and torn then the spinning mass would have just evaded capture to continue on its journey downstream. The young man appeared dead but as he had been seen jumping from the palace walls he must be somebody important so his clothes were searched and the small pouch of money given by Martinus was taken. There had been more than enough to justify saving his life but it wasn’t their motive. The money was.

  Salvius couldn’t remember anything other than jumping in the water and at such a low temperature had temporarily stopped living. It was only at the vigorous rubbing by his rescuers of his blue body that he coughed the shallowest of coughs and with filthy blankets found to warm him he gradually came to. Still clothed he was shivering violently so they had taken him inside their home, a small rectangular fishing house clinging to the wharf where a fire was recharged and Salvius lay down beside it like a dog. For days he continued to shake waiting for the latent spirit in his body to respond to the inedible food and warmth that he was receiving. Occasionally his rescuers would start arguing over the extra mouth to feed and wished to rush his recovery so they could be rid of him. Offering no explanation as to why he had leapt into the river he may have been dangerous. Salvius, for his part, looked upon the simplest of people and knew that they didn’t need to know anything. They wouldn’t understand.

  Eventually though, and having recovered sufficiently, the day came to leave. The palace guard, assuming that whoever had been in the garden and for whatever reason had then leapt into the river, abandoned their short search regarding the man as finished. Constantius now ruled and this hadn’t been a plot to kill him. Escaping from the city was therefore easier than expected and after gratefully embracing the fishing family he set out to look for Faustina. Without any record of how many days that he had been ill he wasn’t sure when Martinus’ message to his daughter would have been sent, if at all. If she had faithfully waited four years for him to return only to then discover that he was still alive, how would she react? Also what code would Martinus have used to protect her from being innocently ensnared by Paulus? There were no certainties and Salvius was unsure as to which direction to set off in. West he thought, so he headed towards Verulanium.

  Marching was harder than riding any horse. He had ridden to battle only to be coerced to walk away from it but now found life simpler without the responsibility of caring for an animal. He could steal food for himself and he did without any conscience learning to live free of the army. Everything along the roadside and in the adjacent fields was suddenly his and the hours of dark his favourite time of day. By walking, sleeping and stealing in that order he passed the miles by without notice and at Verulanium turned west for Corinium. He had never been here before. Occasionally a group of soldiers would ignorantly pass him on their way to somewhere but he didn’t stare at them and in their turn they barely noticed him. The garrison of Britannia was healing itself and renewing. Pledging that if Faustina wasn’t to be found then he would attempt to get home instead and search from there but after walking twenty days throughout Mensis Julius he thought that he began to recognise the landscape about him as the horizon rose towards the sky and the woods thickened. She would be found about here somewhere.

  In circumventing Corinium for safety’s sake, Salvius made his decision to follow a small track that met the main one and which ran parallel to a shallow river. The road surface bore very few signs of recent usage and was therefore free of damage.

  He sat beside the clear waters and not fearing their depth tried desperately to search his memory for the Villa Juliana. They didn’t come this way, as Martinus, who was keen to avoid the Bishop of Corinium, ordered them not to. They were to leave via the paths through the woods.

  There was a river he remembered; there was a shrine too and rich meadows. His wedding day smelt fragrant much like that very one and as it now began to feel right he threw a stone into the water, almost in celebration, got up, stretched and looking about him continued to walk. There was nobody to ask and he thought it sensible not to anyway. Who was a believer of the new church he couldn’t tell; who was an agent of Constantius he didn’t know. Anonymity was to be his mentor.

  The road tediously continued on for a few miles at which point Salvius grew despondent at ever finding its end. However, the felled woodland and the small stone lined fields holding sheep told of a villa somewhere close by. There above the valley bottom stood a pale plastered building with smoke rising from its kitchen but he wouldn’t go any closer as it could alert the dogs and elicit a search for whatever it was that had caused them to bark. He was suddenly alive to the flavours of that evening’s meal drifting down towards him. Chicken; He hadn’t tasted boiled and then roasted white chicken flesh for many months and he began to imagine. Before his eyes Flavius Martinus was holding a silver wine beaker up to be refilled whilst Faustina pulled at the best of the meat on the carcass. Fruit and pastries graced their table as Salvius watched on.

  He lay in the sweet bed of grass, looked up at the sky and listened to the river quietly going about its course and finding its way amongst the limestone pebbles waiting to be tumbled towards their final shape. If he was caught now, what better place to be taken? In the throes of his most comforting memories he was unaware of how close he was to the Villa Juliana.

  Having slept in peace throughout the warm afternoon he was awoken by a passing shadow moving across his half open eyes. He closed them again but the shadow returned only from the opposite direction. It couldn’t be, so he sat up and with arms stretched out either side of his chest, stared about him. Down the hill there was nothing to be seen but behind he could sense the crouched figure that was keeping its distance. He twisted awkwardly, stood up and although unready to fight would have done so. The figure wanted to speak but being unable to he instantly recognised that he was mute. It pointed to the small farmstead and then to itself as if to say that he lived there. Salvius looked at him desperately wanting to place him in his past but could only ask instead:

  ‘Do you know where Faustina is?’

  The man nodded eagerly before moving closer and holding Salvius gently by the arm. Once assured that his gesture had borne fruit he immediately let go as Salvius walked forward of his own accord and not through coercion. He was assured that this wasn’t a trap for the man was only just recognisable from his wedding day. His excitement grew and his heart quickened. How long had he waited for him to arrive? Had any message reached his wife and what did she know? These were questions that the mason was frustratingly unable to answer. However, they walked across the fields until it was necessary to ford the river itself and then before him lay the Villa Juliana but it wasn’t as he remembered.

  The huge building rose up before him but spoke no more of comfort or opulence. There appeared to be nobody there at all. It was empty but without the roof having collapsed or the walls having buckled. No smoke was seen coming from its kitchen and getting closer he could see that a padlock held the oak doors to the garden firmly shut. The wealthy owners had seemingly fled in haste and wouldn’t be returning soon. Salvius checked the perimeter like a soldier would attempting to besiege a town and once assured that no window shutter was weak enough to be broken gave in. He sat down in the shade of the tiled roof wanting to see his wife but unaware that the mason had disappeared.

  Time passed so slowly allowing reminiscences to form in his mind. The sound of the playful pipes as his friends came from the woods; the rain and the storm being washed away and followed by the warmth. Flavius Martinus performing the rites of passage and then the night spent with his new wife in the bedroom above. He longed for her again. He longed to restart their marriage and although never to be the same, this time they wouldn’t be parted. They would run and keep on running if neces
sary from the impositions of imperial rules until a new Magnentius arose and it was possible to admit who you were and what you believed in, but that was for the future.

  Feeling disrespectfully unclean he tore a strip off his woollen tunic where it had frayed and used it to tie his hair up. Hearing the trickle of water into a ditch and coming from the sacred pool behind the walls he then got up and washed his face the best he could. Despite everything he still felt dirty and unworthy.

  It was then that the mason returned to insert a key into the lock and push open the gates. Was Faustina inside and why? Taking his hand firmly he led him on as if he knew something. Salvius hesitated so as not to be caught in a trap. He was aware of no unpropitious signs and sensed no physical harm coming to him yet still showed reluctance in wanting to continue. The mason gestured with his hand to walk onwards. There was nobody there. The spirits of the place had gone. The courtyard was empty and despite continually looking around he followed the man in front until he stopped by one particular stone. He pointed at something; a carving.

  Salvius could only squint as it wasn’t entirely obvious to him what it was that he wanted him to see. Taking his hand though, he encouraged him to trace its outline. There was a letter Chi and through it ran another letter, Rho. Chi Rho: Christos. Salvius had seen the symbol elsewhere and painted clearly on the shields of his enemies at Mursa. Having touched it and immediately taking a step backwards he was confused as to why somebody would choose to carve it here?

  ‘You?’ he gestured at the mason, the man who would have the tools with which to have done it, but he simply shook his head from side to side in denial.

  ‘Why does it shock you, Salvius?’ said Faustina softly from behind the two men.

  Instantly recognising her voice, he turned about to see his wife standing there. She was dressed in a blue tunic with a red stola clasped at the shoulders but little effort had been made with her hair. On her feet were plain sandals and she wore no perfume.