Rivals in Blood Read online

  There the wives smiled at their husbands and the husbands confidently turned their golden rings bearing intaglios around on their fingers. They all knew what he meant. This was the time for Martinus to stop talking and at which point Faustina took her opportunity of gently squeezing his hand to thank and comfort him, whereupon he sat down. Although embarrassed he deeply felt the meaningful touch.

  Silver platters heavy with venison and lamb soon appeared accompanied by the vegetable fruits of the garden. Greasy fingers delicately plucked at the flesh whilst red faces swallowed down gentle mouthfuls of more wine and a soft patter of talk bounced off the painted walls. Outside the sun rose to its height and the sound of the creaking hinges of the window shutters being moved meant that shade would guard the diners throughout the worst of the heat. It was now the day’s ninth hour, and with the smooth cool tessellated mosaic floor beneath them and slaves efficiently gliding throughout the corridors bearing food, nobody wanted it to end.

  ‘Master’ said Salvius quietly, politely addressing his father in law from across the table.

  ‘My destiny is to ride with the cavalry. You know that. You have visited the farm where we rear horses and sell them to the army. If we were not skilled to do so then my parents would be here today, but unfortunately they cannot detach themselves so readily and travel because of that obligation.’

  In the silence of awaiting a reply he watched as on the opposite side somebody delicately took snail flesh into their mouth before he too copied them. Martinus was nodding his head in the direction of a gentle compliment to how well the day was going. No reply was yet forthcoming.

  ‘I cannot thank you enough for helping me’ Salvius embarrassingly continued.

  ‘Our future will be secure and I will make your daughter wealthier in all that I do.’

  Martinus smiled paternally at the innocent naivety whilst twisting his greasy fingers in a napkin. What did his only son in law know of life? Would he face danger and overcome it or would he run away and hide? Would he protect Faustina in the same lonely way that he had failed to protect her mother by not being there or by not taking the warnings of Saxon incursions seriously? Would Faustina feel deserted in time by men? The boy had little experience of anything and the vicarius, with clean hands and clean lips, put the napkin down. All they had was their love and nothing else.

  ‘Salvius, I shall not gamble a coin that today you will change’ Martinus said.

  ‘You now have responsibilities and tomorrow before we depart I will discuss those with you.’

  However, and catching sight of Faustina looking at her father in the manner of a warning not to lecture him, he stopped before reaching over to clasp the boy firmly on his arm. Salvius could smell clearly the strong scent of his perfume and felt more intoxicated in its power than he had ever done before. Martinus was right; today would be entirely different to yesterday and he was about to experience the inability of influencing other men’s lives whilst being influenced by them. Full of some confidence, he beckoned a slave to fill his beaker and those of his new friends before carefully rising to declare before all the couches;

  ‘May the Lares be openly thanked today, for silence does them no justice? Speak out, as I shall forever speak of my love for Faustina. Let us not fear what tomorrow brings as the way is guided and what shall happen because of it.’

  He hung his head low before proudly raising it.

  ‘The gods will hear us I am certain and I trust in my father in law, Flavius Martinus, to protect us!’

  Then without seeking any permission he drank his beaker empty and retook his place before acknowledging that the changes were happening. On his couch Martinus twitched uncomfortably at the unwanted compliment and trusted that the bishop of Britannia Prima wouldn’t get to hear those words himself.

  ‘Be quiet now boy’ he said.

  ‘That’s enough. I don’t want repercussions...if you solely believe in something and believe it to be true then it is sensible to keep your silence in company.’

  The meal slowly and peacefully came to its end with sweet pastries of honey and walnuts after which there were stories accompanied by music. After thanking everybody in turn for their presents and for attending, Salvius and Faustina retired to their bedroom on the upper floor of the south wing. The room was cool despite the warmth that had built up throughout the day, and the threat of more storms had long gone. Salvius checked it thoroughly in case his friends had arranged a surprise but nothing was out of place. He went to the shutters and pushed them open. Below in the courtyard he could see Martinus quietly talking to somebody but couldn’t hear a word. Over the steep ridge behind the villa the first of the evening stars were appearing and holding his arm out Salvius motioned as if plotting their course whilst they slept.

  ‘Shortly they shall be gone’ he whispered, ‘only to join us again tomorrow night when we shall be elsewhere. Yet they see everything.’

  He turned again to look below but the courtyard was now empty and only owls called from the forest instead. In the far corner of the villa the constant spring still babbled away, as a shallow white veil of night mist danced across the ground and towards it.

  ‘Come to my bed now’, said a tired Faustina pulling her husband away from the window.

  In the privacy of a warm embrace the couple enjoyed their first night together. They laughed as the bulging straw mattress and wooden bed swung to and fro like a boat upon the water without it collapsing at the height of their lovemaking. Then the pair rolled apart eventually, coming together again to tell secrets in the earliest hours of their married life.

  ‘Why have we come to Corinium?’ asked Salvius, and as if to justify his questioned added...

  ‘You’ve not told me about your mother’ but his wife wasn’t angered by the request.

  She pulled him a little closer for comfort, a tear about to run from one eye.

  ‘There is a mason here’ she said, wiping the moisture away from her tight skin.

  ‘You may have seen him. He is mute. I was always told that a boat army arrived here having sailed up Fluvius Sabrinus looking for something they wanted to take, so they took my mother and cut his tongue out to silence him. In returning here, my father always expects to find her and I have heard him cry at his loss but don’t say anything that will embarrass him for he is a good man. I know myself that she will never return. The gods have willed it. She would have liked you. She liked horses!’

  There were to be no more questions. The dry grey eyes of his wife now closed as Salvius gently stroked her soft brown skin and the stars outside followed the course that he had plotted for them. With his gods he vowed to protect her always and kissing her softly on the side of her face he too then succumbed to the night and fell soundly asleep by her side.

  Chapter II

  AD350

  BETRAYAL

  Rolling a hot, honey coated date between his fingers, fumbling with it and then dropping it into his mouth, Magnus Magnentius allowed himself to relax; with a suspension in the war this was the time of year that he could. Being comfortable in his seat he gave a contented sigh, then idly stretching his hand out, the tired, frustrated commander of the Herculean and Jovian forces of his Roman imperial majesty’s field army, cajoled a beautiful slave girl crouched at his side to lick it clean and threatened that if she drew blood then he would take hers. She immediately, delicately and obediently obeyed, wriggling her tongue out of a dry mouth and amongst the sword calloused fingers tasting the sweet metallic flavour of heavy gold rings that hadn’t been removed for years.

  Magnentius, laughing a little at the sensation, pulled his hand away to stroke the soft skin of his comforter. Where she came from he didn’t care, but when all too quickly he bored of her attentions he arose from his chair to gently push her aside with his heavy military boot. The needs of the camp, the army, and of loyal service had all too quickly replaced those brief enjoyable ones as his brother Decentius, along with Marcellinus, the emperor’s financial sec
retary, entered the room.

  Beckoning the way to the window for privacy, where he knew the wall outside fell steeply to the ground thus ensuring that they couldn’t be overheard, Magnentius stopped and stared out across the rich, but frost imprisoned lands of Gallia Lugdunensis, imagining that they were soon to be his. The two others joined him after telling the guards to evict the slave girls. Nobody wanted to raise an alarm just yet with misplaced rumours.

  Suppressed this day by the snow that was settling in the gaps of a wall in disrepair, the dominant fortress town of Augustodunum rose shapelessly from its heights stretching the roman ways out into the valley below, as it had done for hundreds of years and guiding a tributary of Fluvius Liger through meadows unproductive with ice. The town’s wealthy temples offered worship to all gods and all people at once whilst its theatres played life and death to many tribes. Communication with the roman camps to the east was good, as it was to the north and south. It was the ideal base for what Magnentius had in his mind yet his anxiety grew with every light snow shower turning thicker and the cloud laden sky whiter. Little by little he watched as the shallow afternoon sun began to set, the surrounding hills disappear from view and the trap of night slowly closed in.

  ‘My birthday greetings to your son’ said Magnentius turning back towards the room and the conversation to be had with his co-conspirator.

  ‘He will be joining us here shortly?’

  ‘Yes, and he will come in at your signal as we have arranged’ said the man still answerable to the emperor and adding...

  ‘He is entirely ignorant of your plan as you asked.’

  ‘Good’ replied Magnentius.

  ‘Have courage in that today we will escape from the impositions of Constantine and also ensure the end of his useless son Constans. If he evades us then we must cut him down wherever! Is every soldier ready to swear their oath of allegiance to me and tell me of his death? There is a reward to be paid for them doing so.’

  ‘Every man from every legion will support you’ said Decentius encouragingly but without knowing so for nobody had cajoled them.

  In lying he wanted to benefit himself from his brother’s disloyalty.

  ‘All officers serving under you have been invited to attend this party with no exceptions. I have also doubled the guards everywhere and ordered the closing of the four gates. No panic or alarm will creep from here tonight and my spies have informed me that nobody suspects anything. Are the priests of the Temple of Janus invited and the Bishop?’

  ‘Yes’ replied Magnentius without any compromise.

  ‘I need the support of everyone and I want their money too without becoming a temple robber! All wars are costly. They will give willingly in return for the freedom to practice their ways when the fighting is over and therefore a fair choice. Win or lose, under me their sanctuaries shall remain intact and who they elect to worship will affect no-one for there is too much choice. Their gods remain a mystery to me but if men are to risk their lives as mortals then they will only fight for gold and not heaven. That I know.’

  His logic was sound and he vowed to reward trust. The same trust that could see him betrayed and killed.

  ‘Marcellinus’ he bellowed with a self confident authority.

  ‘Get ready to invite your guests in, and remember this is the party to celebrate your fortune. This is the party that you have arranged and I am here at your invitation!’

  At that he laughed to himself before beckoning his brother closer.

  ‘Can we trust him?’ he whispered.

  Marcellinus stalked slowly about the room only stopping to arrest the shaking of his hands by warming them over the brazier and obviously conscious of the two brothers plotting amongst themselves, but he had nothing to fear. Constans he thought, and with his arrogant personal behaviour, had proved unworthy of his loyal service and now it was right for a change of master. The emperor’s brother Constantius was currently far to the east gathering his forces to fight the Persians and therefore who would suspect a plot against the other son of Constantine, and why now? As financial treasurer he was well rewarded and had everything that could be desired by someone of his education and family. There were comfortable villas; there was safety to be found within the court of the emperor; there was the protection of the army but there was also dissatisfaction at the very motivation of the man he served. Marcellinus had fallen prey to changes beyond his control although the seed had been planted years ago. He had met Magnentius numerous times at court requesting additional military support from Constans but in the emperor’s refusal to grant help many frustrated swords had thought about taking their chance. Yet it was the commander of the field army that now felt emboldened enough to risk everything. A tall and physically powerful man, he had amassed a personal following and spoke convincingly about the aftermath of his revolt. There was to be no more danger in facing the emperor himself in battle than there was in fighting his enemies, for he that ultimately killed triumphed, and in return for offering to help organise the new empire of the West Marcellinus was to be given a share of land in the provinces of Britannia, Gallia and Hispania. Magnentius, by his own admission, was only a soldier.

  The two brothers stopped talking and after a long embrace to confront the immediate peril that they were both facing, it was left to Decentius to walk over to Marcellinus saying...

  ‘My brother has asked me to generously thank you for the risks that you are taking’ but he himself was absent.

  ‘I think that we will allow your guests in now and reveal the future that they won’t be expecting. So kindly open the door.’

  He did as he was asked and the tribunes and prefects of the comitatus and limitanei on Fluvius Rhenus, the closest garrison, filed in past a rigid bodyguard. The guests were all unarmed as far as anybody could tell for they still wore their heavy military cloaks over their tunics, having been kept waiting in an adjacent colder room that was only illuminated by a struggling flame. The Bishop wore his cross. Yet swirling around in an organised polite manner they all congratulated Marcellinus upon his son’s birthday and made conversation about never having the time during the heat of summer to indulge in such frivolities.

  ‘Could the emperor request that the Alemanni stop the war and allow us to celebrate?’ one questioned.

  Another pertinently added directly...

  ‘Where is your son Marcellinus, for I can’t see him?’

  Then the bodyguard stiffened to attention and the hinges squeaked as the door shut upon the impending silence of a revolt about to occur. They were now all inside, captured and witnesses. Outside the snow settled upon the window frame and layer by individual layer prepared itself to be bound tight by the weight of the one above and by the oncoming cold of night.

  ‘Guests’ saluted Marcellinus, unsure of his own words.

  ‘My friends in Gallia’ he nervously repeated as if having not practiced his lines.

  His expectant audience turned to face him, directly standing in loose groups upon the cold stone floor of the room where in one corner the animal skins still lay. Magnentius, commander of the Herculean and Jovian forces, had so recently sat there. Other skins had been brought in for comfort, adorning the few chairs that circled the iron braziers and proved evidence of conversation having been had. Within, the room smelt slightly of damp, and water droplets struggled to cling to the plastered walls before losing their grip and sliding downwards. The audience continued to twitch in suspense at what Marcellinus was hiding until courage finally served to force the action from his mind.

  ‘My son!’ he announced with an outstretched arm, and a side door opened to light applause for Marcellinus was widely liked by everyone and clearly had the money to furnish a good party although tonight it seemed poor.

  ‘Fortuna Dies Natalis’ everybody shouted together as the embarrassed boy entered the room.

  Then it went quiet. After a short pause, and through exactly the same door, came Magnentius wearing the costume of an emperor. Robed in
purple he stood before them with a sense of purpose and dignity thinking that he had the right to be there. Nobody spoke waiting for their new master, if that is what he was, to say the first words of his revolt. Those eyes that weren’t glancing at the floor or the ceiling turned instead in sympathy towards Marcellinus as if his party had been usurped for this very purpose.

  ‘Show no fear,’ said Magnentius clearly.

  ‘Marcellinus is aware of this plot as is my brother Decentius and the guards. The boy will have other birthdays.’

  At that he clapped his enormous hands and the door was opened again to allow in two chosen slaves bearing presents for him which he greedily accepted. The slaves then retreated and the door closed. Marcellinus smiled appreciatively at the gesture and seeing the happiness spread upon his child’s face thanked the new emperor for his gift. Magnentius then pushed the boy aside for he had had his turn. Pointing a finger upwards and into the air he charged on into his speech.

  ‘This is no Saturnalian joke to be played out in Januarius and I am not the junior Caesar to Constans. My life is now dedicated to rivalling him and ruling from here, my homeland, for no longer do I owe Roma my allegiance. The war in the east against Persia is folly and we in the west shall face the repercussions if Constantius were to lose. Therefore pledge your support this night to me and tomorrow go to your barracks and spread the news that Constans will soon be dead and that I, Flavius Magnus Magnentius Augustus, will be their emperor. Any force under my banner, the twin eagles, can defeat Constantius so join me or perish.’

  He finished his address by quickly gathering the cloak about him and was then ushered from the room by his brother and the guards. Behind him rippled the stilted gossip of unrequited change that somehow tainted the food and weak beer that Marcellinus had provided. As they ate and drank together some feared the immediate future whilst others feared nothing. The border with Germania was quiet; Britannia had been rescued from war by Constans so why risk their lives? However, as demanded and in the knowledge of this night, they would to a man, emerge from the gates of Augustodunum in the weak rays of the morning sun, fan out and spread the news that Magnentius had suddenly, and with some deliberate thought, taken the crown.