Rivals in Blood Page 6

  He thought very carefully before uttering the next remark.

  ‘Ask yourself: Would you have the rebel emperor erase the memory of your father? Would you lose both east and west together and will the house of Constantine fall?’

  But there was no anger. Instead Constantius allowed himself to cry a tear, not just for Constans but for his older brother Constantine, and he didn’t blame Florus for speaking the truth. After their father’s death the three sons had divided the empire and then unable to agree amongst themselves, had split it through their folly and greed. Now only the legitimate Constantius remained with his army, his wavering faith, and as Florus also knew well, the resources of Vetranio, magister militum per Illyricum. There was still all to fight for and everything to lose but he had to act soon and act decisively.

  ‘My loyal friend’ said Constantius, grasping him tightly by the forearm.

  ‘This situation is difficult and to march west now would be futile. I cannot organise my forces that quickly and neither can Magnentius attack us. Therefore I want messengers immediately sent forward to Vetranio with our good wishes and imploring him to consider carefully the best option for himself and his army. Flatter him with great praise and promises that he is won over to our side. I already have a letter here from my malicious sister Constantina’ at whose deception he frowned.

  ‘She informs me that she has already granted him permission to rule as emperor.’

  Abruptly he glanced up at the sky and turned his head as small pieces of rubble dropped from the walls some distance from them but after quickly realising that they were safe asked for water to wash his eyes, at which the mounted wall parted and a small amphora was brought in. Handing Florus the rolled up parchments the emperor scooped up clear liquid into cupped hands and washed. He shook his head to and fro before continuing.

  ‘Despite her interference and until we receive his reply, Vetranio is not to be considered in our planning or as part of our strength. Magnentius will no doubt be sending him his own ambassadors but I have ideas that may win us the conflict ahead, yet need to discuss them carefully with my commanders.’

  ‘Come...’ he said at which he defiantly led the way ahead, water streaking his white face, and on through the opening of the shield wall where the populace enthusiastically cheered his appearance amid their own discomfort.

  His destination: the long oval circus that straddled Antochia, the citadel on Fluvius Orontes.

  Meanwhile, in the distant security of his palace in Mursa, Vetranio was pondering carefully his future as thundering hooves echoed from the five roads. He hadn’t plotted any response to the death of Constans and as a neutral was waiting to see what would happen. Constantina had surprisingly arrived with her offer yet neither had he wanted to solicit her favour being unsure of her motives and nor had she brought any legions to back her. However, the general, already old and tiring of the life of faithful imperial servitude, was suddenly invigorated. Never had he faced a conflict such as this. There was a battle for the fidelity and loyalty of his legions against his new enemies who weren’t the ever watchful tribes of the north, but on one side the son of the legitimate emperor that he had served well without reproach or mistrust and on the other, a rebellious general. As he turned the golden diadem around in his hand he pictured vividly the power that it brought and the acclamation that would follow. There would never be another opportunity like this. Naturally the army would take their share of the spoils first and that greed excited him as its leader, yet in placing the precious jewel upon his head he was accepting something without having sought it and was rightfully hesitant about his good fortune for it didn’t fit well.

  ‘It becomes the chosen man’ said Constantina, softly and deliberately in flattering tones from her chair.

  ‘A natural leader of men and seen as such by his fate.’

  Her calm voice belied the ruthlessness of a woman who had quickly assimilated herself into the dangerous affairs going on and a woman who knew what it was that she was doing.

  ‘You may think that!’ Vetranio argued removing the temptation and putting it to one side.

  ‘By whose authority do you declare me emperor when your surviving brother still lives and you create another threat to him?’ added the old man and without wishing to prompt further negotiation.

  ‘Constantius would approve of your support in repelling Magnentius’ she replied.

  ‘And he himself would want to reward you. Currently you have every military advantage over him and he needs you. Remember also that Constans was my brother and I want my revenge. You have control of the field army of Illyricum here and I am giving you the imperial consent to use it. I am certain that my brother would say the same and I have written to him. He knows of my plans.’

  ‘Then have you already forfeited my life? Maybe I will wait for his authority to act in that way.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool Vetranio. I want you to act. You need to prepare for war as time is against us. Call your legions together and advance immediately!’

  ‘Us?’ he replied angrily.

  ‘If I am to rule then I am to rule alone or not at all and how can I trust that your agents aren’t repeating the same things to Magnentius’ ears?’

  Delicately sensing the unrequited hostility to the demands being placed upon him and the fear of accepting any responsibility, Constantina rose from her chair and walked towards him. The closeness of her femininity scared the old man who was simply accustomed to the iron masculinity of the army and he backed away. Could he arrest her? He didn’t know. Nothing in his career had prepared him for such an offer to be an emperor, so she stretched out a hand that he unwittingly accepted and with which she drew him closer kissing him gently on his cheek. There the old soldier softened before quickly recovering his poise and retreated, as popularity with his troops had been won through fair discipline and not seduction or games. Her brother Constans, recognising this steadfast adherence to his rule and thinking kindly of the simple Vetranio, had awarded him with regular promotion.

  ‘Come, Imperator Caesar Flavius Vetranio Augustus. How does that sound?’ and picking up the diadem she placed it back upon his head.

  ‘Imperator’ she gently whispered and Vetranio nodded lamely in agreement. Temptation was telling him that there didn’t seem to be any need to fight his desire.

  But there he stiffened only to quickly bark out the instructions.

  ‘Guard; immediately take the emperor’s sister to quarters that are suitable for her and ensure that she is treated well. She is not to be released until I say.’

  Trying not to look his well presented prisoner in the eye and embarrassed to be in that position, he ruthlessly went on.

  ‘Flavia Constantina Augusta, I arrest you whilst I wait for the emperor’s messages to arrive. In the meantime I can assure you of your safety as my prisoner. Now lead her away.’

  Expecting such treatment from the moment that she had arrived, the daughter of Constantine the Great now kicked out at her guard and shouted obscenities at the man she had just singularly promoted by her consent alone and been rejected. Vetranio wasn’t so naive as to be made her emperor as it suited and then be deprived of funds. His troops could just as easily murder him and form an allegiance with Magnentius if they desired for they had as much to gain from the looming civil war and could side with any rebel if they thought that he would pay the most. She herself hadn’t brought any money. This would only be settled by calling the legions out and addressing them in person. As she was dragged away threatening dire religious consequences, messengers arrived who thankfully weren’t reporting the sudden arrival of Magnentius’ troops anywhere to the west. Vetranio knew that as the garrisons were emptying on Fluvius Rhenus it was only a matter of time before they did come in the same way that Constantius would be coming from the east. Dismissing the messengers and their news, he would therefore speak the following day.

  After a restless night of pacing and plunging the desires of his ambition, an ind
ecisive magister militum per Illyricum finally appeared the next morning to take his place on the tribunal as was his military right. Before him paraded the ranks of fresh soldiers idly leaning on their spears; some gripped their sword pommels but all looked directly ahead. In the morning breeze their embroidered pennants of the lion, Hercules and Jupiter fluttered and a horse twitched as it swopped legs to rest; the rider comfortably adjusting his balance as he peered out over the rows of helmets before him and towards Vetranio. The overnight rumours were already rife of Constantina having fled to Mursa for safety as she feared her brother would lose the war against the Persians, but nobody knew. Therefore this was their opportunity to be told the truth and to reaffirm their loyalty in any war that may be coming, but the old general, who spoke quietly at first, had misjudged the important few amongst them.

  ‘Sir, speak up as they will not hear you and we don’t want whispers to spread’ said one of his aides stepping forward and speaking in his ear.

  ‘Legions of Illyricum’ mumbled Vetranio, and then strongly moderating the volume so that all could understand and be in no doubt as to what he was saying.

  ‘Legions of Illyricum who have followed my steadfast example, I praise your loyalty. Now I need you to support me again’ he said, overlooking the heaving mass before him.

  ‘I have here in my detention, Flavia Constantina Augusta, daughter to Constantine and sister to Constantius.’

  There he paused a little at being unsure of them, as nobody had yet reacted to the rumour, before cautiously going on.

  ‘She brings reports to me of the Persian war that my officers are unaware of. However, what we are all certain of is that her brother Constans is dead and Magnentius now rules in the west. Therefore...’

  He relaxed a little to allow his breathing to recover and the words to set in his mind, and leaning on the rail of the dais as if to reassure them, pronounced clearly...

  ‘Therefore, on this day I have chosen to wear the purple. I am to rule as emperor throughout Illyricum!’ at which point another aide stepped forward to carefully place the diadem upon his head before bowing respectfully.

  ‘All hail Imperator Caesar Flavius Vetranio Augustus’ he proposed.

  At that acclamation there was a clash between heaven and earth throughout the ranks with a defiant Vetranio thrusting himself forward at the popularity of his unsuspecting gesture.

  After allowing the noise to abate a little he raised his open arms to the sky and boasted.

  ‘By the fates, and caught between both armies we shall meet the twin threats together. We shall choose wisely and sit securely between them’ he said before being led away.

  Over and over they repeated acceptingly in his ear...

  ‘Imperator, Imperator, Vetranio!’

  The atmosphere was clearly to his liking.

  ‘Be careful my Lord. Don’t encourage them to war just yet’ said an advisor wisely.

  ‘The year is still young and they could lose their lust for battle in the waiting.’

  The emperor though didn’t apologise, at which a few heads dropped in their hearing of a misjudged comment amongst his supporters and those with whom he hadn’t chosen to consult with. Leaving the parade ground to disperse, and with the enthused army despondently settling into its mundane, yet necessary daily activities, the senior officers met with him to discuss their tactics. Despite the earlier proclamations they were all conscious that Illyricum would be where the conflicting armies would converge and that it was going to be a war of attrition and a province from where every legion counted, every auxiliary man mattered and every horseman registered as another in the inventory. The more senior officers present favoured a pact with Constantius arguing that he was the rightful emperor and would bolster the war with money and weapons whilst the more ambitious favoured siding with Magnentius as it was said that he was the more tolerant towards the changes imposed by Constantine the Great. This was a moment of chance for them in that room, and of excitement too, although every clarion call from the ramparts announcing a new arrival and every chink of hobnailed boots running along a corridor brought with it the anxious grip upon their swords. Where was Magnentius now? Where was Constantius? A map was rolled across the table and fingers indicated to what they already knew: the roads, rivers, mountains and fortresses. Vetranio, now bare headed and free of the indoor trappings of power, would have been unnoticed amongst his peers had he not insisted upon a portrait being taken for his coinage. In satisfaction he sat whilst his profile was copied and made ready for the engravers and coin strikers. When approved for minting everybody would know who he was and a call to arms would follow with mass recruitment. In order to appeal to them the choice of legends was agreed: Hoc Signo Victor Eris and Concordia Militum he ordered to be struck.

  Breaking away from the tedium of getting his features right, Vetranio stood up and walked across the room to pour himself a beaker of water as the day was becoming warm. Not wanting to be seen sweating, he returned to the table of maps asking of the planning and what could be done? The answers were to his satisfaction. There was a reluctance to commit legions to face Magnentius as Constantina had demanded, for if indeed victorious, they may have to turn and face Constantius afterwards. To lose either would be the end of his reign; there being no forgiveness, no clemency to be expected from either side. The best course of action was to stall and to seek diplomacy whereby the strongest contender would ultimately come forward and rule as a co emperor, a colleague, someone to trust, for the enormous and unnecessary spilling of roman blood at the fulcrum of the empire would signal a weakness to the Germans, Goths, Huns and Persians both to the north, the west and the east. They would exploit these divisions and attack. The decision was taken to send embassies to both camps with his terms of peace and Constantina wouldn’t be the one to speak them. Instead she would remain under arrest and completely divorced from meddling in affairs of the court leaving Vetranio’s backers to wait and watch.

  Once the wording of contrition had been favourably agreed the scribe then repeated the words carefully, as instructed, before bending his nib to the ink and writing:

  Greetings to our brother emperor Flavius Magnus Magnentius Augustus from Flavius Vetranio Augustus. We of the field army of Illyrica wish you no harm. Your quarrels with the house of Constantine are understood and shall not be the reason for war between ourselves. Therefore we propose no conflict unless provoked and would seek assurances that you shall remain content as Emperor of the West and hold these provinces as your own.

  After recharging his stained bronze nib he wrote for a second time a letter destined for Constantius:

  Greetings to our brother emperor Flavius Julius Constantius Augustus. We of the field army of Illyrica salute your illustrious family whilst at the same time requesting help from our eastern colleague. We ask for money and troops to protect you and for your acknowledgement without praise of our deeds in the name of Imperator Flavius Vetranio Augustus.

  Running fine sand from a flask over the ink to ensure its wording remained true and uncorrupted the scribe then carefully rolled the parchment up for Vetranio to agree to its sealing. This done, the message was then securely passed to two horsemen who had each been carefully selected for their abilities and having saluted their emperor they were helped into their saddles as two groups of twenty five horseman swiftly formed up behind as an escort. Being accorded every military provision as they needed on their journeys from every fortress, the two parties then split, one to head east, the other to head west. Whilst it hadn’t been the only message that he had sent in his career, this was the one that held the most dangerous repercussions within it. Watching the pennants of authority gradually fade into the morning haze it could have been his decision to call them back, yet at that point, courage not ambition, deserted him.

  Chapter V

  AD350

  NOWHERE

  Salvius Castus leant forward and poked the night fire with a charred stick for no other reason than to provok
e it into revealing a new life of many colours. He was bored and little understood where he was or how many hundreds of miles he had travelled. This was just another unprotected camp amongst the many that he had tried to find rest in. Now long abandoned by Magnentius he had never heard of the mosaic of small towns that they had already ridden through or the many broad rivers that they had crossed in their march towards where? He had not fought any battles or received any training but had instead been hastily enrolled into a cavalry regiment made up from stragglers drawn from the poorest corners of the west and who no doubt had been coerced by the emperor against their will. Over his body they had all too rapidly draped an ill fitting mail coat and by his side lay a pitted cavalry sword. On his head would sit an iron helmet whilst his horse was of little quality. In not recognising a familiar accent it was also proving difficult for him to foment a common hatred, yet he had found Britons amongst them there displaying an alarming lack of reason and little concerned as to their own fate. To them the bulging army was a threat of war only and there was a cause to follow. They had also heard that the legions couldn’t wait to join them in Illyricum for every known mountain pass that pierced the clouds would open for them and columns of soldiers cheerfully marching west singing their songs of victory would embrace them as brothers. Intensely annoyed both by theirs, and his ignorance of matters, Salvius couldn’t help but contemplate running away. Not being able to sleep this night and leaning back on his saddle for whatever comfort came, he stared at the wedding night stars and turned his thoughts to home; all the promises he had made to his wife Faustina and the fallacy of it all. The moments that they would never share and the recklessness of what he had said. Where was she? Why did her father hide the truth? Why did Salvius bargain his young life to protect his religion? There could have been others. Was he hostage here for the father or for the daughter? Without having sought it he had become somebody else’s property. Nobody cared. Anger, that manifestation of frustration seized him, and pulling himself upright he smashed the stick into the comforting light and warm flames that they all shared. Blank faces stared back at him from the dark as they recoiled from the embers but nobody spoke as if they had accepted their lot too.