Rivals in Blood Page 7

  A piece of warm but hard flat bread straight from the broken fire was offered by the man closest to him which Salvius accepted after giving his apology. It was more or less the same meal that he had consumed every day since they left Britannia and only bettered slightly when they had been sharing a camp with larger forces. He bit through the tasteless dough and remembered his wedding feast where unknowingly the single moment that he would eat so well would suddenly be his last. Without difficulty he could smell the spices, hear the vibrant kitchen functioning and sense the spoilt opulence of his secret day. Vowing to eat and drink again that well, at any special table, he wanted to know where Flavius Martinus’ rich patrons were amongst the military rabble and wood smoke that daily kept him company. The future that he thought he had seen for himself had unpredictably become the past and promises from a powerless man were rendered meaningless, for Martinus too had abandoned him leaving Salvius regarding himself rightfully divorced from his daughter. Suddenly his life mattered more than hers and he had already accepted that he would never see her again.

  Not so close, but in more comfort, lay Magnentius in his military tent and jauntily confident in the power that he wielded following the death of Constans. His rule had remained unchallenged in the west; daily his borders were expanding as his army spread out towards the east and there was good news from Italia. In the doorway bodyguards snapped to attention at the approach of a messenger, who passing through them with a spoken code, delivered the sealed parchment roll into the eager hands of Decentius. Delicately slicing the wax with a warm knife like he would an oyster, and moving close to the nearest oil lamp to read it, he carefully unfurled his message before revealing the contents to those assembled there.

  ‘Greetings’ it said from Marcellinus.

  ‘The authority and responsibility that you have empowered me with has been repaid. Roma and the Senate are yours. Italia and its garrisons will not attack you for the house of Constantine is no more a threat and its troops support your name.’

  ‘Excellent news!’ said Magnentius sitting upright and then swinging his legs over the wooden bed in order to pull his boots on.

  He was simply dressed like the common soldier and devoid of the trappings of an emperor. He stood up and clapped his hand at which a servant hastily appeared.

  ‘Bring us wine,’ he ordered ‘and I want the best. Bring us entertainment too!’

  Very quickly a table was organised and the brothers, together with two generals, were comfortably sipping pilfered wine from silver cups and chewing on cold spiced meat whilst to their side the camp followers sat and waited to be used. As the hours passed though, concentration sadly passed with them, and the women were dismissed for another day.

  ‘I will promote Marcellinus when he returns’ said a weary Magnentius looking for approval from his colleagues ‘to be my magister officiorum and you, Decentius, to be Caesar to myself.’

  He didn’t have to wait long for the replies were unanimously in favour and without discord or favouritism. Both had done well.

  ‘There’ said the emperor.

  ‘That’s how to reward loyalty!’

  Suddenly tired of the talk of his campaign and the repetitive responsibility that it bore he decided to end the evening by asking the three to leave but before they did he addressed them militarily one more time.

  ‘We have come a long way in such a short time and need to take account. Return to my tent in the morning and we shall measure where we are because I only want to fight one battle and then win it at whatever cost. In the meantime get the prettiest girl to quietly come back!’ and he smiled.

  At their leaving the desired woman returned and following the emperor’s clumsy example to sit back expectantly on his couch she moved to lie next to him. As he snored away she twisted playfully through her fingers the silver coin that Decentius had given her as her reward. In the last flickering light of the oil lamp she recognised the head of the emperor but didn’t understand the chi rho cross on the reverse. It was a pretty pattern and it felt like it was worth something. She didn’t worry for anything else.

  Magnentius awoke with the calling of the second watch and although he was left with a sore head he clearly knew that the girl had gone. Embarrassed, he didn’t ask the guard at what hour that had happened, but instead walked past him to see what was going on outside stretching his arms wide to the sky and yawning. Being so familiar with military discipline he was encouraged by the events before him as his army prepared to roll up their tents, extinguish their fires and then receive their orders to march off. It was a magnificent sight.

  ‘Fetch my brother Decentius’ he ordered as he turned around.

  Inside the billowing canvas tent stretched by wooden poles to accommodate the emperor’s height the air was stale, the matting on the floor crumpled and maps rolled to and fro on the table due to the slight breeze blowing across the entrance.

  ‘And clean this up!’ he said abruptly.

  At Decentius’ arrival the two immediately went in search of the priests attending them and in striding throughout the rows of tents he took the acknowledgement from the troops supporting him and without which he was powerless. What he wanted, they wanted too. Line upon line of faces stood before their own semi broken tents and smoking fires proud to say that they had been in the company of the emperor or that he had addressed them personally.

  The salutation ended.

  ‘Why the priests?’ asked his brother curiously and when nobody could hear him.

  ‘They know nothing but the gods?’

  ‘Look about you Decentius. Look at this army growing about us and stretching itself out. Look at the new recruits coming to us. Do you not hear the voices from everywhere! What is going to unite them? What is going to give them belief in my victory?’

  ‘Money’ quickly replied his brother.

  ‘Like it does everything else and coins will buy you their loyalty.’

  Magnentius winced at his brother’s lack of understanding and it concerned him.

  ‘You gave that girl some money last night to return didn’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes’ he replied.

  ‘And was she loyal?’

  ‘Only you know that’ posed Decentius, but the question went unanswered leaving him to suspect that Magnenetius had been unfulfilled?

  ‘Forget the girl. She has nothing to do with it. The army needs to believe that they have the support of something greater than money and something that will keep them alive during the fight. Hence the priests.’

  ‘But they won’t engage in the war’ said his brother.

  ‘No, but their gods, and the gods of the army will agree with us. I have taken the money from the temples; I have used that money to buy the swords of the auxiliaries and now I have joined them all in a common fight against Constantius. After our victory the priests can do whatever.’

  They walked on a few more steps before Decentius, putting his arm across the chest of his brother in order to slow him down, told him in a whisper...

  ‘There are Christians in your army. You do know that?’

  Pushing the same arm gently away whilst strongly making off again towards the priests, Magnentius’ reply was short.

  ‘Then they will have to kill or they will be killed. Who can say that until we join in the fight what they will do? Can I trust the auxiliary cavalry to stand their ground any more than they will?’

  Decentius’ answer remained unforthcoming.

  The pair eventually made it to the leather tent housing the temporary altars and found it guarded but in recognising Magnentius they saluted and rapidly moved aside to allow him in and from where a trail of heavy incense smoke wafted out at the flap being opened. A shaft of morning light simultaneously guided the eye towards the dedications to the gods painted in chiselled red letters and the legion responsible for their making. Weighty, and immovable without some effort, were the altars to Mars, Jupiter and Sol all resilient in the sanctuary of the space granted to t
hem: their ancestry never being in doubt and as quietly potent to a leader as the most loyal soldier unsheathing his sword.

  ‘You touch these’ said Magnentius, admiringly running his hands across their rough textured surfaces...

  ‘And you understand an empire forged out of its dedication to its gods and for the benefit of all mankind. We must remember them! I want you to talk to the priests and organise a ceremony at the next major day in the army’s religious calendar. Let there be a sacrificial beast and then food to follow for all. This will allow us the time to rest and let everybody catch up. When you are finished then return to my tent with the masters of horse and infantry. Also give my orders that the camp is not to be broken. See to it!’

  At the opening of the flap by the guard to allow the emperor out, the guardian spirits of Roma escaped with him and were drawn inescapably towards his war.

  ‘Oh’ and he threatened Decentius before parting.

  ‘Leave the Christians alone.’

  Once back in his own tent and seated, Magnentius waited for the other three to arrive. With time to spare he pondered on where he had come from. He had been a lowly slave; he had been granted promotion as a general in the army of the emperor and then had Constans killed. Now he was responsible for sending the largest army the west had known towards fighting Constantius. He could be attacked from the rear by the Franks and Vetranio could block his way east. Italia was safe though and he couldn’t be ambushed but neither could he outflank Vetranio by crossing Fluvius Danuvius. There was no other choice: he had to continue towards Illyricum and as long as he was determined to do so then his men would follow him. If his resolve in what he believed in weakened then they would desert. As a precaution, those he suspected of supporting Constantius he had killed and the army purged of doubters. The past was now rapidly the present but what of the future? What was to come next? What news would reach him at Aquileia, at the head of Mare Adriaticum and were his rebellious threats loud enough to be heard? In need of rest he momentarily closed his eyes and saw himself for what he had become – a gifted military opportunist for war but little else which tormented his mind that little bit more.

  At Decentius’ return he remained comfortably eyes shut on his seat but listening to the bickering that had accompanied the unfurling of the map detailing all the roads leading east. One favoured marching in this direction, another that. Magnentius, who eventually had heard enough, got to his feet to resolve the issue in his way.

  ‘Be quiet’ he ordered and when he had quickly gained their attention went on to say...

  ‘I have all the information upon Vetranio that I need’ and so they listened.

  ‘Know that he is unambitious and biased towards what is the safest option for himself. He is an old man lacking in vigorous youth and could be intimidated. My agents have informed me that he has little resolve for conflict regarding it as illegal and wants to seek to calm the troubles through negotiation. He doesn’t envisage ruling for long and he won’t, but I don’t want him scampering away like a mouse if I chase too hard. We will quietly seduce his loyalty and then we will subdue him.’

  Having told them what he knew of their adversary he again sat down to put his face in the palms of his enormous hands whilst the other three returned to who was going to lead which legions where. Tired of the disunity between them he exploded, shouting loudly...

  ‘By the gods, have patience! The time for rash action may come in the future, but not now.’

  The disciplined thump of spears being drawn towards the chest of the guards outside diverted their attention and immediately took Decentius away to investigate. He quickly returned bearing the letter with Vetranio’s seal.

  ‘So he’s found us. Quick, go and hold his messenger back’ said Magnentius looking up and pointing towards the entrance of the tent.

  The scroll was passed over for the emperor to read.

  ‘What does it say?’ enquired his brother upon returning with the unexpected hostage beside him.

  ‘He is emperor himself!’ slowly read Magnentius who then smiled at the dubious path to power.

  ‘He is offering me nothing except acknowledgement of him being a colleague to the emperor of the west and that he desires me to remain there.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘Nothing’ he replied putting the scroll down.

  Magnentius looked at the trusted man and saw him for what he was – a scrawny tired horseman who had ridden into the late hours of every day in order to reach Aquileia and admired him. He didn’t represent the legionaries that Vetranio had in abundance and who despite their bravery, could be broken in battle. The messenger was unfailingly loyal and had been given a task by his master and accomplished it.

  ‘Our gratitude to you’ he said to the enemy standing before him.

  ‘I will grant you peace to rest here with your escort until you are strong enough to return. Decentius, see that they are looked after but that they are also kept away from talking to our men.’

  ‘Thank you my Lord’ replied Vetranio’s dove, glancing about the tent and its simple martial possessions.

  ‘As you can see we have no permanent camp yet’ said Magnentius, noting his interest.

  ‘Where is it that you have ridden from?’

  ‘Mursa’ replied the messenger.

  ‘Vetranio Augustus is in Mursa’ an answer that sent fingers again dancing across the map.

  ‘Then once rested, return there. Now leave us.’

  Far to the east the unpredictable blue waters of the Hellespont had this time granted easy passage to Constantius’ fleet and over the army crossed. It was thirteen years ago that the emperor as a young man had raced to bury his father in Constantinopolis and riding there filled his heart with anger at the ease at which the empire had again been divided. As he stopped to temporarily shelter, honour the family shrine and then tirelessly march on, he swore to his court that his rival Magnentius would be hunted down without mercy until death. Meanwhile in his absence, his lesser secretaries were doing their work well filling the granaries in advance of the empty stomachs of the legions arriving at their next stop and warning towns to prepare food on his line of march. He wasn’t going to deviate from his intended path and weave through the choice of battlefields of his enemies but instead chose Heraclea as his base. There he would safely plot, train and carefully organise the disposition of his army but what was needed most urgently was information; reports upon the whereabouts of both Magnentius and Vetranio. What was happening beyond the distant hills and along the roads that he didn’t know about? The messenger from Vetranio had reached him with the ridiculous news that the emperor of Illyricum suddenly required more money and soldiers to withstand the assault from the west. No such attack was forthcoming; he knew that much. To have scouts riding to and fro from his camp meant that they travelled in relays to get their reports back and often hiding along the way from the enemy riding the same road from Sirmium to Constantinopolis. The provinces were now coming alive to civil war and embassies arrived daily at Constantius’ tent to seek restraint from any reprisals that he may inflict. Bishops particularly were keen to protect their new churches from the blood of conflict and readily handed over donatives in return for protection. That he granted to them from wherever he was.

  At his arrival in Heraclea he had the magister equitum summoned to report to the parade ground in a day’s time. There, regaled in imperial golden thread but bare headed and standing before his bodyguard, Constantius called him forward.

  ‘We spoke in Antochia’ he said directly and without particular affection for the man.

  ‘You remember my instructions and what you were tasked to do? I see from the sun glinting from your horsemen that you have achieved it so bring them forward and let me see.’

  The magister equitum then nervously stood back a little as at his command the stationary wall of iron and bronze took their first steps in moving forward.

  The field chosen for the cavalry display w
as perfect. It was flat but gently undulating at one end so that the emperor could look down. The grass was short despite the growing season having been good and firmly trampled in evidence of previous practice. Constantius expectantly took his seat enjoying the breeze gently lifting the canopy of his dais but had his guard move it around a few degrees away from the glare of the morning sun that tormented his eyes. Once they had settled, and once the emperor had retaken his place, a glinting bronze trumpet was blown as the instruction to begin. He twitched excitedly in his seat to get a clearer view of what was happening as quietly at first then progressively getting louder they approached him: metallic horseman walking past in rows of twenty.

  ‘Stop there’ he immediately ordered and they pulled gently back on their iron bits.

  The column halted. The rising and then falling breeze played with the straw coloured plumes atop their iron helmets riveted with hanging mesh whilst their coats of mail, like fish scales, glinted in the light. Horses quickly took the opportunity to rest their backs under the weight of their metal barding and horsemen, not being asked to look upon the emperor directly, stared ahead sloping their lances over their right shoulders. From head to toe they were protected with their round shields and swords draped across their left side. Constantius rising out of his seat, walked up to the first horse he met and without warning thumped it hard on its shoulder with a clenched fist. The animal didn’t flinch. Again he thumped it but there was no response. He put his hand beneath the mail barding covering the horses’ flank and lifted it in an effort to gauge its weight. It was as he had seen the Persian cavalry wearing in battle and was delighted at their reconstruction. Proudly returning to his seat he gave permission that the display continue and the column moved off to the left. With precision they barked out their manoeuvres before turning a wide right hand circle and lining up to confront his seat one hundred paces away. The first row of fifty horsemen then trotted forward with lances held underarm towards him followed by the second line of fifty but at a lance’s distance between. A note blown from a horn called them into a canter raising the terrifying spectre of being overrun by a wall of iron and horseflesh. Nothing could resist them as they thundered towards the emperor. Another note sounded and they parted to the left and right in time to avoid their target. Constantius was ecstatic.