Fire and Sword. Harry SidebottomЧитать онлайн книгу.
They came out onto the summit of the Capitol by the altar of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. Behind it loomed the huge temple of Rome’s patron deity. The gilded doors and roof of the home of the Best and Greatest god glittered in the sun.
There were more of the plebs up here. Off to one side, they clustered around the statue of Tiberius Gracchus, the long-dead demagogue and would-be tyrant they regarded as their martyred champion. It had been erected on the spot where he had been beaten to death by patriotic Senators intent on saving the Res Publica. The plebs did not concern Pupienus. Let them wait outside the doors, while their betters decided the fate of the empire.
Pupienus walked up the steps, through the tall columns, and, leaving his bodyguards at the doors, into the inner sanctum. The cella was tall and dark. Already there were several hundred Senators murmuring on the ranks of benches set out along the sides. Looking neither left nor right, Pupienus walked the length of the chamber, and stopped before the statue of Jupiter. At a small, portable altar, he made a libation of wine, and offered a pinch of incense into the fire. Jupiter – seated, massive, and chryselephantine – gazed over Pupienus’ head at the smoke coiling up to the ceiling.
Piety satisfied, Pupienus acknowledged the presiding Consul, Licinius Rufinus. He took his place on the front bench in the midst of his supporters. On either side were Praetextatus and Tineius Sacerdos; both also ex-Consuls and fellow members of the Board of Twenty. Their combined friends and relatives were ranked about them.
The opposite benches contained Balbinus, and his repellent coterie of patricians. Prominent among them was Rufinianus. It was contemptible, and utterly predictable, that Rufinianus, also one of the Twenty, had abandoned his assigned post defending the passes over the Apennines, and scurried back to Rome to see what personal advantage he could secure.
Pupienus lifted his eyes, let them wander over the golden eagles, whose wings supported the roof. It was in the lap of the gods. He had done all that he could. Balbinus was bought and paid for. His cruel, sensuous mouth had slobbered at the offer. Undoubtedly it would not stop him reneging on his word, if his greed spotted something yet more tempting on the table. The avarice and vanity of the other patricians had been accommodated; not that they were any more to be relied upon.
Returning his gaze to the floor of the hall, Pupienus sought out Valerian. Broad and solid, with an open, trusting face, he sat modestly some way from the tribunal of the Consul. Of course inducements had been offered and accepted, but Valerian was a dutiful man, and would do what he had been persuaded was best for the Res Publica in this time of danger. By default leader of what remained of the faction of the Gordiani in Rome, Valerian brought with him the allegiance of the commanders of those troops in the city not already under the command of Pupienus himself. Yet Valerian had vetoed bringing soldiers onto the Capitol. Pupienus had conceded the point. The impression created would have been one of military tyranny. The guard of young men from the equestrian order was altogether more fitting. It evoked that of Cicero in his finest hour; when he saved the state, defending libertas from the conspiracy of Catiline.
The bodyguard had been the idea of Timesitheus. An equestrian himself, within hours, the Praefectus Annonae had raised a hundred stalwart youths from good families, equipped them with swords. The stock of Timesitheus stood high. The first in the field against Maximinus, he had slain the Thracian’s Prefect of the Camp. He had organized irregular forces to harass Maximinus’ communications and supply lines over the Alps, had risked his life and taken a wound escaping from the tyrant’s men, and ridden post-haste to bring the news to Rome. The bandages on his left hand were widely regarded as a badge of honour. Pupienus did not trust him. There was no denying his capacity, but a strange light burned in the dark eyes of the Greek; a light of ambition unrestrained by any morality or compassion. Now Timesitheus had armed men at his beck and call, and, as Praefectus Annonae, he controlled the grain supply of Rome. Timesitheus needed watching very closely. Any Emperor might feel the need to be rid of such a dangerous subject.
‘Let all who are not Conscript Fathers depart. Let no one remain except the Senators.’
The ritual words of the Consul were to be taken literally. This was to be a closed session. The clerks, scribes and other servants, public and private, filed out. Licinius ordered the doors shut and bolted.
‘Let good auspices and joyful fortune attend the people of Rome.’
There were no windows, and the only light came from torches in archaic sconces on the walls. Shadows massed in the recesses, flitted across the walls; insubstantial yet threatening, like the souls of the dead. The air was close, sickly with incense. Pupienus was sweating, his chest tight. From long habit, he went to turn the ring which was no longer on his finger. The throne was almost within his grasp, the reward for a lifetime of endeavour and self-control, the culmination of his rise from obscurity. When his patron Septimius Severus ascended the throne, he had himself adopted into the imperial dynasty. Some wit had congratulated Severus on finding a father. No one would find Pupienus’ father now. The familiar, terrible emotions of guilt and love gathered in the darkness at his back, and were now joined by an aching sense of loss.
‘Conscript Fathers, give us your advice.’
At the Consul’s words, two men got to their feet.
‘I humbly request permission to address the House.’ There was no humility in Gallicanus’ harsh voice, and none whatsoever in his ostentatiously homespun toga, with its conscious air of antique virtue and moral superiority.
‘Publius Licinius Valerian will address the house,’ the Consul said.
Gallicanus raised his voice. ‘In the name of libertas, I demand to speak to prevent tyranny.’
‘Valerian has the floor.’
Gallicanus sat down. He wore a look of grim satisfaction on his face, as if yet again given evidence of the moral deliquescence of his fellow Senators.
‘I am well aware, Conscript Fathers, that when events press, we should refrain from lengthy words and opinions.’ The innocent, guileless face of Valerian shone with sincerity. ‘Let each of us look to his own neck, let him think of his wife and children, of his father’s and his father’s father’s goods. All these Maximinus threatens, by nature irrational, savage and bloodthirsty.’
Valerian had a natural dignity. Pupienus wondered if he was too credulous to sit on the throne.
‘There is no need for a long speech. We must make an Emperor, to confront the dangers of war, to manage the affairs of state. We must choose a man of experience, an intelligent and shrewd man of sober habits. I recommend to the house the Prefect of the City, Marcus Clodius Pupienus Maximus.’
It is right, it is just. The shouts rang up to the roof. Pupienus Augustus, save the Res Publica. Aequum est, iustum est.
Pupienus composed his expression, and – weighty dignitas personified – rose to his feet.
It is right, it is just.
Pupienus noted that Balbinus could not bring himself to join in the acclamations. How Pupienus loathed and despised that bloated wine-sack that passed for a man.
‘Conscript Fathers,’ Pupienus tried to put Balbinus from his thoughts, ‘to wear the purple is to wear the yoke of slavery; a noble slavery, but servitude all the same. The Emperor is a slave to the common good, to the Res Publica. Duty lies hard on an Emperor. The task is daunting, and, as Jupiter is my witness, not one to which I aspire. Yet when Maximinus, whom you and I declared a public enemy, is upon us, and the two Gordiani, in whom was our defence, are slain, it is my duty to accept.’
Pupienus Augustus, may the gods keep you!
Again Balbinus remained silent. Even the patricians around him chanted, but Balbinus did not so much as mouth the words. Centuries of privilege, countless generations of office, had created that monster of self-satisfied complacency and arrogance. A lifetime of indulgence and ease had nurtured perversity and depravity. The pig-like eyes regarded Pupienus with malevolence.
Pupienus