‘Whose advice?’
‘I rather hope mine, among others.’ Honoratus had laughed. He had very straight white teeth. ‘The new Emperor also puts particular faith in the governor of Pannonia Superior, Flavius Vopiscus, and the commander of 8th Legion, Catius Clemens.’
Pupienus considered his words. ‘I have known Flavius Vopiscus for many years. Catius Clemens I do not know so well, but if he is like his brother Celer, who is one of the Praetors this year in Rome, then the new Emperor has chosen his confidants well. All three are men of judgement.’
Honoratus had raised his empty glass to acknowledge the compliment. ‘Loyal friends are always the pillars of the throne. Maximinus would embrace you in his friendship. Your excellence as Prefect of Rome argues for its continuation.’
Now Pupienus toasted the kind words.
‘You have two sons. When the two Consuls who have given their name to this year step down in a couple of months, Maximinus is minded to appoint your elder son, Pupienus Maximus, as one of the Suffect Consuls. I will be the other. A still greater honour is being considered for your family. Next year the Emperor will take office on the kalends of January. Maximinus is thinking of taking your younger son, Africanus, as his colleague as Consul Ordinarius. For eternity, it would be the year of the Emperor Gaius Iulius Maximinus and Marcus Pupienus Africanus. So that the Emperor can get to know your son, form a true estimate of his virtues, Africanus will accompany me back to the field army.’
It was neatly done, Pupienus had thought, the blend of high honours binding the family to a potentially unpopular regime and the taking of a hostage. He spoke. ‘It will be difficult to live up to the benefactions shown, but we will try.’
‘Excellent,’ Honoratus had said. ‘Who was it who said, “Scratch the surface of any government and you find an oligarchy”?’
‘I cannot remember.’
‘No, nor me. Of course, you must keep Rome quiet: no rioting from the plebs, no conspiracies among the nobility.’
‘Of course.’
‘Excellent,’ Honoratus had said, again. ‘Now perhaps your servants could stop listening at the doors and bring in the main course. I am shtarving.’
Pupienus had rung a little bell.
‘One thing,’ Honoratus said. ‘I brought a new equestrian down to take command of the vigiles. I think you will like the new Prefect of the Watch. He is called Potens.’
‘Herennius Modestinus?’
‘Oh no – gods, no! Nothing like that.’
Inwardly, Pupienus had cursed. His voice must have betrayed him.
‘What do you take our new Emperor for? A barbarian?’ Honoratus had showed his teeth as he laughed. They really were perfect.
Pupienus had kept a very straight face.
‘Not half an hour ago, I thanked Modestinus for his noble efforts patrolling the streets night after night for fires and malefactors. I told him how much the Emperor appreciated his labours, but Maximinus had decided that a skilled jurist might be more sensibly employed handling all the legal entreaties addressed to the throne. When your son and I set off to the frontier, Modestinus will accompany us. At the imperial court the position of Secretary for Petitions awaits the man of law. Modestinus will make a fine a Libellis. He has always been dutiful, but somehow it was not right he remain in Rome while the Emperor was elsewhere. It was just that some said he was a little too fond of the old free Republic.’ And Honoratus had gazed hard at Pupienus.
The rest of the meal had passed without anything of significance, the conversation harmless.
Up on the tribunal, the Consul finally reached the end of the lengthy list of overlapping powers, privileges and honours proposed for the new Emperor. ‘And we recommend that these things be approved by you, Conscript Fathers.’ Claudius Aurelius sat down with the air of a task well done.
Laboriously, the Father of the House, Cuspidius Celerinus, used his walking stick to pull himself to his feet. An octogenarian, Celerinus was frail, but his reason remained acute. He knew what was wanted: something of moderate length, traditional in tone and panegyric in nature. His reedy old man’s voice still carried all through the Curia.
Like Cincinnatus summoned from the plough, Maximinus had answered the call of the Res Publica. The time for vacillation was past. Mars had come down from the heights. Grim-visaged, the god stalked the fields and villas, howled around the walls of towns. The dangers had never been greater. In the time of Cincinnatus, the lone tribe of the Italian Aequi besieged one legion on Mount Algidus. Now, all the barbaric tribes of the frozen North raged against the Romans, held the entire empire under siege, threatened humanitas itself. Come the hour, come the man. Hardened by war on every continent, only Maximinus, spurring the flanks of his foaming warhorse, could bring defeat to the savage Germans. As far as the Ocean, they would bow their heads to the majesty of Rome.
With his victory won, great Caesar would return to Rome. In the metropolis the antique virtues bred in his rustic home – piety, frugality, self-control – would cleanse away the stains of recent luxury and wickedness. A second Romulus, he would scour away the filth of corruption to bring forth another golden age. Justice would return to earth. All would salute him: the lands, the stretching leagues of the sea, the unplumbed sky. Let us salute him. Let Gaius Iulius Verus Maximinus become Emperor!
A roar of approval went up to the high ceiling, startling a pair of sparrows and sending them racing out over the heads of the spectators at the open doors. Old Celerinus sat down. His neighbours congratulated him. Pupienus walked over to join them. It had been a good speech, with echoes of Livy and Virgil, the patriotism of both suitable to the occasion.
In order of precedence, the Consuls asked the opinion of the assembled Senators: I agree. I agree. One after another, the four hundred or more assented. The Consuls put it to the vote.
With much shuffling and even a little barging, the vast majority of the Conscript Fathers rushed to arraign themselves on the indicated side of the Curia. They packed themselves together like herd animals threatened by a predator. Some were slower, through age or infirmity, or overtly paraded independence. Gallicanus and Maecenas moved tardily and but a little. Gallicanus barely crossed the middle of the floor.
Perhaps, Pupienus thought, I should have given you to Honoratus. The handsome friend of the new Emperor knew Gallicanus had visited, and must surmise that he talked treason, although possibly not the fanatic scope of it. The free Republic had been dead nearly three centuries. To revive it was a fool’s dream. But Gallicanus was a fool. A yapping Cynic dog of a fool. Like an undermined bastion, his arrogance could bring ruin on those around him at any moment. Perhaps indeed he should yet be handed over to Honoratus. But no, an oath was an oath. The gods were not to be mocked. Yet, if a way could be found, it might not stand to the discredit of Maximinus and those around him if an example were to be made of Gallicanus.
‘This side seems to be in the majority.’ The formal words of the Consul were an understatement. No one, not even Gallicanus, was fool enough to vote openly against the accession.
The Senators began to chant their thanks to the gods for their new Emperor: ‘Iupiter optime, tibi gratias. Apollo venerabilis, tibi gratias.’ It echoed around the marbled walls of the Curia like plainsong.
‘Iupiter optime, tibi gratias. Apollo venerabilis, tibi gratias.’
Singing with the rest, Pupienus wondered how long the gratitude to Jupiter the best, to venerable Apollo, to the other gods not yet thanked, would last. Could Honoratus, Flavius Vopiscus and Catius Clemens control the creature they had elevated? Could they mould Maximinus into something acceptable to more than the soldiery? Perhaps they could. They were men of ability as well as ambition. And there