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 looked from Balbinus to Valerian; the latter honest and decent, the other a sack of faeces.
‘In a time of revolution, the duties of an Emperor are too heavy for one man. Conscript Fathers, you must clothe two men in the purple; one to rule the city, one to go out and meet the tyrant with an army. When I take the field against Maximinus, Rome must be left in safe hands.’
There was silence now, all eyes fixed upon Pupienus.
‘Conscript Fathers, I recommend to you a man of illustrious birth, a man dear to the state by reason both of his gentle character and of his blameless life, which from the earliest years he has passed in study and in letters.’
The bitter medicine must be swallowed; the unpalatable words said.
‘You have my opinion, Decimus Caelius Calvinus Balbinus must be raised to share the throne, in all its powers and duties.’
Balbinus Augustus, may the gods keep you.
Balbinus’ porcine features shone with undisguised triumph.
It is right, it is just. Balbinus and Pupienus Augusti, what the Senate has given you, take gladly.
Amid the uproar, few noticed the unbolting of the doors. Pupienus watched Gallicanus, his intimate friend Maecenas, and two other Senators slip out. Withdrawal could form the basis of a charge of treason. But let them go, let them play Thrasea or some other philosophic sage, who had courted martyrdom by their refusal to attend their Emperors in the Senate. Their resistance was puerile. They could achieve nothing.
‘We
