One hundred and fifty stags, two hundred. Perhaps it was the life they led that made women so hard to understand, so much more difficult to manipulate. Unable to hold office, or make a mark in the world, never tasting success. Confined in the house; if they went out at all, it was under the watchful eyes of a custos and a maid. Their desires and ambitions so unimaginably narrow and pointless. Unless, of course, they were Tranquillina.
His wife was still talking to Maecia Faustina. Pity the child brought up in the joyless care of that dried-up old widow, with stern moral lessons and mementoes of death wherever he looked.
Timesitheus scanned the crowded atrium. He had hoped to find Menophilus, Valerian or Pupienus: the men at the heart of the emerging administration of the Gordiani. But they were not relatives, and there was no call for them to attend the salutatio. They would be busy making plans, in meetings from which Timesitheus was still excluded. In the far corner, Maecius Gordianus, second-cousin of the hostess, was holding court. Timesitheus went over, and greeted the Prefect of the Watch.
My congratulations, the city is safe, now your vigiles are back on the streets, and Pupienus has sent the Urban Cohorts into the Subura to arrest the worst troublemakers.
Maecius Gordianus laughed. Without your help, how would he have known where to find them. It is a lesson. Around you we must all watch what escapes the prison of our teeth.
The various clients sniggered.
Timesitheus again arranged his face. If ones thoughts are virtuous, there is no fear our unguarded words are dangerous.
Tranquillina came up and spoke to the Prefect of the Watch. We saw Brundisinus the other day. When your brother takes the toga of manhood, women will besiege him. He has your familys looks.
She was standing just a little too close to Maecius Gordianus, smiling up at him with her very dark eyes. The Prefect beamed down at her. Timesitheus stowed his jealousy deep in the hold of his mind. Tranquillina was not wanton, not with other men, she did nothing without calculation. They needed the friendship of this kinsman of the Emperors. Timesitheus himself had failed to win it. She would not go too far. Timesitheus moved away.
All governments were oligarchies behind the façade. A Greek Polis like Corcyra claimed to be a democracy. Yet power resided with a few dozen rich landowners, who monopolized all the magistracies and kept the poor out of both Council and Assembly with property qualifications. Rome was a monarchy only lacking the name in Latin. But an autocrat can not rule alone. Unless it was in front of him, he only knew what he was told. His friends decided what he heard, what was put under his nose. The question was how to penetrate that inner circle.
Timesitheus had proved himself of use to the new regime. To quell the unrest of the plebs urbana, he had released a huge amount of grain from the public warehouses. Much of that surplus had been marked for his own profit. Using contacts such as the young cut-purse Castricius, he had summoned up a mob so that Menophilus could drive out and liquidate Sabinus. Promptly handing over the names and domiciles of those same men had made it easy for Pupienus to arrest them, and at a stroke ended all rioting in the streets.
He had applied himself in the interest of the Gordiani, advancing various plans that could win the civil war, perhaps end it before the fighting began. His friend Axius Aelianus, the Procurator of Dacia, might be induced to overthrow the governor of that province, and thus take control of an army that could threaten Maximinus from the rear. He had suggested that the new regime might bring pressure on those officers serving in the North by seizing their relatives in Rome, especially the children being taught at the imperial school on the Palatine. Similarly both the Praetorians and the men of the 2nd Parthian Legion had left families at their Italian bases, respectively in Rome and in the Alban Hills. Even soldiers were not so heartless as to ignore the safety of their loved ones.
More direct actions might spare Italy the horrors of internecine strife. As Prefect of the Heavy Cavalry with the field army, Timesitheus own cousin Sabinus Modestus was well placed to strike down the tyrant. Privately, Timesitheus doubted this scheme would succeed, but it was more than worth the risk to his dim-witted relative. More inventive was the plan involving his friend Catius Celer. The Senator was regarded with suspicion in Rome because his brother Clemens had been instrumental in putting Maximinus on the throne. What would be more natural in the eyes of the tyrant than Celer fleeing to the North. In his train, as a stable boy or the like, would go Castricius. The knife-boy would have no choice but to try and kill Maximinus. Now, as a prisoner, his future held only the cross or the mines. Should Castricius succeed, and, by some miracle, survive the aftermath, he would be richly rewarded.
Menophilus and Pupienus had looked askance at all the suggestions. They had said such things ran against the ways of their ancestors. The mos maiorum could countenance nothing so underhand. Menophilus had dredged up ancient history. The Senate had rejected offers to assassinate enemies such as Pyrrhus and Arminius. Which was rich, coming from a man who, recently having stabbed one opponent with a sword, had beaten the next to death with the leg of a chair.
Timesitheus had not spared himself on their behalf. They had rejected his proposals, and he had received nothing for what he had accomplished. He had not added the Prefecture of the Praetorians, or even the Watch, to that of the Grain Supply. He had not been admitted to the small inner circle of the unofficial oligarchy. Half-promises of the command of the fleet at Ravenna or Misenum, vague hints about the Prefecture of Egypt, some time in the future, were not enough.
What galled Timesitheus most was that he seemed to have no choice but to persevere. Maximinus had sentenced him to death. Changing sides was not an option. Thracians were strangers to mercy or forgiveness. Maximinus was most unlikely to remit the death penalty, let alone invest him with high command, embrace him with friendship, should he suddenly ride into his camp. And, worst of all, Timesitheus thought it most likely that Maximinus would prevail.
With the thought came fear. Timesitheus heard the scrabble of its claws, felt its moist breath at his throat. He walked away from his wife. He needed to be on his own, somewhere he could face down the rodent, stare back into its flat, black eyes.
The rear colonnade was deserted. Timesitheus leant his back against a column. There had to be a way out. A bold stroke to cut the apt image of the Gordian knot. Perhaps Egypt could provide the answer. Annianus the Prefect there had been appointed by Maximinus. Rome needed Egyptian grain. Without it, the plebs would riot. Annianus could make the city ungovernable. Persuade Menophilus of that danger. Timesitheus must go there now to replace Annianus. Who better than the Praefectus Annonae to secure the supply? Once there he would have soldiers, not just auxiliaries, but also the 2nd Legion Traiana Fortis. There were another two legions in Mesopotamia with his friend Priscus. Two more in Syria Palestina under Priscus brother-in-law, weak old Severinus. Priscus had flirted with revolt before. No matter who won in the West, Maximinus or the Gordiani, the army of the East could challenge them. Invest a pliable Senator with the purple. Severinus might serve. Tranquillina would approve. She would become not just the wife of a friend of Caesar, but of the man who had put him on the throne.
A small movement behind him in the lararium made him whirl around. It was just a boy, no older than nine or ten. He looked frightened. Toy soldiers were spread across the floor of the household shrine.
Timesitheus smiled, and walked over slowly, as he did approaching a nervous horse.
I was not doing anything wrong, the boy said.
No. Timesitheus squatted down by the toys. May I pick them up?
The boy nodded. My mother told me not to be seen playing. She said people would think me a baby. He was older than he first appeared, perhaps eleven or twelve, and had a slight lisp.
Timesitheus peered at a wooden soldier. The 10th Legion?
No, the 2nd Augusta. The thunderbolts on the shield are very similar.
They are well-painted. Better than I managed when I was your age. Did you paint them yourself?
No, my mother says it is not suitable for a boy of a noble family. My uncle Gordian gave them to me.
Perhaps when he returns to Rome, he will give you some more.
I think he will be too busy, now he is Emperor. The boy said the last with pride.
Would you like me to bring you some?
I can not accept gifts from strangers.
I will ask your mother. My name is Timesitheus.
I am Marcus Junius Balbus.
Timesitheus grinned. I know.
The boy looked past Timesitheus, and shrank back.
Junius Balbus, you are late for your instruction in ethics. Your mother paid a great deal of money for the philosopher. He is waiting. The voice of the freedman became peevish. Your mother told you not to play with those childish things in public. Next year, you will take the toga virilis.
Timesitheus stood, and faced Montanus. It is my fault. I asked the boy to show me the soldiers.
Nevertheless, he has disobeyed an instruction. He must be punished.
It was my doing, Timesitheus said. He should not be punished.
The freedman bridled. You presume to dictate how the house of the Gordiani conducts itself?
Timesitheus stepped up to Montanus. The freedman went to move back. Timesitheus took him by both shoulders, put his face very close, spoke quietly. You know who I am. You know what happened to Magnus, what happened to Valerius Apollinaris. Crushing something like you, an ex-slave who has forgotten his place, an ex-slave with scars on his back and his arse still gaping, is nothing more to me than stepping on a snail. The boys mother need not be informed. If I hear that he has been punished, I will come for you. Believe me, I do not make idle threats.
Montanus staggered a little, when released.
Timesitheus arranged his face into an open smile, turned back to the boy. Farewell, Marcus. I hope to see you again.
Farewell, Misitheus. The boy blushed. I am sorry, some names are hard to pronounce.
No need to apologize. Misitheus sounds a better man than Timesitheus.