A centurion of the Praetorians stepped forward as Vitalianus approached the apse where the tribunal stood.
Soldiers have arrived from the north, Prefect. The despatches bear the imperial seal. Their officer says he has a private message of the utmost importance from Maximinus Augustus himself. It concerns the security of the Res Publica. They are waiting in the portico outside.
Vitalianus nodded. Tell them I will hear them in a moment. He ascended the raised dais, and faced the hall. Forgive me, the court will delay its sitting. Orders have come from the most noble Augustus. Despite his politeness, a sea of anxious faces gazed up at him. They knew as well as he what it meant: more arrests, more leading men rushed under close guard to the north, never to be seen again. It could be any one of them. The Graeculus Timesitheus, his senatorial opponent and every man present would be consulting his conscience, calling to mind every recent conversation, no matter how trivial. They did not fear just for themselves. All knew the dreadful repercussions for the family of the victims: the headmans block, or, at best, exile, confiscation and abject poverty.
Outside the sun had risen. The light flashed back from the highly polished cladding of the walls. Treachery and fear were nothing new in Rome. Long ago the Emperor Domitian had had the white reflective stone brought from distant Cappadocia. Like all Emperors, he had wanted to see what happened behind his back.
Two soldiers were talking to the centurion and the four Praetorian guards by the rear doors of the basilica. They fell silent, and snapped to attention, when they saw Vitalianus. The centurion gestured out beyond the portico into the open space.
An officer was standing by the central fountain. He had his back to Vitalianus, and seemed to be studying how the waters ran down the island that depicted Sicilia and gave the courtyard its name. At the sound of footfalls, he turned. He was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, dark haired and good-looking. He was vaguely familiar, but Vitalianus could not place him.
Prefect. The young officer saluted. Close up, he was pale and looked tired. His tunic was travel stained. Among the ornaments on his military belt was a memento mori, a skeleton in silver. He handed over the despatch.
Vitalianus turned the diptych in his hands: ivory and gold, clumsily sealed in imperial purple with the eagle of the Caesars. He broke the seal, unfolded the hinged block, and read.
Imperator Gaius Iulius Verus Maximinus to Publius Aelius Vitalianus, our most loving and loyal Prefect of the Praetorians. While marching against the Sarmatians, it was with great sadness we received information of yet another conspiracy. The eminence of the traitors precludes writing their names. The bearer of this letter will tell you their identity. Now I entreat you that in the same spirit in which you were chosen as Prefect and have conducted your duties you will spare no efforts in apprehending these evil-minded malefactors and convey them to us, so that with careful inquiry we can ascertain how far they have spread their sacrilegious poison.
Our son Verus Maximus Caesar sends his greetings, and his wife Iunia Fadilla, too, greets both you and your wife. To your daughters we will send a present, worthy both of their virtue and your own. We command you to hold the troops in the city in their allegiance to the Res Publica and to ourselves, my most loyal, most dear, and loving friend.
Our son Verus Maximus Caesar sends his greetings, and his wife Iunia Fadilla, too, greets both you and your wife. To your daughters we will send a present, worthy both of their virtue and your own. We command you to hold the troops in the city in their allegiance to the Res Publica and to ourselves, my most loyal, most dear, and loving friend.
Below the courtly hand of the imperial secretary was the rough scrawl MAXIMINUS AUGUSTUS.
Who? Vitalianus said.
Unexpectedly the officer smiled. The Prefect of the City, Sabinus, and he is only the first.
Vitalianus looked up sharply. A movement caught his eye reflected in the wall opposite. He turned. The two soldiers had drawn their swords.
A whisper of steel. Dropping the diptych, Vitalianus tugged his own blade from its scabbard. Guards! Yelling, he spun back, and blocked the cut aimed at his head.
Guards! He parried a thrust. Hearing running feet, he risked a glance over his shoulder. The two soldiers would be on him in a moment. The centurion and the Praetorians had not moved.
A searing pain in his right arm told Vitalianus that he had paid for his inattention. Somehow he fended off another blow.
Why?
The young officer said nothing.
I have done everything. Never betrayed him.
Vitalianus felt the steel slice into his left thigh from behind. He staggered. The blood hot on his leg.
Why?
Another slash into his left leg, and he collapsed. His weapon gone from his hand, he curled on the ground, one hand half covering his head, the other outstretched in supplication. What of his daughters? They were children, virgins. It was unlawful to execute virgins. Gods, not the fate of the children of Sejanus. No, dear gods, no!