Chapter 40
Riothamus had arrived on one of his many circuits of the region. He came to Constantia at intervals for various reasons which usually amounted to conferring with the legate and replenishing his forever needy stock of men and supplies. This time, however, he wanted something more than extra grain or a few more soldiers.
It had been a fraught summer with many enemy incursions; barbarian encroachment along Armorica’s far northeast border had got out of hand—too many raids, too many clashes. Our valiant dux was anxious to demonstrate that these skirmishes were not to be tolerated and that our long-established borders would be defended—by the full might of Armorica’s armies if necessary. For this, Riothamus needed men, weapons, horses, and supplies from garrisons throughout the province. So, he came to his legate to ratify the request to unite the garrisons to march under his command to the border.
“By making a show of force,” Aridius declared after a long day of discussions with the dux and the legion commanders, “there is a good chance we can not only recover land lost to the barbarians, but break their will for years to come. Armorica could enjoy the blessings of real peace.”
I nodded. Who was I to disagree? I glanced at Riothamus, sitting with his cup in his hand, his features drawn, his eyes hooded and unreadable. What he thought about Aridius’ explanation of his plan was impossible to tell. I had met Riothamus, of course, and he often visited our home when he came on his rounds. I always found him an imposing fellow: tall and spare, rawboned, as some would say: his hands were huge, and he had two deep-set blue eyes either side of a hawk nose—a Roman nose; he wore the common legionary’s tonsure, giving him the look of a new-shorn sheep. Never did I doubt his courage; that had been proven often enough to pass beyond all doubt and on its way to becoming legend.
At the same time, I suspected I knew why Emperor Valentinian was wary of him and his principal patron, Aetius. Both men looked like what they were: commanders of the Roman Empire. Valentinian, on the other hand, appeared to many like a schemer and conniver—in other words, a politician. For all his faults, and they were many, God knows, the face Valentinian displayed to the world was that of a nobleman born to the purple and luxuriating in his power, while his rivals all too often seemed ill-at-ease in anything but the hardened leather breastplate of a soldier. This, I think, was Riothamus, Aetius, and their champion Majorian’s chief failing—along with the fact that they were likely not duplicitous enough for the intrigues of the royal court.
Well, it had been a long day, as I say, and Aridius and his esteemed guest were sitting in the half-light of a fading sunset, sipping spiced Gaulish wine and eating roasted almonds as they reviewed matter of state elsewhere, and the means that might be used to rally the commanders of neighboring provinces to join Armorica’s cause. Clearly, the day’s discussions had not proven as simple and forthright as either of them had expected. Feathers had been ruffled, I guess, and toes trod on. By dint of rank and force of reason, however, they had carried the day. Legio Gallicana would march with Riothamus at its head. That much I gathered from the snatches of conversation I could make out—military talks generally passed over my head. But then, I happened to catch something that did awaken my wifely interest.
“What was that?” I asked Aridius, taking the jar from Dyfrig, the servant in attendance, and pouring more wine into the cups. “Did I hear you say you would be riding with them?”
“I’m joining the troops, too,” he said loud and clear—as if my deafness was the source of my concern.
“To fight in the battle?” I could not believe what he was saying. To my knowledge, my husband had never engaged in so much as a street brawl in his entire life. He did not even own a sword. What was he thinking?
My alarm brought Aridius up out of his chair. He thrust out his hands in a gesture of calm and conciliation. “No, no, not to fight,” he said quickly. “Most assuredly not to fight. If all goes well there will be no battle. In any event, I’m merely going along to observe. As Legatus Legionis, it would be good for me to be seen personally accompanying the troops under the banner of my office as we travel to the other garrisons and settlements. My presence would let the kings and battlechiefs know that this action has my full confidence and sanction and will induce many of the lords and their men to join us as well. My authority will be recognized and respected.” He said this with a pride that did not sit naturally with him.
I looked to Riothamus, who had suddenly discovered a new fascination for the bottom of his cup. “Is this true?” I demanded of him. “This is your idea?”
He glanced up gathering his courage to face an irate woman, and finally looked me in the eye. “It is that,” he admitted. “I can think of no better way to embolden the border tribes than to have our legate riding with me at the head of our army. Rest assured, good lady, I will be at his side all the way. And if our campaign is successful, there will be no fighting.” He looked to Aridius and added, “He will take no part in any battle.”
“I’ll be an observer,” Aridius affirmed again. “Only that. Nothing more.”
Later, after an awkward meal and an early end to Riothamus’ visit, I went to the kitchen to speak to the servants of the next day’s duties, after which I returned to the hall where I found Ari sitting in his chair—eyes downcast, his face half in shadow. I thought he might be asleep, but when he heard my footsteps, he looked up and gave me a weak smile.
“That man,” he said, exhaling heavily. I knew well which man he meant. “He is tireless, but I am not. I am exhausted.
I gave my good husband a sympathetic smile and settled into the chair beside him. “Then why do you always allow him full rein?”
Aridius gave a hollow laugh. “Because he is right! He knows what is needed to keep our borders from being overrun—that, and the ability to do it.”
I regarded Aridius in silence for a moment, trying to discern what it was that troubled him. “But you do not relish going on this—this operation with him. Is that it?”
He glanced up quickly. “No, no, I am not worried about that—at least not my part in it. Our dux is right about the need, and it is time I was seen riding with the army to demonstrate my support. And he is right that it may well help rally the support of the tribal lords. This campaign is to be a demonstration of power—to prove to the barbarians that we possess the weapons of war and we haven’t lost the will to fight.”
“But then . . . what is it that is bothering you?”
Aridius picked up his wine cup, looked in it to find it empty, and put it back on the table. “It is nothing to do with any of that.” His tone grew darker. “It is the news he brought with him.”
“News—is that what you said? What news is that?”
“News from the court of Valentinian.”
“Our dear emperor? I thought we were done with him here in Armorica,” I declared; then, seeing Ari’s frown, added, “Are we not?”
“It seems we are not!” ex claimed Aridius with sudden vigor. “I thought we’d finished with him and his schemes when we left Britannia. But it appears that Aetius has been forced to swear loyalty to the emperor publicly and this has upset several of the provincial commanders. One of them, a general named Felix, has got it into his head that he now has a chance at the throne, and means to try! The hubris of these men is monumental! It’s madness! It’s is—”
I broke into what was certain to be a lengthy diatribe of men and their machinations that were just the buzzing of so many flies in my head. “Be that as it may,” I said, “I cannot see that it should concern us. Let Valentinian’s rivals fight over any throne they desire. Why should we care?”
“Oh!” exclaimed Aridius. He reached for the near-empty wine jar and dashed the remains into his cup, swallowed it down, and slammed the cup onto the board. “I’ll tell you why! Because any of these would-be usurpers cannot make a credible challenge without the western legions—Armorica’s and those of Britannia as well.”
I recalled a scrap of history my father had taught me about our long-ago hero Macsen Wledig. “Is that not precisely what Macsen—I mean Magnus did all those years ago?”
“Yes,” agreed Ari, “but Maximus was successful. This upstart Felix is bent on repeating Emperor Magnus’ triumph. He will start by marshalling the legions of Gaul, and Armorica will be first among them. He is already pressing Riothamus to support him and, as legate to the legion here, I will be pulled into his blasted plans, too!” He looked once more into his empty cup, muttering, “As if we didn’t already have our hands full trying to keep the Saescens at bay.” Glancing up, he added in a more forceful tone. “Hear me, Aurelia, I have no appetite to further the imperial ambitions of Felix or anyone else.”
“Can’t you refuse?”
“I don’t know,” Aridius grunted. “That is what I am contemplating. But I must find a way to refuse without giving cause for reprisals later on.”
I bit my lip—more out of sympathy for my husband’s anguish than any real understanding of the situation he was now forced to endure. Covering his hand with mine, I said, “I’m sure you’ll come to the right decision.”
“If only it were that easy,” he said. Aridius rubbed his hands over his face. “Have Dyfrig bring me some more wine,” he said. “I want to sit up awhile and think this through.”
“No.” I said. “It has been a long day. You are tired, and you have had enough wine for one night. Come to bed and sleep. In the morning things will not appear so dark as they do now.”
Grumbling, he rose reluctantly and pushed back his chair. Like the good wife I was, I took his arm and gentled him along to his chamber where I left him to put on his nightclothes and lie down.
“Aren’t you coming to bed?” he asked, pulling off his tunic.
“Soon,” I told him, taking the tunic and folding it neatly. “Your day is ended, but I still have a few chores to finish before I sleep.” I kissed him goodnight and went to ensure that the kitchen fire was banked, the larder secured, the servants had retired, and so on. Lastly, I made certain that the courtyard gate was closed and locked for the night—an old habit from my childhood in Venta. Silly, I know. I lived within the walls of a fortress surrounded by soldiers—one of the safest places in all Armorica. But it was not out of necessity that I performed my routine; it was, I suspect, more a way of keeping alive a past I still valued in a world changing so fast I sometimes had trouble finding a place to stand. That night, I went about my chores breathing a simple prayer: Lord, save us from the infernal schemes of ambitious men!
Well, despite my hopeful words about a good night’s sleep, I was only partly right about the morning bringing wisdom and clarity. Dawn broke on a hopeful, sun-bright day, right enough, but brought with it a whole new disaster.