CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Vindobona,
Province of Pannonia Superior
September 5th, 166 CE
The Emperor of Rome had taken over the municipal council building on the marketplace forum of the civilian part of Vindobona. It wasn’t anything as grand as a proper basilica, not in this small provincial border city, but it would do for now. It had sufficient space, the local officials could work out of other buildings for the nonce, and the Praetorium in the Tenth Legion’s fort was crammed to bursting right now anyway. A cot in a cubicle was good enough for sleep, and a vast improvement on the forced-march pace of getting here, which had brought his stomach pains on badly; this plain plastered room with a window opening on the courtyard to let in the afternoon sunlight was quite sufficient for indoor work.
Even the smell wasn’t too bad on this pleasant summer’s day, only moderately warm by Italian standards, despite how crowded the city was right now. The builders of the fort had done well, two-thirds of a century ago, in laying on water and sewage.
Though if I’m here any length of time, I’ll see to having more of the streets paved. The mud here is memorable, and bottomless.
Right now he had a tricky bit of political balancing to do. The two men standing in front of him on the other side of the table were the beginning of it.
They made their greetings after the Praetorian guardsmen at the door settled back to parade rest with a clank, silent as statues, menacing as the scorpions on their shields and embossed in low relief on the cheekpieces of their helmets.
One of the newcomers gave Galen only a fleeting glance; the physician was inconspicuous on his stool in the background, and he probably took him for a clerk, given his writing tablet and stylus. The other sent a slight nod in that direction, respectfully polite in a noble-to-commoner sort of way.
The greetings to the Emperor were politely deferential but not sycophantic; Marcus Iallius Bassus would have warned the other man to keep it simple, since he and the Emperor had known each other for many years. Bassus was of a senatorial family from Gallia Narbonensis, a spare man of around the Emperor’s own midforties with thinning brown hair, an ex-consul and as such a nobilis and member of the Senate himself; he’d also been a legionary legate and governor of Pannonia Inferior east of here, before being appointed to Pannonia Superior late last year.
Loyal and capable, the Emperor thought. Not brilliant, but intelligent and solidly competent. I wonder why he looks so nervous? Though he hides it well.
“Salve, Legatus Augusti pro praeto Marcus Iallius Bassus,” Marcus Aurelius said to the provincial governor of Pannonia Superior, who was in a toga and tunic with the broad senatorial stripes, though his office entitled him to military garb. And:
“Salve, Legatus legionis Sextius Lollius Tiberianus,” he added to the commander of Legio X Gemina.
Who was in full military fig down to the knotted scarlet sash around his muscled bronze breastplate, with his crested, relief-worked helmet under his left arm. That was perhaps a little ostentatious.
Since his own military talents nearly produced a disaster.
“First, congratulations on your great victory over the barbarian invaders in May,” he said.
Quite sincerely; it had saved everyone between here and Sirmium at least, and quite possibly between here and the Adriatic—there simply hadn’t been any forces available to plug a gap torn in the defenses of the frontier. Not in time; he could have been fighting the Germans hundreds of miles south of here, trying to drive them back while they burned everything to the ground and left devastation for him to remedy as best he could, even if . . . when . . . they were expelled. Citizens of Rome expected Rome to protect them from outsiders.
And rightly so.
“We passed several caravans of prisoners a little south of here. The people of the provinces celebrated this evidence of the triumphant valor of your troops.”
They’d also tried to attack and lynch the captives being marched off to the slave markets and the mines and the arena, a sign of both relief and lingering fear among the populace. The military escorts had had to beat them back with shields and the shafts of their spears, or the clubs they carried to deal with recalcitrant captives. That wouldn’t be a problem further from the frontier, where people would regard them as so much saleable mobile meat.
“A feast of celebration is being prepared in your honor, and wine and food will be distributed in the city.”
The Emperor indicated two ornate scrolls on the table in front of him.
“You have both also been voted the thanks of the Senate and People of Rome, and the ornamenta triumphalia.”
That was a memorial to how worried the Senate had been. Those were the ornaments of a triumph, as close as anyone not an Emperor or their close relative could come these days to an actual triumph through the streets of Rome. Both men looked pleased, and the commander of the Tenth gave an almost audible sigh of relief.
Yes, you will not be called to account for nearly destroying your legion. A privilege of rank, but one only granted since the legion was not in fact destroyed; on balance, a positive outcome. And if it had been destroyed, you would probably at least have had the grace to die with it.
“And you have my own thanks. Not only for the victory, but for your actions since—with respect to Lucius Triarius Artorius and his following and the invaluable knowledge they seem to possess. What the cavalry can do with the new Pannonian gear has made a great impression on me, and you two have been most active in procuring it. I look forward to a demonstration of the other . . . novelties.”
Hmmm. Bassus is still nervous; Sextius was very nervous, but now is not. So my good Bassus is not apprehensive about my opinion of his performance as governor. Which has in fact been about as good as could be expected, given the antics of the Tenth’s commander.
“Sextius Lollius Tiberianus, it further pleases the noble Senate to recognize your services to the rēs pūblica Rōmāna by appointing you proconsul of Hispania Baetica, as of the kalends of next January.”
It pleased the noble Senate because the Emperor had spoken under the rose to several senators, but there hadn’t been much argument, even though Hispania Baetica was a senatorial province and a plum appointment and someone’s cousin or nephew was going to be very disappointed. Everyone who paid any attention knew there had been a battle and a victory here, and a badly needed one. Most didn’t know the details yet, except for wild rumors about divine intervention.
Baetica was the southernmost part of Hispania, taken from Carthage more than three centuries ago; its rich valley lowlands had drawn many Roman colonists then and later. Nowadays it exported massive quantities of oil and wine, wool, grain and garum, and the silver and copper of its mountain mines, all over the Empire. It was also so thoroughly Romanized that it might as well have been in Italy. The Emperors Hadrian and Trajan had both come of families settled there, and so did many senators; he had kin there himself.
And it needed no garrison except for a few auxiliaries to serve as, effectively, vigiles. That meant police who patrolled against the bandits who were an occasional annoying problem nearly everywhere, including the rougher parts of Italy.
Which was precisely why it was a senatorial preserve; Octavian, the first Augustus himself, had established the precedent that the princeps directly controlled any appointment that involved significant numbers of troops. Nobody was going to start a revolt and aim for the purple from peaceful Baetica, amid the warm, sleepy vineyards and villas and olive groves and bustling, ship-thronged port cities.
Sextius beamed; he’d been rewarded with a choice appointment, far more desirable than a governorship on this cold northern frontier if you didn’t care about the chance of military glory . . . which right now he probably didn’t. One where you didn’t have to take risks or overstep the conventions and unspoken rules to end your term in office wealthier than you began it.
But it also signifies that he will never again have a military command, Marcus Aurelius thought. No matter the politics, I will not have Roman soldiers under the control of such as he. He’s no danger to me, but he would be to the troops he commanded and therefore to the Empire. How I wish I could always promote men on ability alone!
“Perhaps you should begin to gather your household for your new position,” the Emperor hinted. “To be ready after the victory parade; it’s a long way to Rome, as my backside bears witness, and then there’s preparation and the trip to Colonia Patricia.”
Sextius beamed at the mention of Colonia Patricia Corduba, capital of his new province, bowed, drew himself up and saluted with his fingers pointing at the ceiling.
“Hail, Imperator Caesar Augustus!”
“Sit, Bassus,” the Emperor said after the man was gone; an attendant poured them both well-watered wine. “Your opinion?”
“Probably as good a solution as any, sir, given his status and family connections,” Bassus said. “He’s not a fool and he’ll govern Baetica reasonably well, and will be satisfied with the usual perquisites of office. He’s just not suited to a field command, or to governing on the frontier in a time of troubles. Which, alas, this seems to be.”
“Granted, and alas indeed. Now—Artorius, the man of the moment,” Marcus said. “Your appraisal of him as a man? No need to speculate on his origins just now; I want your opinion of his character before I meet him myself.”
“Very intelligent, learned in many respects but with curious lacunae—well, he is a foreigner by origin. Forceful, brave to a fault, as he showed in his fight with Ballomar, and daring. But sensibly daring, so to speak, not reckless.”
“Ambitious?”
“Not without ambition, but I think—curiously—genuinely devoted to the cause of Rome, as much as anyone born in the Empire or even birthed on the Seven Hills in the shadow of the Forum. And to your person, sir: he seems to be something of a Stoic himself, familiar with the philosophers from Zeno on and I would say that he admires you. Not least because he does not loudly proclaim any such sentiment. I speak of the implications of what he does say about other matters.”
He frowned and went on: “Devoted to Rome . . . but in an odd way. He has praised the Pax Romana in my hearing, the trade and prosperity it brings, and our law and the discipline of our armies. But he praises them like a man who has . . . it’s difficult to express what I mean, sir . . . as if he had observed it all from a great distance, as something of interest but only to the mind. Like you or I discussing Alexander of Macedon, or the character of Socrates.”
Bassus shook his head. “For the rest, he is a fine horseman in this new fashion, and knows a variety of the pankration”—which meant all-in unarmed combat—“that has impressed men skilled in such. Oddly, he knew nearly nothing of the sword when he arrived, but has learned quickly. I have the impression that he is a countryman by rearing and inclination, and he says his family in his homeland were landowners who dwelt by preference on their rural property when not doing military service, which I believe. Even a small and tidy city such as Vindobona seems unclean to him, though he does not complain loudly. For that matter, he and his followers are all very particular in matters of cleanliness. Even by our Roman standards, much less those of any other folk I have seen. Or even of whom I have heard.”
“And those followers? The four who arrived here with him?”
“Difficult to say; I’ve had less to do with them. The Jew, Marcus, is extremely intelligent but otherworldly and strange, as if he were not quite on the same plane of existence as the rest of humanity.”
“I have met scholars like that, including some fine ones,” the Emperor said. “If my birth had been otherwise, I might have been such myself.”
“Yes, sir. He has overseen the making of the new papyrus, and has constructed a very odd engine that can reproduce writing quickly, which I have only seen this last month. An extraordinary thing. I watched for an hour, and an entire book was written down on the, ah, paper. And done perfectly.”
Marcus Aurelius’ eyebrows rose. A whole scriptorium of busy scribes couldn’t do that, and there were always errors that crept in as one copy after another was written down.
“The other young man, Julius, now he is very ambitious, I would judge; he’s also knowledgeable in agriculture and the management of estates in a way which may create much wealth, things unheard of by Varro or Columella, and new crops of many uses and strange appearance—apparently from this America place, brought as seeds. I’ve already written to the vilicii of my own properties to use some of his innovations, and bought examples of his engines and pledges of the seeds, once they are harvested, to send to them. The women—”
He shrugged his shoulders. “For starters, they’re both formidable scholars too.”
“Odd, but not completely unknown,” Marcus observed.
“The one called Philippa, who has that look of the very far east, is a tribas.”
They both shrugged their shoulders this time; not a matter of great importance to a man of the world. Some found such things amusing, others unnatural and repulsive because it usurped masculine attributes in a way that the usual love of man and youth did not, but not important, no.
Though consider my divine predecessor Hadrian. He was a very capable Emperor, but the depth of his infatuation with that Greek boy Antinoös exposed him to ridicule. Some things should be kept private, and one should avoid immoderate passions. Though remember to be moderate even in moderation!
“And she is an expert on horses and horse gear, oddly enough. Though appropriate to her name!”
Which meant lover of horses in Greek.
“So are many Sarmatian women, the writers say.”
“They speak truly. One of Artorius’ retainers is a Sarmatian amazon, and she is one of the best riders I have ever seen.”
Marcus Aurelius made a gesture, spreading one hand palm up.
“Nomos is king of all, but he wears different masks among different nations.”
That Greek word nomos meant roughly “law,” or perhaps “local custom,” if you used Herodotus’ reuse of Pindaros’ poem as an example. Bassus nodded in acknowledgment and went on:
“And she also has deep knowledge of mathematics. She has expounded a new system of arithmetical calculation and notation which allows for very rapid multiplication and division, and my man of business tells me a number of merchants have taken it up, along with what she calls double-entry bookkeeping. Together these simplify their dealings and their records remarkably, and make it easier to understand the more arcane aspects at a glance.”
The Emperor’s brows rose; that was unusual for a woman. He would have to look into it; mathematics were an essential part of philosophy, and had many practical uses elsewhere too.
If these new methods are useful to merchants, they might well be of service to the servants of the State, as well. Keeping and transmitting accurate records is always a struggle.
“Paula, the one of Nubian appearance, has introduced innovations in spinning and weaving. My man of business also tells me they will eventually be a source of great riches to anyone with properties producing flax and wool, and they are already being widely copied. Faster than the mathematics!”
They both smiled at that.
“And she has also introduced novel ideas in midwifery. These seem to work as she claims, judging by the news from the Villa Lunae. Far, far fewer mothers dying of childbed fever.”
Galen shifted on his stool, and the Emperor nodded permission.
“Do they involve the use of boiled water, frequent handwashing in sapo, and lustration of vulnerable or injured parts with double-refined superwine, excellent Governor?” the Greek said.
“Yes, they do. She and the others have tried to persuade the army’s field physicians to use similar methods for wounds, but there has been resistance and I hesitated to override it amid so much else.”
Galen nodded as a man did when his thoughts were confirmed, and spoke to the Emperor:
“Lord, this would be similar to the wound treatments I outlined in Rome and have tested further on our journey here. Childbirth often leads to ruptures and tearing of tissues, and it is logical that the same treatments would work in both cases.”
The Greek thought for a moment, and said slowly: “Deaths by childbed fever are common for mothers, and not unknown for children too, as everyone knows, lord. Between one in twenty and one in a hundred births. Fewer if the labor is easy and swift, more if it is prolonged or difficult, still more in the case of a breech birth even if the child is successfully repositioned by the midwife. If this treatment works as well as the one for wounds, that would mean . . . ”
His face went still, looking upward a little as he thought.
“ . . . a reduction of more than half, shall we say, in the proportion of women dying soon after bearing. Possibly even more than that. Which would mean more women surviving to bear more children later.”
“More hands to work and fight, eventually, then,” the Emperor noted. “The Empire’s strength is in its people. And less grief for the families and husbands of the unfortunate women.”
Bessus leaned forward on his chair. “Should I have been more forceful with the military doctors, sir?”
Marcus Aurelius shook his head. “I do not think so. Galenos?”
“Recalling the response of the doctors of Rome to me, I don’t think it would be productive to attempt to make the military medicorum listen to what they will think is a mere midwife and weaver of cloth, lord. However right she is, frustrating though that might be in an abstract sense.”
Marcus Aurelius smiled; he wasn’t a man who laughed easily, or often, but he was pleased now.
One thing I like about Galen is his lack of intellectual arrogance despite his undoubted genius, he thought. He tries steadily to see the world as it is, not as he wishes it might be. He fails sometimes, as we all fail, but he does not cease to try because of that. That is a rare quality, and one I struggle to possess myself. It is a failing of philosophers that we often fall in love with our ideas and become blind to their true merits. That is vanity.
“But they will listen to the Emperor’s physician from Rome,” he said aloud. “See to it, Galen—you have my full authority in any medical matter here, and may tell anyone so if they question you. You may also tell them that I will be severely displeased if it becomes necessary for me to intervene directly to sustain your authority.”
He turned back to Bassus. “Your overall advice in the matter of Artorius?”
“Reward him and his, and do so lavishly, Caesar. In wealth and also in public praise and office.”
“Your reasoning in this matter?”
“First, it is right because he deserves it. Without him, we would have lost the Tenth . . . all except the vexilliationes in the east . . . and Vindobona at the very least would have been sacked, and the countryside around it burned out. I would simply not have had enough force to remedy the situation, not if I were Alexander of Macedon or the Divine Julius come again. Which I am not, though I am not a fool in battle either.”
Unlike Sextius Lollius Tiberianus went unspoken between them.
“This is true, and I had thought as much myself,” he said, making a mental note to talk to the procurator of the res privata in this province, the Emperor’s private estates. “Good to know that our thoughts still run like a matched team, Bassus. You implied there is another reason?”
“Yes, sir. Two more. There are many rumors about Artorius, each wilder than the last, some attributing divine powers to him, some casting him as a sorcerer. If you are seen to reward him and he is seen to gratefully take reward from your hands—”
The Emperor raised his brows in question, and Bassus qualified his remark:
“Which it is my strong impression that he will, it is then plain that he is your man, your retainer, your client and loyal supporter. Then the rumors and the awe they generate rebound to Caesar Augustus’ benefit; which is to say, to the benefit of the State.”
“Cogent,” the Emperor said. “And frankly, I had not thought of that . . . though I should have.”
An Emperor had to maintain his prestige to retain auctoritas. History showed that a well-meaning fool or even a vicious clown could rule Rome . . . but not for long, and without auctoritas catastrophic disorder could spread so, so easily. It was not just a matter of the Emperor suffering what he deserved, but the Empire itself and its people suffering with him.
For disorder means civil war and the ruin of lives; burning, wasting, lost trade, famine, barbarian invasions.
“And the third and last?”
“That he and his are men worth cultivating, that they are among those whose loyalty and counsel will be of great advantage. Advantage in ways both obvious now, and those at present unseen.”
“That had also occurred to me. And now,” the Emperor went on, “let us prepare for the victory parade; it is one of the more pleasant features of my position that I can reward the worthy. And prepare for the exhibition of the thunderballs. It is important that the troops gain a realistic knowledge of their capacities.”
He wasn’t looking at Bassus, but he noticed a twitch. “What is it, Bassus?” he asked.
“Sir . . . ” the man said.
Ah, this is what he was nervous of.
“Sir, I have beheld the thunderballs before. I believe Artorius’ explanation of them—that they are a simple combination of well-known materials, with no sorcery involved. I have seen the thunderpowder made at each stage of the process. And I am a man of sufficient courage, I think my record shows that. But . . . something about them makes my bowels turn liquid.”
“No shame in that,” Marcus Aurelius said. “You have mastered your fear and do not let it affect your actions or prejudice your thoughts. That self-mastery is all that can in justice be expected of any man. The more credit to you if it requires an admirable self-discipline, then, my good Bassus.”