seemed to be doing nothing but searching them for taxable goods. Perhaps it had not occurred to Macrianus.
Ballista could sense Cledonius's growing impatience to talk. The northerner turned his back and looked at the defences of Samosata. On the other side of the ditch, the wall was tall and thick. Although its facade was a diamond pattern of small blocks, it was smooth enough. But here and there were buttresses. Were they ornamental or did they indicate structural weakness? Either way, they were a bad thing, providing a modicum of cover for attackers. And the town wall was long. It would take an enormous number of men to defend it. Up on its hill, the citadel might be daunting, but the town itself would be difficult to hold.
The horse Ballista was holding tossed its head. He soothed it, bringing his face close to its nostrils, letting it inhale his breath. The automatic gestures did not break Ballista's line of thought. Did Macrianus even intend to try and hold the town? What were the lame one's plans?
Astyanax had outlined the plot in the most favourable light. Yet in some ways it was what he had not said that was most important. Astyanax had not mentioned any western governors as supporters. Presumably, there were none. And he had not talked of the governors of the so-called unarmed provinces of the east. While they commanded no legions, there were small detached troops of soldiers in every province. As well as these stationarii, there would be some whole units of auxiliary cavalry and infantry. It seemed that the governors of Asia, Lycia- Pamphylia, Cilicia and the other unarmed eastern provinces had not fallen in behind Macrianus either.
Astyanax had admitted that Virius Lupus, with his one legion in Arabia, and Aurelius Dasius, with the remnants of two in Osrhoene, had yet to commit. His ambiguity concerning the allegiance of Cornicula in Syria Phoenice and Aemilianus in Egypt was also telling. Two more eastern legions not yet secured.
Yet most important of all was what Astyanax had not said about the client rulers. He had made much of the adherence of Sampsigeramus of Emesa but had said nothing about Odenathus, the Lord of Palmyra. In the time of troubles, Odenathus had raised thirty thousand warriors, horse and foot. Ballista had commanded Palmyrenes: Cohors XX Palmyrenorum at Arete and Equites Tertii Catafractarii Palmirenorum at Circesium. They were fine fighters, deadly with a bow, fearsome hand to hand. The oasis city of Palmyra, Tadmor to its inhabitants, lay between Rome and Persia. Now its lord, Odenathus, the Lion of the Sun, held the balance in the east.
Garshasp, his devotions complete, the risen sun worshipped, walked out of Samosata. He shook Ballista's hand. Ballista passed him the reins and gave him a leg-up. The Persian waited.
Cledonius embraced Ballista.
'Are you sure?' There was no accusation in the voice of the ab Admissionibus.
'Yes.' Ballista made as if to say more.
'There is no need to explain,' said Cledonius. 'My wife is dead, my son with Gallienus.'
Ballista nodded. He helped Cledonius into the saddle. 'We are playthings of the gods,' said the ab Admissionibus. 'They give us harsh choices.'
The two mounted men turned and rode slowly away towards the bridge south. Ballista watched them go.
The words of his oath tormented Ballista: If I break my oath, spill my brains on the ground as this wine spills, my brains and the brains of my sons too. Julia put the papyrus roll down on the desk with the others. She pinched the bridge of her nose between forefinger and thumb. It was hot, even in the shaded part of the atrium. She had chosen this house for their family dwelling in Antioch because the Epiphania district caught whatever breeze there was. This morning, there was none.
She tapped the stylus against her teeth. The deeds of the property just outside Daphne were straightforward enough, but the other was more complicated. Ever since the charcoal burner had died, intestate, two of his relatives had disputed ownership. If Julia wanted the property, there seemed nothing for it but to pay off both. She was not sure why she was so determined to buy it. Certainly you could build a wonderful summer retreat there, high on the southern slopes of Mount Silpius, magnificent views but tucked away, almost impossible to find. Had she not been brought up in a household of the strictest Epicurean philosophy — the gods are far away and have no interest in humanity — she might have thought a deity had put the idea in her mind. Four years earlier, Ballista had narrowly survived an attempt on his life there. Possibly she wanted to buy it as a sort of offering for the return of her absent husband. If so, her philosophical rationality was slipping. Her late father, the stern senator Gaius Julius Volcatius Gallicanus, would not have approved.
Julia signalled for Anthia, the maid attending her, to bring a drink. At least Julia was not one of those Roman women of the old Res Publica whose husbands only kissed them to smell if there was wine on their breath. And she was not one of those Greek women still to be found in some cities whose menfolk made them wear the veil in public and locked them in their rooms at night.
Anthia brought the drink, mixing the water and wine as the domina liked it. Julia thanked her and sent her away. Sipping the cool liquid, she reflected that it was still a man's world. She would have to get her tutor to approve her purchases. Luckily, it was a formality. He was one of her many cousins, far away in Gaul and far more concerned with his fish ponds than anything else. She was lucky too in her husband. Ballista had never had much interest in their domestic arrangements. As soon as they were married, he had handed the household keys and the cura of their home to her.
Julia smiled to find herself playing with the iron ring on the third finger of her left hand. When Ballista had given it to her at their betrothal party, she had not loved him. Far from it. Her mother, may the earth lie lightly on her, had been opposed to the match, but her father had talked her round. Julia had dutifully done what her father wished. Although her family was still able to prove the senatorial property qualification, many of their ancestral estates had been confiscated more than half a century before by Septimius Severus, as a result of the family's unwise support for his rival Albinus. Their influence had not recovered. Marcus Clodius Ballista may have been born a barbarian but, nine years ago, he had held equestrian status in Rome, and — her father's winning argument — he had been a close amicus of the then reigning emperor Gallus.
If, as Epicurus taught, the ultimate aim of human life was freedom from disturbance, Julia wondered why people got married. Ataraxia and marriage did not seem obvious companions. It was not as if Ballista had many more faults than most husbands. To the usual insensitivity, stubbornness, drunkenness and outbursts of violent temper, he added only an ineradicable barbarian naivety. No, it was none of these that unsettled her freedom from disturbance. Since she had come to love him, it was his absences on campaign. One day, he would not return. Julia thought of their sons. Their beautiful, innocent sons. She would never, like the Spartan women of old, tell them to return with their shield or on it.
As Julia picked up her writing block, her new steward appeared. Before he could announce them, three shabby-looking men followed him out into the shade on the far side of the atrium. Julia had time for just a flash of annoyance before she recognized them. Dropping the writing things, she ran around the pool. Dignitas forgotten, she threw her arms around the neck of the ugly old man at the front.
'Calgacus.' She kissed him on both cheeks.
'Steady, Domina. The servants will talk,' said Maximus. She kissed him too, then turned and embraced Demetrius.
'How did you get here? We had heard nothing.'
Their smiles faded. The three men looked embarrassed. 'We travelled by night, avoiding people. A… a friend of Demetrius hid us for a time in Hierapolis. Before that, Castricius got us out of a problem in Zeugma.' Calgacus stopped. He fiddled with the sling on his arm.
'It was as if the underworld had swallowed you.' Julia clapped her hands. 'Now you are back — the gods be praised. Let me look at you. Calgacus, you are injured.'
'It is nothing.' The elderly Caledonian waved his good hand indecisively. 'Domina, your husband…' His voice trailed away.
Maximus also tried to speak and failed.
'Domina' — Demetrius took a deep breath and let the words out in a rush — 'your husband is a prisoner of the Sassanids. He ordered us to leave him. There was nothing we could do. I am sorry.'
Julia tipped her head back and laughed. The three men exchanged looks. Women were fragile, their grip on reality weak. Had the news unhinged her?
Wiping her eyes, she shook her head. 'The news has outrun you.' She raised herself on tiptoe and kissed Demetrius on the forehead. 'He is free, back with the Roman field army in Samosata. He has been appointed Prefect of Cavalry.' She laughed again. 'Not only is my husband free, Ballista is now officially a Vir Perfectissimus.'
