their lines. The new emperors snatched the offerings and placed them on their own heads.
Servants swarmed out. Two purple cloaks were produced and draped around the shoulders of Quietus and Macrianus. In front of each was placed a low altar on which burned the sacred fire of an emperor. Behind them, men ran about fixing imperial symbols to the front of the palace: eagles, the shield of four virtues, wreaths, bay leaves for victory, oak leaves for saving citizens' lives.
All of this rather gave the lie to the 'impromptu' nature of the events, thought Ballista. He would not be able to remain lurking in anonymity behind a column for long. His own unwanted part in these ghastly theatrics was fast approaching. He fiddled with his sword.
It was Quietus who made the expected formal speech of acceptance.
'Commilitiones, senators, citizens of Rome, it is with humility that we accede to your demand and take the imperium. Our joint reign will be marked by courage, clemency, justice and piety.' He gestured at the golden shield now being hammered to the wall behind him on which 'Virtus', 'Clementia', 'Iustitia' and 'Pietas' were inscribed.
'It is gratifying to us that the senate, people and soldiers unanimously call us to the throne,' continued Quietus. 'All shall benefit. The senate shall return to its ancient dignitas. Our consilium shall be open to senators. The senate house will be purged of informers. Senators will be free of unjust condemnations and confiscations of their estates. The great military commands will again be open to men of the senatorial order.'
The senators at least cheered this with enthusiasm.
'To the people, their ancient libertas will return. We decree that ten days of games will be held, starting as soon as gladiators and animals can be gathered.'
The town councillors of Zeugma, as the only representatives of the people on hand, made suitably grateful noises.
'Fitting reward must be given to the loyalty of the soldiers — two gold pieces to every man with the standards. But to those of our commilitiones present, to those through whom the gods brought us to the throne, much more is due.'
Quietus had his audience now.
'The majority of the Praetorian Guard was lost with Valerian. All those here will be enrolled in the reformed unit, and accrue the resulting increases in pay.'
The men cheered. Shouts of 'Rich soldier' broke out. Quietus gestured for silence. He was ignored until his father joined in.
'And a donative — five gold pieces and a pound of silver per man,' Quietus continued.
The shouts returned, much louder, swelling into unison: 'Dives miles! Dives miles!'
Again Macrianus the Lame had to calm the throng.
Quietus resumed. 'A new guard needs a new commander. A man of loyalty. As our new Praetorian Prefect, it is right that Maeonius Astyanax should be first to take the sacramentum in our reign.'
Chin high, short beard jutting, Astyanax stepped up and took the military oath:
'By Jupiter Optimus Maximus and all the gods, I swear to carry out the emperors' commands, never desert the standards or shirk death, to value the safety of the emperors above everything.'
Ballista listened to the words with misery. He had broken the sacramentum he had made to Maximinus Thrax and earned himself the undying hatred of that emperor's daemon. He had broken his oath to Valerian. Now he was about to take another sacramentum, one he had no intention of keeping. But all this was nothing. It was breaking the oath to Shapur that plagued him: Spill my brains on the ground… my brains and the brains of my sons too.
Next up was Gaius Calpurnius Piso Frugi, the new governor of Syria Coele. He was followed by the other two governors present, Annius Cornicula of Syria Phoenice and Achaeus of Palestine. Then it was the turn of Ballista, the Vir Perfectissimus, Prefect of Cavalry, as he was announced.
As Ballista stepped out, most of the soldiers cheered perfunctorily, but one group showed real enthusiasm. The eagle, lion and Capricorn on their shields showed them to be from Legio IIII Scythica. They must have been part of the detachment that fought under Ballista at Circesium. The distinctive angular face and huge hooked nose of one of the legionaries confirmed it — Ahala, Aharna, his name was something like that. His was not a face you would easily forget. Ballista waved.
Having mouthed the words of the oath in a daze, Ballista found himself part of the new emperors' entourage. He watched as everyone else took the sacramentum; those of importance as individuals, others in groups. The ceremony was far from over. When the oath-taking was done, they would process down to the main army camp and tour selected temples in the town before climbing the hill again for dedications in the temple of the Tyche of Zeugma and an audience in the palace.
Ballista supposed the ceremony had been well enough planned. Certainly Astyanax had devoted much effort to it; even trawling through old acts of the senate to select exactly right 'spontaneous' acclamations. Holding it at night had added some drama. Allowing only those soldiers already selected for the Praetorian Guards had been sensible. The unexpectedly generous donative had generated genuine excitement. Ballista could see the point of the theatricals with the diadems. It was meant to show that the new emperors had the dignitas of the imperium at heart, were close to their soldiers and could stand up to their father. Of course it was all nonsense.
Although the ceremony was passing off well, the same could not be said for the realities of the bid for power. Admittedly, all Roman provinces east of the Aegean had come over, including the initially uncertain military ones of Egypt, Arabia, Osrhoene and Syria Phoenice. But no governor in the west had declared for the sons of Macrianus, despite the sending of urgent letters accompanied by large bribes. And there was no possibility of winning over the vital Danubian armies now Ingenuus was leading his own revolt.
Far worse than all this, the Persians were on the move. Bypassing Edessa, they had crossed the Euphrates and taken Samosata. Macrianus the Lame had adopted what he called a strategy of containment. In the face of the Persian advance, Samosata had been hurriedly abandoned. The twenty thousand Roman troops there had been divided. Ten thousand had rushed south to Zeugma with the emperors-to-be. Five thousand had been sent north to reinforce the governor of Cappadocia, Pomponius Bassus. The final five thousand had been ordered to Doliche to block the road west. Ballista saw the latter as the problem. Unsupported, they had no chance of preventing Shapur riding west to Cilicia and beyond, should he wish.
Of course, there was another problem looming in the east. The Lion of the Sun. Still no word had come back from Odenathus. No one knew what the Lord of Palmyra would do. Would he join the revolt? Would he remain loyal to Gallienus? Was it possible he would throw in his lot with the Persians? Only a couple of months before, Ballista had been there when Odenathus had sent envoys to Shapur. They had been rejected, but events had moved fast, and a second approach might yield a very different outcome.
And then there were the gods. Macrianus the Lame had consulted widely among the oracles of the east. The responses were far from uniformly favourable. At the shrine of Aphrodite Aphacitis in the mountains between Byblos and Heliopolis was a sacred lake. If the offerings thrown in were accepted by the goddess, they sank, light and heavy alike. If rejected, they did not. The gifts of Macrianus — silk and linen, gold and silver — all had floated. The oracle of Apollo Sarpedon at Seleuceia in Cilicia had been similarly robust. When the envoys of Macrianus had asked about the success of the uprising, the god gave a reply that no amount of sophistry could make favourable: Leave my temple, guileful baleful ones, Who cause pain to the glorious race of gods.
Since breaking his oath to Shapur, the gods were much on Ballista's mind. Were all the gods the same? If not, could his northern gods protect his sons from the southern gods of the Greeks and Romans? And even were they able to, would they wish to? Somehow, he doubted it. But he prayed anyway: Allfather, Hooded One, Death- blinder…
The bad news had reached Zeugma six days before. The Persians had marched from Samosata. With no warning, they had appeared before the walls of Doliche to the north-west of Zeugma. Outnumbered, the Roman force of five thousand stationed there could do nothing but watch them sweep on to the west. The following day, an exhausted scout had ridden into Zeugma with the further news that the enemy were taking the road up into the Amanus mountains, heading for the Amanikai Gates. Once through that undefended mountain pass, Shapur's force, variously estimated at fifteen, thirty and fifty thousand men, would have the rich territory of Cilicia Pedias and the unarmed provinces of Asia Minor at its mercy.
Having predicted just these events won Ballista no commendation. Summoned before the new emperors, the northerner was brusquely ordered to take five thousand cavalry, ride west and defend Antioch. The Syrian Gates,
