Titus rode across Ariminum’s five-spanned bridge of white marble, past the triumphal arch erected by Augustus to mark the junction of the Via Flaminia and the Via Aemilia, and headed north-west up the latter.
Southwards, the Via Flaminia hugged the coast for twenty miles, before turning inland bound for Rome. This was Italia proper: parcelled neatly into farms and villas, studded with little towns, overshadowed by the Apennini Mountains. Northwards, bounded on the south by the Aemilian Way, stretched the vast alluvial wetlands of the Po basin, the old province of Cisalpine Gaul, which still in some ways felt unlike Italia, almost foreign.
Solving the cryptic inscription in Aetius’ codex hadn’t been difficult. ‘His Philippi’ could surely only refer to a decisive contest between Aetius and his arch-rival Boniface; that historic field had witnessed Mark Antony and Octavian smash the forces of Brutus and Cassius. ‘The fifth milestone from A’? ‘A’, while theoretically applicable to any of a thousand places, probably referred, Titus decided, to somewhere not far from Boniface’s headquarters in Ravenna. Titus reasoned that Boniface, having taken a mauling mentally as well as militarily in Africa, would instinctively want to remain close to his base, like a hurt animal. Aetius would realize that, and intend to bring the battle to his rival, in such a way as to secure an advantage for himself.
Working on this theory, ‘A’ could mean (moving north to south in an arc round the head of the Adriatic) any one of the following: Aquileia, Altinum, Ateste, Ariminum, Ancona. Titus conjectured that Ariminum,1 being nearest to Ravenna, was the most likely. He had already examined the terrain around the fifth milestone from Ariminum on both the Popilian Way — the coast road from Ariminum to Aquileia — and the Flaminian Way. On the former, he had found himself in a bleak wilderness of salt-marshes, dunes, and lagoons — a most unsuitable venue for a battlefield. On the latter these features were replaced by terraced cultivation — again, hardly ideal for the deployment of forces. ‘The fifth milestone’, on whichever road it was, must be in an area which guaranteed Aetius tactical superiority, and to which Boniface must be persuaded to bring his men. The only other road out of Ariminum was the Aemilian Way, so that must be the best option. Autumn was now well advanced. Winter rains and freezing Alpine winds meant that Aetius would not be engineering a confrontation before spring at the earliest, which gave both sides a breathing-space in which to make preparations. Though Boniface didn’t know it yet, his preparations could well be shaped by information stemming from Titus’ investigations.
Walking his horse along the soft verge of the arrow-straight Aemilian Way, Titus reached the fifth milestone in a little over an hour. A cylindrical column of limestone on a square base, it bore the inscription ‘
He consulted his road-table, a chart showing sections of the Way in ‘ribbon’ style, and noted the salient features of the surrounding landscape. A small stream, the Uso, flowed through a culvert beneath the road. (The next crossing — of the famous Rubicon, — lay a mile or so ahead.) To the north of the road stretched a vast expanse of reedbeds. Beside the corresponding area on his chart appeared the word ‘
Depression swept over the young man. Despite its proximity to the Rubicon (whose weight of historical association might be calculated to attract Boniface), of the three possibilities this looked the least promising. In fact, from a tactical point of view, none of the sites made any sense at all — prompting the suspicion that ‘A’ must represent somewhere other than Ariminum. Rain began to fall, adding to Titus’ gloom. Within seconds it was sheeting down, soaking through the thick wool of his cloak, bouncing off the road, gushing into the side-ditches. As he turned his horse’s head for the return journey, Titus became aware of a loud gurgling: rainwater rushing through those drainage channels. Realization burst upon him. His hunch had played off: this was indeed the spot selected by Aetius for Boniface to meet his Philippi.
1 Rimini
FOURTEEN
The everlasting hills do not change like the faces of men
When Titus appeared at the west gate of Ravenna’s imperial palace and requested an interview with Boniface, he was met with a polite but firm refusal. ‘Sorry sir,’ replied one of the guards. ‘We’re under orders not to admit you.’
‘But it’s of vital importance I see the Count,’ insisted Titus. ‘The only reason I’m debarred is because I used to work for Flavius Aetius. I’ve now left his service.’ He produced the parchment Aetius had given him. ‘Look, here’s my certificate of discharge, signed by him. Just show it to someone in authority, and repeat what I’ve told you. I don’t mind waiting.’ With feigned absent-mindedness, he began playing with a
‘See what I can do, sir,’ said the guard, palming the coin with a conspiratorial wink. He summoned a temporary replacement from the guardroom, and set off through the gardens for the main buildings. Half an hour later he re-appeared, accompanied by an official. ‘You’re to go with him, sir.’
Titus followed the man through the gardens, along a wide passage between the four central blocks, then down a long peristyle and through a portico into the imperial apartments — they were familiar from that long-ago encounter with the Empress and her son. The official opened a door and ushered Titus into a hallway, empty save for two burly Nubians wearing slaves’ short, sleeveless tunics. The click of a key turning in the lock behind him, told Titus he had walked into a trap.
He knew instinctively that resistance was futile, that these men were trained athletes whose skills would outmatch his own, but nevertheless he put up a fight. As the Nubians closed on him, he gave the leader a kick in the solar plexus which would have felled a normal opponent. It was like kicking a tree trunk; the man merely grunted and came on. Titus’ second blow — a neck-breaking jab with the heel of his hand against the other’s chin — produced a similar reaction. Then his arms were seized and wrenched behind his back. The pain was excruciating. Realizing that just a little more pressure would break them, Titus surrendered and allowed himself to be led from the hall. He was marched down a corridor into a large pillared chamber, in which were seated the Empress Galla Placidia and her son, Valentinian. A sulky-looking lad of twelve or thirteen, Valentinian was tall and strong for his age. He had inherited the long nose and fine grey eyes of his grandfather, the great Theodosius, but the weak chin and petulant mouth were those of his imperial uncle, the feeble Honorius.
‘Is it arrogance or merely stupidity that causes you to persist?’ asked Placidia in a glacial voice. ‘You become tiresome. Not content with once assaulting the Emperor, you have attacked a bishop in his palace, so the Pope informs us, and then have the temerity to demand an audience. Somehow, you have survived the measures we took to have you silenced, and have cheated the Ferryman. That wasn’t warning enough, it seems. Do you really think that
‘Mother, I have a suggestion,’ Valentinian lisped, his tone eager.
Placidia’s expression softened. ‘
‘An attack on our person was foiled by these two loyal servants, who intercepted and killed the would-be assassin before he could reach us. Clever, don’t you think?’
The Empress smiled indulgently. ‘Well, it would save a lot of bother, I suppose. Very well.’ She nodded to the Nubians.
One wrapped his arms round Titus in a vice-like grip. The other took Titus’ head between his hands, and began to twist. Terror flooded Titus as he tried to fight the pressure. It was no good; his head turned inexorably — in a few seconds, barring a miracle, his neck must break.
In a pain-filled haze, he was dimly aware of Valentinian staring into his face, murmuring, ‘Blink for me.’
