Getorius tried to catch his wife’s eye when a mould in the shape of a sea turtle was uncovered, but she was turned away, talking to Theokritos. The silver mould was filled with bread soaked in wine, then layered with soft cheese, cucumbers, pine nuts, capers, and then baked. He found it excellent, even if the mint in the accompanying herb sauce was a bit strong.
During the meal, it became apparent why the librarian had been included among the guests when Placidia asked him to tell stories about the heroes of early Rome. She wanted the company to be reminded of the ordinary men and women who had sacrificed themselves for the health of the Roman state.
Theokritos quoted first from Polybius, a Greek historian who had emphasized that the sacred destiny of Rome was to become ruler of the world—a thin attempt to justify the conquest of Greece by the legions of Lucius Mummius.
“Enough of Hellas, move on Librarian,” Placidia ordered. “Tell us of thwarted conspiracies.”
Getorius knew the woman was aware of Theokritos’ Athenian origin. Had he deliberately chosen to goad the Empress Mother?
“The consul Brutus, perhaps?” he asked.
Placidia waved a hand in agreement.
Valentinian quickly lost interest in the story, as did his wife. The emperor was on the point of dozing when Aetius arrived in a clatter of makeshift armor that was evidently intended to show him dressed as a legate in the legions of Julius Caesar, if not as the great commander himself. Aetius wore the legendary red cloak of Caesar over a tooled cuirass. His stocky legs, bare, and ruddy from the cold, showed beneath a kilt of leather straps that were studded with bronze nails.
Getorius suppressed a smile behind his napkin, and saw Arcadia look down in embarrassment.
Aetius removed his own helmet—he had not bothered to have a historical one found or made—and acknowledged Galla Placidia, then saluted Valentinian. The Augustus waved a sausage at him in return.
“We were speaking of the men of the Republic,” Placidia said, as Aetius tried to maneuver into place next to Getorius without revealing what was under the kilt straps. “My library master, Theokritos, was going to tell us about Brutus.”
The name had its desired effect. Aetius looked toward Placidia with a quizzical frown.
“Ah, not the Brutus who also wounded Caesar’s pride when he stabbed him,” she added innocently. “No. The Lucius Brutus who ordered the execution of his own sons, after they were accused of treason. Commander, you have sons by your Gothic wife, do you not?”
“Two, Empress. Carpilio and Gaudentius.”
Placida fixed Aetius with a cold stare over the rim of her wine cup. “And would you order their deaths for Rome, as did our Brutus?”
“Empress, I once gave Carpilio to the Huns as a hostage for Rome,” he replied, maintaining his composure. “The ‘treason’ of Brutus’ sons was to want to restore a king who, actually, was to be subject to the Senate.”
Getorius doubted that Valentinian had caught the irony in the comment. Caesar’s successors, now emperors, had stripped senators of their republican powers.
Placidia, across from him, caught it. “Well said, Commander. Let us drink to the Senate and People of Rome.”
After the toast, as a servant refilled Aetius’s cup, Getorius introduced himself.
“Yes. I know of you, Surgeon,” Aetius responded. “You’ve treated some of my men.”
“Commander,” Renatus called over, “your Hunnic guard. Are they Arian heretics?”
Aetius helped himself to a rissole before glancing up at him. “Archdeacon, as long as they’re loyal, I don’t interfere with my men’s religion.”
“But Arians are not loyal to the Roman Church,” Renatus probed. “This woman…Thecla…is their presbytera, yet Christ ordained none of Eve’s Daughters.”
Getorius knew that early on women had officiated at the Eucharist, but steered the conversation back to the guards. “Archdeacon, when Honorius was emperor, his army commander Flavius Stilicho had similarly loyal Hunnic contingents.”
“A novelty thirty years ago,” Renatus countered. “Now they’re thick as…as pond scum.”
“An unpleasant metaphor, Archdeacon,” Aetius commented.
“Where are our field armies?” Valentinian asked the commander, more interested now that conversation had turned to the military.
“Augustus, they are stationed between here and Mediolanum.”
“Who’s in charge, someone named Hunwulf?” Valentinian laughed at his joke about names of barbarian legion commanders.
Getorius noticed Aetius flush, recalling that the commander’s wife had been excluded because of her Gothic origin. “With respect, Augustus,” he ventured, “barbarians who were granted federate status have never reneged on their obligations to Rome.”
“As long as the bribes keep coming,” Renatus taunted. “How disturbing to have only a barbarian’s oath between us and another ravaging of Rome, as happened a generation ago.”
“Where I was one of the prizes,” Placidia reminded him. “I convinced Ataulf that the benefits of Romanitas were in his barbarians’ interests.”
“Roman-ness?” Theokritos scoffed. “That’s not for Gaiseric. He and his Vandals at Carthage have come full circle, so to speak.”
“Full circle?” Valentinian echoed, looking puzzled.
“Your Excellency is aware that Carthage, capital of our African province, fell to the Vandals last month?”
“Librarian, don’t be impertinent,” Placidia warned. “Of course the Augustus knows.”
“Now Gaiseric poses a threat to Lucania in southern Italy,” Aetius added.
Valentinian cut a piece off a sausage and held it up on the point of his knife. “Then order the legions that are down there to bring me this Vandal’s head…like this.”
“Augustus, we have no legions there.”
“Well where in Hades’ name are they, Aetius? You’re the furcing commander.”
“Northern Gaul. The Danube frontier—”
“The navy!” Valentinian suddenly
