seasonal rains began the next day. Over the winter I readied the defences of the city. The Sassanid Persians came in April when there was grass for their horses and no more rain to dampen their bows. They were led by Shapur, the King of Kings, in person.'
A faint rustle like a shiver ran through the consilium at the mention of the great enemy of Rome, the eastern barbarian who had the audacity to claim equality with the Roman master of the world.
'The Sassanids assaulted the walls first with siege towers, then with a huge ram. We threw them back both times. Many of Shapur's men died. The plain before the city was a charnel house.'
Ballista paused, fighting his weariness to put his memories in order.
'The Sassanids built a siege ramp to overtop our walls. We collapsed it. They undermined a stretch of the city wall and one of the towers, but our earth banks held the defences upright.'
Ballista took a deep breath.
'Shapur ordered one final assault. It failed like the others. Then… then, that night, the city was betrayed.'
There was an audible intake of breath from the consilium. Even the emperor involuntarily leaned forward. Ballista did not wait for the inevitable question.
'Christians. The Christians were the traitors.'
There was a low babble of voices. Valerian shot a significant look at one of his advisors – which one? Macrianus possibly? – then again nodded as if something had been confirmed to him.
The rising murmur of voices ceased like a lamp snuffed out as a silentarius stepped into view.
The emperor sat back on his throne, recomposing himself into a suitably dignified immobility. After a time he spoke.
'The city fell, and you are here.' The imperial voice was neutral.
Ballista felt a hot jet of anger rising in himself. 'With a few companions, I cut my way out of the city. Nothing in my mandata said that I had to die there.'
Valerian betrayed no response, but on either side the members of the consilium grew even stiller. Ballista was tired and he was angry, but he knew that he had to be very careful or his words would yet see him executed. Everyone waited for the emperor's next words. The emperor's will was law. There was no appeal from his verdict. As a Roman citizen, Ballista would have the advantage of being beheaded and not nailed to a cross.
'Our nature is merciful. We are filled with clementia, clemency. Let no one think that we would ever order one of our subjects to his death. We are not an oriental despot like Shapur the Persian, intent on enslaving the world, but the bulwark and embodiment of libertas, freedom.' A mutter of assent ran round the consilium. 'Who has a question for the Dux Ripae?' Valerian gestured.
Ballista half-turned. The man rising to speak was the one who had looked familiar as Ballista entered the audience chamber. That long, artfully curled hair, a short, neatly barbered beard, with at its bottom a ruff of hair teased out – Allfather, if I were not so tired, I would be able to place this man.
'What happened to my brother?'
Ballista stared stupidly. His mind was blank.
'My brother, the commander of the legionary detachment in Arete, my brother, Marcus Acilius Glabrio.'
Memories flooded into Ballista. He wondered how to say what he had to say.
'My brother?' The voice was tense, impatient.
'Your brother… your brother died a hero's death. The Persians were catching us. With one other, your brother said he would delay them. He said that, like Horatius, he would hold the bridge. None of us would have got away without his sacrifice. He died a death worthy of a patrician family of Rome, worthy of the Acilii Glabriones. A hero.'
There was a pause.
'You left him to die.' There was raw fury in the patrician tones. 'A jumped-up barbarian like you left a patrician of Rome to die. You left him to be cut down while you ran away.' The young nobleman's anger choked his words.
'It was his choice. He volunteered. I did not order him.' Ballista was not going to let himself be abused by a spoilt, pampered brat of the Roman nobility.
'You barbarian bastard. You will pay for the death of my brother. I, Gaius Acilius Glabrio, swear it by the gods below.'
The young patrician would have said more, he was even moving towards Ballista, when two silentarii appeared and, without words, herded him back to his seat.
'If there are no other questions?' The emperor's words cut across everyone's thoughts. 'Arete has fallen. The road is open for the Persians, to Northern Mesopotamia, to Cappadocia. The time of troubles has returned. Again, as just three years ago, the road lies open for Shapur – to Syria, here to Antioch, to the heart of our empire. Bitter war looms. Each one of us can ponder in private the implications of the news brought by the Dux Ripae. We will meet again in four days' time at the tenth hour in the evening after the circus. The consilium is over.'
The emperor stood up, and everyone else prostrated themselves as he walked out.
Bitter war looms, thought Ballista. When he faced Shapur again he would not fail. He would not let himself be betrayed again.
As they got to their feet, Cledonius quickly took Ballista's arm and led him from the audience chamber.
Outside in the sunshine, the ab Admissionibus kept them moving at some speed towards the main gate.
'Impressive, Ballista, most impressive, even by your standards. You have been back at the imperial court for less than a morning and already you have made two lots of extremely dangerous new enemies.' Cledonius adjusted his grip on the northerner's arm.
'First you make an enemy of Macrianus, the Comes Largitionum, one of the richest and most powerful men in the empire. A man who has two active and dangerous sons. Then, not content with that, you manage to make Gaius Acilius Glabrio, a strong-willed member of about the noblest family in the imperium, to swear an oath of vengeance against you. Very impressive.'
Ballista shrugged. He decided it was not the moment to tell Cledonius about Videric and the Borani – and, anyway, they were hardly new enemies…
'Luckily for you,' Cledonius said, as he steered Ballista through the great courtyard, 'very luckily for you, some of my servants are outside the gate with saddled horses.'
'What?' In his surprise Ballista stopped. 'Are you suggesting that I ride out of the city? What – go into hiding or flee across the borders?'
Cledonius' long face split into a huge grin. 'No. I just thought that, in your condition, the horses would make it easier to get across town to see your wife. You did know that she was here in Antioch?'
II
'And that is the Donkey-drowner.' Cledonius' words only registered on the surface of Ballista's thoughts. In truth, nothing had penetrated deeper since the ab Admissionibus had said that the northerner's wife was in the city.
'Flooding is a great problem here in Antioch in the rainy season. From November through to March – even April in some years – heavy cloudbursts fall up on Mount Silpius, and the water pours down into the city. Every gully turns into a flash flood – the Parmenios river is the worst, that is why the locals call it the Donkey- drowner.'
Why is he telling me this? Ballista wondered. He had spent a week in Antioch the previous year. Julia is here. Isangrim, my beautiful son is here. With a horrible lurch, Ballista realized that he had just assumed that Isangrim would be with Julia. He had not asked. Allfather, Deep Hood, Long Beard, Fulfiller of Desire, let my son be here.
'Back in the reign of Tiberius, they had a magician called Ablakkon set up a talisman against the floods. They are very proud of it, not that it seems to do much good.'
Of course, there was no reason that Cledonius should know that Ballista had spent a week in Antioch. What would Isangrim look like? How tall would he be now? It was thirteen months and twenty-two days since Ballista had seen him. He would be four and a half now. Allfather, One-eyed, Terrible One, let the boy recognize me.
