Harry Sidebottom - Iron and Rust

They had reached the requisitioned house, which, with its wreaths and guards, served as a palace. The lead page threw the torch. Among the onlookers, men and women scrambled to catch it, risking the flames for its promise of long life.

There was an old wives’ tale. If a bride forced into marriage caught and extinguished the torch and put it under the bed, her unwanted husband would soon depart this earth. You could only wonder how she might achieve her aim undetected.

Iunia Fadilla went forward to anoint the door posts with oil and wolf fat. The archaic combination was intended to bring divine favour on the marriage. Maximinus knew it would not succeed. Paulina had done the same. If the gods cared, they would not have let her be killed. Was she pushed, or had she jumped? The centurion had not known and, giving way to rage, Maximinus had killed Macedo too soon to find out. Maximinus had failed to save her, and even after death he had failed her again. What were her last thoughts in the few moments as the pavement rushed up? It was too horrible to contemplate.

If the gods existed, they would not have allowed her to fall. There would have been intervention. Flavius Vopiscus could talk for hours about the intentions of the gods being inscrutable to man. With his amulets, and his finger jabbing at lines of Virgil, he was a superstitious old fool. Yet Vopiscus was the one who had suggested they confiscate the unclaimed treasures deposited in the temples. To Hades with bonavacantia , and other legal niceties. They would take everything. The dedications to the gods themselves would be seized. They would take whatever they needed. If the northern tribes won, they would sack the temples. If the gods were real, and they had any understanding, any care for Rome, they would surrender their gold and silver willingly. The civilians would whine, wring their hands, cry sacrilege. Let them. His troops would suppress any trouble. Doubtless, the learning of Aspines could produce suitable precedents.

Inside, the groom offered his new wife fire and water. The wedding song was sung, and the women led the bride away for the bedding. Maximinus felt sorry for the girl. She was still young, pretty. Life had not been kind to her. Apparently, her family had married her off to an aged Senator of vile habits. Freed from him, now she was joined to Maximus. Paulina had thought Maximinus did not know what their son did with the women and girls unfortunate enough to catch his eye. But an Emperor had spies everywhere, especially in his own household.

As far as Maximinus knew, no Emperor had disinherited his son. For all his virtues, the divine Marcus Aurelius had let the weakling Commodus succeed to the throne and bring ruin on the imperium . Even his stern patron, the divine Septimius Severus, had given in to parental affection and allowed the traitorous Geta to share the purple and try to murder his brother the glorious Caracalla. Things had been better in earlier days. When the Brutus who had founded the Res Publica discovered his sons were plotting its overthrow, he had them flogged in the Forum, bound to a stake and beheaded. The modern age was debased. But it could be reformed. The will of the Emperor was law. An Emperor should put the safety of Rome before the claims of his own blood.

Rome

The Mint, off the Via Labicana,

Five Days before the Kalends of December, AD236

The die-cutter was so accustomed to the striking-room in the mint, he forgot the effect it could have on others. Fabianus stood transfixed by the noise, the relentless movement, the stifling heat. Most likely, he saw it as an image of hell. Since the arrest of Pontianus, the idea might well be in his mind. The die-cutter had chosen the place precisely because it was hard to be overheard. He waited while Fabianus tried to make sense of it all.

By each small furnace, the slaves laboured in four-man teams. With long iron tongs, the first man took a heated blank disc of metal from the furnace. He placed it on the reverse die, which was secured by a tang to the anvil. Holding its iron collar, the second positioned the obverse die just above. The third swung the hammer. While the noise still rang, the fourth removed the struck coin and put it in a tray. The first took another blank from the furnace. They worked without ceasing, their movements instinctive from endless repetition.

‘More bad news?’ The die-cutter spoke close to Fabianus’ ear.

‘Hippolytus has been arrested. The frumentarii came for him this morning.’

The die-cutter considered this. ‘Then he was not the informer.’

‘It seems not.’

They watched the slaves.

‘Antheros thinks they are just the first,’ Fabianus said.

In the die-cutter’s thoughts were the claws and the scrapers in the cellars of the palace, hard-eyed men wielding them with refined cruelty.

‘Antheros advised me to leave the city. He said to warn you. He thinks they will try to take us all.’

‘Perhaps not.’

Fabianus took his arm. ‘The flesh is weak. Pontianus is an old man. And Hippolytus is an outcast. He has no reason to protect us.’

‘Africanus?’ The die-cutter asked.

‘I came via the library. He is brave, but his links to Mamaea make him a marked man for the creatures of Maximinus.’

A sudden shout, and the rhythm of the nearest team of slaves faltered and broke down. A struck coin had adhered to the upper die. The speed at which they worked meant it had been hammered down on to the next blank. Cursing, the second slave poked the upper die from its sleeve and used a fine chisel to try to pry it and the ruined coin apart. The other three put down their tools and drank from the water butt by their station. The one with the hammer tipped water over his head. It ran down his bare chest.

An overseer walked across and with a look told the slaves to resume.

The die-cutter waited until the noise of the hammer covered his words. ‘The authorities might have more pressing concerns. The plebs have been restless since the money for the shows was cut back. There have been several incidents over the reduced grain dole. Now Maximinus has ordered the temple treasures seized there is talk in the Subura of keeping a vigil at the temples, stopping the soldiers. They say Gallicanus and the other philosopher Senators will lead them.’

Fabianus looked unconvinced. ‘Pontianus would want us to take precautions. He is not a fanatic like Hippolytus. You can come to the country with me.’

The die-cutter managed to smile. ‘I have never left the city in my life.’

‘Antheros told me to take you. I do not command you as though I were someone of authority. I know my limitations. Those who question are doomed. Do not seek notoriety. Come with me.’

‘I was there when they took Pontianus,’ the die-cutter said.

Fabianus released his arm, looked sharply at him.

‘I watched from the other side of the street. The crowd was jeering, baying for blood. Further than my hand, my vision is not good, but my hearing is sharp. Even above the mob, I heard what was said. Pontianus asked the soldiers why they were arresting him. They said they had orders to take all our leaders, all those who were spreading unrest and corrupting the innocent.’

There was suspicion in the face of Fabianus. ‘You did nothing?’

‘I did nothing.’

‘You might not be so fortunate next time.’

‘I will stay here.’

Fabianus nodded. He went to make a gesture. The die-cutter caught his hand. ‘Do not be a fool.’

Fabianus disengaged himself, and turned to go.

Afterwards, the die-cutter returned to his workroom in the courtyard. He sat at his bench in the open air. He picked up his latest design. Work always calmed his mind.