Jack Whyte - The Singing Sword

By the time Caius had finished telling me all of this, it was time to make our way to Stilicho's quarters, and again I was aware of the might of Imperial Rome, evidenced by the security and the pomp and dignity surrounding our simple visit at his own invitation.

Our final approach to the inner sanctum of the Imperial Regent and Legate Commanding the Province of Britain was made along a hall floored in marble that echoed with the sound of our own footsteps and the hobnailed tramp of the trio that escorted us, one ahead of us and one on either side. Twenty-five guards stood at attention on each side of this hallway, spaced three paces apart and resplendent in dress uniforms of imperial scarlet cloaks and plumes, sky-blue tunics and bronzed armour. The massive doors at the end of the hallway were screened by another quintet of sentries, shoulder to shoulder. We were passed through these portals and into the presence of the most powerful man I had ever faced in person.

Inside, the enormous room was bright and opulent, brilliant with fresh-cut flowers, which surprised me greatly, and heavily scented with their mingled fragrances. I immediately sought the reason for the brightness and saw that great windows filled with tinted glass of many hues allowed the sunlight easy access to the rooms. These were first impressions, instantaneously formed and then disregarded as I found myself subjected to the concerted gaze of a group of magnificently dressed officers clustered around a large table close by the windows. I counted seven of them at first glance, but lost awareness of the lesser six immediately as my eyes singled out the man we had come to see: Flavius Stilicho, Commander-in-Chief of the armies of Imperial Rome, Regent to the young Emperor Honorius.

Silence had fallen as Caius and I stepped through the doors. The centurion who had led us in saluted smartly, turned on his heel and left us standing there. Stilicho acknowledged our presence with a courteous nod, held up two fingers asking our indulgence for a few moments more and continued with his officers, asking them quietly if he had made himself clear? As a man, they stiffened to attention and assured him that he had, and he nodded pleasantly again, indicating that their conference was over. They saluted him, turned and trooped past us to the doors, each of them finding occasion to look at me and take his measure of me in his own way.

Before the doors had closed behind them, Stilicho was crossing the floor towards me, his great hawk-like eyes upon me alone. I stood rigid, suddenly wondering what the correct mode of address would be to one who held all the power, but not the name, of Emperor. It had not even occurred to me to ask Caius what to call him, face to face like this. He stopped directly in front of me and stared at me, an expression of — what was it? — it seemed like mockery in his eyes. He said nothing, and apart from his approach he made no move to greet me. Flustered and uncomfortable, I cleared my throat nervously and bowed to him, searching frantically for polite words that would not leave me looking or sounding like a fool.

"Eminence," I said, "I must beg pardon of you, for I have no knowledge of the protocols involved here. I had not expected to be received so personally and, frankly, I had relied upon watching others for example."

His mouth quirked slightly, the merest tic at one corner, and he slowly extended his right hand to me. The imperial seal was enormous on his ring finger. I stooped to kiss it.

"No! It is to shake, not to kiss."

Astonished, I shook with him, feeling the supple strength of his fingers on my wrist. He brought his left hand to my elbow, making the double clasp, and I was even more astounded. Nor did he release me, but instead he leaned close and gazed into my eyes, that same unusual look still in his own.

"I wonder if you can know, Publius Varrus, how rare it is for me to meet a man for the first time and know that I can trust him and his honour unconditionally? Believe me, it is rare indeed. And now I have had the pleasure of doing so twice in as many weeks."

I blinked at him. "Eminence?"

"Eminence!" He smiled and his whole face underwent a total metamorphosis: humour was there, understanding, and an openness I knew instinctively was shown to very few. "Even the term sounds alien on your tongue! Eminence! Call me General. It is what I am, a plain soldier like you and like your friend here, and his son."

"Picus."

"Aye, Picus Britannicus." He switched his gaze to Caius. "He is the sunlight of my stormy days." The dark eyes came back to me. "He has told me much about you."

I felt a glow of pride for Caius, and knew that it was nothing compared to the pride he himself must be feeling for his son. "He serves you well then, General?"

"Serves me well? Aye, I suppose you might say that. I trust him with my life and with the Emperor's. He is my finest commander of horse and my closest friend." He turned and indicated a large, ornately carved folding screen behind him on my left. "Come, we may sit back here in private. I have made time for you because there is much I want to discuss. We can drink some wine while we converse, but I do have calls to make. You can come with me, if you wish, if the time comes for them before we finish talking."

We went behind the screen to a comfortably carpeted and furnished cubiculum where he himself poured wine from a silver ewer. As he poured and served us, he continued speaking. "Senator Britannicus, I am being frank with you and I expect no less of you in return. I have had years of frankness from your son, and I've grown used to the oases of refreshment and common sense he serves up to me daily." He seated himself and gestured with his cup in a silent toast before taking a sip. I tasted my own. It was as excellent as one would expect from an imperial ewer. He cocked his head slightly to the side. "I want to talk about your Colony, but you should know before we begin that I know all about it. I have known for years. It is illegal, of course, but I also know the reason behind its existence, and I know the scheduling of its emergence. Or has that changed? Do you still intend to await the evacuation of Britain before you proclaim your independent strength?"

I saw Caius swallow, hard. "Yes, General. We do."

"Good. We will talk more on that subject later. Let me get to the crux of this. Claudius Seneca. How much do you really know about the man?"

Caius considered the question and then answered him truthfully. "Enough to know that he's no credit to the Empire, General. I must admit I was appalled to discover that he was officially in uniform. It seems to me that Rome has troubles enough without burdening herself with such a man in a position of authority."

Stilicho seemed to be chewing on one of his own teeth, musing. He looked at Caius appraisingly. "Flavius Rufi-nus? What do you know of him?"

Caius shook his head. "Hardly anything. Only that you and he were not the best of friends and you shared the power of government: he in the east, you in the west."

A smile flickered in Stilicho's eyes. "Nicely phrased. They are saying in Rome that I had him killed. I did not. That is not my way. He is dead, however, and I am not displeased. Seneca is, or was, one of his creatures, set by Rufinus to keep an eye on me."

I had to speak, forgetting my awe. I would not have believed it in this man's character to stand for such a thing. "You knew that," I asked, "and yet you still put up with him? Why didn't you get rid of him, General?"

He grinned at me, a flashing of teeth and eyes. "Politics, Publius Varrus. Something you have neither the time nor the need to deal with. I could not remove him easily while Rufinus lived, for a number of reasons. Now I can, and I intend to, but that is incidental here." He paused and looked at both of us. "You must understand completely what has happened with Seneca. He is not the type of man to volunteer for active service. It was Theodosius who decided to make a soldier out of our friend Claudius, and he did it for two reasons: the first was to demonstrate his power over Valentinian, who was Seneca's mentor and protector; but the second was to demonstrate quite clearly to Seneca that Theodosius was far from satisfied with the resolution of the question of Seneca's loyalty during his term as Procurator here in Britain, up to and including the rebellion of the upstart Magnus Maximus. The reports that Seneca had financed the rebel's bid for the Imperial Purple were convincing and their sources were impressive. There was never any convincing argument put forward against their truthfulness... other than the ultimately convincing one of Seneca's return from the dead, almost, with his accounts and books in perfect order and all monies accounted for..." His voice trailed away, leaving that last thought hanging, and then he resumed.