‘“And thus ends my report. Gaius Sergius Silus, Alexandria.”’
Oclatinius closed the wax diptych and looked up. Caracalla was looking off into the distance. Oclatinius wasn’t sure if Caracalla had really been listening, but he didn’t suppose that mattered. He was sure half of the report was fictional. Soaemias and Gannys in particular had appeared to come out of it with unblemished reputations, when Oclatinius was convinced they were up to their necks in the whole plot. When he got Silus on his own, he would find out the truth.
Festus, who was also present in the Emperor’s chamber, had stayed rigid throughout the reading of the report, face expressionless. Oclatinius had watched carefully for any tells, any ticks or twitches that might have revealed Festus’ inner thoughts, but the Commander of the Sacred Bedchamber remained inscrutable as always.
‘Alexandria,’ said Caracalla wistfully. ‘I want to visit one day. See the city that was founded by the greatest general that ever lived. But first, I must make my own reputation. I will do what all the previous rulers and generals of Rome have failed to do. I will conquer Parthia. Already there is civil war there between the brothers Vologaesus and Artabanus. A war I helped incite when I received their ambassador here.’
‘Yes, Augustus,’ said Oclatinius. ‘But before we can deal with the Parthians, we must secure our own borders. The confederacies of Germanic tribes are growing in number and strength, just as happened in Caledonia. The Alemmani and others in the region between the rivers Albis and Rhenus in particular are a concern, and I fear that we must confront them soon.’
Caracalla nodded. ‘I am a young man. I have time. We will defeat the German tribes on the Rhenus, and then the Parthians. It is time to start planning. We prepare for war.’
Oclatinius and Festus both bowed their heads sharply in acknowledgement.
‘Should I have Avitus executed?’ asked Caracalla, forcing the topic of conversation into a tight loop back on itself.
Festus spoke first. ‘There is really no need, Augustus. From this report, it sounds like he was just an innocent bystander in the whole enterprise. As were his mother and father.’
‘Nevertheless,’ said Caracalla. ‘He could become a focus of resistance to my rule. Maybe someone else will have the idea of elevating him to the purple. His mother is certainly ambitious enough. What do you think, Oclatinius?’
Oclatinius hesitated and met Festus’ eye. Festus gave the slightest shake of his head. Oclatinius paused a moment longer, mainly out of malice to his old friend.
‘I agree with Festus. The boy and his family seem blameless. And you will find no more loyal a follower than Marcellus. Outside this room, of course.’ He gave a nod to Festus, which he subtly overemphasised. It was lost on Caracalla, but not on Festus. ‘But perhaps they should stay in Numidia for the foreseeable future, once Marcellus has installed himself as governor. It’s far enough from Rome that little trouble should come from there, provided the province remains pacified. Far too from Syria, and supporters of Geta, and much nearer to your own supporters in Africa, who can keep an eye on the situation and step in if necessary.’
Caracalla considered, then nodded assent. ‘It shall be so. The boy can live.’
Festus looked relieved, and gave Oclatinius a half-smile. Caracalla though had drifted off into a reverie. Oclatinius waited for a moment to be dismissed, then said, ‘Shall we take our leave, Augustus?’
Caracalla waved them away airily with one hand. They bowed again, and left the throne room together. Once they were out of earshot of the bodyguards and Praetorians guarding the Emperor, Oclatinius said in a low voice, ‘Aziz was one of yours, wasn’t he?’
‘Do you really expect me to dignify that with a reply?’ asked Festus.
Oclatinius said nothing, and they walked on. Festus let out a sigh.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For speaking up for the boy.’
‘Why do you care what happens to the boy? Still have plans for him?’
‘No, no. Not that I ever did, of course. Anyway, that bolt has been shot. He won’t be a figurehead for revolt any time soon.’
‘Well the boy was innocent, and I am quite fond of him, in a way. He is different, and daring to be different is so rare in Rome.’
‘He may also be the Emperor’s son,’ said Festus.
Oclatinius nodded. ‘Maybe one day that will be important. But not while he suns himself in Numidia with his mother and father, forgotten by all.’
Festus looked at Oclatinius, worked his lips as if testing out some words before uttering them, then spoke.
‘Why did you protect me?’
‘You know why.’
‘Still, after all these years?’
‘Still. But don’t push it, Festus. There are limits to my gratitude. My debt to you is not boundless.’
Festus sighed. ‘I feel old.’
‘There is no time for indulgences like that. We have an active young Emperor on the throne, and he wants to be the new Alexander. He will need us in the wars he is embarking on. He can’t win everything he wants by sheer weight of arms. There will be a necessity for… other methods.’
‘The methods in which we excel?’
‘Just so. Maybe, for the first time in a long time, we might pull together, not against each other?’
Festus considered. ‘It would certainly be less effort.’
They reached the palace entrance.
‘I’m going home,’ said Festus.
‘As am I.’
And they turned their backs on each other and walked in opposite directions.