It was an informal council in the cosy library, not a grand meeting of minds in the curia or my aula regia. I had foregone my toga despite the winter chill that infected the very bones of the Palatine, and sat in a heavy wool tunic with my legs crossed, thick socks keeping the cold from my toes. There were only four of us, and we were well acquainted, after all, so there was little need to stand on ceremony.
Anullinus was decked out in a military tunic and long trousers with heavy soldier’s boots, his snow-speckled cloak across his knees, the flakes rapidly melting into wet spots in the wool as the roaring fire did its work.
Across from him sat Volusianus in a dark blue tunic all but buried beneath his senatorial toga, the pair of them like gladiators sizing one another up.
My third guest – a necessity to help hold back the headache that the presence of my two oldest advisors always brought forth – sat in a simple tunic, much like my own, though less expensive and with no gold thread woven cunningly into the material. Zenas, commander of my Urban Cohorts. Somehow his presence always felt soothing.
‘I gather we have updates from Treverorum?’ I began.
Volusianus turned to me, still shaking off the cold and warming to the cosy environment of my Palatine library. ‘Constantine continues to struggle with sparring tribes and troublesome conditions. Treverorum is overcrowded, and sustenance in scarce supply, and your father remains in Constantine’s court, advising him and cheapening your name and position. Unless something changes radically he is no threat for now, embroiled as he is in local affairs.’
‘Good. I have enough enemies for now without counting former friends among them.’
And fathers…
‘I have had correspondence from Lucius Domitius Alexander in Carthage,’ I said, changing the subject now. ‘He has reaffirmed his oath of allegiance and that of Africa and the legions, as we requested, but he also has entreaties.’
All three men looked at me expectantly.
‘He says that he requires considerable extra funding for the Third Augusta and also requests permission to grant citizenship to a number of migrant border tribes in order to create an adequate pool for recruitment to the legions. Thoughts, gentlemen?’
‘What does he need more men for?’ Anullinus frowned. ‘He’s professed his loyalty and it’s not as if there’s been war in Africa.’
‘There is always war in Africa,’ Volusianus grumbled. ‘Never on a grand scale, but the borders are mutable and the nomad tribes forever restless. A level of annual attrition among the military in the southern limes is standard. I say it is an inflammatory request from a dangerous man, and should be refused. He’s almost as bad as this one’s brother was.’ He snorted, gesturing at Anullinus.
The Praetorian Prefect rounded on him with a snarl. ‘Oh stop overdramatising everything. Such attrition is normal across the empire and too small to account for such requests. There must be something else – some danger to the borders of which we are unaware. Majesty, we cannot ignore his request as Volusianus suggests.’
‘Nevertheless, the fact remains…’
Anullinus raised his voice to cut off Volusianus. ‘You simply cannot let any subject past without having a damned opinion to voice, can you?’
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Why did two such intelligent, reasonable and serene men turn onto six-year-olds whenever they spoke face to face? As the pair began to heat up and Zenas made fruitless conciliatory noises, I took a deep breath.
‘Shut up!’
‘Majesty…’
‘No. Just be silent. New rule for this particular meeting: none of you will address each other directly. You will all direct your speech to me and I will reply. For the love of Jove, it’s like sitting on the dock at Ostia surrounded by competing gulls.’
A taut silence descended on the room, though my two senior advisors continued to hurl insults with their eyes.
‘Governor Alexander informs me that the summer and autumn have been disastrous for the African grain farmers. Flash floods have destroyed terracing, dams have been breached, irrigation systems broken and aqueducts cracked and shattered. He has had most of the men of the Third Augusta spread across the countryside repairing the damage, but it is a costly business, and he rather tactfully reminded me that two-thirds of his standing manpower are now on Italian soil at my request.’
A thought occurred to me momentarily. ‘Volusianus, are convoys of grain from Africa still supplying Gaul and Hispania?’
‘They are, Domine.’
‘Is it wise with a land struggling with its agriculture to still send grain to mouths that are Constantine’s to feed? Perhaps we should concentrate on our own and let his people go hungry?’ And with any luck my cursed wine-sack of a father, hanging on Constantine’s tunic hem while he further ruined my reputation, would dwindle away to nothing along with them, though the bloated old fool would take a few years to starve.
Volusianus gestured, and I nodded.
‘Domine, just because the population of Gaul do not live in Rome does not make them non-Romans. These people, for all they follow Constantine, are the citizens of the Western imperial lands. Correct me if I am wrong, but it is your intent to be Emperor of the West. Unless you wish to be emperor of the world’s biggest cemetery, you must let the grain shipments continue.’
I nodded again. Of course. It was hardly the fault of Ausax the Gallic wheelwright that Constantine was his master, any more than it had been our fault back in Nicomedia that Diocletian had been ours. I could hardly starve the servant for the faults of his master.
‘Fair enough. Alexander makes good points, really, and yet we are not so wealthy here that we can afford to send much remuneration to the provinces arbitrarily. And I fear the inevitable backlash from the senate if I inform them that I have added barbarian nomads who speak not a word of a civilised tongue to the august citizenship of Rome. Moreover, it concerns me that, given the entire population of the province of Africa, he cannot bring up the manpower for a legion.’
Anullinus turned to me and raised a finger. I nodded.
‘Africa is more sparsely populated than the northern provinces, Majesty, and the vast majority of its yeomanry is dedicated to agriculture and infrastructure. In times past when there have been large recruitment drives following troubles, the men taken for the legions have left Africa’s farms undermanned.’
‘Yes,’ grunted Volusianus, ‘when your short-sighted idiot brother was in charge.’
Anullinus gave his opposite a stare that could cut through steel as he continued to address me. ‘Given the fact that the province supplies Rome’s bread almost in entirety, I can understand why Alexander is taking great care.’
‘Alexander is an untrustworthy snake,’ Volusianus retorted, carefully directing his face to me, while his words were clearly meant for Anullinus. I also noted how he had not asked for permission to speak. A twitch began in my upper lip and I had to force myself not to shout again.
‘You do not trust Domitius Alexander?’ I prompted.
Volusianus almost snarled. ‘The man is the lowest, basest rat. No. Not a rat. Rats are just unpleasant. Alexander is a polecat. He is vicious and untameable as well as unpleasant. If he is trying to increase his military, look to his objectives. If you recall, I put forward three names for my successor when I came here, Majesty, all men I have known for over twenty years since my first tenure in the province. I cannot imagine why you set them all aside and granted the position to that animal.’
I let my disapproving eyebrow rule the conversation for a moment, and then spoke slowly and steadily. ‘All your replacement suggestions were men who owed their advancement to Galerius. I cannot put Africa in the hands of a man who might still be loyal to my enemy. Domitius Alexander owes his own advancement to the divine Constantius.’
‘Also the father of an enemy,’ Volusianus pointed out.
‘Perhaps so, but less invested in my downfall than the man who made me an enemy of my own city, I would say.’
‘Majesty,’ Volusianus said, with exaggerated patience, ‘I know Alexander of old. I have served with him and above him, and I can tell you that no good will come of his controlling Africa. I highly recommend that you remove him from the role and promote someone else.’
I sighed, unconvinced.
You see, the great problem with such groups of counsellors is in knowing who to trust over negative voices. In the early days of my reign I placed an unfounded level of confidence in Anullinus, and I still found his advice to be largely good. But his ongoing feud with Volusianus led me often to wonder how much was genuine opinion and how much simply gainsaying for the sake of argument. And a similar issue plagued me with Volusianus. He had brought me Africa and legitimised my reign, and his words were often true. But how much of his advice was born from simple refuting of whatever his opposite number held to be true.
‘Anullinus? Your opinion?’
My Praetorian Prefect shrugged. ‘Alexander has a record as a competent officer and administrator. He’s never spoken against you as far as I am aware, and there have been no rumours of trouble through the frumentarii . Ancharius Pansa has been very much at the centre of things in Africa recently and is reliable, and he reckons Alexander to be capable and dependable. Added to this, Alexander is popular with the African troops. Turning on him could damage your relationship with the army.’
I could read Volusianus’ response in his eyes, though he was holding his tongue with difficulty. I nodded to him and he spoke in strained, careful tones.
‘I know Africa, Majesty. I governed the place… twice thanks to the failures of the elder Anullinus. I know Africa’s soldiers, as I’ve commanded them myself. And I know Alexander, and would not trust him to prop up a table, let alone govern your most important province.’
I nodded and gestured to Zenas, my mediator in these arguments. ‘What is your opinion?’
‘I have no precise evidence with which to support my judgement, Majesty, but I am inclined to support Volusianus in this matter. Better to remove a potential threat and risk wasting a good man than to leave him in power and learn the hard way that he is an enemy.’
Anullinus, this time failing to raise a finger, glared at Zenas as he addressed me. ‘Majesty, Zenas’ views can hardly be considered objective. Alexander is renowned for being one of the worst perpetrators of the persecution of Christians, and it is hardly a secret that Zenas here follows that sect in his heart. He would naturally wish to see such a man removed for his own personal reasons. But Alexander’s former zeal in those persecutions does not preclude his ability to govern.’
Despite my express command that all present direct their words to me, the room suddenly exploded into a furore of accusations and bile as my two oldest advisors laid into each other again, but now with the usually calm Zenas slinging as strident an insult as any, a reminder that Anullinus’ brother in his time in Africa had also been a zealous persecutor of Christians, fanning the flames. I sat silent amid the row, wincing at the familiar throbbing rising in the base of my skull. I counted under my breath, and when I had reached twenty and the argument still showed no sign of abating, I let out a shout that had all three sitting bolt upright and silent, the blood draining from their faces. I cannot for the life of me recall precisely what I shouted, but it shocked them and a heartbeat later both doors to my chamber were flung open as guards rushed in. I waved them away, my face purple with anger.
‘If you continue to behave like this, I will send you all to Africa to dig irrigation trenches. Am I clear?’
A chorus of silent, contrite nods greeted me, and I sat back, counted to ten and let the colour retreat from my face before continuing. ‘I do not have such a wealth of good administrators that I can afford to waste them, and Alexander’s only potential loyalty other than me would be to Constantine, whose father was his patron. Constantine is far away to the north and likely is unaware that Alexander even exists, and thus I wish Lucius Domitius Alexander to continue in his role, but I am also receptive to your valued opinions. If Alexander cannot be wholly trusted, and we cannot buy his trust for fear he use that money to further his own goals, then we must achieve a degree of leverage over him.’
Volusianus narrowed his eyes, and Anullinus was openly nodding. Good. Perhaps I had a solution.
‘I seem to remember that Alexander has a son, yes? Not old enough to take the toga virilis but very close with his father?’
Volusianus nodded. ‘He is ten summers, I think, Majesty.’
I smiled at him. ‘Good. Send a cohort of your best men to Carthage with a chest of gold for the repairs to the province and permission for Alexander to draw men from Sicilia and southern Italia to bolster his forces. Invite Alexander to send his son with them back to Rome. Here he can further his education in the imperial court with the best of tutors in the greatest city in the world – a coup for any ambitious nobleman.’
‘A hostage, Majesty?’ asked Zenas uncertainly.
‘A guest . A ward of the palace, if you like. Alexander will not refuse. He cannot. And unless he has no care for his own progeny, that should buy his allegiance.’
Volusianus was nodding again. ‘I will do so in the morning, Majesty.’
Anullinus was clearly struggling with the idea and when I gestured to him, he cleared his throat. ‘I worry that, if the man is the polecat that Volusianus believes, poking him might elicit just the reaction you were hoping to avoid?’
I frowned. Did my oldest advisor have a point? Galerius had once pushed Constantine into a corner, expecting to crush him, and instead had driven him to Britannia and to claiming the purple himself. Was I now risking doing the same? But I could not simply hand out money and hope he did not use it against me, and merely removing him would leave me with a number of headaches. It was a gamble. I looked up at Anullinus. ‘Like Caesar of old, I must cast the dice and let them fall as they may.’