We had not yet reached Rome. Gods, but we’d not even left Moesia and Galerius’ lands before the news overtook us. We were occupying a lofty mansio by the seashore on the edge of the sprawling port city of Lissus at the time, the entire building having been commandeered for my imperial party.
Galerius – the Herdsman, Augustus of the East, successor of Diocletian, hero of the Persian wars and Emperor of Rome – was dead. Mere months ago I would have given out gifts at such news, struck commemorative coins, festooned my halls with gay garlands and put on a month of games in celebration. Now? My wife’s father had died, and with the anticipation of her mourning went any will I had to feel joy at the old bastard’s passing.
Moreover, while Galerius had at times been an evil obstacle in my life, he had of late been more a nagging background ache, while my path was now obstructed with a new hurdle: an enemy who had once been the closest of friends.
The courier bowed awkwardly, having delivered his tidings, and backed out of the room to seek lodgings in the town. As he disappeared, I gestured to the two Praetorians on guard duty also to leave us and to close the door. I was chewing my lip against the possibility that Volusianus might bounce happily into the room, rejoicing at the news. That would not go down well.
Valeria stood next to me. For a long moment after that door closed and an odd silence descended, she stood still and wordless, staring into space. I actually worried briefly that her mind had become unhinged at the news. I dithered. We were closer than we had ever been, even when Romulus was conceived. We were almost a true man and wife, now. And this was a strange, critical moment. The wrong word or gesture here could undo everything that had been built these past months. Twice I started to reach out with an embrace, trying to comfort her, only to falter and drop my arms once more. I expected wailing grief, but she wasn’t crying. She was silent and still.
Finally I walked around and stood facing her. She continued to look through me and into the heart of nothing, and her face was contemplative. Is it not odd how opinions and memories of people change when they die? That fat old trout who had tried to usurp me and fled to my enemy had become my father once more in death. I wondered what Valeria was feeling about her own sire. Finally, unable to take the silence and stillness any longer, I reached out and clasped her upper arms.
‘Valeria?’
When she glanced up she was pale and serious. She looked a little like the Valeria of old – the ice queen who had so chilled my life. But there was one important difference, and I could see it in her expression. Her icy anger was not aimed at me. This was a new and intriguing development and, while I should really have continued to soothe her, I found I had nothing to say until I knew what was in her mind.
‘Valeria?’
‘What will you do?’ she asked quietly.
I was rather taken aback by the question. ‘I suppose we should have some sort of commemorative festival. Games, races, that sort of thing. And sacrifices, and probably some coins with your father on one side and me on the other. You know.’
‘Not about Father,’ she said, a single tear forming in the corner of her eye at the word.
‘What?’ I was utterly confused. My gaze slipped to the door, which had crept open quietly to display the shape of Volusianus, perhaps trying not to intrude while feeling the need to approach. Valeria’s voice called back my attention.
‘Constantine . What will you do about Constantine ?’
Again I floundered. ‘I… don’t know. What can I do? Certainly nothing until I get to Rome. Valeria, your father…’
‘…is dead, Imperator,’ Volusianus said, stepping into the room and bowing respectfully first to Valeria and then to me. ‘He was the last true claimant to Diocletian’s legacy. Now there remains only you and Constantine, Majesty, and a few sundry wastes of flesh in the East. Galerius’ passing will leave a huge hole in the governance of the empire.’
I had expected fury from my wife for the rude interruption and was therefore all the more surprised when she nodded. ‘That hole will be filled soon,’ she said, adding her voice to Volusianus’ song, ‘and you are my husband, so you should fill it. Long I have wished your fall, largely because you were my father’s enemy. Now I have only you, and I would see you rule, Maxentius.’
Volusianus drifted close, lining up with Valeria like a shield wall. ‘Daia and Licinius are dogs,’ he snarled, ‘yapping and sniffing their privates. Only you or Constantine can hope to take true control of the empire now.’
The pair of them were suddenly animated, Volusianus wagging his finger to emphasise his words. ‘The Tetrarchy has failed , Domine. Rather than promoting ordered succession, it has bred the belief that anyone can carve off a piece of power for themselves. A band of dogs remain, biting at each other’s throats. See how Diocletian’s dream has died? The Tetrarchy will diminish until only one claimant remains, and he will be a true emperor, as once ruled supreme, like Augustus or Trajan.’
Valeria, nodding, added, ‘That emperor should be you.’
I blinked. I had not heard my wife opine such on the subject of the throne before and had clearly not been aware of how keenly she understood matters. ‘Valeria, my claim to the East…’
‘Is unimportant!’ she snapped, and Volusianus nodded, taking up the argument. ‘Before anyone can claim total dominion, they must have mastery in their own lands. Neither you nor Constantine can hope to challenge the East while you face each other. And you will never again be allies. You know that now. So you are faced with a very simple truth, Domine: destroy Constantine, or he will destroy you.’
A chill ran through me. I was outnumbered and caught in a pincer movement of opinions. Volusianus had said things like this to me before, but never Valeria. And while the prefect had always been animated and sometimes convincing in his arguments, they had never before sounded so coldly, logically reasoned like this. I had no time to marshal my thoughts, though, as the prefect was off again.
‘Domine, Galerius was the last of the truly ordained, righteously worshipped claimants to the purple. He was selected in official succession and rose through the role of Caesar correctly. The lady Valeria is his daughter and therefore carries some small right to claim imperial lineage. She is married to you, who are the direct heir of a man who was once Augustus with Diocletian himself. You were brought up at court, with the expectation of the purple. You were groomed to rule. No one in the empire has even half the claim that you have. Daia is a caretaker. Licinius cannot even rule that small portion he was given, for you and Constantine defy him. And Constantine? His father was Augustus for a year , Majesty. A single year .’
‘Truly,’ Valeria leapt in, picking up the attack. ‘He has no noble blood, just a crude bumpkin family from some provincial backwater. And Constantine himself? He was never expected to hold power. Can you not see he was groomed to be a soldier, not an emperor? No, Constantine has far less claim than you.’ Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper even though we were alone. ‘Some even say your former friend was not born of Constantius’ wife at all, but of some whore of a camp follower. Did you never hear that? Better that way, anyway. His mother is a Christian! ’
She almost spat the word.
I really had no idea how to take it all. I was dumbfounded, my eyes slipping from wife to prefect and back repeatedly.
‘So what do I do?’ I asked them. They seemed so sure, so full of hard truths and logic, and to see the pair united was a force to behold.
‘Send spies to his camp,’ Volusianus said. ‘Fortify the borders. Perhaps seek an alliance with Daia. That way you could keep the East in check while you deal with the north.’
Valeria threw out a hand so forcefully that I actually flinched. ‘Constantine rides on his military reputation and that of his father. Ruin him. Rumour travels faster than an arrow, and aimed correctly it can do a lot more damage.’
I stared.
‘Volusianus,’ she said, turning to address directly the man she had been supporting, ‘the emperor wants you back in command of the Praetorians where you are most useful, and he wants your five best spies sent to Constantine’s domain. Three in Treverorum and two at his other major military centres.’
As the prefect nodded I stared at them. So this was my next step then? My reinstated Praetorian Prefect and my wife were planning my future together…