Battle for Rome by Ian Ross

Author:Ian Ross [Ross, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784081195
Publisher: Head of Zeus
Published: 2015-10-21T16:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

Chapter XV

Northern Italy, September AD 312

The two men sat on folding stools in uncomfortable silence. There were no lamps, nobody around to bring lamps, and the large chamber was becoming increasingly dim. The men did not move; both of them wore the heavy embroidered robes and insignia of members of the Roman Senate. They were not accustomed to fetching and carrying things for themselves.

As the darkness increased so did their discomfort. Both tried to appear unconcerned, maintaining their dignified composure, but each flicked a glance towards the doorway when he thought the other was not looking. How long had they been sitting here now? An hour? Had they been forgotten? Where were the slaves? It was past time for dinner…

Eventually, when the far corners and the high ceiling had almost vanished into the gloom, the man concealed in the passageway outside cleared his throat and paced quietly into the chamber. The two men on the stools suppressed their jolts of surprise.

‘At last!’ one of them said.

‘Who are you?’ the other demanded.

The newcomer had an unprepossessing look, his clothes drab and very plain, his thin face and bowl-cut hair almost deliberately bland.

‘Greetings, clarissimi,’ the man said, with the touch of a smile. ‘I am Julius Nigrinus, Tribune of Notaries. I’m most sorry for having kept you for so long…’

Nigrinus was not sorry at all; he had spent quite a while in the passageway, observing them from the shadows and enjoying their discomfort.

‘But why are you sitting in the dark?’ he said in a bemused tone; then he turned to the far doorway. ‘Lights!’ he called. At once a pair of slaves walked in carrying lamps on tall tripods, which they placed on either side of the seated men. A third slave brought a stool for Nigrinus, and he settled himself upon it, facing them. The two senators pulled themselves together, peering at him warily.

They were not, Nigrinus thought, very attractive specimens of the ancient Roman aristocracy: the ‘conscript fathers’, as senators liked to call themselves. Both were prestigious enough, one a former praetor and the other a former deputy consul, and their names advertised the length and weight of their lineage. Lucius Turranius Venustus Gratianus, one was called. The other was Quintus Aurelius Cornificius Gordianus. Nigrinus himself cared nothing for lineage, or prestige. His own father, after all, had been born a slave.

‘We have been waiting here for a considerable amount of time!’ announced Gratianus. He was a large man, fleshy and bulbous, with a small chin bobbing between pendulous jowls. The other senator, Gordianus, was long-limbed and stiff, with a head like a block of wood and a forbidding scowl.

‘And we placed ourselves in considerable danger coming here too,’ Gordianus said. ‘May I remind you that we are senior members of the Roman Senate? I had expected that I would be given an audience with Constantine immediately!’

‘Ah, yes,’ Nigrinus said, with the slightest smirk of apology. ‘The emperor, you understand, has many pressing engagements. The ongoing war against the tyrant of Rome occupies almost all of his time, and he is currently with his troops.

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