Temrys almost smiled at that, but the mask of his face did not slip. “Of course, my lord, it will be done at once. I know the perfect place. It will take some days to prepare. Shall I send a messenger to you when it is ready?”
Maxian stood, smiling again, and bowed very slightly to the chamberlain.
“That would be perfect,” he said. “Thank you.”
Walking out, with the now-unctuous Chamberlain at his elbow, Maxian noted the sidelong glances of the secretaries and scribes in the warren of rooms. How can anyone work in such a place, he wondered to himself, with every eye watching you at all times?
He stopped at the door, thanking Temrys, and then strode off down the hallway. His lips quirked in amusement. / will never use those offices, he thought, but it will divert attention for a little while.
Cool water closed with a sharp splash over Maxian’s head as he dove into the great pool that graced the open-air no-tatio. Dolphinlike he darted through the water, turning over and seeing, for a moment, the wavering light of the sun far above, through the water. The cunningly tiled floor of the pool flashed past as well, all porpoises and mermaids in blue and green and pale yellow. A moment later his head broke the surface at the far end of the pool. He climbed out, exhilarated. Around him, dozens of other swimmers splashed in the cool blue waters or sat talking on the benches under the arches. He stood, dripping, on the mosaic floor and pondered whether to return to the pool and swim laps or to seek a masseuse for a scrape and a rubdown.
“Sir?” One of the balanei had come up. Maxian nodded in greeting at the boy, seeing that he was dressed in the attire of the bath attendants.
“A distinguished gentleman begs a moment of your time, if you will join him in the steam room?”
“All right,” Maxian said, a little wary. “Can you summon a tractator to join us as well? My shoulders are still sore and tight.”
The slave bowed and hurried off. Maxian made his way to the caldarium across the great vaulting central chamber of the bath building. Above him doves and wrens flitted in the vast open space under the roof of the cella soliaris. He passed through an atrium occupied by arguing Greeks and their attendants. Within, the air was thick with moisture and heat. He paused for a moment in the dimness. The huge room, barrel shaped, soared above him. The air was filled with billowing steam, making it almost impossible to see.
“Over here,” came a voice from the back of the room. Maxian descended the short flight of steps onto the raised wooden floor. Steam hissed up from the floor below as water flowed in from pipes under the platform. The heat felt delightful after the chilly pool. Sitting on a bare step at the back of the chamber was a familiar figure, even wreathed in steam. A conspicuous space had been cleared around the old man, though the caldarium was so large that there was no lack of benches.
“Ave, Gregorius Auricus,” Maxian said, settling into the warm seat.
“Ave, Maxian Caesar,” the magnate replied, dipping his head in greeting. Maxian frowned at the honorific. Gregorius, his eyes bright even in the gloom, nodded. “It is one of your titles now, you will have to get used to it.”?
“I suppose. It does not seem to be right, somehow, that I should bear the titles of my brothers. Not fitting, in a way.”
Gregorious sighed, rubbing his thin arms. “Your brothers have taken a great deal of trouble, over the past years, to follow the wishes of your mother. They have carried the burden of the Empire themselves, letting you follow the path that your gifts led you on.” He reached out and took Maxian’s hand, turning it over, running his callused old fingers over the Prince’s young, smooth palm and thumb.
“If Lucian Pius Augustus had not been stricken by the plague, you would be the most revered member of your family today. And you would still be in Narbonensis, doubtless spending your days walking from mountain village to mountain village, tending to the sick and the poor, as your mother hoped.”
Maxian smiled at the pastoral image. “I would like that,” he said.
Gregorius shook his head, saying “You will never see it. You have a different purpose now. I caught sight of you the other day, when your esteemed brother and I were arguing in the Offices. I heard afterward that the Senate had acclaimed you Caesar and Consul, to rule at your brother Aurelian’s side while the Augustus Martius Galen is away, in the East.”
“It is so,” Maxian said slowly, wondering what favor or proposition the old man would put to him now.
Gregorius smiled slowly at him. “You must learn to guard your expression more closely, young Caesar, I can all but read the thought in your look. No, I do not want anything from you today. What I want is but a moment of your time. I have known you, your brothers, your family, for many years. I do not know if you remember, but when you were young and your father came to the city, he would ofttime stay with me in my family’s house on the Coelian Hill. On at least one occasion, he brought you to see the Circus, I believe. The ostriches frightened you. Your father was a friend of mine, and you know well that I supported your brother in his campaign against the pretenders.
“I say this to you not to gain your favor but to show you that I have always supported your family, your father, your brother. Martius Galen is a good Emperor. Perhaps the best we have been blessed with in the West since the Divine Constantine. He is cautious in his policies, frugal with the assets of the state. He is just and, impartial in his judgments. He appoints with an eye to merit and not to wealth or personal gain. He does not confiscate the estates or possessions of the Senators. In all, a most able and practical ruler. The temples are well blessed with his presence.”
Gregorius paused, sighing deeply. His old face was lined with concern. “Yet at the same time, he is a man, and men are often blind in some manner. I know that you must have remarked yourself from time to time on the precariousness of the Western Empire. Our population is scant following the plague. Our own people are weak, given to idleness and sloth. Have you not noticed, in your work, how frail our people seem, in comparison to the German, the Briton, or the Goth?” Gregorius waved at the mist and the other men taking their ease in the baths.
“In a crowd of a hundred, you can tell each man’s nation by his appearance-the Roman is short, with poor skin and an unhealthy pallor. The Briton is tall and fair, abrim with health. The German the same, the Goth another, save gifted with great strength. I have many clients, as you doubtless know. They come to me to discuss their troubles and their successes. First among the lament of the Roman is the death of his children, his heirs, from disease, or weakness or accident. The Goth deplores the state of his finances but rejoices in the strong children born to him. It is a terrible shame, but I have had to repopulate whole farms, or fabri-cae here in the city, with freedmen of Briton or German blood.”
Maxian stared at him in undisguised horror. The blood lines of the rural patricians were as jealously guarded as the Vestals.
“Yes, I see the look on your face-yet there was no other way! The blood of my cousins had grown too weak to sustain itself. It pained my senatorial heart to adopt these people from beyond Italy as my sons and daughters. I am old and I have seen a great deal in my life, but this frightens me the most, the deterioration of the Roman people. The state cannot hope to stand when there are none to support it. New blood must be inducted to the body of the people, to sustain the Empire. Is this not so in the East?
“There are many different nations given citizenship there. Here the boon of citizenship is so carefully guarded… What I have asked of your brother is nothing less than accepting the Gothic people, and the friendly Germans, and the loyal Britons, into our state as equals. I have spoken to many, many of their dukes, headmen and chiefs. They are a loyal people-have they not fought beside Rome for the last three centuries? They should be rewarded for that, at least.”