Nobilissima (56 page)

Johannes shifted his position slightly and looked at Marcus with a sardonic smile. “I won’t be threatened,” he said.

“You’ll never sleep through the night again or enjoy food and drink without someone tasting it for you first,” he said. “You’ll check your carriage wheels for loose bolts, your saddle for cut straps. Every crowd could hide a killer with a dagger. You won’t know a moment’s peace of mind.”

“That is true of anyone who is Emperor,” Johannes answered. “Or Empress. It’s a dangerous place to be.”

Marcus stood up abruptly. “I have warned you. There is nothing more I can do. “

Still, Johannes did not respond. I stood and followed Marcus to the door. ‘You have until dawn tomorrow to resign Johannes,” I said.

The following morning, I was roused from sleep by a commotion in the hall outside. For a minute, I was confused, unsure of where I was. I glanced around the room and realized I was back in my old suite, in the room where I had lived following my marriage to Constantius. Rising from the bed, I pulled a robe around my shoulders and went into the anteroom.

“Find out what’s happening,” I told the servant standing by the door.

The servant went out and seconds later, reappeared with Marcus and Aurelia close behind. They hurried in and closed the door. Aurelia was still in her bedroom sandals and a light tunic. I told the servant to give her a cloak, and to open the shutters so that the light could come in.

“Early this morning,” began Marcus, “Johannes wrote a letter to the Senate demanding that they support him and refusing to step down. He used some choice language about Valentinian and…” he hesitated.

“About me,” I finished.

He nodded. “He sealed the letter and asked for it to be delivered in confidence but the soldiers took it to Ardabur, who brought it to me.” He paused, and looked around for a place to sit. “So, now, you have to make a choice, Placidia. You can send him into exile or have him executed. He won’t resign.”

Chapter 52

I went to the window and looked out. Below, the lawns were green and servants hurried to and fro with baskets of linens, armfuls of freshly cut herbs and buckets of water. The day that was starting was for most an ordinary day, like any other. For me, it was the beginning of a new life as Empress and Regent. For Johannes, the end of life as Emperor and of life itself.

I turned to face Marcus and Aurelia. “We will make an example of Johannes and show the world that usurpers won’t be tolerated. He stole the crown and will be punished accordingly. His right hand will be cut off and then he will be beheaded.”

“Placidia, perhaps you could show him mercy?” Aurelia said.

For the first time in my memory, Marcus was angry with his wife.

“Mercy?” he said. “Usurpers deserve no mercy. His single act of selfish opportunism has unleashed chaos and uncertainty and has caused the death of many hundreds of good soldiers, both Roman and Eastern. If every man felt he deserved to be Emperor and acted upon it, there would be no order in the world. We’ve seen it happen before. Soldiers and citizens alike have changed allegiances, some of them several times; they don’t know who to obey or which rules to follow. The Senate has divided and, in the process, lost what little power it had left. How can we demand integrity from our soldiers and lawmakers if there is none in the man who rules the Empire? No, Aurelia, there can be no mercy for anyone who would be prepared to damage the Empire for his own gain.”

Aurelia’s face was ashen. She bent her head and I saw tears fall on to her tunic, leaving tiny dark stains on the fabric. I wanted to go to her and comfort her but this was not the time. I’d do that later. For now, I had to act. To give the command that would send Johannes to his death, to retrieve the throne and to start the process of restoring order to the Empire.

“Bring me a scribe,” I ordered one of the servants.

When the man appeared, with a box of parchment and writing tools, I dictated my orders and then signed them. I gave the document to Marcus and asked him to make sure it was enacted at once. Then I wrote a letter to Sylvia, telling her to come to Ravenna with the children. I felt a surge of tenderness towards my son, and thought of him entering the city as Emperor. He was too young yet to fully understand the honor or the responsibility but I would train him well in his duties and obligations.

Early in the afternoon, Johannes was brought from his cell to the plaza in front of the palace, where a huge crowd had gathered. His ankles were fettered with iron and his scarlet robe and gold medallion had been removed. In a simple tunic, he looked like any older citizen and my resolve faltered for a second. His gray hair was uncombed and his eyes were rheumy with tears. His thin shoulders were bent as though under a great burden, and his arms, unbound, hung limply at his sides. The sardonic combatant I had talked with yesterday seemed to have wilted overnight into an insubstantial shadow of himself.

The crowd roared and brought me back to my senses. From my throne on the steps of the palace, I lifted my hand. There was silence as the soldiers marched Johannes towards the executioner, who waited in the sunshine, one foot resting on a scarred wooden block. He reminded me of a gladiator and maybe he had been one in previous years. Honorius had banned gladiator fights, to the disappointment of the citizenry. The man’s muscled chest was bare, and he wore knee length boots and burnished arm protectors. A plumed helmet and a visor concealed most of his face. In his hand was a gleaming sword, a long spatha made of bright steel.

Johannes looked over at me. There was no expression at all on his face and no clue as to his thoughts. But then he straightened his shoulders and continued his walk towards his wooden block.

The executioner made him kneel down and stretch his right arm across the block. He removed a leather strip from around his waist and strapped it around Johannes’s upper arm, pulling it tight and tying it in a knot. The color drained from Johannes’s face. Then the executioner took two steps back and raised the sword with both hands high above his head. I heard the whistle of the blade as it swept downwards and took off Johannes’s hand. Blood poured across the wooden surface and dripped down the sides on to the white marble pavement beneath. The mob cheered, drowning out a single howl of pain from their former Emperor.

Three soldiers went to pick Johannes up from where he kneeled, staring in shock at his severed hand. They pushed him roughly on to the back of a donkey and tied him with ropes so that he could not fall off or dismount. One soldier bound his injury with a bandage, which quickly bloomed red with blood. Johannes grasped the donkey’s mane with his good hand and his other arm dangled uselessly.

A soldier led the animal and its rider on several laps of the square to the shouts and jeers of the crowd. The sun rose higher and I closed my eyes against the glare. I remembered when Sigeric had tied me to the back of his carriage and forced me to walk all day in bare feet and broiling sunshine. There, the crowds had been quiet and subdued, and a few had even lost their lives in attempts to free me. No one today seemed ready to rescue Johannes. However much he had been accepted as Emperor during his short tenure, no one had stepped forward to protest his deposal and death sentence.

Shouting and laughter erupted from the onlookers, and I opened my eyes to see that Johannes had slipped to one side, his feet pedaling in the air to regain his balance.

“Enough,” I said to the tribune standing behind my throne. “End this.”

“Yes, Augusta,” he replied and shouted a command to his men. The donkey came to a halt and several soldiers cut the ropes and pulled Johannes back to the ground. He stumbled when he tried to walk, and was half-dragged back to the executioner’s block. There, he was made to kneel down with his head resting on the bloodstained wood. The executioner raised his sword and brought it down hard on Johannes’ neck, slicing through skin and bone and hitting the block underneath with a muted thud.

I stood at once and made my way into the welcome coolness and shade of the palace. I was glad that Valentinian had not yet arrived and had not witnessed the death of the usurper. My son had plenty of time to learn the harsher realities of being a ruler and I had no doubt that there would be many brutal and agonizing decisions to be made in the coming years.

Later that day, I stood at the window in my room and watched as a single spear, holding Johannes’ head, was raised and secured to the top of the palace wall at the main gate. The citizens roared approval and the clamor of their voices swelled and receded like waves on a rocky beach.

Chapter 53

Two weeks after the death of Johannes, we arrived in Rome for the coronation. The city was decked out in all its finery for the acclamation of its new Emperor and Empress Regent. The buildings gleamed and garlands of flowers, laurel wreaths and imperial banners depicting the great golden eagle decorated every balcony and windowsill.

Aurelia helped me to prepare for the ceremony and I was glad of her company. For several days after Johannes’ execution, she had been quiet and withdrawn, bringing back painful memories of the rift we had endured when Serena had been put to death. But then she’d apologized and said that she’d come to understand the sense of my decision. This day of triumph would have meant little if she were not there to share it with me.

Johannes’ death hadn’t affected me; I felt nothing for him and knew he would not come back to haunt my dreams as Serena still did. Yet even Serena had been wrong, I thought, in her terrible predictions for my future. She could not have foreseen this day when my son and I would be crowned and I would assume the ultimate power in the Western Empire.

The past weeks had been too busy, in any case, to dwell much on the death of the usurper. I had waited impatiently for the arrival of Sylvia and the children, and had reappointed many of my former household staff. Tertius had ventured out from his library for a happy and tearful reunion.

Just two days earlier, the rest of the staff had arrived back from Constantinople, bringing Apollo with them. At first he had refused to go to Aurelia, remaining curled in his crate on a table and staring at her with his blue unblinking eyes. Finally he had jumped lightly down to the floor, and strolled towards her, then rubbed his head against her legs, and purred loudly as she picked him up and fondled his ears.

On the morning of the ceremony, we rode in the imperial carriage down through the Forum Romanum to the Basilica of Maxentius, the only building large enough to hold all the dignitaries who had been invited. Outside, a vast unit of my elite soldiers wore dazzling uniforms and carried spears and shields burnished to a glossy radiance. The building was swathed in banners of red and gold and a path of rose petals led the way from the carriage to the entry doors.

Valentinian and I walked side by side, eyes straight ahead. I’d coached him carefully, to be sure that nothing would disrupt the solemnity and pageantry of the occasion. Honoria followed behind us, walking between Aurelia and Marcus. She’d been very difficult for the past few days, bored and resentful of all the attention being paid to her brother. It was hard to be the oldest child and passed over because of being a girl. But I worried about her wild and impetuous nature and hoped she would soon settle down and apply herself to her studies.

Once inside, we saw the colossal white marble statue of Constantine and Valentinian’s gaze drifted upwards. I touched a finger to his arm to remind him to keep his eyes on the two thrones placed in the center of the Basilica.

Gentle music wafted up to the vaulted arches of the ceiling as a hundred musicians played lyres and citharas below. Senators, comites and prefects prostrated themselves as we passed them, forming a carpet of brilliant white togas, striped with red, yellow and purple.

Emperor Theodosius had planned to come from Constantinople to crown Valentinian but had fallen ill. His chief minister, Helion, had come in his stead and would officiate. He stood next to the thrones, dressed in a blue robe, embroidered with gold rosettes and wearing jewelry that was as magnificent as my own. I took my seat and two servants rushed forward to arrange the hem of my golden gown so that it fell in perfect folds.

Valentinian’s feet dangled above the floor and his little body was dwarfed by the great back and arms of his throne. A lock of dark brown hair had fallen across his forehead and he pushed it away with a sigh. Even before the service began, I saw the boredom in his face and leaned towards him, reminding him to sit up straight and look interested. He sighed again and glared at me. There was much of Honorius in him, both in his looks and personality. That hardly bode well for the Empire, but I comforted myself with the thought that he would have no influence or real power for many years. Time enough to mould him into a better person and ruler than his uncle had been.

My thoughts wandered during the speeches. It was only a few years ago that I had come to Rome with Constantius to be crowned Augusta as his wife. I had lost that title once and was determined not to do so again. The memory of the way Honorius had treated me brought a flush of anger to my cheeks, and I pushed the thought away. This was a day for celebrating, not dwelling on the unhappiness of the past.

“Augusta.”

It was Helion, poised in front of me with a diadem raised in the air. I bent my head slightly so that he could put it in place, and heard shouts of “Augusta” from the audience. Helion moved to Valentinian and placed a golden crown on his head and he waved as I had taught him, to a roar of “Imperator” from the crowds.