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  Alfred Duggan

  Little Emperors

  Alfred Duggan

  1903–1964

  ‘There have been few historical imaginations better informed or more gifted than Alfred Duggan’s.’ (The New Criterion).

  Historian, archaeologist and novelist Alfred Duggan wrote historical fiction and non-fiction about a wide range of subjects, in places and times as diverse as Julius Caesar’s Rome and the Medieval Europe of Thomas Becket.

  Although he was born in Argentina, Duggan grew up in England, and was educated at Eton and Balliol College, Oxford. After Oxford, he travelled extensively through Greece and Turkey, visiting almost all the sites later mentioned in his books. In 1935 he helped excavate Constantine’s palace in Istanbul.

  Duggan came to writing fiction quite late in his life: his first novel about the First Crusade, Knight in Armour, was published in 1950, after which he published at least a book every year until his death in 1964. His fictional works were bestselling page-turners, but thoroughly grounded in meticulous research informed by Duggan’s experience as an archaeologist and historian.

  Duggan has been favourably compared to Bernard Cornwell as well as being praised in his own right as ‘an extremely gifted writer who can move into an unknown period and give it life and immediacy.’ (New York Times)

  Place Names in the Story

  Achaea

  Arelatum

  Augusta Treverorum

  Belerium

  Brigantia

  Burdigala

  Calleva

  Camolodunum

  Colonia Agrippina

  Corinium

  Deva

  Eburacum

  Gessoriacum

  Glevum

  Hellespont

  Illyricum

  Londinium

  Lugdunum

  Lycia

  Mauretania Tingitensis

  Mediolanum

  Moesia

  Niduarian Picts

  Pontes

  Pontus

  Propontis

  Rutupiae

  Tingis

  Vectis

  Sea of Vectis

  Venta

  Verulamium

  Greece

  Aries

  Trier

  St. Michael’s Mount in Cornwall

  Yorkshire

  Bordeaux

  Silchester

  Colchester

  Cologne

  Cirencester

  Chester

  York

  Boulogne

  Gloucester

  Dardanelles

  Yugoslavia

  London

  Lyons

  South-western Asia Minor

  Morocco

  Milan

  Austria

  in Galloway

  Staines

  Northern Asia Minor

  Sea of Marmora

  Richborough

  Tangier

  Isle of Wight

  Solent

  Winchester

  St. Albans

  1. Honorius Imperator Semper Augustus

  The climate of Britain is notoriously vile. But there are occasional fine days, and sometimes they come when they are wanted; otherwise it would be impossible to cultivate the soil of the island, instead of merely very difficult indeed. In the eleventh year of the Emperor Honorius, A.D. 405, the 10th of September was fine; C. Sempronius Felix, Praeses of Britannia Prima, realized that as soon as he woke, from the pattern made by the low sun on the ceiling of his bedroom. At once he thought of the harvest; a wet August had damaged the crops as they were reaped, but a few days of sunshine would dry the ground and enable the farmers to move their wagons between field and barn; they might save more corn than he had been counting on yesterday. He decided to go early to the office, and revise the provisional figures his clerks had made out during the storms of the last month. He threw off the bedclothes and clapped his hands for his valet.

  In half an hour he was ready to set out. He was an African from the Mediterranean Sea, where men rise early to work before the heat of midday, and it pleased him to set an example; the provincials were too fond of lying in bed until this beastly island of theirs had warmed up after the chills of the night. He did not waste time on his toilet; it is the privilege of the head of any organization to dress as he pleases when his subordinates have to appear neatly turned out, and there was no one in Londinium who was his superior in rank. Besides, it was the custom of the ancients to bathe after the work of the day, and senior officials should follow ancient custom. He ate a bit of bread and smoked bacon while the valet fastened his tunic, and muttered a very short prayer to the Christian God while his hair was combed over the bald patch. On his way to the stairs he passed the stout door of the women’s apartments, now standing open as the housemaids began their work; the eunuch whispered that the Lady Maria was not yet awake, and he did not enter. His young wife usually woke in a bad temper, and it was well to keep out of her way in the early morning; so the early-rising servants did their work very quietly. That was a good thing, though Felix did not really approve of a young lady who was always flogging her maids. However, he had not married Maria for her character, but for her family connections, and he seldom saw her except at meals.

  Two footmen waited for him outside. They were hefty, fierce-looking Germans, dressed in what the Divine Gratianus had considered the sort of armour German chiefs would have worn if they had ruled a population of skilled bronze-founders. In fact, they were extremely meek, terrified of infringing a law they did not understand; real soldiers bullied them dreadfully. In the good old days the ruler of a Province was guarded by soldiers, but the Divine Diocletianus had totally severed the civil service from the army; now a Praeses, or even a Vicarius, might not give orders to the most junior recruit. Sometimes Felix regretted that he had lost the power of the sword which Legates had once possessed. But gentlemen were not allowed to join the army, and it was as well that everyone should realize he had no connection with the hard-drinking profligate boors who held military command in this degenerate age. He strolled along the sunny side of the street with his two attendants following, and tried to see himself as some magistrate of the Republic, a Praetor or a Quaestor, walking through the Sacred City with lictors in his train. It was his favourite daydream, for his education had taught him that the past was a great deal better than the present.

  All the same, Londinium was looking very splendid on this fine September morning; architecture was one of the few arts that had improved since the days of the Republic, and this city, unlike most of those in Britain, had not been sacked in the Pictish War. It was very large, a mile long by half a mile wide, and since it had always been the financial capital of Britain (though not the military headquarters) it possessed a fine collection of government offices.

  There were few citizens about at this early hour, and those he passed paid little attention to him; the lower classes backed against the wall and cringed in silence, and the more prosperous raised an arm in greeting; but nobody tried to ha
nd him a petition. When he first came to this Province, ten years ago, everyone he met would thrust a paper into his hand, usually wrapped round a bribe; but now they had learned that he never did business outside the office, and that he only took presents after a transaction had been completed, as became an honest official.

  It was at this morning hour, before the details of office work had altered the focus of his mind, that he liked to picture the whole Diocese, busy in the cause of Civilization. Here in the peaceful south the coloni grew corn and flax, on the northern moors sheep were sheared, from the western mines came lead and tin; stone must be quarried, fish caught, timber cut and charcoal burned, to supply the wants of the primary producers; there must be enough of every commodity, yet waste must be avoided. All this was the elementary work of the civil service. There should also be a surplus, after paying for defence, to support the sculptors, scholars and poets who were the embodiment of the Good Life of the Oecumene, the interlocking household of the Civilized World. It was much more difficult to find this surplus, and to keep it out of the military pay chest.

  The Treasury building was in the old style of the Claudian Emperors, and the columns had been clumsily fashioned by barbarous provincials when the whole place was rebuilt after being burned by the Iceni; that was more than three hundred years ago, and Londinium had not since been sacked by an enemy, though occasionally Roman troops had plundered it in civil war. It was quite an historical monument, though Felix sometimes wished the Picts could have destroyed it in the troubles of forty years ago; then he could have rebuilt in the latest style, with modern conveniences. Nowadays there was more paper work, and the files had to be kept longer; while as most trials were held in private there was no need for the great judgment hall.

  The Praeses strode through the portico into his private room off the entrance lobby. Waiting beside his desk, holding a bundle of rolled papers, was Paulinus the freedman, his confidential secretary. Instead of explaining the day’s business he plunged into a discussion of the news: “Good morning, sir. Have you heard anything about the campaign in Italy? or the Irish fleet in the Channel?”

  “Nothing fresh, Paulinus. As I told you before, that is good news. If anything had gone wrong the rumour would reach us speedily; but when the army destroys a pack of barbarians that is an everyday occurrence which no one bothers to pass on. We must not gossip about soldiers. What have you got for me there?”

  “Rough estimates, sir, of the harvest. The taxgatherers valued it as it was reaped, before it was carried; so we must allow for loss during the late storms. One thing may upset our calculations. If these Irish land and ravage the open country we shall draw no revenue from the south coast this year.”

  “Don’t bother about that. The Comes Littoris Saxonici is paid an enormous salary to see pirates don’t ravage there.”

  Felix unrolled the papers, and studied particularly the summary of estimated revenue.

  “I see you expect a small surplus, after paying the army,” he said briskly. “In that case we can do something for education. The law says we ought to have teachers of grammar and rhetoric in large cities, and for the last ten years I have hoped to get them started. I don’t like the way the Celtic language is spreading in the countryside; administration is more difficult if the coloni don’t understand the instructions of the government. I know there are thousands of other things to be done, but it’s hardly worth starting to repair a few roads, when at any moment we may have to stop for lack of funds.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Paulinus said gently. “If there really is a surplus could we reduce the taxes, or at least forgive some arrears?”

  “I certainly can’t reduce taxes by my own authority, and the Vicarius would not allow it. For one thing, it would mean endless paper work, probably an application to Mediolanum, before I received permission. I might be rather more gentle in collecting arrears, but they must remain on the file. Have you any particular case in mind? Naturally, taxpayers who are well disposed to the government should be better treated than those who make trouble.”

  Felix was a citizen of good birth, descended from a long line of civil servants; it was beneath his dignity to take a bribe. But he knew that freedmen must be judged by different standards. The machine would not work unless the subordinates were willing.

  However, his clerk chose to be incorruptible to-day.

  “Oh no, sir. I had no particular case in mind, although I know you will always protect my personal friends from the taxgatherers. But the coloni are beginning to desert their land, especially near the coast where they are bothered by pirates. This Province is remarkably free from outlaws at present, but if we press them too hard we shall find Bagaudae starting up, as they have in Gaul.”

  “Then the army will deal with them. I am not responsible for order. But I can’t reduce the taxes, and you know that as well as I do.”

  Paulinus was always trying to earn popularity by taking the side of the taxpayer. It was natural enough, for a successful freedman is loathed by every citizen; had he been harsh as well as successful he would have been lynched long ago. But taxation kept the Empire going; the more taxes were collected, the stronger was the government; and in these days it needed all its strength.

  These broad decisions taken, as they had to be taken afresh every day against a perpetual nagging opposition, the Praeses settled down to give judgment on the most urgent of the smaller cases that his subordinates had sent up to him. What should be done with the daughter of a baker who had married a soldier twenty years ago, after the administration had lost track of her during a barbarian raid, and whose three sons now claimed to follow their father into the army? She had clearly broken the law, which made the unattractive calling of bakery strictly hereditary. She claimed the soldier had taken her by force. That was probably a lie, but it might be true, and it was so long ago there were no witnesses. One solution would be to make her husband put her away, and marry her to a baker on the waiting list for a wife; but the Church would make a fuss about the broken marriage vows. The law said she should be burned alive, now that her crime was at last discovered; but that would do no good to anybody. Of course the military authorities were delighted to find themselves with three prospective native-born recruits, so much cheaper than hired barbarians, and they backed the husband. Perhaps it would be wise to give in gracefully, and put the soldiers under an obligation. In that case the office must check the list of bakers at once, before others decided it was possible to escape their work.

  As he had pointed out, Felix was not responsible for order in his Province. But he was responsible for practically everything else. Although Britannia Prima, in the south-east of the island, contained no mines of any metal more precious than iron, Londinium was the port whence most exports were shipped to the Continent; lead, tin and copper from the west came into the city by wagon or pack-pony, each ingot already stamped with the Emperor’s name as a guarantee of weight and purity; small parcels were held in the Treasury until they made up a shipload, and then the chartered merchant ship was sent down river to the fortified port of Rutupiae, to await the right moment for a dash across the pirate-infested Channel. Every mine in Britain belonged to the Emperor, and most of the ore was used in the Imperial workshops and armouries; but for purposes of book-keeping it was convenient to fix its value as it left the Diocese, and this was done in the Treasury of Londinium. In fact, the price of a great many things was fixed in the Provincial Treasury, although for certain classes of goods this was done by the Fiscus at Mediolanum, so that the cost should be the same all over the Oecumene. Sometimes the authorities made a mistake, and the price was found to be uneconomic; this might have led to shortage of goods that were too cheap, but the administration had found a simple remedy. Every occupation necessary to a civilized life was hereditary, from farming to burying the dead; and no one was allowed to change his calling. An increasing proportion of the land was directly farmed by the State, either as the patrimony of some past Emperor or confiscated
from an unsuccessful pretender, and the private landowners who remained were so heavily taxed in kind that they were practically in the position of share-croppers. The government took an enormous proportion of each year’s income, and in theory saw it was spent in such a manner that the Province remained civilized and solvent. It was a great responsibility for the civil service, and they worked very hard.

  But in practice things did not always go according to plan. In the first place, it was impossible to foresee military expenditure, now that all the barbarians in the world were on the march; if a Praeses saved a little money for next year the soldiers just came and took it, since you cannot make a scheme of defence so perfect that it would not be improved by more expenditure. In the second place, production decreased every year. Citizens were reluctant to marry and breed legitimate children, destined to step into their fathers’ shoes; it was simpler to live with a slave girl, and produce offspring who could be sold to pay the taxgatherer. Civilization is only kept in being by unremitting effort, and in the whole Diocese of Britain the citizens seemed to have lost the will to work.

  After two hours with his secretary Felix had initialled every urgent paper, and he strolled into the main office to see how his subordinates were getting on. It was a nuisance that Paulinus, the most efficient member of his staff, was a freedman who could not take responsibility; technically he was not a civil servant at all, merely the personal clerk of the Praeses. All officials who had been regularly appointed and were empowered to sign documents were freeborn citizens, and that meant a good deal of work was done twice over. But to-day there was only routine business, which the most junior clerk could deal with; when Felix had done a round of the twenty or thirty desks that administered every activity of the Province of Britannia Prima his work was finished, and it was still only two hours after noon. He could spend the rest of the day bathing and dining, in accordance with the custom of the ancients.

  At home he had a quick bath, for he had eaten nothing since his light breakfast at dawn, and though he was accustomed to working on an empty stomach he was always hungry by mid-afternoon. Then he sent to tell his wife he was ready for dinner;