Gaius Flavius Norbanus was unhappy. Having turned fifty, he was one of the eldest senators of the empire. A scholar and historian whose views should be sought after and respected. Yet instead of presenting one of the current sessions of the Grand Council, Gaius was serving refreshments in the atrium outside the main hall of the Senate House. His fall from grace was connected with the promotion of a new cadre of men and — especially — women. These were youths who had no obvious talent other than an ability to echo the words of the empress without hesitation or critical assessment. Yet angry as he was at these rude and ignorant young people, he was angrier still at his former friends who now shunned him. They walked past him now, without even a nod, a pause, a word, or even eye contact. All that concerned them was the matter of which tasty delicacies to fill their plates with.

While Gaius was caught in a moment of unhappy self-reflection, the brother of the empress came past, strolling up the corridor as though he were master of the world. Which he was. Johannes Reecii Barbula had intellectual pretensions and it was this weakness that Gaius thought he might have an opportunity to exploit. Hurrying around the table, Gaius came up to Johannes and ignoring the fact that Johannes now began to walk distinctly faster, tried to engage the empress’s brother in conversation. He wanted all the military leaders and civic officials to see them talking together as old friends.

‘Hello Johannes. I’ve been reading Regilensis on the northern campaign of year five hundred and twelve. And it doesn’t make sense to me why Tarsilius turned back from the shores of the Grey Sea. I know you have studied this era and I was hoping you could shed some light on the subject.’

Clearly uncomfortable, Johannes cast around, as if looking for someone else he could talk to. Then, with a mutter and a spurt of energy that almost turned his walk into a run, he replied, ‘Tarsilius bit off more than he could chew.’ And he was gone up to the front of the great hall, where he was surrounded by sycophants, one or two who looked scornfully at Gaius.

‘More than he could chew,’ repeated Gaius and nodded, as though this were very wise. But it was vacuous. In his heart, Gaius felt sick and tired. He should have more dignity than to run after power like that. And if he had woken this morning with a hope that at the assembly of the senate he might find the tide turning once more in his favour: well, that hope had fled the ancient building, gathering her skirts and sprinting across the paved road outside.

And yet, as the reports were given and decisions made, Gaius could not help but steal away from his post at the refreshments table to linger at the back of the hall. With a fast-beating heart, he raised his hand during a lull. The discussion could have been on any subject, he just wanted to show he was still a part of the council. The chair, a notorious bully, saw Gaius but carried on looking around the chamber for other speakers. When there were none, he frowned and in a critical tone called out, ‘Gaius Flavius Norbanus.’

The empress looked surprised, then she scowled and visibly shook her head.

‘I wanted to develop the point made by my colleague from Lytalia.’ Once at the podium, Gaius began too hastily and strove to calm himself. Most of the faces looking up at him were neutral, bored, but not hostile. ‘The shipbuilding tradition is strong there, you’ll all recall how well their biremes have served us over the years. But with the importance of the routes into Tartarus diminishing, we must question the value of persisting with the Persian walnut. Local forests would allow us to rebuild our navy at a more rapid rate and more cheaply too.’ This was the only relevant idea that he could think of and while Gaius had hoped to remain in the limelight a little longer, there really was no point in speaking just for the sake of it. Too many of the young sycophants did exactly that. And perhaps there would be members of the council who would respect Gaius for his succinct observation.

Walking away from the podium, back through the assembly towards his position in the foyer beyond, Gaius was pleased to see that one or two of the older senators made eye contact. And while there were hardly any signs of enthusiasm, what more could he expect?

‘Lisia Germanica Barbula,’ announced the chair and Gaius froze. The empress? An unscheduled intervention? She must have signalled to the chair that she wanted to respond to what Gaius had just said. Indeed, there she was, laboriously shifting her purple robe so as to clear it from her feet as she ascended the podium. The empress was forty-two-years old and her short hair, cut in a military style, was greying at the temples. Her face was wide and firm and her gestures instantly recognizable.

One of the risible aspects of the sycophants’ behaviour was the way they — unconsciously or knowingly — copied her physical gestures. As soon as Lisia began to wave her hand up and down with a chopping motion, Gaius knew his worst fears were about to be confirmed and his stomach gave a terrible lurch.

‘Senators and Councillors. We rarely have heard such stupidity from this platform as we have just now from Gaius Flavius Norbanus. Over the last four years, he really has heard nothing, nor understood anything. That man is locked in the past. Such thoughts as he expressed would be ruinous to Rome at this time. Timing is the art of politics. We’ve seen it again and again. Those who cannot learn have to be left behind.

‘His idiotic speech – if three sentences deserve the term – was obviously designed only to show us that he still exists. Such behaviour would be pathetic if it wasn’t also harmful. The reign of Johannes Reecli Barbula calls for precisely the opposite policy to that expressed by Gaius. Reopening trade routes into Tartarus is essential for the growth of the empire.

‘When Plautia Herennia tells us that her scouts have returned from Tartarus with news of confusion there, that there is still no sign of a powerful ruler capable of uniting them all, then we have to take such reports seriously. And congratulate Plautia too, on taking the initiative and finding tactically effective initiatives to implement our strategic goals. By contrast, Gaius is frozen solid in one way of viewing the world. Of course we need ships built of Persian walnut and we should dismiss out of hand any other idea. Gaius might like to hear the sound of his voice in this chamber, but we have better things to do than listen to it.’

Hearty applause greeted the words of the empress as it always did. But Gaius, painfully, could detected an extra enthusiasm in it. Worse were all the faces turned towards him, watching his response. Some gleeful. Some curious. None were sympathetic. Most were indifferent and cold. It was all he could do to keep back the tears and there was nothing he could do about the heat in his cheeks.

‘Johannes Reecli Barbula,’ announced the chair. What? The emperor also? A pulse of panic wracked his body with such intensity that he nearly shamed himself by losing control of his bowels. Yes, yes, the tall, dark-haired, would-be general had swept his cape over one arm and was taking loping steps up to the podium. There he stood, with a pretentious majesty that would have been absurd, but for the fact that so many of the audience were his followers and ready to do whatever he urged them. Anything at all. Including carry out an assault on Gaius.

‘Senators and Councillors. Gaius Flavius Norbanus has never understood the dialectic. Yet this tool of the ancient philosophers has served us well. Always, our most famous predecessors were masterful in their grasp of the dialectic. We all are familiar with Julius Caesar, for example, who wrote that politics without dialectic is mere obsession.

‘Gaius belongs to the group of older senators who have learned one lesson above all: have no dealings with Tartarus. This, for his generation, has become an obsession. But if we approach the question of Tartarus with the dialectic in mind, then we can see that it is possible to deal with the Sí inhabitants of that realm, while nevertheless shunning magic. We can exploit their current crisis, establish favourable trade agreements with their princes, and — yes indeed — sail back and forth through the gateways of the Mare Nostrum in vessels of Persian walnut!’

A rush of applause met the mocking tone of Johannes’s final flourish, one that was quickly followed by a drumming of the feet of those young councillors in the front rows. Yet this speech in fact had the (no doubt unintended) effect of giving Gaius the energy to rally himself somewhat and with a shake of his head, he withdrew to the lobby thanking Jove that the emperor had chosen to attack on the field of philosophy rather than the much more dangerous theme of treason.

The slaves could manage the refreshments without him, they were no longer important now that Gaius felt that he was in physical danger. Several other senators had been forced into retirement after repeatedly being assaulted in public by pro-imperial youth. It might only be a matter of minutes before the same gangs were alerted to the speeches of Lisia and Johannes that had been directed against Gaius.

Hurrying through the grey streets of a city that now felt alien and soulless, Gaius tried to envisage his safest course of action. Some intermediary (Publius Cornelius Tacitus perhaps, although the thought of approaching that charlatan as a supplicant was painful) should represent that Gaius was anxious to assist the emperor as much as possible. And if that meant retirement from the senate to a quiet town in Hispania, then so be it. He could take his library with him and devote himself to writing a philosophical tract that no one would read but which he could fool himself into thinking was important. This retreat from public affairs would also ensure that his nephew and those few friends who remained to him would not also be endangered by the hostility of the royal family.

Yet it was a kind of death to take that route. Perhaps not as violent a one that would come from staying in Rome, but the end of Gaius Flavius Norbanus all the same.

Moreover, Gaius had a particular difficulty with surrendering to the Barbula siblings, which was that more than any other living Roman, he had studied the question of magic, immersing himself deeply in the lore of Tartarus. And he was certain that to increase Roman dealings with Tartarus was folly. Admittedly, that realm was tantalising: truly, it contained magic that could certainly solve all of Rome’s economic and social problems. But there were hugely powerful spirits in the other world, which were largely asleep in this one. There were far more dangerous creatures in Tartarus than the Sí and if a dragon, or a revenant – a Leanan Sí – were to be loose on Earth, the survival of humanity would be open to question.

The only safe policy was one that left Tartarus well alone. If Julius Caesar had been unable to sustain his gains there, at a time when Rome was much stronger, then there was no possibility of Lisia and Johannes Barbula achieving anything of worth by interfering with the affairs of the Sí princes.

A light rain had begun to fall and as Gaius had intended to return to his house in a litter, he had no protection from it. The hem of his robe became damp and his sandals muddy. The most infuriating aspect to Gaius’ fall was that the emperor genuinely thought himself a philosopher of great depth, not to mention a general of great strategic acumen. True, Johannes, in a desperate attempt to establish himself as an intellectual, had published an entire book on the subject of the dialectic. But all that had achieved was to alert those who actually knew something about philosophy to how shallow was the grasp of the emperor on the subject. Johannes would never know this, however, because his epigones stood at an even lower cultural level. Perhaps the only person in his circle who understood the true worth of that book was his sister.

Lisia Germanica Barbula might be reckless, especially with regard to Tartarus. But she was no fool when it came to human affairs. Far more of a threat to Gaius than her brother, and no doubt responsible for several murders of senior Roman figures, Lisia, if she had bothered to read her brother’s book, would hardly have been impressed by it. And Gaius had seen moments when Johannes was speaking as though an expert philosopher in which his sister couldn’t help but allow an expression of disdain to form on her face.