Watchmen of Rome

by Watchmen of Rome (retail) (epub)

  ‘I’m looking for Vespillo. Tribune of the second cohort. The Esquiline branch.’

  The centurion studied him for a moment, then nodded in the direction of the blaze.

  ‘He was in the centre of that, last I heard. Him and his men. Idiots. The Caelian Hill can’t be saved.’

  Carbo thanked the man and moved on. He had to ask two more groups of firefighters before he finally located Vespillo.

  Face blackened, hair full of ash, the set of his shoulders showing how weariness suffused him, Vespillo nevertheless looked resolute. They were at the outermost edge of the fire. A large part of the Caelian had already been devastated, but Vespillo and the second cohort fought on.

  ‘Get that soaked blanket on the lower walls. Aquarii, direct the water from the sipho to the upper floors. You, reinforce the bucket chain, the buckets are coming too slowly.’

  ‘Vespillo, how can I help?’

  Vespillo turned and saw his friend, and a look of gratitude passed over his face. He clapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘I don’t know if anyone can help, but we are going to do our best. I’m not going to let that witch win.’ Vespillo’s gaze fell on Philon and his expression hardened. He nodded to where a man was sitting against a wall, nursing an obviously broken and scorched arm, attended by a medicus.

  ‘Pinarius there had a burning timber fall on him. Carbo, grab his axe and help the men pulling down the building next door. You two,’ he said, indicating the slaves, ‘help with collecting the water.’

  They did as they were told, Carbo taking the short axe and joining the watchmen who were attempting to make a firebreak. The one-storey house they were working on already had a smouldering roof, but they were making progress, hooks pulling at beams, axes hacking at pillars. Carbo swung his axe, gaining grateful comments from the men he was assisting. The wooden pillar he was working on gave way, but several thick pillars remained. He looked up. The wooden roof was starting to burst into flame and the flames had raced along so they endangered the next house, nestled up close alongside.

  Looking around him, Carbo spied a ladder and a broom made of thick twigs attached to a wooden handle, both standard firefighting equipment. He threw the ladder up against the building and quickly scaled it.

  The roof creaked under his weight, weakened by the flames that were starting to eat into it. Carbo wheeled the broom like a hammer, smacking the flames as they sprouted up. The flames were shooting out sparks, threatening to jump across the narrow gap to the next roof. If they did so, the firebreak they were creating by destroying this property would already have been bypassed.

  Carbo extinguished a small flame, then another. He recalled the legend of the Hydra, two fires seeming to spring up for each he defeated. He fought furiously, regardless. Another pillar went, and part of the roof collapsed.

  ‘Carbo! What in the name of Vulcan are you doing up there?’ Vespillo’s voice was angry and concerned.

  ‘Buying time,’ Carbo yelled back, breathing heavily with effort.

  A row of flames sprang up, racing towards the next house. Carbo leapt on them, flailing around him with the broom maniacally. The twigs on the broom themselves were starting to smoulder now and the heat from the fire that was consuming the last building it had reached was intense. Sweat poured down his face, smoke stung his eyes, and he worked on. Another pillar gave way to the watchmen’s axes and now a large swathe of roof collapsed in on itself.

  Carbo judged the time was right to abandon the roof. He turned round to get on the ladder, but found his way was blocked by new flames. He looked around, seeing flames closing in on him, feeling the heat. He looked over the edge and his heart fell at the thought of another jump.

  A ladder smacked against the edge of the roof on the last remaining part that wasn’t burning.

  ‘Get down here, you idiot!’

  Carbo gratefully slid down the ladder. Strong hands pulled him away from the building, and the instant he was clear, men heaved on ropes attached to the remaining beams. The rest of the building came crashing down, the last flames extinguishing in the debris.

  The vigiles cheered loudly, their success having temporarily arrested the spread of the fire in this direction. Vespillo gave them a brief moment to celebrate and regain their breath as he looked around him, surveying the situation. Fire was starting to work its way down the opposite side of the street and Carbo sighed, getting ready for Vespillo to send them back into combat. He looked around and saw Philon and Marsia approaching from down the street, both carrying buckets of water. The effort seemed pitiful, hopeless in the face of the raging anger of the fire, but he felt proud of them both for their effort. Philon looked resolute, seeming to have finally found some inner strength from his desire to make amends.

  As Carbo watched them, he saw the building they were passing start to list. A burning beam split and the wall of the upper storey bowed outwards into the street above his two slaves. He cried out a warning and pointed frantically. Marsia was partially obscured from his view by some of the vigiles and could not see him waving, but Philon noticed and followed the direction of his gestures. He looked up just as the upper wall gave way and a pile of bricks tumbled downwards.

  Time froze. Carbo’s heart seemed to stop. Philon barely hesitated. He thrust Marsia hard with both hands, propelling her across the street and out of harm’s way. A fraction of a heartbeat later, the falling rubble buried Philon.

  Marsia sat on her backside, buckets upended, looking in horrified amazement at the pile of cement, wood and bricks that lay on top of her fellow slave. Carbo and some vigiles arrived a moment later and started pulling away debris frantically. Marsia joined in and soon they had Philon uncovered. Marsia held him, looking down into his unnaturally white face. His breathing was laboured, his chest caved in. He coughed and a fine spray of blood covered Marsia’s face.

  Philon opened his eyes and looked up at Marsia.

  ‘I’m sorry for… everything.’

  The effort of speaking caused him to cough more. Carbo noticed a section of his chest where the ribs were broken, moving in and out like the sail on a boat flapping in the wind.

  ‘Don’t speak,’ said Marsia.

  Philon was struggling for breath now, his lips and tongue turning blue.

  ‘Think… kindly… of me…’

  ‘I will,’ whispered Marsia.

  Philon nodded gratefully. Marsia held him as consciousness rapidly left him and the laboured breathing stopped. She buried her face in his hair and wept.

  Vespillo and Carbo exchanged glances. Vespillo shook his head sadly, then turned back to direct his men.

  A breathless young man appeared around the street corner and came running up to Carbo.

  ‘I’m looking for Tribune Vespillo,’ he gasped.

  Carbo gestured to Vespillo. The man took a couple of breaths, then spoke.

  ‘I bring a message from Prefect Quintus Naevius Cordus Sutorius Macro.’

  Vespillo stiffened at the name of his commander, the equestrian-ranked Prefect in charge of the entire vigiles.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The Prefect commands you to withdraw.’

  ‘What?’ Vespillo protested. ‘We are winning this fight.’ He gestured at the firebreak they had just made. ‘We need to create another break across the street, that will arrest all spread in this direction for long enough to enlarge the break and allow us to start bringing water and acetum grenades to bear on the burning buildings. We can save all these houses, and who knows how many lives of those too slow and infirm to flee.’

  ‘The Prefect was firm, Tribune,’ said the man. ‘He fears that all Rome is threatened. He wants every available man creating a break around the Caelian Hill, to isolate the conflagration here.’

  Vespillo looked aghast. ‘He is abandoning the whole of the Caelian?’

  The messenger looked uncomfortable, but nodded. Carbo put a hand on Vespillo’s shoulder.

  ‘Come on, Soldier, you have your orders. Both o
f us have obeyed countless commands we didn’t agree with over the years. And who is to say the Prefect is wrong? Elissa intended to destroy Rome. If the fire is confined to the Caelian, Rome will cope. If it consumes the whole of Rome, who knows what the consequences may be?’

  Vespillo looked defiant, then his shoulders slumped. He looked around at his men.

  ‘Vigiles,’ he called. ‘You have fought bravely. You have made me proud and brought honour on the cohort. But we have orders to withdraw. Grab your equipment, follow me.’

  Carbo put an arm around Marsia as the watchmen formed up. Then Vespillo turned his back on the fire, and led his men away.

  Epilogue

  Carbo and Rufa stood on the Pons Fabricius, the arched stone bridge over the Tiber, and watched the water rush by underneath. Fabilla was with Severa, who had taken to the child like a long lost aunt.

  A pall of smoke still drifted up over the Caelian Hill. The fire had burned for two days, but Macro’s tactic of isolating the hill had worked. The rest of Rome was safe. The Caelian, however, was devastated. Carbo had walked the ruins with Vespillo yesterday, the day after the fire had officially ended. The ashes of the buildings still gave up phenomenal amounts of heat. They had found the centre of the fire, Elissa’s warehouse. Almost nothing recognizable remained.

  Carbo had kicked at the ashes and his foot had connected with something solid and metallic. Brushing away the debris, he had uncovered the sacrificial statue. The intense heat had partially melted it, deforming its shape. Not even bones remained of Glaukos and Elissa.

  Vespillo had pulled up his tunic and urinated over the statue. Steam rose up where the yellow liquid splashed. He shook and rearranged his clothing, then spat.

  ‘She deserved worse,’ Vespillo had said. ‘She should have been hurled from the Tarpeian Rock, or ripped apart by beasts in the arena.’

  ‘She’s dead,’ said Carbo. ‘That’s all that matters now.’

  Now Carbo reached out to Rufa. He felt cold metal beneath her dress. He insisted now that she carried a knife for protection. It made him feel better. He squeezed her hand and smiled at her, and raised his hand to her mouth for a soft kiss. Last night they had made love, but it had been less about pleasure and more about comfort, recovery, relief. They had held each other close until sleep had claimed their weary bodies.

  What now? Carbo wondered. It really was over. Elissa was gone, and had no heir. Carbo would claim Rufa and Fabilla as his own, and then manumit them. Then he would marry her. Well, if she wanted to marry him. She would be his freedwoman, not his slave. The choice would be hers. He looked into her eyes and saw his love for her reflected back at him. He took a breath and let it out contentedly.

  A small urchin tugged at Carbo’s sleeve.

  ‘Sir, my master sent me to ask you to attend him.’

  Carbo looked at him, bemused.

  ‘Who is your master?’

  ‘Quintus Naevius Cordus Sutorius Macro. He has heard of the help you gave the vigiles and wanted to thank you.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘If it pleases you, sir. He is about to attend a play at the Theatre of Marcellus, just across the way. He promises not to detain you long.’

  Carbo looked across at Rufa, who smiled.

  ‘Go,’ she said. ‘Accept the thanks. I will wait here for you.’

  Carbo kissed her lightly, then followed the urchin. He wandered slowly over to the theatre, taking in the late September air. For the first time since he had walked back into Rome, after his discharge from the legions, he felt content.

  As he approached the theatre, he looked around. A puzzled frown crossed his face. There was a sprinkling of theatregoers and passing citizens, old ladies, mothers, freedmen. There was no noble here. No equestrian with his entourage of slaves, no suggestion of anyone of rank.

  A cold, nagging feeling crept up his spine. He reached for his knife, turned and ran to where he had left Rufa at the bridge. From a distance he saw Rufa, back turned, looking out over the river, and a slender figure approaching her. He called out but the noise of the city drowned his warning. The figure glanced around and he saw the unmistakeable features of Dolabella. Thrusting people out of the way, leg protesting in agony, he closed on the slave hunter. Dolabella whirled round at the commotion and his eyes fixed on Carbo. For a moment, Dolabella’s features creased in concern.

  Then Carbo stumbled over a passer-by’s foot and his injured leg gave out on him. He fell forward heavily, just feet away from Rufa and the fugitivarius. Carbo stretched his hand out in supplication.

  ‘Dolabella, please, no.’

  Dolabella shook his head sadly. ‘Carbo, I did make it clear. I never fail.’ He pulled a sharp dagger from his waist belt and grinned. Then his features became fixed, eyes widening. He turned, revealing Rufa’s knife deep in his back, then pitched forward into the swirling waters of the Tiber.

  Carbo stood painfully and staggered to Rufa, who was standing with her hands to her face. He grabbed her to him, crushed her close, and wept his relief into her hair.

  Historical Note

  The fire that destroyed the Caelian Hill in AD 27 is attested to in Tacitus’ Annals, though he is strangely silent on Elissa and her cult’s role in the conflagration. Later in the same century, of course, another cult, that of the Christians, would be blamed for the even greater fire that devastated Rome.

  The vigiles, also known as the vigiles urbani or cohortes vigilum, were the first official firefighting organization in Rome. They were nicknamed the spartoli or little bucket boys after the rope buckets sealed with pitch that they carried to do their duties. They were founded by Augustus in AD 6 to combat the frequent fires that broke out in the poorly built city. Prior to their formation, firefighting organizations were privately owned. Most famously, Crassus made a lot of his riches by sending his private firemen to the site of a fire, and putting the blaze out only after the owner had agreed to sell him the property at a knock-down price.

  The vigiles recruits were originally made up largely of freedmen, but take-up of the job was low, so a law was introduced to give a cash bonus and full citizenship to watchmen after they had served in the vigiles for six years. Nevertheless, the vigiles, being full of the low-born, and being only quasi-military, must have been viewed with contempt by the legionaries of the urban cohorts and the Praetorian Guard.

  The vigiles’ main raison d’être was firefighting, and they had a variety of tools at their disposal for this, including the eponymous little buckets, hooks and levers for tearing down burning buildings, and cushions and mattresses for people jumping out of upper floors. They also used blankets soaked in vinegar or a vinegar-based substance called acetum, which they believed helped extinguish the flames. They may also have had a sort of mechanical water-pumping device called a sipho.

  The vigiles also had a role in fire prevention, and were able to enter people’s homes to inspect their firefighting equipment, and even recommend that the Prefect sentence those in breach of the fire prevention laws to corporal punishment.

  The vigiles patrolled during the day, but the bulk of their duties were at night, and inevitably they became a type of police force. This mainly involved prevention and punishment of minor acts of crime, such as burglary and minor disturbances of the peace. Major problems such as riots were dealt with by the urban cohorts.

  Sources for the lives of the vigiles are few and far between, and the only complete work that I am aware of is the Vigiles of Ancient Rome, by P. K. Baillie Reynolds, which was first published in 1926.

  I am not aware of any evidence that the gods Ba’al Hammon and Tanit were worshipped in the first century AD. However, it is possible that the religion survived in the regions around Carthage after its destruction, the tradition handed down through generations. First-century AD Rome was certainly very open to new cults, with cults devoted to Isis, Mithras and Christ all becoming established around that time.

  It is controversial whether the Carthaginians did in fact pract
ise human sacrifice, or whether this was Roman propaganda, and the tophet in Carthage discovered by archeologists may have been a cemetery for deceased neonates, rather than a site of child sacrifice. It seems likely at least, though, that their contemporaries believed the Carthaginians indulged in the practice, and in the hundred and seventy plus years between the fall of Carthage and our story, those of Carthaginian descent may have believed this as well.

  Rome was a society dominated by a tiny, super-rich elite, and the majority of books about Rome, fiction and non-fiction, concentrate on this elite, or the military they commanded. Much less is known about the lowest classes of Rome, the slaves, the freedmen, the poor free, the people who predominantly populate Carbo’s world, partly because they left no written legacy of their own. However, we do know that the individuals in these strata of Roman society were extremely numerous, with slaves alone being estimated to make up 40 per cent of the population of Italy by Carbo’s time. Some excellent studies of Rome’s underprivileged do exist, notably Invisible Romans by Robert Knapp.

  Although Watchmen of Rome was some four years in its creation, my research in the subject of Ancient Rome began two decades ago, when my interest was piqued by Colleen McCullough’s wonderful Masters of Rome series.

  www.romanfiction.com

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to the numerous people who commented on parts or all of this work. In no particular order, these include S. J. A. Turney, Gordon Doherty, Jerome Wilson, John Campbell, Kirsty Hooper, Dr H. Dawson, Caroline Lawrence and David Hillier. Thanks to Ben Evans and Cornerstones Literary Consultancy for the professional and thorough editing work. Thanks also to the friends who gave me encouragement to press on and finish this work, and believing in it. Thanks of course to Abigail and Naomi for putting up with the many hours shutting myself away to work on this. Thanks also to everyone at Canelo, including Michael Bhaskar and Laurel Sills, for taking on the story of Carbo, and encouraging me to relate more of his adventures, as well as a new upcoming series set in the time of Caracalla.