by Bryan Litfin
Zoticus returned to Flavia’s side. “Come on. We’ve been gone long enough. We need to get back.” He paused. “Hold still—you have something in your hair.” After taking a closer look at Flavia’s head, he reached out and extracted a pink strand of ribbon.
“Girls love pink ribbons,” Flavia said. “My new roommate was playing with my hair last night.”
The remark made no impression on Zoticus, who cared little for such things. He had just started to walk down the hallway when he spun around and faced Flavia. “Hey! Now I know where I’ve seen you!”
Flavia stepped back from him. “What?”
“I recognize you now! I knew you looked familiar! You’re the girl in pink who escaped the amphitheater!”
“N-no, Zoticus, I think you’re mistaken. That wasn’t me.”
“Yes it was! I saw you right after the show, running through the streets. You were with that soldier Rex who visits you at the house. You had a pink ribbon in your hair.”
“I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Flavia. I remember it clearly. There was a blacksmith who thought you were a harlot. Rex fooled him and took you away. That was you, I know it. And now I can see you blushing.”
Flavia realized there was no use protesting further. Zoticus had identified her. Besides, she could feel that her face had a guilty expression like the boy said. No way around it—she’d been caught.
“Don’t tell anyone,” she warned. “We’re friends, remember? I bring you goodies from the market. So you just keep your suspicions to yourself.”
“Hey, don’t worry, kitchen girl,” Zoticus said with a smirk. “Your secret is safe with me.”
APRIL 312
Neratius knew he didn’t have a great record as a churchgoing man. Usually it was Sophronia who gathered with the local believers when they met in his home each week. To Neratius, it had always seemed sufficient to provide a meeting room for the neighborhood Christians, along with burial space in his vault for the deceased and a regular bag of coins for the poor. After all, he was an important man whose time was in demand. Did he really need to show up for the religious rites every single week?
Lately, though, he had been much more faithful to his duty of church attendance—ever since the emperor had stripped him of high office and kicked him to the side. As far as Neratius knew, Maxentius might still be coming after his wife, his estates, or even his life. Therefore it seemed like a good time to start going to church again.
Since Father Miltiades had his own flock down at the Hall of the Church in Trans Tiberim, the bishop rarely got involved with the Aventine congregation anymore. Yet the young priest named Felix who now led the house church was quite a prominent leader within the catholic hierarchy. Neratius thought the fellow was likely on the rise in his clerical occupation. Now the handsome priest sat on the high-backed chair that Neratius had provided, delivering a rather boring sermon about the allegorical significance of Sarah and Hagar. A low altar was situated in front of Felix’s chair in the little exedra that defined one end of the church. The gathered faithful stood on either side of the hall, men on the right and women on the left as usual. This former sitting room in Neratius’s mansion had been enlarged into a meeting space by knocking down the wall of an adjoining storeroom. Now it could easily accommodate a hundred worshipers and their priest for the preaching of the holy scriptures and the sacrament of the Eucharist.
After the sermon, but before the liturgy of bread and wine, a time was set aside for corporate prayers. Saint Paul had commanded the people to “pray without ceasing,” so Felix asked everyone to stand and face east. With arms outstretched, Neratius did his best to carry out this important obligation of his Christian faith. Certainly he had a lot to pray about now. “Holy Jesus in heaven,” he whispered, “I have given you two sacks of coins today, and some of them were even gold! Notice it, please, and reward my faithfulness by guarding me from the hand of—” Not wanting to say the name out loud, even at a whisper, Neratius fell silent and finished the prayer in his heart: Maxentius.
When at last the service was over and the faithful were beginning to disperse, Sophronia approached her husband. A tall, muscular barbarian was at her side. He had fuzzy blond hair and a noticeable dimple in his chin. Sophronia introduced him as a new visitor—not yet a Christian, nor even a catechumen, yet a seeker dissatisfied with paganism and wanting to learn about the catholic faith. The man bowed his head to Neratius and introduced himself as Geta.
As it turned out, Geta had been newly enlisted into the Emperor’s Personal Cavalry. He had attended the church a few times already, and each time, he had asked Sophronia about her husband yet had never been able to meet him. After some polite conversation, Geta looked at Neratius and posed a direct question. “Senator, might I talk with you in private? I have learned some relevant things about the emperor in my duties with the army.”
Neratius didn’t know what the term relevant things might mean, but he was interested in any intelligence he could obtain about Maxentius. He excused himself from Sophronia and invited Geta to step into the garden. After asking one of the house bodyguards to check Geta for weapons—senators should always be wary of assassins—he took a seat in the shady garden across from his visitor. Though Geta was found to be unarmed, the bodyguard took up a stance in the corner, nonetheless. The stocky slave had a dagger on his belt and a heavy staff that could double as a club, so Neratius felt reasonably secure.
Geta began by explaining that he knew Flavia personally because he was a friend of the gladiator who had helped her escape the amphitheater. While Neratius didn’t know exactly what his daughter was up to these days, it was abundantly clear she couldn’t come back to the Aventine mansion while Pompeianus was out to get her. If he learned of her whereabouts, he would just arrest her again. Apparently, Flavia had found refuge with some soldiers who opposed the Praetorian prefect; and under their care, she was quite safe. Even Sophronia thought so, and that was enough for Neratius. He didn’t need to know more.
Having offered his credentials to prove he was an ally of the Junius family, Geta reached for the satchel draped over his shoulder. Though the bag had already been searched, the bodyguard immediately stepped forward with his hand on his dagger. Geta only smiled and calmly brought forth a little scroll. The guard eyed him suspiciously but stepped back.
“This, Senator, is something I think you will want to read for yourself,” Geta said as he handed over the document. It was sealed with a glob of red wax.
When Neratius caught a good look at the mark in the seal, he immediately stood up. Taking the scroll into a shaft of sunlight, he examined the impression in the wax more closely. The imperial insignia of Licinius! Thoroughly intrigued, he unrolled the scroll and scanned the text. Only a few words were there—but they were significant.
“It says you are an agent of the Augustus Licinius, authorized to deal on his behalf,” Neratius said, glancing over at his guest. “That would be quite interesting if it is true. But of course, this could be a forgery.”
Geta held up a ring. “Yes, it could. But a forger couldn’t have obtained the emperor’s signet.”
Neratius took the ring from Geta and inspected it in the sunshine. Everything about it looked real, though only a jeweler could be absolutely sure. “I will have the gem evaluated. If the engraving is not authentic, I will know.”
“Of course, sir. But you will see that it is real. In fact, that is the augustus’s own handwriting. I was there when he wrote it, and sealed it, and handed me that parchment along with his ring.”
Neratius took his seat again. “How is this so? Who are you, Geta?”
“Hmm, that’s a bit of a story, so let me summarize. A few years ago, when I was just a kid, brand-new to the legions, I found myself fighting for Licinius. I distinguished myself in battle, so they tapped me to be trained as a speculator. Around that time, Licinius was made augustus of Italy at Carnuntum, and that put him
against Maxentius. For a while their armies fought over Histria, though they’re in a stalemate now. But the two hate each other, sir. Hate each other! I don’t know where Licinius is right now—I think over in Dalmatia somewhere. What I can tell you is, he’s coming to Rome soon, and he’s coming for conquest. Obviously, he will be seeking allies in the city—men who might recognize his merits over the current regime. So in light of that, my mind went to you.”
Neratius knew such talk was treasonous and so felt the need to distance himself. He gave a shrug and a nonchalant wave of his hand. “Why me? I’ve always been faithful to Maxentius. I can’t imagine anything else.”
“Because, sir, you were just dismissed as city prefect! Surely you must feel you have no future with Maxentius. Your life might even be in danger! Shouldn’t you ally with Licinius instead?”
“I can understand your logic,” was all Neratius was willing to say.
“It will seem even more logical when Licinius shows up here at the head of a vast army.”
“Do you think he will arrive before Constantine?”
“It remains to be seen. But Maxentius is weak. He cannot hold this city, and his growing tyranny only makes that more certain. Rome will be captured by either Constantine or Licinius. And make no mistake, only one of those two is going to end up as ruler of the West. Maybe even the whole empire.”
“If I were interested—which I am not!—but if I were, could you, theoretically, put me in contact with Licinius when he arrives?”
Geta chuckled and shook his head. “You senators sure know how to guard your words.” He paused before going on. “Yes, I could do that. The augustus is my . . . well, for now, let’s just say he respects me. I could arrange an alliance with him on your behalf. But only if you had something to offer him.”
“And for the sake of conversation, what would a man like Licinius want?”
“He wants the ancient and respected Senate to vote him the sole Augustus of the West—and to back that up with the force of the Praetorian Guard.”
“Who else knows of your allegiance to Licinius?”
“No one in Rome, sir, and it would be best if we kept it that way.”
“I agree.” Neratius rose from his seat, signaling that the meeting was over. “So then, Christian seeker, I am glad you could visit our little church today. I invite you to come again. Perhaps we can discuss the holy scriptures and the things of Christ. Or who knows? Maybe our conversation will once again delve into these imaginative politics that do not, of course, have any basis in reality.”
“Perhaps that might happen,” Geta agreed. “If so, I hope you might have some new ideas about Licinius. Topics we could discuss, you know, in abstraction.”
“We’ll see, Geta. Keep checking in with Lady Sabina. Good day.”
When the Germanic soldier was gone, Neratius immediately retired to his study. He withdrew a map from his desk and examined the itinerary down to Puteoli. A sea route existed from Ostia, but sailors didn’t like to ply the seas during the stormy month of April. Neratius decided he would have to take the Appian Way. There was someone in Puteoli he had to see right away.
The preparations for the trip and the advance notice, plus the travel itself, took three weeks. Fortunately, the weather was good, with only a little rain to hinder the caravan’s progress. The worst of it was at Three Taverns, where a mule broke a leg in the slippery mud. But at last, after six days on the road, Neratius and his retinue arrived safely at Puteoli.
For as long as the empire had existed, this coastal area had been the fashionable retreat of emperors, senators, and the richest businessmen of Rome. The isle of Capreae, the thermal springs of Baiae, and indeed the whole bay of Neapolis—these stunning places were renowned for their luxury and decadence. Gazing out at the lush beauty of the craggy shoreline and the dark blue sea, Neratius could see why so many wealthy and prominent people owned seaside villas here.
Yet not every visitor to Puteoli was rich. According to the Acts of Saint Luke, the apostle Paul came through here and traveled up the same road that Neratius had just come down. I hope he didn’t have to go by mule caravan, Neratius thought as the scripture came to his mind. Puteoli was a natural harbor, making it a better place to dock a ship—at least until a great harbor was built near Ostia by Trajan—than anywhere between here and Rome. For that reason, it used to be a major entry point for anyone coming by sea to the capital, including a Christian prisoner from Hierusalem on his way to be tried by Nero. As Neratius’s caravan pulled up in front of his friend’s luxurious villa, he offered a little prayer to Saint Paul for the success of this important endeavor.
The friend Neratius had come to see was the consular governor of Campania, Publius Valerius Urbicus, a man whose greed was outsized only by his even more expansive belly. Yet greed was a vice that tended to bother one’s victims more than one’s friends. Neratius had never been the object of Publius’s land grabbing or price gouging. Quite to the contrary, he had often enjoyed the fruits of those rapacious business practices. Publius was actually generous to those in his inner circle. On many occasions he had said there would always be a place for Neratius at his table—and if you liked tasty and exotic food, that was the table at which to recline.
“Welcome, my friend! Welcome!” Publius exclaimed, smiling warmly as Neratius alighted from his coach at the villa’s main entrance. An entourage of butlers and porters had spilled out with the governor to help the guests get situated. One young slave carried an umbrella to shield Publius’s bald head as he waddled about in the sun. A second umbrella bearer ran over to offer shade to Neratius, but he waved the boy away.
“I have come far to see you, dear Publius, yet the journey was worth it. I see you haven’t changed a bit—still handsome, still cheerful, and still surrounded by the most beautiful things.”
“You should see my new wife,” the governor said with a wink.
After the initial greetings, the visitors were shown to their rooms and given time to rest for a while. An evening meal was planned for the two aristocrats on Publius’s pleasure yacht. Neratius took the opportunity for a quick bath and afternoon nap. Upon awakening, his personal valet helped him dress in a fine woolen toga, then escorted him to the villa’s dock, where they boarded the luxurious ship.
The yacht was a typical merchant sailing vessel, but since it wasn’t being used for commerce, attention had been devoted to leisure instead of pragmatics. Decorations covered the craft from prow to stern—little ornaments and frills that no merchant would ever allow on his ship. The available deck space was occupied by extravagantly appointed seating areas, while the hold was filled with fine food and drink. Neratius and Publius reclined on couches around a burnished wood table under a silk canopy. Potted plants, trickling fountains, and songbirds in golden cages made Neratius feel that he was visiting an island paradise in the middle of the sea. Below deck was a fully functional kitchen, private bedrooms, and even a marble latrine with pumped seawater to keep it flushed clean.
“Splendid little boat you have here, my friend,” Neratius said once they were out in the bay.
“I like to come out and get some fresh sea air. Nice views too. That’s Mons Vesuvius in the distance there.”
“The one that buried Pompeii?”
“Yes, and also Herculaneum. Two and a half centuries ago, those were busy Roman towns. They were destroyed by the volcano in a single day.”
Though Neratius briefly considered the tragedy, the smoke and fire of his own life were a much more pressing concern. He decided it was time to broach the subject he had come to discuss.
“Since we are alone out here on a ship, Publius, I think we may speak freely about the latest activities of our Divine Augustus. You have probably heard that he has grown cruel. Several senators have even been executed on trumped-up charges, and their lands confiscated.”
“Their wives taken too, I’ve heard.”
“It’s true. However, the real problem isn’t Maxentius’s need for
women—it’s money. His building projects are hugely expensive, and now he has to garrison northern Italy against invasion as well as shore up Rome’s defenses. To pay for all this, he discovers some supposed treason in an innocent senator. Suddenly that man finds himself banished or killed, and his lands are forfeit to the imperial treasury. It’s a disgrace.”
“We can’t let that happen to us, Neratius.”
“No, indeed. We need to think about protection.”
“From whom? People are saying Constantine is coming down from Gaul.”
Neratius swirled the wine in his goblet, admiring its color and clarity. He took a sip, then looked up at his host. “I think another ally might be better. I am referring to Licinius. It is said he will soon make a bid for Rome as well.”
“Whoever arrives first will scoop up the prize. Maxentius is the most inept emperor ever to command the legions. He will not be able to withstand either Constantine or Licinius.”
Leaning close to the governor, Neratius set his goblet on the table. “That is why we must join with one of them. And I suggest Licinius.”
“How? Are you in contact with him?”
“A spy of his recently approached me—one of his favored warriors. He had the emperor’s signet, so I know he is legitimate. Through him, we can reach his master.”
“We would need to let Licinius know we belong to him as soon as possible. Then when he arrives, we’d be first in line to receive his favors,” Publius said.
“Exactly. And in the meantime, we must guard ourselves against Maxentius.”
“That won’t be easy.”
“But we can do it, Publius! Listen to me. You control a huge voting bloc in the Senate. Everyone with business interests in Campania will vote with you. And my allies in the capital are extensive as well. Together we can keep Maxentius’s greedy fingers off our property. Let him pillage other senators who aren’t in our alliance until he’s defeated. Then, once Licinius is in charge, we’ll vote him the sole Augustus of the West and take our cut of the spoils of war.”