[Gaius Valerius Verrens 05] - Enemy of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  ‘What have you heard?’

  ‘Civilis and his barbarian allies run riot from one end of the Rhenus to the other while the legions of Rome stagger around like headless chickens. Vetera gone, the entire Rhenus fleet lost, Moguntiacum, Novaesium and Colonia besieged, our troops demoralized and old Flaccus dithering as usual …’

  The voices faded as the two men moved away from the window and Domitia allowed herself to breathe for the first time in minutes. Her hands trembled and she had to clasp them together to still the shaking. She had been listening to treason.

  She walked towards her quarters with her head spinning, her own perilous situation within reach of Domitianus’s clutching fingers driven from her mind. What did it mean, and what should she do about it? The first was the easier question to answer. Sabinus was planning to take Rome and hand it to Vespasian when circumstances were favourable. He had the support, at least in principle – though it seemed hardly enthusiastic – of certain powerful members of the Senate. Saturninus. She remembered the name, though she couldn’t place it for now. But when would circumstances be favourable? She was her father’s daughter, and she couldn’t help but take an unwomanly interest in military matters. She knew the Emperor still commanded the support of at least ten legions. If, as she’d just heard, the Flavians were only capable of fielding five, the matter should be beyond doubt. Of course, that might change when Mucianus – she remembered the name with distaste from her time in Syria – arrived with his legions. Still, Saturninus had been quite insistent that he would not act until Vespasian’s army was at the gates. But what did it mean for her? Titus Flavius Vespasian had been her father’s friend and had supported her after he’d been murdered. He’d helped her return to Rome and had a hand in arranging a respectable if unappealing marriage. She enjoyed Sabinus’s protection, for what it was worth. As a man, she owed Aulus Vitellius nothing, but Domitia Longina Corbulo was blessed with a very old-fashioned notion of loyalty, and Aulus Vitellius was her Emperor. She remembered her father’s words. A Corbulo does not have the luxury of choice, only duty. But what was her duty? Her head dropped and she blinked away a tear.

  ‘You seem perplexed, lady.’

  Domitia felt her heart stutter. How long had he been watching? She turned, willing her face to smile. Whatever happened she must not alienate Domitianus further; the future of Rome might depend on it. ‘I was thinking of my father,’ she said truthfully. ‘I miss him very much.’

  ‘Your father, not your husband?’ Domitianus’s laugh and his thoughtless, uncaring appropriation of a sensitive subject for his own ends irritated her almost beyond control. She clenched her teeth and somehow maintained her composure. ‘My husband sends word that he is well and thanks your uncle for my safekeeping,’ she replied.

  ‘What kind of husband would go off to his province and leave a wife such as you unprotected in the first place?’ Domitianus demanded. He stood closer than was necessary, as always; so close the pockmarks in his sallow skin were clearly visible. She forced herself not to step away from the piercing, overbright eyes. A head taller than Domitia, with a thin, elongated neck, Titus Flavius Vespasian’s younger son was a man who considered low cunning a more admirable trait than honesty. ‘I would never abandon a wife such as you.’

  Domitia turned, elegant as a dancer, and slipped away. He followed as she walked towards the viewpoint that looked out towards the Domus Aurea, the great golden palace built by Nero and now inhabited by the Emperor Vitellius. ‘Your uncle has had visitors.’

  Domitianus frowned at the change of subject. ‘My uncle has many visitors.’ He sounded bored and she felt a surge of relief. His words suggested her fears that he’d seen her listening below the window were unfounded.

  ‘This one looked very distinguished.’

  ‘Oh, Volusius Saturninus.’ His lips twisted in a sneer that was mirrored by his tone. ‘A pompous old fart from the Senate. He came to consult my uncle about some land dispute.’

  Of course, now she remembered. Quintus Volusius Saturninus served as consul in Nero’s time and still had great influence. Deep in thought, she would have missed his next words but for the almost comic intensity of the passion that accompanied them.

  ‘You dismiss me because you think I am young and of little consequence.’ He shook his head. ‘You are wrong. When my father is Emperor I will have power and wealth, and some day I may follow him. Divorce your husband and you will never regret it.’

  So it had come to this? She almost laughed aloud at his arrogance. Emperor? This unformed puppy? Did he think her a fool? If Vespasian’s forces triumphed, Titus would be his father’s heir and Domitianus would be what he’d always been: a nobody clinging to the skirts of power. Yet the suggestion had been made. She must not simply dismiss it, because that risked becoming his enemy. She could not afford that now.

  ‘I am not blind, Domitianus. I know you are attracted to me.’ She said the words, though they almost choked her. ‘I will think on it, but I must have time.’ She nodded and turned away, so he didn’t see the look of disgust on her face.

  If only Valerius was here to guide her.

  XXX

  They were passing the city’s bath house when Valerius heard a high-pitched scream of the utmost terror. He searched the area to look for the source, but Serpentius urged him to continue. ‘Haven’t we done enough?’ the Spaniard demanded.

  ‘Where did it come from?’

  ‘Over there.’ Serpentius pointed to a burning building on the corner of a street of insulae apartments. ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ he insisted.

  But Valerius was already racing towards the smoke and flames vomiting from the lower windows. At street level the building was occupied by small shops, the frontage covered by a wooden awning to shelter their displays. The awning stretched the entire breadth of the arcade and by the time they reached it the structure was well alight.

  ‘I told you, there’s nothing we can do,’ the Spaniard repeated. ‘We should—’

  A second shriek split the air, this time the unmistakable cry of a terrified child.

  ‘Merda,’ Serpentius cursed.

  Valerius paused when he felt the blast of heat from the blazing awning. At first glance it looked impossible to get into the building. Flames ate at the wooden posts supporting the roof of the structure. But when he studied it more closely he saw that the door and the stairway beyond were still relatively clear. ‘We can do it,’ he insisted. ‘It will hold long for enough for us to reach whoever’s inside.’

  Serpentius studied the burning awning doubtfully. ‘You don’t know what it’s like in there. If that comes down we’ll be trapped with our arses on a roasting plate.’

  ‘Then let’s get it done before it does.’ Crouching low, Valerius made a dash for the doorway. With a muttered curse, Serpentius followed him.

  As they sprinted upwards through the darkened stairwell a stumpy figure walked warily across the street towards the burning building. Gaius Brocchus had had a good day. He’d survived the assault on Cremona, made more than a few Vitellians pay, and found a goldsmith who had helpfully guided him to the location of his buried stock, thanks to the incentive of a gladius point in his rectum. He carried the most portable slice of the proceeds in the bag across his shoulder, but there was more, much more. He’d come back for the rest in a couple of hours, when it was dark. Brocchus had seen Valerius in the alleyway by pure chance, but the encounter had been enough to make him follow the two men. Gaius Valerius Verrens had insulted him in front of his men and undermined his authority. As far as Brocchus was concerned his new legate was nothing but trouble and not really a proper legate at all. He studied the doorway where they’d disappeared, the smoke now billowing from the second-storey windows and flames licking at the shutters. But it was the awning he found of greatest interest. With a grin he put his boot to the support nearest the doorway, so that it shuddered and sparks fell from above. Once. Twice. With the third kick the structure gave way, bringing the burning
roof crashing down with it. Jumping away from the glowing cinders, Brocchus studied what he’d accomplished with satisfaction. Where the door had been was nothing but an inferno of flaming timbers.

  Whoever was inside wasn’t coming back out again.

  Valerius heard the crash below and a blast of heat surged up the narrow stairway of the apartment block.

  ‘Merda!’ Serpentius repeated, the I told you so left unsaid.

  ‘Keep going,’ the Roman shouted. ‘The scream came from one of the top rooms.’

  ‘That’s comforting,’ the Spaniard coughed. ‘We’ll be able to offer them the choice of being incinerated or trying to fly five floors without the benefit of wings.’

  ‘You’ll breathe less smoke if you keep your mouth shut,’ Valerius rapped.

  On the first landing the maze of corridors and curtained doorways was already well alight, but the stairs were clear. Valerius launched himself at the next set, taking them three at a time to escape being scorched. A distinctive scent caught his attention and the stink of roasting flesh reminded him of the day poor Messor had burned to death nailed to the doorway of the Temple of Claudius. Already the heat seared his bare legs and he could feel it through the soles of his iron-shod sandals.

  It was a similar story on the second landing and they continued upwards without pause. Halfway up the body of an old man lay face down on the stairs, the blood from his cut throat staining the worn concrete. They leapt past with barely a glance. Valerius noticed that although the lower floors of the insula had been brick built, up here it was different. The stair corridor was constructed of tinder-dry wood, added by a greedy landlord who’d somehow circumvented the fire regulations. When the flames reached this level the entire building would probably go up like a torch soaked in pitch. Up here there was no water supply, but a two-storey light well looked on to a small paved courtyard where the residents could safely cook food in shared ovens.

  ‘Is anybody there?’ Valerius shouted breathlessly.

  ‘What now?’ Serpentius demanded when there was no response from the curtained doorways surrounding the courtyard.

  ‘If you were trying to escape a fire and hiding from killers, where would you go?’

  The Spaniard’s eyes immediately went to the top floor. They headed for the stairs, only to be halted by a crash that shook the whole building. A new cloud of sparks and smoke exploded from the lower stairwell. ‘There’s no going back whether we wanted to or not,’ Serpentius grunted. ‘I hope you’re working on a way to get us out of here.’

  ‘Just one last look,’ the Roman insisted.

  This time they split up, making a cursory search of each apartment. Valerius was just about to give up when he heard what might have been a sob, instantly drowned out by another thunderous crash and a great flare of yellow that illuminated the sparsely furnished room.

  ‘Valerius!’ Serpentius shouted. ‘We have to get out of here.’

  But another sound confirmed Valerius’s suspicions. He hauled back the curtain on to the apartment’s narrow balcony and found himself the focus of several terrified sets of eyes. Two children, a boy and a girl of about five and seven, a babe in swaddling clothes, and two couples, one of the women heavily pregnant, all huddled together and struck mute by fear.

  ‘Come,’ he said urgently. ‘We are here to help.’

  ‘Valerius!’

  ‘Please. You must come with me or we will all die.’

  Without a word the older of the two women picked up the baby and took the little girl by the hand. Their father followed with the boy and finally the younger man and the pregnant woman. Valerius led them to where the inner balcony overlooked the central courtyard. A shrill cry of terror greeted the sight that met them. The base of the light well was already an inferno that belched flame and smoke. It meant the rooms directly below must already be partly consumed and the only surprise was that the whole building hadn’t collapsed.

  Valerius turned to the father, knowing the answer before he spoke. ‘Is there another way out?’

  The man shook his head and held his son closer, hopelessness filling his pale eyes.

  ‘The roof,’ Serpentius coughed. ‘It’s our only chance.’

  ‘The women …?’

  ‘Women can climb too. Give me your belt.’

  Without hesitation Valerius unhooked his leather belt and handed it to the Spaniard, who had already freed his own. The red-tiled roof sloped into the well about seven or eight feet above, supported by pillars on the edge of the balcony. Serpentius took hold of one of the pillars and sprang up on to the narrow rail that guarded the two storey drop. The platform just allowed him to reach the roof. Perched above the inferno, the Spaniard stretched up and tested the red clay tiles with his free hand. When he was satisfied they were firm enough to support him he turned to Valerius with a grim half-smile. ‘Do or die, eh?’

  Without a glance at the flames below, Serpentius placed the belts between his teeth and reached up to take the roof in both hands. His arm muscles bulged and the sinews stood out like writhing snakes as he hauled himself up so his head and shoulders disappeared from those below. At first it seemed he must be stranded halfway, but with an acrobatic flip of the hips he somehow found the purchase to swing himself up. A second later the fearsome head reappeared.

  ‘Hand me the boy.’

  Valerius held out his left hand, but the child clung tighter to his father and stared in nervous fascination at the wooden fist of the right.

  ‘We don’t have time for this.’ Valerius met the man’s terrified eyes as the building shuddered and another crash sent a fountain of sparks up from below. ‘What is his name?’

  ‘Gaius.’

  ‘Come,’ Valerius encouraged. ‘My name is Gaius too.’

  The man bent and whispered something in his son’s ear. Whatever he said, the words had their effect, because Gaius frowned, his chin came up and he took Valerius’s hand.

  ‘You are very brave,’ the Roman said, picking him up, ‘and I’m sure your sister will be too. Now hang on tight until I tell you to let go.’ Small hands wrapped round his neck and he was able to clamber up and balance on the rail using the pillar for support. Smoke billowed past them through the opening in the roof and he felt the boy flinch at the heat from the flames. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Don’t look down. I’ll lift you and you must reach up with both hands. Do you understand?’ Gaius’s dark eyes turned serious and he nodded. Valerius freed his hand from the pillar, took a deep breath and raised the slight figure. The wooden fist made holding his burden awkward, but somehow he managed, and as Gaius raised his arms Serpentius snatched him to the temporary safety of the roof. Unbalanced by the sudden loss of weight Valerius felt a thrill of terror as he teetered over the drop until Gaius’s father stepped forward to steady him. Breathing hard, he nodded his thanks and steadied himself.

  ‘Now the girl,’ came the voice from above.

  The girl, Julia, was less reluctant. With a word of assurance from her mother she came into Valerius’s arms and he was able to repeat the exercise with less peril. Serpentius helped her up to the spine of the roof and sat her down beside her brother with orders not to move a finger.

  ‘Best get the mother up next.’

  ‘My baby?’ the woman whimpered.

  ‘You won’t be apart for long,’ Valerius promised.

  She handed the wriggling bundle to the pregnant girl and stepped forward without any further urging from Valerius. A slim woman, he could see she was terrified, but utterly determined to join her children. Her husband helped her up on to the rail, where she held fast to the pillar trying not to look down at the flames.

  One end of the knotted sword belts flipped down from above. ‘Tie this round your wrist.’

  With Valerius’s help the woman did as she was instructed. ‘Now,’ Valerius said, ‘your dignity may suffer a little, but you will soon be with your children. I will hand the baby up next.’

  Her husband hovered protectively below and
Valerius had an idea. ‘Get up on the other side of the pillar, put your arms around it and make a sling of your hands. Understand?’ The man nodded and climbed gingerly on to the rail.

  Valerius turned back to the woman. ‘When I boost you up, use your husband’s hands as a foot rest and raise yourself as high as you can, with your hands in the air. Don’t worry about falling, I’ll steady you and Serpentius will lift you. Are you ready?’ She nodded and he saw that in her terror she’d bitten her lip so hard it bled. He placed his hands round her waist. ‘Now!’ He lifted her, straining to keep his balance on the rail, felt the moment she pushed with her foot and the burden lightened as Serpentius gripped her hands. Even the Spaniard’s great strength was tested by the weight and the awkwardness of his position. Somehow he managed to wrestle her up and with a cry the kicking legs disappeared from view. As they’d been working, Valerius had been conscious of the increasing heat from below. On the far side of the space he could see the flames licking at the bottom of the same level where they were perched. The floorboards beneath his feet creaked and smoke filtered through the cracks. He had a moment of mind-tearing panic that faded as the pregnant girl stepped forward and handed him the baby. Serpentius had the belts ready and Valerius held the child while the father made a sling and tied it firmly round the whimpering infant’s armpits. Serpentius pulled on the belts and Valerius guided the baby until the Spaniard could lift the cloth-wrapped bundle.

  With the baby gone, the pregnant girl stepped forward willingly, her face set in an expression of utter determination. Valerius and the older man were able to repeat the technique they’d used with the mother. The two men went next, leaving Valerius alone on the balcony. By now the flames were licking at the rail and he reached above, praying that Serpentius still had the strength to lift him. Hands like a pair of iron bands closed on his wrist and the cowhide stock of the wooden hand and he felt himself suspended in mid-air. With one convulsive heave the Spaniard dragged him over the edge of the tiles.