Dark Omens

by Rosemary Rowe

  He bowed and murmured, ‘As you command, of course,’ but I could see from the glitter of excitement in his eyes that he was as curious as I was to see the spectacle. Indeed, as we continued on towards the centre of the town, I noticed that he’d visibly increased his pace – which meant that I was obliged to quicken mine, since he was the one who held the torch which lit our way.

  In fact, when we got there, the crush was such that we could not get into the forum square at all, but standing in one of the narrow entry roads it was possible to glimpse, over the heads of others, what was happening within. The fire we had seen far off across the roofs was raging fiercely in the centre of the square, and it was clear that no wagon had ever been involved. The crowd had made a huge impromptu bonfire of anything flammable that came to hand – dried reeds, old clothes and broken furniture – and were throwing on to it anything connected with the previous Emperor: wooden statues, painted images, and even coins and marble busts, though obviously the latter were never going to burn.

  Anything connected with Commodus was at risk. I saw the wooden sign-board for a wine shop, which had borne his name, passed from hand to hand across the heads of spectators towards the fire, and when at last it was pitched into the flames the crowd gave a communal whoop of victory.

  Another roar from nearer the basilica drew my attention to an amazing scene. A group of people, several of them clearly quite respectable, were clustered round the huge bronze statue of the hated Emperor – dressed in his favourite garb as Hercules – which for years had overlooked the steps. They had succeeded in throwing thick ropes around its neck and knees and were now attempting to topple the whole image from its plinth. As soon as others realized what was happening, dozens more came rushing forward to join in, and soon there were half-a-hundred of them, hauling on the lines, to the accompaniment of a rhythmic chanting from the spectators: ‘Down with him, down with him, may he eat the dust!’

  As I watched the statue wobbled, swayed a long moment and began to tilt. This was greeted with loud cheers. Then all at once it came crashing to the ground with a deafening thud and a force that shattered it, making the very earth beneath us shudder with the shock. Several people were very nearly crushed, and I saw one limp and lifeless-looking body being dragged away, but any grief was drowned by joyful cheers and shouts. The crowd was jubilant, and when the head came off the statue and bounced into the fire, the triumph of the onlookers was almost deafening.

  A dozen amphorae appeared from somewhere in a trice, and immediately broached; and brimming wine jugs passed exultantly from hand to hand. People started dancing and a ragged song broke out.

  Men joined in as they rolled the broken statue to the fire – but behind them matters took a darkly different turn. Where some had tried to scatter as the statue fell, others had been pushed against the wall, and a lot of shouting and shoving was going on, even as the statue was thrown into the blaze and a cheer was rising from around the fire. That part of the forum seemed oblivious to what was happening elsewhere.

  One spectator looked up and, realizing that folk were being hurt, tried to shout a warning, but far from his neighbours taking heed of this, he was immediately spat upon and pushed quite savagely. ‘Those who aren’t rejoicing with us are enemies of the Emperor!’ someone cried.

  The mood was becoming ugly and rather dangerous. I turned to speak to Adonisius, but he’d been pressed against a neighbouring archway by the crush. I tried to signal to him that perhaps we should depart, but there was no escape. People were still surging forward to get a better view and it simply wasn’t possible to withstand the flow. Having left the shelter of the wall myself, to look around for him, I found myself shuffling forward without intending to, forced to move my feet to keep myself from falling down and being trampled on. And all the time I was being separated from my attendant slave.

  I was out into the forum now, though there was less room than ever. Beside the bonfire a more general skirmish had begun, fuelled by the wine perhaps. A few people were still cheering as the statue glowed, but more and more were joining the melee – and I was being firmly propelled towards it from behind. I looked around for Adonisius but he was far behind, still pressed against the pillar with his torch aloft. He saw me and signalled, but there was nothing he could do.

  I peered around for some way to escape the pressing throng, but there seemed to be nowhere safe to stand. The public buildings were all locked and barred – as one would expect at night – and the market area was one heaving, shouting, surging mass. Even the steps to the basilica were thronged with cheering men. There was only one place where the crowd had not encroached and that was the temple, slightly to my left – though even the lower steps of that were crammed with spectators. However, at the top the sacred flame could still be seen, flickering in tranquil darkness at the entrance to the shrine, and there was no evidence of disturbance there – obviously no one wanted to offend the gods.

  I tried to work my way towards it, weaving and shuffling sideways when I could – though I received a bruising on my back and ribs as a result. But I persisted and after what seemed like half an hour (but was probably much less) I did succeed in reaching the bottom of the temple steps. Getting up them was another matter, as I soon found out. The mass above me – though they were not actually joining in the now-general brawl themselves (perhaps out of some sense of deference to the shrine) – were still intent on what was happening and not at all disposed to move and let me through. One man – in a tradesman’s cloak and tunic – even hissed at me ‘Commodus-lover!’ when I tried to pass, and people turned and jeered.

  Someone spat and I was roughly jostled from behind. ‘Must be a sympathizer, probably a spy. Otherwise he wouldn’t be trying to go the other way.’ I began to wonder if I was going to be attacked.

  ‘I have business at the temple!’ I called out, as loudly as I could. I meant to sound masterful, but my voice came out as a squeak, and it was doubtful anyway that anyone would hear – there was so much uproar from the crowd that I could barely hear myself. And it made no difference – people around me were still clearly hostile and the same hissing tradesman, encouraged by the mood, began suggesting loudly what might be done with me – ‘Put him with his favourite Emperor and let him roast awhile’ – and the cry was taken up by several of the crowd, who blocked my way.

  I braced myself for people laying violent hands on me – and sure enough a pair of strong arms came from somewhere at my back, pinioned my own arms and seized firm hold of me. I tried to wriggle round to see who my assailant was, wondering what an appeal to Marcus’s name would do, but there was no chance of either of those things. The grasp that held me was stronger than a vice, and when it picked me up so that my feet were flailing air, I could offer no resistance; I just dangled like a doll.

  I tried to speak – to reason or to beg – but there was so much pressure on my ribs that I found that it was all I could do to breathe. Indeed I was close to losing consciousness. I closed my eyes, as if to shut the terror out, and was only half aware of being dragged along – part-carried almost – my toes making occasional contact with the steps, and although I could hear and smell the crowd on either side, it was clear the mob was parting to allow us through, no doubt to allow me to be thrown on to the fire. I think I actually fainted in the end.

  When I came to myself I was sitting on a step, propped up against a pillar in the semi-dark. There was a small lamp glimmering just above my head and a strong smell of incense and spices in the air. For a moment I wondered if I’d been killed and had made the journey to the other world, but once my brain had cleared and my eyes had adjusted to the light, I could see that I was in the temple porch and the giant slave was bending over me.

  EIGHTEEN

  ‘Ah, good!’ he said. ‘I see you are awake. I feared I might have squeezed the life from you. I do apologize. But I had to get you safe. They would have harmed you otherwise, I think.’ He gestured down the steps towards the crowd, who were still roarin
g like a thousand gales.

  ‘You were my saviour.’ I ran a rueful hand around my ribs. ‘I’m still in one piece, too, though I’ll be black and blue tomorrow. But thank you, from my heart.’ I looked into his face, which looked even darker in the half-light here. ‘What made you rescue me? You might have risked your own life doing that.’

  ‘It was no more than my duty. You have business with the temple, I believe you said?’ The high pitch of his voice was oddly carrying. ‘I was standing right behind you and – since you’d been here earlier – I reasoned it was true. What is it, citizen? Something you failed to do when you were here before? Some little offering to the shrine, perhaps?’

  I cast around for something plausible. I did not want to be sent off to face the mob again. ‘There is a would-be councillor from Dorn,’ I said, raising my voice above the shouting and jeering from below. ‘He has been missing since before the Agonalia. A man called Genialis …’

  He nodded so that his giant earrings rang. ‘The one who hoped to offer the Janus sacrifice? I remember him. He was very angry with me when I had to tell him that a donor had already been agreed. Missing, is he? I noticed that he wasn’t at either sacrifice that day – but I supposed that he’d gone home to Dorn and the snow had simply prevented him from coming back in time.’

  I shook my head and tried to rise, but found that I could not, so I had to go on shouting. ‘He never got to Dorn. He stopped at a friend’s villa and set off from there, apparently to return to Glevum. But he did not arrive. There is a ward – a certain Silvia – whom he had planned to wed and whom my patron, Marcus Septimus, has taken in his care, at any rate until Genialis can be accounted for.’

  The mention of my patron had the usual effect. The slave became more deferential instantly and squatted down beside me so I did not have to raise my voice so much. ‘So you wished to sponsor an offering to the gods to entreat his safe return?’

  I felt every inch the hypocrite that I was being over this. ‘Or at least that his body should be quickly found so that the lady’s future can be properly arranged,’ I said. That was safe enough. Since I was obviously going to be required to offer a small sacrifice – a pair of pigeons at the very least – I was content that it should be for such a cause. ‘But the shrine was closed today, and it is unlikely that tomorrow I shall be in town – I am due to join the search for him at dawn.’

  He smiled. ‘Ah! So you have a personal interest in the case. I presume a lead prayer-plaque would meet the case for you?’

  I nodded, relieved that he’d suggested such a minimum expense.

  ‘Then give me the money and I’ll see that it is done. One of the stalls outside here has a range of them, and will scratch any message on them that you wish. They’ll have a bumper day tomorrow with curse-tablets, I’m sure – all calling down vengeance on the soul of Commodus – so I’ll buy yours early. I’ll nail it on the lintel of a cella, if you like. Which god would you like to have it written to? Jove or Juno or Minerva – you can take your pick. Or all of them together if you would prefer.’

  I’m not a follower of Roman deities, but I knew enough to say, ‘Juno, perhaps, since she’s the goddess of marriage.’

  ‘Very well. Then that will cost you a denarius.’

  It was still a largish sum, but not as expensive as a pair of sacrificial birds. Anyway, I would have paid a great deal more, simply for rescue from the crowd. I rolled on to my side so I could reach my purse, loosed the drawstring and handed him the coin, together with a couple of brass asses that I found. ‘Here you are. And a little offering for yourself.’

  He put the coins into a small slot in his tunic-hem, as though that was a hiding-place he often used. ‘Thank you, citizen, I’m glad to be of use. It’s only a pity that the old priest has died. He would have placed it on the actual altar for you, for a fee – though he was apt to ask the maximum he thought you could afford …’ He broke off, obviously conscious – as I was – of a sudden lull below.

  ‘What is it?’ I said dimly, as he jumped up to look.

  He bared white teeth in an enormous smile. ‘It is amazing what a difference a few soldiers makes. If you can stand up, citizen, you can witness it yourself.’ He reached out an enormous hand and pulled me to my feet. I found they would support me, if I held on to the wall, and I looked where he was pointing and saw what he had meant.

  A group of Roman soldiers was marching into the forum, two by two, through the same lane entrance that I’d used myself. Their shields were linked to make a barrier, and their javelins held at ‘ready’, level with their ears. The crowd that had been rampaging so triumphantly had fallen silent now: all skirmishing had stopped, and where a moment earlier there’d not been standing room, there was suddenly a pathway opening to the fire. People were edging away backwards from the shields, climbing on pillars and one another’s backs to escape the crush, but mostly surging towards us up the temple steps – the only place that there was left for anyone to go.

  ‘Come!’ my rescuer said, and seized me by the arm – a fact which it bore witness to for several days. ‘I must get reinforcements. This crowd cannot come in here!’ He tugged me in the direction of the temple court, but already there were other shapes approaching through the gloom. One was hooded, and might have been a priest, but the others looked like temple-slaves or acolytes, all carrying tapers, their faces ghostly in the flickering light.

  Nothing was said. They simply formed up in a line, as if to shield the inner sanctum from the rising tide of one-time rioters. But, all at once, it seemed that tide had turned. As the troops advanced towards the fire, so the mob began to melt away behind their backs, and soon there were people pouring from the forum through every exit – though there was hardly a lit torch among the lot of them. One unfortunate was trampled in the rush; his moaning body was rolled into the square and it was at this point that the soldiers moved.

  ‘Halt! Stand still! The next to move is dead.’ The officer, an ordinarius, barked the order in a clarion voice. He was clearly used to issuing commands and expected to be instantly obeyed. He was. People froze as surely as if they’d turned to ice – with the exception of his troops, who swiftly formed into a circle round the fire, so that all parts of the forum were in range of javelins.

  The gaggle, prompted by the officer’s drawn sword, were quickly formed into a set of straggling lines. Another order and several of his soliders came and walked along the files, picking out obvious non-citizens from the crowd and setting them aside. Then: ‘The rest of you may go! Back to your homes at once. Anyone found out on the street tonight will find himself in jail.’ He stood back and let the subdued spectators straggle out into the dark.

  A sort of peace had fallen on the square: there were a few people lying lifeless or moaning on the flags, and others with more minor injuries sitting in doorways, rather like myself – but otherwise only the group of non-citizens was left. It soon became clear what they were wanted for. A pair of Roman soldiers with their sword-blades drawn swiftly organized a bucket-chain to put out the fire, using water from the great tank in the fish-market and using the leather buckets which had been full of eels. As the pails of water passed from hand to hand, I recognized the cloaked tradesman who had hissed at me, now perspiring as he worked, and – to my relief – I saw Adonisius too, refilling emptied buckets at the pool. Already the flames were hissing and starting to die down.

  I turned towards the line of temple-guards, who were observing all this quite impassively. ‘I think that it would be safe for me to leave,’ I hazarded.

  They turned and stared at me, as if they’d not noticed my presence up till now and were not best pleased to find me there at all.

  My giant friend spoke up for me at once. ‘This man is not a trespasser. I brought him here myself. I had already met him earlier today. He came to offer a petition plaque. I told him I would see to it on his behalf.’

  The priestly figure half-inclined his head, then he and the rest filed silently back into th
e court again. It was quite uncanny – all this co-ordinated movement without a single sound – or it would have been if a skinny temple-slave of perhaps twelve years or so had not lingered a little as the others left.

  ‘Tomorrow there are likely to be a lot of plaques. And no doubt a penitential offering or two, as well!’ It was obvious that he was bursting with some kind of news. ‘Commodus may be dead but he was still a deity, and tearing down his statue from the Imperial shrine is a matter which will have to be atoned before the gods.’

  My rescuer stared at him. ‘You can’t mean that the crowd broke into the temple, Popillus?’

  I was boggling too. I could hardly credit it. Even if some people had taken too much wine, you would not expect anyone to desecrate a shrine. Especially not a Capitoline one. They would be too afraid of bringing down the wrath of Jove.

  The boy called Popillus shook his head. ‘They didn’t come into the temple proper, only into the scared grove around the back.’

  ‘The one that houses the Imperial shrine?’ I was so surprised that I interrupted him. ‘But there’s a six-foot wall! How did they manage that?’

  ‘Someone seems to have found a ladder from that site just down the road where they are rebuilding that cloth-shop that caught fire – and it looks as if a group climbed over and wrenched the statue of Commodus from its plinth. Fortunately it was too heavy for them to carry off, otherwise it would have been smashed to pieces too, I expect. We’ve just found the ladder that they left up against the wall.’

  ‘And no one in the temple saw anything amiss?’ My slave friend was as astonished as I was myself.

  Popillus shrugged. ‘It was not the hour for Imperial sacrifice and we have been too busy with cleansing rites for that – and some of you were elsewhere anyway – attending the cremation of that old priest’s remains.’