False God of Rome

by Robert Fabbri

  Herod got to his feet and, with as much dignity as he could summon, swept from the arena followed by the Alabarch and the Jewish elders to the mocking jeers of the Greek mob.

  ‘I see what you mean, Vespasian,’ Flaccus observed with a faint smile, indicating with his head to the entrance through which the travesty had come, ‘he does sow discord very well.’

  Vespasian looked round and saw, in the shadows of the archway, a short figure with half an ear missing, smiling maliciously; for a moment they locked gazes before Paulus turned and walked away on his bow legs.

  CHAPTER XX

  ‘I DON’T UNDERSTAND why Flaccus ain’t doing a fucking thing about it,’ Magnus announced, looking with disgust at the bodies of two Jewish women who had evidently been savagely raped before having their throats slit. A dead infant had been placed under the head of one corpse in mocking imitation of a pillow.

  ‘Because at the moment the Greeks are doing his work for him by keeping the Jews confined to their quarter,’ Vespasian replied, studiously ignoring the bodies and giving Flavia, travelling in another chair next to him, a concerned look; she had gone very pale despite Ziri’s efforts with a large fan to keep her cool. She should not have too much trouble fainting in Alexander’s temple, he reflected with morbid irony, especially if they should come across more corpses on the way there.

  News of Herod’s humiliation at the ceremony and his swift departure from Alexandria the previous day – forfeiting the other half of his grain – had spread through the city, and the Jews, taking this insult to be against everyone of their race, had rioted en masse and invaded the Greek Quarter. The Greeks had responded by driving their hated and outnumbered co-inhabitants back into their quarter and blockading it, thus confining the violence. They had, however, not been content with just bottling up the Jews and had pressed on into the quarter, pushing the Jews further and further back until almost their entire population was cramped into just a few streets along the coastal area to the east of the Royal Palace. And they were the lucky ones; those who had had the misfortune to be captured had been flayed, crucified and then burned alive on their crosses.

  From the palace windows that morning, Vespasian had seen tens of thousands of women and children huddled on the beach, taking refuge, while their menfolk fought with whatever improvised weapons they had to hand to keep control of the areas that they still possessed; the rest of the quarter burned with such intensity that the fumes were strong even two miles away as he approached the Temple of Alexander. Although the violence was confined to the Jewish Quarter, Hortensius had requested, and been given, another sixteen men for his guard after Vespasian – having heard from Felix that the replica breastplate was ready – had disregarded all advice and insisted on venturing out on the pretext of showing Flavia Alexander’s body.

  ‘I still don’t understand it,’ Magnus said as a group of Greeks ran past them in the direction of the riot, yelling excitedly and taking a wide berth around Hortensius and his legionaries marching ahead of the chairs. ‘If the riot’s been confined, why allow the killing to go on?’

  ‘Because the worse it gets the more grateful the Jews will be to Flaccus when he eventually stops it and they’ll have to acquiesce to all his terms,’ Flavia said weakly.

  ‘Surely they’ll just be very pissed off that he didn’t act sooner?’

  ‘They may well be,’ Vespasian agreed, ‘but Flaccus will just tell them that next time he might not act at all so they should shut up, stop making demands, be thankful that most of them are still alive and go back to how things were before. It’s almost as if he engineered it.’

  ‘Oh, but he did, I’m sure of it,’ Flavia informed them.

  ‘You mean he didn’t prevent it rather than engineer it?’

  ‘No, he caused it, I’m certain.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’

  ‘I saw who organised the charade in the arena and I recognised him from the riots in Cyrenaica, he’s a trouble-maker.’

  ‘Paulus? I know, but that doesn’t mean that Flaccus was using him; in fact, I had his word that he would try and arrest him.’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘Why not? It was in return for some useful information about Herod and it was also in his interest to do so.’

  ‘Then ask yourself this: if he had meant to arrest Paulus, then why didn’t he do it yesterday in the Gymnasium? You saw him, I saw him, Flaccus saw him and yet he sent no one after him; Paulus didn’t even run away, he walked.’

  The realisation hit Vespasian like a sling-shot: she was right. ‘Flaccus sat through Alexander’s speech with a smile on his face because he knew what was coming next; he’d set it up. He knew what the result would be: the Jews would be provoked into a full-scale riot. So he’s not going to stop the violence until the Jews almost beg him to, and then he can get them to agree to anything; just as he’d planned. And I gave him the means by telling him just how divisive Paulus was.’

  Flavia raised her eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t blame yourself, my dear, Flaccus already knew. You see, that wasn’t the first time I’d seen Paulus in Alexandria. He was at the palace the evening I met you again; I saw him leave as I arrived.’

  Recollecting that Flaccus had hurried off to a meeting after his first interview with him, Vespasian groaned. ‘He’s been using Paulus all along as another way to stir up discontent among the Jews; he never had any intention of arresting him. He’s managed to get himself everything he wanted: an official ceremony where the people of the province witness the Emperor’s emissary, Herod, hand over his mandate, at which he’s so completely humiliated that he leaves without his grain – which Flaccus will now, no doubt, claim as his own – and leaving the Jews so incensed by the insult that they riot, stupidly putting themselves in a position that only Flaccus can rescue them from on condition that they agree to his terms.’

  ‘He is a clever man,’ Magnus commented appreciatively as they arrived at the Soma, ‘but I reckon that you shouldn’t dwell on it, sir; let’s just do what we came here to do and get the fuck out of it and leave this shithole to rot.’

  Vespasian sighed as Hortensius brought their bodyguard to a halt at the Soma’s gates, resigning himself to the fact that any attempt at redressing the humiliation that he felt at being so played by Flaccus would have to wait for another time, and besides, he had the consolation of taking Flavia from him. He took her hand to help her down from her chair. ‘Are you happy about the timing, my dear?’

  ‘Perfectly, Vespasian.’

  ‘Good. Hortensius, wait for us here, we won’t be long; the lady wishes to see the great Alexander.’

  The sun had now almost reached the horizon and Alexander’s Temple was filled with a rich amber light giving it a feeling of restful peace, a far cry from the violence being meted out just a couple of miles away. Vespasian and Magnus watched from beneath the great equestrian statue as the priest led Flavia past the guard and down the steps to the burial chamber; Ziri waited close to its entrance as was expected of a slave attending his mistress. Vespasian had declined the priest’s offer of a second visit to the chamber on the plausible grounds that Augustus had only visited it once, but in reality because it was vital that Flavia should appear at the top of the steps alone for the few moments that it took the priest to complete his cleansing ritual.

  As Flavia’s head disappeared below the floor level Vespasian turned to Magnus. ‘You go and stand directly opposite the top of the steps. When Flavia comes back up she’ll turn and walk towards me; as soon as you see the priest coming up, rub your nose and I’ll give her the signal to faint.’

  ‘Right you are, sir; let’s hope that Ziri doesn’t eat all the bread meant for the geese while he’s waiting down there,’ Magnus said with a wry smile and then walked around the temple to take up his position.

  Vespasian glanced over at Ziri who nodded back and tapped the satchel slung over his shoulder. Satisfied that the little Marmarides was ready, Vespasian studied the full-bearded gu
ard. He was dressed in the uniform of an argyraspides, the elite, veteran phalangites who had formed the backbone of Alexander’s infantry: a crested, bronze Thracian-style helmet, a brown, hardened-leather cuirass over a plain white chiton, bronze greaves and a small, round, silver-plated shield – from which the unit took its name – emblazoned with the sixteen-pointed star of Macedon inlaid in bronze. He was armed with a short stabbing sword slung on a baldric over his right shoulder to hang on his left and, held upright, the fearsome sixteen-foot pike that, wielded two-handed, had swept away all armies before it, until it had come up against the Roman pilum. He and his four colleagues, two guarding the temple door and two at the Soma gate, were the only soldiers still allowed by Rome to wear the uniform in deference to Alexander. Vespasian prayed to Mars Victorious that this ceremonial guard would not show the same rigid discipline that had enabled his forebears to conquer the largest Empire ever seen and would leave his post to help a stricken lady.

  After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably in reality less than half the time that Vespasian had spent in the burial chamber a few days earlier, Flavia reappeared. As she reached the top of the steps she paused next to the guard, and swayed slightly on her feet; giving out a little moan as if overawed by what she had just seen, she put her hand on the guard’s heavily muscled forearm to steady herself. He looked down at her, concerned. Vespasian smiled inwardly: she knew how to handle men, the touch had created a small bond between them. She smiled apologetically at the guard, patted his arm, turned towards Vespasian and began to walk slowly and unsteadily towards him. Vespasian kept his eyes on Magnus. After Flavia had gone four paces Magnus’ hand came up to his nose. Vespasian looked at Flavia and nodded; with a weak cry she crumpled to the floor. The guard spun round and immediately dropped his pike with a clatter and leapt to aid the woman who had touched him so gently as the priest appeared at the top of the steps; he looked to see the cause of the commotion and hurried to help his erstwhile charge.

  ‘Flavia!’ Vespasian cried, running forward as the guard knelt down to lift her head from the cold marble floor.

  ‘What happened?’ the priest asked, looking anxiously over the guard’s shoulder.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Vespasian replied, concern written all over his face. He looked up to see Magnus approaching; Ziri had disappeared. ‘Magnus, send Ziri to get the chairs ready.’

  ‘He’s already gone, sir.’

  ‘Good, help me lift her.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Flavia whispered, fluttering open her eyes, ‘I’ll be fine in a moment, I was just a bit overcome, that’s all.’ She eased herself up with the guard’s supportive arm around her shoulders.

  ‘I’ve seen this happen before,’ the priest said solemnly, ‘people get overawed just looking down through the tunnel at Alexander’s face.’

  ‘Being so close to him in the chamber was completely overwhelming, especially for a woman,’ Flavia said sweetly, ‘I would advise you not to let women down there into the presence of such a powerful man.’

  The priest nodded sagely. ‘You might be right, lady; I shall form a committee of priests to review our policy on allowing women so close.’

  ‘You are most kind,’ Flavia said with sincerity, getting to her feet with the guard’s help. ‘I feel much better now; Alexander’s latent vigour has washed right through me. Vespasian, shall we go? I have an urgent need to feel a man’s arms around me.’

  ‘We shall, Flavia,’ Vespasian replied, hoping that would be the limit to her melodrama.

  Flavia took his arm and looked at the guard with doe-eyes. ‘Thank you, my strong Guard of Alexander.’

  The man’s mouth broke into a wide grin beneath his bush of a beard; Vespasian tugged Flavia forward with a fixed smile on his face. ‘Come, my dear.’

  ‘I shall pray to Alexander for your wellbeing,’ the priest called after them as they passed through the doors.

  Felix was waiting for them at the bottom of the steps eyeing the small enclosure filled with geese next to the temple; he had an empty sack over his shoulder. ‘Is he in?’ he asked once they were out of earshot of the exterior guards.

  ‘Yes,’ Vespasian replied. ‘It was well done, if somewhat theatrical towards the end. We’ll see you later, Felix.’

  ‘Good. I’ll be in the boat below your terrace at the fifth hour of the night; the breastplate will be with me. I shall now procure the final two items that we need.’

  ‘That, my dear, was not theatre,’ Flavia informed him as Felix disappeared off into the fading light towards the geese enclosure. ‘That was done so that when those two men review the incident in their minds they will only see me. They won’t notice the fact that Ziri could never have been given orders by Magnus and then got out of the doors from where he was standing in the time between me fainting and Magnus saying that he’d gone, after you had so foolishly drawn attention to his absence.’

  ‘They would never notice that.’

  ‘They certainly won’t now, because I’ve made sure of it.’

  Vespasian was not going to argue; she had shown spirit and they could not have achieved that part of the break-in without her. ‘And I’m sure that they will treasure the memory. Now, my dear, when we get back you should get your maids to finish packing and get them on board the ship as, with luck, we will be sailing at first light.’

  ‘I’ve already done that; I’m so excited about coming back to Rome with you.’

  Vespasian looked at her and smiled. ‘I’m looking forward to it too, my dear.’

  The night sky was aglow with flames as they approached the palace complex; the cries and screams of conflict could be heard rising from the Jewish Quarter beyond.

  ‘It seems to be getting worse,’ Hortensius called back as a gang of Greeks dragged a screaming Jew towards them. ‘I think that you should get out of the chairs and walk now, senator.’

  ‘Very well,’ Vespasian agreed, signalling his and Flavia’s bearers to stop.

  ‘Why must we walk?’ Flavia asked Magnus as he helped her down.

  ‘Because it will be easier to defend you if we’re attacked. We can’t have you getting hurt, can we?’ His estimation of her had greatly increased after her performance earlier that evening.

  As they pressed on for the last few hundred paces to the palace, passing anarchic groups running to and from the fighting, Vespasian was unsurprised to see the streets bare of legionaries; Flaccus was evidently playing brinkmanship with the lives of the Jews and he was determined to win and bring them to heel.

  Finally approaching the gates the street became quieter, the mob being wary of the heavy guard of legionaries in full battle order posted outside.

  Hortensius saluted their centurion. ‘Optio Hortensius escorting Senator Titus Flavius Vespasianus.’

  ‘Ah, senator,’ the centurion said, ‘there’s a man here been waiting to see you this last half-hour, says his name is Nathanial – he swam along the coast from the Jewish Quarter.’ He pulled a bruised and bleeding man forward. ‘We didn’t believe that he knew you at first,’ he added by way of explanation for the man’s looks.

  ‘Senator, you must help,’ the man said, stepping forward into the torchlight.

  Vespasian peered at him and recognised the man whose brother had been murdered on the Canopic Way a few days before. ‘What do you want, Nathanial?’

  ‘You said that you would bring my brother’s killers to justice because you owed a favour to the Alabarch. As you know, they were spared so you still need to repay that favour.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘The Alabarch and his sons are besieged in a temple not far from here; they have a few men with them but they can’t last much longer. That preacher has allied his followers with the Greeks. The Alabarch sent me here, just before the building was completely surrounded, to ask for your help; will you come?’

  Magnus raised his eyebrows and looked at Vespasian. ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, I owe him and I’d hate the thought of P
aulus making his sport with him and his sons; we’ll go. And besides, we may get the chance to finish off that odious little fanatic.’

  ‘If we’re going, you ain’t going like that; a toga never kept Caesar alive in Pompey’s Theatre.’

  ‘You’re right, we should get properly armed. Hortensius, wait here with this man and have your men sharpen their blades, we won’t be long.’

  Hortensius snapped a salute.

  ‘You can’t take legionaries into the Jewish Quarter, senator,’ the centurion protested.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it would be going against orders; the prefect has forbidden it.’

  ‘I’m sure he has, but has he forbidden senators from going in?’

  The centurion looked nonplussed.

  ‘I’m going, centurion, and if Hortensius and his men don’t come with me then he will be breaking the prefect’s direct order to him to accompany me everywhere I go in Alexandria.’

  The sound of fighting grew nearer as Vespasian, now shielded and wearing his bronze cuirass, led Hortensius and his men at a quick jog through wafting smoke into the Jewish Quarter with Magnus and Nathanial at his side. Heat from the fires all around had already caused him to break out into a sweat and his scalp prickled beneath the felt liner under his plain legionary helmet. Marcus Antonius’ sword slapped against his right thigh and tension flooded through his body as he contemplated using it in anger for the first time in the city where it had taken the life of its first master.

  The presence of a unit of armed legionaries probing into what had hitherto been an authority-free zone caused the groups of pillaging Greeks in their path to drop the larger items of their spoils, looted from houses before they were torched, and run for the safety of side alleys. The occasional rock hurled at the soldiers as they passed clattered harmlessly off their shields but told of hostile intent.