I understood why he requested my return. He had spoken to no one but me about his true thoughts. I sensed that inner turmoil wracked his soul, and he was paying a terrible price.
“By the way, my friend,” Sabinus continued, “when you return to your uncle’s home, take a look in the stables. A present and a token of my friendship awaits you. It will be obvious to all when you speak it is with the authority of the chief magistrate of Rome, and more importantly . . . you are my friend.”
Sabinus smiled. “Right now, join me as my guest at Nero’s feast.”
Chapter 18
Chapter 18
The guests admitted to the Palace of Tiberius, residence of the Emperor Nero, had changed in composition since I had left Rome. A motley assortment of characters, which Claudius would have barred, mixed with the nobility, wealthy freedmen, and foreign emissaries—all of whom flattered him unashamedly. Nero was known to enjoy the company of charlatan high priests, effeminate mimes, scarred gladiators, wiry charioteers of his favorite racing faction, the Leek Greens, and blonde-wigged, divorced women from great families.
I commented on my observations to Sabinus as we strolled through the cavernous palace halls.
“They appeal to Nero’s deviant nature and his quest for excitement,” Sabinus answered.
I snorted. “Being the butt of his jokes is very profitable these days.”
Sabinus crinkled his nose. “If necessary, they would wallow in his shit to obtain his favors.”
Scattered in the great dining hall, guests chatted in small groups, as they waited for the emperor’s arrival. The sweet scent of verbena wafted in the air. Clustered in the huge triclinium, in dozens of delicate long-necked vases, fresh roses and irises neutralized the odor of hundreds of bodies, sweltering in the evening’s humidity.
After being congratulated by numerous dignitaries on my new command, Sabinus and I were led by a slave to a set of dining couches near the emperor’s dais. As we reclined next to one another, an army of slaves began serving the guests smooth-tasting Sentenian wine, cooled by mountain snow.
Lights from a thousand candles illuminated the dining room. Gallus, dressed in a scarlet dining toga and wearing a crown of sulfur roses, lurked amidst the shadows dancing on marble and alabaster walls and ceilings. His cold face watched the diners as if studying and remembering, misplacing nothing in his mental archive for future reference.
As he stood between the naked statues of the helmeted Diomedes and bearded Hercules, his lusty gaze fixed upon an infamous, scantily clad beauty, attended by her nearly naked, young male slave. Beads of sweat formed upon Gallus’s brow and upper lip. I was about to credit him for his exquisite taste in women, but when she fluttered away in a wake of colored silks, Gallus’s eyes remained upon the tanned boy. I should have known better—his preferences for young men had not changed.
Gallus approached Sabinus and me—his eyes meeting mine. A tall, thick-jawed, swarthy man dressed in the scarlet, white, and gold trimmed uniform of a Praetorian officer followed. His yellow, hawk-like eyes, set beneath shaggy eyebrows joined at the base of a thin, straight nose, told me unmistakably he was Tigellinus.
All eyes settled on the two when they stopped before our black-lacquered table.
“Ah, Marcellus,” Gallus said in a sugary voice. “What a pleasant surprise. How fortunate you came after all. Greetings, Lord Sabinus,” he said as an afterthought with a nod of the head.
Gallus turned to the dark stranger and gestured. “I want you to meet my friend, the noble Sofonius Tigellinus, Praetorian Prefect and Friend of Caesar.”
I stood and shook his hand. Tigellinus’s clammy grip was as limp as the dead fish he once hawked. The cold eyes of the former fishmonger from Greece sliced through mine as if lopping off the head of a codfish.
“Greetings, Tribune,” the Praetorian prefect said coldly. “I’ve heard much about you.”
No doubt from Gallus, his vast network of secret police, and my service records. “And I of you,” I answered. “Your fame grows with each passing day.” I yearned to wipe the grease off my palm from his hand shake, but feared he would notice, and refrained.
“You know I live only to serve Caesar,” Tigellinus said.
I looked about and noticed several guests murmuring in agreement.
Provided Nero allowed him to control Rome.
“Your service to the emperor is well known,” I said.
Tigellinus glared as if reading my tone of voice. “Since we are only soldiers,” he glanced to Gallus, “you and I know it’s essential to guard against the enemies of the state.”
I nodded. “Your diligence is legendary. I hear the Senate gives public thanks every time you expose a traitor. I didn’t realize Rome had so many.”
“It’s only proper,” Tigellinus said. “The emperor has numerous enemies. I won’t hesitate to exterminate their filthy carcasses even when they appear in the most extraordinary places.” He glanced to a sober-faced Gallus.
“Yes, don’t they?” I said, immediately regretting my reply. Sabinus scowled, but as he averted his glance I detected a subdued smile.
The edge of Gallus’s thin lips curled into a frown.
The Praetorian prefect studied me for the span of a few heartbeats. “I’m not like these perfumed clowns,” he answered loudly, gesturing towards a couple of senators at the next couch, “who snivel at the voice of Caesar. I cater to his wants, yes, but those who dare to oppose him or me—I crush like beetles under my boots.”
Gallus nodded, as did Sabinus, but I suspect not as eagerly.
“Under the circumstances, only a fool would oppose the emperor,” I said.
A wry smile appeared on Tigellinus’s weak mouth. “You learn quickly, Tribune. You have no ambitions like these buffoons, do you?”
“Contrary to what you may have heard.” I glanced to Gallus, “As a soldier, I have no interest in politics or Imperial intrigue.”
“Wise indeed,” Tigellinus said in a jovial voice. “I like you, Tribune. I shouldn’t because you mocked me, but I do. You, I don’t fear.”
“I’m not mad. What is the City Guard to the power of the emperor and the Praetorians?”
“See that you keep your oath to Caesar,” Tigellinus warned. “It would be a shame if you disappeared. There are few honest men left in Rome.” He abruptly turned away. Gallus trailed him like a puppy. He shot a smug look over his narrow shoulders.
“Marcellus,” Sabinus said, “do not play the fool’s game with Tigellinus—you will lose.”
“I hate groveling.”
“No one says you have to. He knew by the tone in your voice you attempted to play him for a simpleton. He holds the Cast of Venus and the powers of Jupiter.”
A haughty court chamberlain entered at the end of the triclinium. Scanning the room, he pounded his black, wooden staff on the mosaic floor, signaling the arrival of Nero. The guests sprang to their feet in a flurry of clattering sandals.
Six tall Praetorian guardsmen puffed on brass, circular cornus. The metallic sounds echoed through the Great Hall. Twenty more guardsmen, wearing white ceremonial garb trimmed in silver, swaggered ahead of Nero’s entourage of slaves, freedmen, and the bejeweled Petronius—philosopher and advisor to the emperor. Next followed a dozen prancing young girls and handsome boys dressed in diaphanous, white tunics. Guests lecherously eyed male and female alike. The milky-white youths daintily tossed red and white rose petals in the pathway of Rome’s First Citizen and the Empress Poppaea. The Imperial couple strolled in to boisterous cries of, “Ave, Caesar! Hail, Caesar!”
Nero wrinkled his nose and shrugged. Dressed in the Greek manner, he wore a flowing tunic adorned in a flower pattern of blue and purple iris. A brilliant-purple, ankle-length garment girdled around the waist. A garish, silk scarf covered with spiral designs, dyed a blue woad, draped his neck.
As she walked next to her husband, Poppaea’s sky-blue eyes searched the room rapidly, perhaps for a new lover. She had left her first hu
sband, Otho, for Nero. Sprinkled with gold dust and glistening in the candle light, Poppaea wore her hair in platinum rows piled atop her head. Devoid of the cruelty for which she was known, her smooth, ivory face bore the image of an innocent nymph.
“See that woman?” Sabinus whispered, motioning to a female in her mid-twenties, standing with Poppaea’s ladies-in-waiting behind the Imperial couple.
“The one wearing the yellow chiton and dusky, brown hair?” I said.
“That is Acte, the freedwoman.”
“Isn’t that Nero’s mistress?”
“The same. At one time he wanted to marry her.”
“What stopped him?”
“Petronius advised against it. She would be bad for his image, and beneath his station.”
“Why hasn’t Poppaea gotten rid of her?”
“She doesn’t perceive her as a threat. Acte knows her place—thank the gods. It is rumored she is a Christian.”
Nero and his wife reclined on a purple, silken couch on the dais at the head of the hall. Just below them was three couches filled by a group of dwarves dressed in outlandish costumes as effeminate actors, brutish gladiators, and heavily mascaraed young men. They were all smiles and clapped enthusiastically as they gazed upon the Imperial couple.
As the applauding guests resumed their places, Nero clapped his hands. “Wine!” he bellowed in a crisp, deep voice. The chief steward nodded, and a slave rushed to the monarch’s side with a gem-encased, long-stemmed amphora. Carefully, he poured the dark-red nectar into the emperor’s jewel-encrusted, golden cup. Another slave approached and tasted the vintage to ensure it wasn’t poisoned.
Nero took the goblet in his fleshy hand and raised it to his mouth. “Drink and enjoy!” he proclaimed. “Let the feasting begin!” He consumed the wine in one gluttonous gulp, sloshing wine down the sides of his lips and onto his thin, bronze beard.
Servants appeared with huge platters of food, including everything from roasted flamingos to sides of steaming goat meat. Huge, colorfully decorated dishes trimmed with plumes of feathers contained delicacies pleasing to the palate. Slaves flooded us with rivers of wine, and dancers streamed onto the floor. They gracefully wandered about the cavernous marble room, causing candle lights, as they passed each table, to wink like expanding ripples from a rock tossed into a glassy pond. The tables before the emperor’s guests groaned with the weight of a fifty-seven-course dinner.
“Nero feasts like this every night,” Sabinus said.
“Then this is just another boring banquet for him,” I answered.
“It is.”
Scanning the dining hall, an expression of pleasure came to Nero’s round face as he held out his cup for another refill. At twenty-four, his appearance was not conducive to being worshipped like the gods on mighty Olympus, as he wished. Dominated by a strong forehead and overhanging eyebrows, his dead-blue eyes gave the illusion of a perpetual scowl. Layered in four rows, one behind the other, his frizzled, dark hair copied the same style worn by charioteers in the Great Circus. His neck and jowls were thick and ugly. Fortunately, Nero had not commanded the people to venerate him as a god, but his sniveling lackeys acted as if he had, making flattering comparisons with Jupiter and Mars.
Yawning and shoving away an offered dish by a slave, the emperor slowly scanned the diners with a polished emerald mounted on a delicate, ivory handle. Having peered through similar stones on occasion, I knew one side made fat people appear thin, and the opposite side the reverse. The glass was cut so thin that one could see through it. Nero toyed with the jewel, turning the clear stone this way and that, playing with the height of his guests by slowly rolling the ivory stem. His scowling eyes gazed through the green stone upon our table. He turned and said something to Tigellinus. A sadistic grin rippled across the Praetorian prefect’s mouth as he nodded. He sent a slave to our table.
“The Divine Caesar,” the slave announced, “commands your presence, Commander Reburrus.”
I glanced to Sabinus.
“Guard your words carefully,” he said.
I had been in the Emperor Claudius’s presence on many occasions and usually felt at ease, but I had no idea what to expect from Nero. A wrong phrase would jeopardize my life. If not by Nero, certainly, by Tigellinus. Determined to suppress my fears, I confidently strode towards the emperor. Halting at an appropriate distance before his solid gold table, I gave a sharp salute and looked him in the eye.
“Welcome to our court, Commander,” Nero said in a formal voice. “Our reports indicate you have served Rome with bravery and honor. That . . . ,” he popped a small honeycake in his mouth, “pleases us.”
Smacking noisily, he gaped through the emerald jewel and rolled its stem repeatedly with forefinger and thumb.
“I’m honored, Caesar,” I answered in an even voice. “As my family has in the past, my sole ambition is to serve Rome and my emperor.”
“Is that so?” A menacing look flashed through Nero’s eyes. “Why did you invoke the name of Prefect Sabinus after mine in the oath at Ostia?”
Alarmed by his question, my face grew hot. I attempted to relax my tensing body. Every word had to be carefully chosen. “As is obvious to everyone, Caesar is very busy with the affairs of state.” For a moment, I hesitated. My heart pounded so loud I could have sworn everyone about me heard it.
“Go on,” he commanded, “we are listening.” His eyes locked with mine as his little fingernail dug loose something stuck between his teeth. Those within earshot quieted to hear if another head might roll.
“However,” I continued, “such mundane affairs as policing the city have been traditionally the responsibility of the city prefect. What I emphasized first and foremost is that the troops must be loyal to your Divinity—at all times. However, in normal duties, such as policing the city, their orders come directly from Prefect Sabinus, through me, and given in Caesar’s name. In carrying out their daily assignments, not only must they obey Caesar, but remain obedient to Prefect Sabinus and me, their immediate commanders.”
Nero sat silently for a moment studying my face, as he scratched an armpit and digested my words. I prayed my expression did not betray my thoughts. He looked about slowly. The room remained quiet as the dead as he eyed Sabinus, and again, me. My explanation had been awkward and unconvincing.
Nero nodded. “You appeal to us.”
I caught Tigellinus’s wrinkled look of disapproval out of the corner of my eye. As evinced by his smirk, Gallus, too, did not share the emperor’s enthusiasm.
“Tribune,” the emperor continued, “you are a man of unusual integrity.”
The crowd breathed heavily, disappointed, I sensed. Nero picked up a large-boned chunk of beef, toying with it, as he had with me. He took a large bite. “We rarely see your kind in Rome,” he said through bulging cheeks. The emperor flicked a piece of torn meat with a finger. He glared at a few chosen senators and back to me. “Rome needs more men like you.”
The emperor seemed to tire of gnawing on the shank and flung it to the pack of dwarves gathered for his amusement. A minor skirmish ensued for the prize morsel. He waved me away with a greasy hand, and I withdrew, relieved the audience was over. Soaked in sweat, I took my place next to Sabinus.
“Your answers to Nero were very good,” Sabinus said, “but from time to time you seemed to lose your path of thought. What was going through your mind?”
“It isn’t every day,” I answered, “when I stand before an emperor whose emerald-glazed eye flickers from pea-size to egg-size in rapid succession. I didn’t know what to expect.”
“Fortunately, you caught him in a good mood.”
After dining on a course of roast peacock and drinking several cups of wine, I went to the lavatory and relieved myself.
Returning from the latrine, I spotted Gallus loitering in the shadows of a marbled column. Nonchalantly, he stepped in front of me.
“What do you want?” I demanded.
“Remember the proposition I mention
ed this morning in Ostia?”
“Senator,” I said impatiently, “any proposal by you has the smell of rotten eel.”
“That depends on one’s senses,” he said. “After all, I’m about to offer you an opportunity even Jove himself would relish.”
Although I expected the scheme to be corrupt, he piqued my interest. “I’m listening.”
Gallus placed a hand conspiratorially on my forearm. I shrugged it away. “Your new position gives you power few men possess. It is you who decides whether the City Guard scrupulously enforces all laws of Caesar, or . . . shall we say, selectively implements certain edicts, if you understand my meaning.”
“Are you expecting me to condone criminal activity?”
“Oh no, nothing so plebeian,” Gallus answered quickly. “The thought never crossed my mind. However, if the Guard provides greater protection in specific sectors of the city on certain days, particular parties could arrange rewards for the protectors.”
My breast filled with anger as the wine loosened my inhibitions. Withdrawing the Guard from one part of Rome to reinforce another section would leave the exposed district wide open to Gallus’s bandits, who had been in his pay since his father’s death. I glanced around and saw Tigellinus quietly approaching us. At this point I didn’t care if he heard what I was about to say to Gallus.
“Obviously, you forgot that Prefect Tigellinus said I was an honest man, and he is right.”
Gallus sniffed. “Empty words on his part.”
I clenched my fists and then relaxed them. “Perhaps they are but know this. I don’t care what your scheme involves, I will have no part in it; not now, not ever!”
The senator’s face grew scarlet, something that his makeup couldn’t hide. Apparently, he was about to answer me when he saw Tigellinus. He froze.
Tigellinus brought his full attention upon us. “What is this all about?”
Ignoring the prefect, Gallus turned to me. “I’m not one to be trifled with. You will regret this, Marcellus Reburrus.”
I grabbed for a sword at my waist that was not there, but Gallus seemed to get the idea. “I am not easily intimidated.”
The Peacekeeper Page 18