I nodded. “Tigellinus tells Nero what he wants him to hear.”
“Of course,” he answered waving a wrinkled hand. “When I tried to explain the findings, Nero shoved my attempts aside. All he spoke about were the rumors accusing him of burning Rome.” Sabinus refilled his cup and rapidly tossed it down his throat. “Then he became downright nauseating, ranting about the pain he experienced upon learning about the destruction of his beloved gardens.” Sabinus took another long drink.
I tightly grasped the hilt of my sword. “We should have known better than to believe he cared about learning the truth. I suspect finding a scapegoat, as the Jews call it, is more to his interest.”
“Exactly. My spies say that at the instigation of Gallus, Tigellinus planted the idea into Nero’s mind.”
“Any victim in particular?”
“I’m just speculating, but most likely he’ll target foreigners or sects unpopular with the mob.”
I snorted. “Anyone who doesn’t have the power to fight back.” Such as the Christians.
“In any event . . . ,” he sighed. “There is little I can do outwardly without losing my own head. I will have to employ subterfuge. I do not wield the influence I once did.”
His remarks startled me. This was unlike the Sabinus I once knew. He was never one to give in so easily. But shrewd politician that he was, he valued his life more than his pride. Sabinus had said before, he could do more good alive than dead.
“Through no fault of your own,” I said. “But whose troops will undertake the arrests once he decides on his prey? I don’t like using mine to arrest innocent people.”
“This is Tigellinus’s scheme, and he will take credit for the success. He will use the Praetorians for his dirty work.”
Relieved to a degree, I was concerned about his intended victims.
“If my spies discover whom he plans to arrest,” Sabinus went on, “then I will quietly warn them to flee Rome.”
“Since Senator Gallus is Tigellinus’s friend,” I said, “you know he’ll stick his hand in this somewhere—especially if he smells a profit.”
“I daresay he will. Gallus lost millions in the fire and has to recoup his losses.”
“I heard that the only properties he saved were his pet cat, a ledger containing the accounts of his debtors, and his prized collection of campaign trophies.”
“The only possessions that he holds dear in his life,” Sabinus said. He grew silent, and his eyes seemed to glaze over. “The real questions at hand,” he resumed in a distant voice, “is what will Nero do, and when?”
Chapter 23
Chapter 23
Rumors spread that Christians had fired the city.
Through bribery and special sacrifices to the emperor’s glory, influential sects like the Cult of Isis guided the accusing finger away from themselves and towards the group least likely to defend itself—the Christians. They were attacked and beaten on the streets, and an avalanche of public outcries demanded that the arsonists be punished.
Because they quietly worshipped in secluded grottos and caves beneath the city, the Christians had become objects of fear and suspicion. Many Romans believed the sect had a morose contempt for all mankind. Rumors persisted they performed blood sacrifices and ate human flesh, especially their own infants. Among Rome’s poorest people, they lived mostly in the unaffected Trans-Tiberina District, and the Christians had lost little in the conflagration. Sabinus sent a secret messenger to the Christian community warning their members and leaders to flee. They ignored his advice.
Although not Christians, the boys and I more than once accompanied Eleyne to their services in a huge burial vault beneath city streets. Disguised in shabby clothes, with a hood obscuring my face, I witnessed the rites, and found no truth in the malicious tales. A loaf of bread, symbolizing the body of their Messiah, emerged as the so-called flesh they ate. Instead of blood, the Christians drank wine donated and blessed for the meeting.
Except when Paul or any other prominent members preached, the worship consisted of stories and singing praises about their Christ and God. Tales glorified and enhanced Jesus’s so-called miracles. I didn’t believe the accounts of His raising from the dead. But since Paul had cured Eleyne of her deep despair, I found the Christians more perplexing than ever. Their meetings closed with admonitions against committing acts of murder, thievery, and adultery—the same laws Rome expected her subjects to obey. Afterwards, the faithful gathered for a meal called the love-feast. Every member contributed something—even if all they could afford was a jug of water.
Eleyne had not converted young Marcellus and Sabinus to Christianity. By Roman law, as head of the household and therefore chief priest, it was I who decided which gods the family would worship. I had tolerated Eleyne’s god, but I told her in no uncertain terms that our sons were to respect all gods. They were old enough to decide which ones to believe, if any.
She didn’t like that but acceded to my wishes. I did allow her to teach the boys the Christians’ beliefs. However, I had their tutor, Diogenes, discuss the traditional Greek and Roman gods and those of my family, including prayers to my ancestors. Eleyne seldom spoke of the gods of Britannia, revered by her people. And every morning, I required the boys to make offerings to the household gods at the little shrine near the front door, a function Eleyne no longer performed.
My wife kept herself occupied nursing the sick and injured, the homeless, Christian and non-Christian alike. Without hesitation, she withdrew money from her private funds, part of the dowry Sabinus and Aurelia had given her at our wedding, to buy medical supplies and clothing for the needy. Although drawn and tired from long hours spent in service, Eleyne’s enthusiasm never waned.
“Do you realize attending the Christian worship is becoming dangerous?” I said as we reclined in the triclinium during a late dinner.
“It’s no different than before,” she answered, nibbling on a green olive.
“On the contrary. Tigellinus’s spies are attempting to find evidence linking your sect to the fires.”
Eleyne dropped the olive pit into the iron-red earthen platter from Samos and wiped her hands on a linen cloth. “We have nothing to hide. He will find no such evidence.”
“That isn’t the point.” I tore off the small leg from a roasted quail smothered in spices and asparagus sauce. “If they find none, it’ll be fabricated. Nero has to blame someone for Rome’s destruction.”
“And so it’s us?”
“Most likely. The accusing rumors gain strength daily.” I couldn’t keep the worry from my voice. “But that’s not all, Eleyne. If his spies have attended the services, they’ll report your presence and that of the boys.”
Eleyne shook her head. “What’s the difference? The boys no longer worship with me. Diogenes has seen to that. They prefer Rome’s cruel gods and those of your ancestors.” Eleyne slapped a thin layer of honey on a piece of flat bread.
My face grew warm. “That was their choice. They are legally men. In the meantime, the Praetorian prefect may use you to compromise me,” I said, though it was the least of my fears.
She dropped the bread onto the platter. “That’s ridiculous. I’m no threat to Rome. Does being married to a Christian jeopardize your position as commander of the City Guard?”
“It well might, but I’m more concerned for your life. Like other Christians, you haven’t sacrificed to the genius of the emperor—that’s a treasonable offense.”
The effort entailed no more than pouring a little grain and wine in a brazier at the base of his statue, but the Christians spurned all idolatrous images, especially Nero’s.
“You mustn’t worry for me,” Eleyne said. “Up to now, no one has bothered us.”
True, the Imperial government hadn’t until now actively sought the all-but-penniless Christians. Only when arrested in conjunction with some other offense were they forced to sacrifice. Those who refused were executed as traitors.
“That’s about to chang
e,” I said quietly.
Eleyne slammed her cup on the small table of striated blue marble, the golden liquid splashed onto the mosaic floor. “Those unspeakable pigs! How can they do that to innocent people?”
“Easily.” I looked into her sea-blue eyes, appealing to her common sense, to her long experience of life in Rome.
Eleyne gazed back, still for a moment. “When will they start?”
“No official word has come to my attention yet. But I may not hear in enough time to warn your friends.”
*
A week later, I received ugly reports from my informers. Gallus had compiled a list of enemies, business competitors, and foreign merchants he planned to eliminate.
Gallus did not wait long to make his move. By late September, the persistent rumors of Christians torching the city inflamed the population.
My spies warned of impending trouble, but they could not pinpoint the specific date and time. An attack in the Trans-Tiberina District was a certainty, but by whom? Would we be dealing with a mob incited to riot and led by a group of organized criminals? Or a scattering of disgruntled people banding together on the spur of the moment and disbursing once they had vented their anger and looted every shop in sight.
I placed all cohorts on alert, and ordered Octavius Quartio, the lumpy-faced commanding tribune of the Thirteenth Cohort, to double his patrols in the Trans-Tiberina, the unit’s regularly assigned area. Based at the Praetorian Barracks on the northeast side of Rome, the City Guard’s responsibility included policing the city by day and quelling riots. Their jurisdiction partially overlapped the duties of the Watch, who fought fires and policed the city, day and night. Unfortunately, the City Guard and the Praetorians were billeted in the same camp, and their spies had infiltrated our ranks. They wasted their time if they expected to uncover any treason among my men.
I reported to Sabinus’s office upon learning of Gallus’s latest scheme. “Do you realize,” I said, “Gallus has devised a plan to destroy his competitor, the foreign merchants, by linking them to the Christians?”
“I have received the same reports,” he answered, sitting at his desk. He waved me to a chair across from him.
“You know he’s greedy for their franchises.” His enemies held state monopolies in lumber, cement, marble, and lead—the commodities needed for rebuilding Rome.
“Absolutely, and I immediately requested an audience with Nero to make him aware of the plot.”
“What was his reaction?”
Sabinus clasped his fingers together and exhaled. “By the gods, Tigellinus refused my admission. As city prefect, I have the right to see the emperor at any time. But surrounded by his bullying guards, the Praetorian prefect said he decides who sees Nero and who doesn’t—and I’m not included.”
I took a deep breath and refrained from pounding the table with a clenched fist. “He knew why you were there.”
“No doubt. You know what plan Gallus has devised?”
My lips tightened. I studied his lined face and the dark circles around his eyes and nodded. “Aye, far worse than the usual methods of assassination, unforeseen accidents, or treasonous accusations.”
“Unlike most of the nobility, the merchants and contractors aren’t afraid of working for a living.”
Both of us knew Roman aristocracy held the alien merchants in disdain. “Unfortunately,” I said, “their demise will receive little sympathy from the Roman people.”
“Precisely. Gallus and Tigellinus are depending on it.”
“I can figure the rest,” I said. Once his enemies were executed, Gallus would buy their great estates cheaply at state auction and recoup his losses. Through Tigellinus, he had gained preference in obtaining future state monopolies previously held by his prospective victims.
*
One hot evening during the first week of October, carrying torches and wielding clubs, thousands from the tent camp crossed the Sublician Bridge to the west side of the Tiber. Heading south on the Campanian Way, the noisy mob converged on the Christian quarters in the Trans-Tiberina District. Then, as if rising from the ashes, armed bandits appeared with clubs, swords, and knives. Inciting the crowds to kill the Christians, they scattered through the narrow streets, a mixture of tenements and river warehouses, beating, maiming, and killing any suspected Christian or foreigner. Their bloodlust only whetted, the mobs broke into closed businesses, Christian or otherwise, looting and butchering the proprietors and families living in rooms above and behind the shops.
More than an hour passed before the Thirteenth Cohort arrived, and with the assistance of the Watch, brutally restored order. But they reached the area too late. Nearly one hundred innocent people died in the rampage before the rioters dispersed, and the perpetrators were killed or arrested.
I hurried to the area, leading a detachment of troops from the Twelfth Cohort. By the time I arrived, caged wagons rolled past my contingent in the opposite direction carrying the surviving prisoners to Latumiae Prison. In the fluttering light of crackling torches, I began the nasty job of surveying the Trans-Tiberina’s damage.
Casperius Niger rode with me. “Not a pretty sight, is it, Commander?”
I spat. “Not at all.”
Ruined goods and garbage littered the narrow streets and alleys in front of smashed shops and shuttered stalls. Isolated fires, brought under control by bucket brigades of the Watch, dotted the area. Pools and splotches of blood clotted the gutters and walls. State slaves hurried about, gathering and hoisting bodies into oxcarts, for burial in the lime pits outside the city. A few of the area’s braver souls warily darted about the street searching for injured loved ones or neighbors. Others hastily ascertained the damage and boarded up their businesses.
I discovered the Thirteen Cohort Tribune, Octavius Quartio, sitting at a splintery table surrounded by a small group of centurions and clerks, at his makeshift command post, a dingy tavern called the Galley and Lighter. Squeezed between two warehouses on Neptune Lane near the Tiber, the pest hole was a known hangout for sailors, longshoremen, and thieves. Asellina, a middle-aged widow, owned the bar. Besides wine, her three serving wenches, Aegle, Maria, and Zymrina sold their favors to customers in the tiny rooms above the wine shop. Outside, painted in red letters on the whitewash walls, they advertised their names and prices.
Quartio staggered to his feet when I entered the place and approached him. His breath reeked with wine as he gave a preliminary report of the incident.
“Why did the cohort wait so long before restoring order, Tribune Octavius Quartio?” I inquired, with a thin hold on my temper.
“My men were scattered through the district on patrol,” he slurred. Quartio wiped the sweat from the jagged eyebrows sinking above his deep-set, piggish eyes and belched. He swayed on his feet. “It took . . . took time to send runners and . . . and gather them for redeployment.”
“Did you not keep at least a century on standby at all times?”
“Of course, sir.”
“The Trans-Tiberina isn’t that big,” I reminded him acidly. “If you had properly deployed them, it would have taken no time at all to muster five hundred troops.” During the alert, I assigned five hundred guardsmen from the Thirteenth on duty at all times to the Trans-Tiberina.
“Due to the . . .” Quartio hiccupped. “The . . . enormity of the . . . situation . . .” He belched. “I fi . . . figured I ought to wa . . . wait till all men reported . . .” He sucked in his breath. “In from their patrols.”
“Why didn’t you send the standby century to the Sublician Bridge? They would have easily blocked and held the crossing until reinforcements arrived. That was part of the riot plan.”
Quartio winced. “But I—”
“I expect a detailed report on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. The entire fiasco—and your failure to follow standing orders. In the meantime, I hereby relieve you of your command.”
The tribune stiffened “But s . . . sir—”
“Shut up!” I growl
ed, grabbing the hilt of my sword.
I turned to Casperius. “Tribune Niger, you shall head a full inquiry into this matter, starting now.”
“Yes, Commander,” he answered. He grinned like a cat who had just caught a mouse.
Facing Quartio, I said, “Tribune Quartio, you will give Tribune Casperius Niger your full cooperation. There is no excuse for what happened tonight.”
I feared the situation in the days to follow would only grow worse.
Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Though it was nearly midnight, Eleyne was waiting for me at the front door when I returned home. I handed my helmet and cloak to one slave and my cuirass to another.
“Is it true? Was there a riot in the Christian quarters tonight?” she asked.
I snapped my head in her direction. “How did you find out?”
“One of the elders rushed to the house almost three hours ago with the news. Your message this afternoon only said you would return late.”
Eleyne and I walked through the dimly lit atrium and down the hallway. Except for our footfalls and sputter of olive oil lamps illuminating the way, the household remained silent.
“I was told about the riot just as I was about to leave for home,” I finally said. “There wasn’t time to send you word.”
I related news of the disaster.
“Did you know friends of mine were murdered by those horrible people?” Eleyne paused at the entrance to the cubiculum. Her face tightened, and for a moment I thought she would weep, but she choked back the tears.
For a long minute I drew Eleyne close and held her. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” she answered softly.
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