Rome: The Emperor's Spy: Rome 1

by M C Scott

  ‘Pantera!’ Math was a good deal fitter than the Greek doctor realized. He vaulted out of bed and across the room and thrust his face against the screen in the one spot where each eye could line up with a slot and he could view the whole garden.

  The place was washed in buttery afternoon light that roasted the pink marble to the colour of oranges. In the garden’s centre a wide oval pool lay sheathed in water lilies and flowering grasses. Dressed in full toga with amber beads ranged in cascading layers about his neck and wrists, Nero leaned out over it, holding titbits between his fingers for the delicate, kissing carp.

  Behind him, with his back to the balcony, Pantera stood awkwardly to attention beside a small, wiry, dark-haired man wearing the scale mail and iron-banded greaves of a watchman. The plumes in his helmet were yellow and white, chopped small, so that they stood up like a boar’s tail, adding nothing to his height. Math couldn’t see his face, but he stood at ease with his arms clasped loosely behind him and looked far more relaxed than either Pantera or Nero.

  Hearing what went on in the garden was even harder than seeing it; birds sang in giant cages just below the balcony and the nearby sea roared its muted counterpoint. Today, to make life more difficult still, a solitary gull mewed in the harbour just down the hill so that Math had to screw his eyes half shut and send all his thoughts down the line of his hearing to sort out the words from the background chaos.

  ‘… letter does not constitute proof of any kind. Akakios may well have written it specifically in order to draw the scum to the surface of their cesspit and destroy them. You acted beyond your remit. We will have restitution.’

  Nero stood, wiping his fingers on a towel. His movements were stiffly truncated, not at all the painted languor of the theatre. He spun round and thrust his fist at Pantera. ‘Read the letter aloud. We would hear it again before we sentence you.’

  ‘As my lord commands.’ Pantera gave a brief bow and drew a scroll from under his arm. Looking down from the balcony, Math could only see the back of his head, but he didn’t need to see his face to know that it would be a model of humility, nor his eyes to know how angry he was: two angry men in one place and one of them the emperor. His palms began to sweat on Pantera’s behalf even as the steady voice floated up to the balcony.

  ‘The moment of our joined endeavour grows near. The men will gather in Rome on the day before the blaze must be lit. They will need somewhere to sleep, to eat, to drink – and to be hidden. Find a suitable location close to the river. We shall meet there on tomorrow’s dawn after the second trumpet to make ready.’

  Pantera raised his head. ‘Akakios signed this letter with his own hand. A gold coin bearing my lord’s countenance accompanied it. The coin was used to rent a sizeable cattle barn by the river in which the conspirators held their tryst this morning.’

  ‘That is not proof,’ Nero said mulishly.

  ‘It’s not,’ agreed Pantera. He rolled the scroll and tucked it under his arm. ‘But it’s the best we were ever likely to get. If it makes any difference, I, too, was sure someone else was the source of the infamy. But we followed Akakios and saw him meet Poros, driver of the Blues, and there was no doubt—’

  ‘We will not believe Poros a traitor.’ Nero hurled his towel across the floor. None of the slaves made a move to pick it up. Pantera continued in the same even voice with which he had started.

  ‘My lord, both men spoke of starting the fire, and of the preparations they would make to ensure it destroyed Rome, but I think perhaps my lord would best hear that at first hand from someone unimpeachable, that he may know the truth when he hears it.’

  ‘Is there such a man in all Rome?’ Nero asked, bitterly.

  Pantera turned to his left and drew the watchman forward. ‘My lord, allow me to present Appius Mergus, centurion of the first century, the first cohort of the Watch. In all of Rome, there is no man more loyal to my lord. Together with his aquarius, he accompanied me as witness. He took no part in the violence that followed, but can report to you accurately what he heard.’

  ‘Then he should do so.’ Nero’s voice was high again, and querulous.

  ‘My lord.’ The man named Appius Mergus sank to one knee, unbuckled his sword and laid it at Nero’s feet. ‘I swear by the genius of my emperor that I have served Rome loyally for twenty-two years, first in the legions and then in the Guard. In the name of Jupiter Best and Greatest, I further swear that I hold office in the emperor’s name and would not besmirch it, and that I hold as sacred my role as witness.’

  Mergus’ voice held no trace of fear, which meant, in Math’s opinion, that either he was immune to fear or he didn’t know the way Nero adored brave men on some days and, on others, was so afraid of their courage that he had them slaughtered out of hand.

  ‘Get up.’ Nero snapped his fingers. ‘We will hear you give your testimony directly and we will establish the veracity of it as you speak. A man’s eyes speak the truth, whatever lies his voice might spill.’

  ‘As my lord commands.’ Mergus stood fluidly, leaving his sword belt on the ground. ‘My aquarius and I were on watch at the cattle market this morning when this man’ – he gestured towards Pantera – ‘made himself known to us as an agent of our emperor, to whom we owed the duty of rank. He ordered that we act as witnesses to an execution. He led us a short distance away to an abandoned cattle barn, wherein a man waited, and was presently joined by another. Akakios was the first. We did not, at that point, know the name of the other. As my lord knows, it was Akakios who died.’

  ‘That much is true,’ Nero said grimly. ‘We are in possession of his severed head. Continue.’

  ‘We lay within earshot and overheard these two men discuss their intention to light a fire that would consume the whole of the city. They argued over whether the barn was safe to act as a refuge for their men after the fire was lit. Poros said not, that it would burn with the rest. Akakios claimed it could be made safe if a cistern were to be breached further uphill, so that the water might flood down and inundate the bales of cow hides in the warehouse, thus protecting him.’

  ‘No!’ Nero slapped Mergus hard across the cheek. The noise cracked like thunder across the garden, frightening the birds. Behind the screen, Math felt Constantin flinch. He held himself still, as he thought his father would have done.

  ‘The traitors cannot breach a water tower!’ Nero screamed. ‘The loyal men of our Watch protect the city’s water with their lives. No rabble, however large, could destroy them.’

  ‘They can if the officers order their men elsewhere,’ Mergus said grimly, and for the first time Math heard passion tremble his voice. ‘Akakios said he owned the prefect of the Watch.’

  Nero let his hand fall slowly. ‘The prefect is dead, I presume?’

  Pantera said, ‘Not yet, lord. We don’t know who else Akakios may have suborned. To arrest one is to alert them all. And we can’t be sure of any man’s loyalty now. Save this one, whom I have brought.’

  ‘You are so sure of him?’ Nero jabbed a vicious finger at Mergus. ‘Kneel!’

  Mergus knelt.

  ‘Look into the eyes of your emperor and tell us that you are loyal to our body and soul, that you have not sold yourself to Akakios or his cause.’

  Math gripped tight to the gaps in the screen. If ever Nero had looked like a man about to kill, it was now.

  ‘My lord, with a glad heart I do so swear. I have never – and will never – assault the person of my emperor. I have never taken gold, or promise, or threat from Akakios, or any of his men. My life is given to your protection, and Rome’s. I would die before I saw my city burn.’

  ‘As you should.’ Nero turned his back on Mergus and Pantera and leaned over his pond. The perfect surface showed the moment when he began to weep. Ghost-grey carp kissed his tears as they fell.

  A long time later, when a slave had brought him a rinsed towel for his face, Nero turned back to the waiting men. ‘He speaks the truth.’ And then, at Pantera’s nod, ‘You were righ
t to kill Akakios. All that remains is to execute the prefect, appoint a replacement, and Rome is safe.’

  ‘My lord knows that is not so.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because there is a third man, the “friend” Akakios spoke of, to whom the ninety give their loyalty and to whom Poros of the Blues will have returned with news of Akakios’ death. This is the man who hates Rome and Jerusalem enough to see them both destroyed to bring about his Kingdom of Heaven. He must be found and stopped.’

  ‘Then you will find him.’

  ‘My lord, I will try.’

  ‘You have our seal. Use it in our name. Rome must not burn.’ Nero snatched up Mergus’ belt and drew the short sword in a flicker of fast light, laying the tip on Pantera’s shoulder. ‘Use the loyal men of the first cohort to help you fight such flames as may arise. Do this, and you will have your heart’s greatest desire. Fail and … it would be best for us all that you not fail.’

  Without warning, Nero raised his eyes, so that Math, straining to hear, found his gaze locked by his emperor’s. It lasted no more than a heartbeat and there was no lust to be read in it, no pity, no real malice, but its very emptiness left Math clutching at the screen, his bowels made uncertain and his palms wet with sweat.

  He clung there still as Nero left the garden, so that when Pantera, too, looked up and met his eyes, with a glance that held pity and a promise together … that was when Math found his legs would no longer hold him and the tears he had held back since the crash in Alexandria could not be stopped by himself, or Constantin, or even the Greek physician summoned back to tend him in the stultifying silken prison of the infirmary.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The trumpeter of the Watch marked the first hour after midnight with a burst of brief notes. Hearing it, Seneca moved his numbed buttocks against the hard earth floor, seeking some feeling. The small noise he made soaked into the mud-brick around him and the night fell silent again.

  ‘When he comes,’ he said to the dark, ‘don’t ask his name. Just let him in.’

  Nearby, a woman laughed. ‘You’ve said that every hour for the past three,’ she said. ‘I know what to do if he comes. What if he does not?’

  ‘He asked for this meeting. He’ll come.’ Seneca’s voice fell flat in the small room. The woman huffed another laugh but some time later, when they heard footsteps in the narrow alley outside, she was standing before the knock came at the door.

  Thinly, Seneca said, ‘If it’s not for me …’

  ‘Then you will be privy to my business.’ The woman’s voice was musical in the dark. ‘You’ll not see anything you haven’t before.’ She pushed a way through the beaded curtain that made the single room into two and walked unerringly to the door.

  It cracked ajar and a murmured conversation broke the hush. The woman padded back, her naked feet scuffing the earth. Seneca felt her fresh amusement before she spoke. ‘They are two. Both for you. I have no names, but the taller will come in and the small, dark one will wait outside the door as a guard. Already, this night brings great wonders; my door has never been guarded before.’

  To honour her guest, she struck iron to flint and lit the saved stub of a candle. The newborn light was kind to her face, easing away the decades, making her the woman Seneca had first met when both were young. She stepped back and their guest parted the curtain and ducked into the room.

  ‘Pantera.’ Seneca stood uncertainly. ‘You brought company.’

  Pantera stank of horse-sweat and harness oil and dust. He jerked his head backwards. ‘I brought Mergus, centurion of the Watch. He’ll keep us safe. May I come in?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The candle showed the single small bed, big enough for one man and half a woman. Pantera sat on the edge and then, with a glance for the woman’s approval, lay back with his hands looped behind his head. When no one spoke, he closed his eyes and there was a moment when he looked as if he slept. His face was not quiet in repose.

  ‘We have wine,’ Seneca said. ‘Would you like some?’

  ‘Watered. Please.’

  ‘You intend to stay awake after this?’

  ‘We have the rest of tonight and all of tomorrow to find the man I seek. The dog star rises two hours after dusk tomorrow. I intend to stay awake as long as necessary to keep Rome from burning.’

  Seneca had brought the wine from his own cellar. It was heresy to water it, but Pantera’s tone did not allow for dissent. At Seneca’s signal, the woman furnished two beakers and a jug of well water and took herself to the far side of the curtain so they could pretend privacy. She left the candle stub on an upturned barrel.

  ‘She’s a friend,’ Seneca said, speaking to Pantera’s raised brows. ‘We can talk safely here. I have some food. Here …’ From beneath the bed, he brought a tray of goat’s cheese dipped in crushed hazel nuts with slices of lemon, a ham and a small clay pot of olives. He laid it on the barrel by the candle and wished he had brought more so that it might not seem as if he had doubted there would be two eating, not one. ‘Have you news?’

  ‘No, but I need something from you, something I didn’t want to put in writing.’

  Seneca blinked, that he might not seem to stare. Not once in all the time of their relationship had Pantera asked him for anything: not an olive, not a coin, not a knife, not a posting. Uncertainly, he said, ‘What have I that you would value?’

  ‘A name.’ Pantera sat up and reached for a hunk of ham. ‘Nero’s given me a century of the Watch as my personal guard and the rest of their cohort are under my orders. I have five hundred men who will search the whole of Rome to find the man who wants to burn their city – but I don’t know who they should be looking for.’

  ‘And you think I do?’

  ‘I’m sure of it. The Oracle told me so.’ The candle flickered up to Pantera’s face from below, sharpening the angles of his cheeks and the hollows about his eyes. His eyes rested on Seneca’s face with alarming acuity. ‘Think back to the early years of Claudius’ reign … I was in Syria, you had just been to Judaea. We met in a drovers’ hostel on the road to Damascus. You told me of an agent of yours, one of Herod’s kin—’

  ‘Half of Judaea is Herod’s kin and half of them were agents of mine at one time or another.’

  ‘This one was in trouble: he couldn’t do what you’d set him to do. You and I talked through the night over a jug of wine; we shared wild, impossible ideas, thoughts and theories, hypothetical situations. In the morning, you went back the way you’d come. You didn’t say if you were going to see him and I never asked. I’m asking now. I think you went back and told him the way he might bring the Hebrews to Rome using their belief against them instead of force.’

  ‘It was such a long time ago …’ Seneca sat against the wall again, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. His gaze passed through Pantera, seeing the past paint itself across the candle-warmed walls; a man’s forgotten face, the tapestry of his history, his needs and wants, the things that had brought him to Rome and set him against his own people.

  Slowly, as if the whole were a mosaic blown apart and he must find the pieces in order, Seneca said, ‘He was young; twenty-three, maybe twenty-four. He’d been interrogating the Galilean’s Sicari rebels, striving to suppress their insurrection against Rome. He was losing his battle: there were too many rebels, too willing to die. We gave him a different means to his end, you and I.’

  ‘We did.’ At a rustle on the bed, Seneca opened his eyes to find that Pantera had pushed himself to sitting. Candlelight brightened him from breastbone to hairline, wild-faced with sleeplessness and hope. ‘We told him to invent a religion that would turn the Hebrews towards Rome. And now he wants to burn the city, to give his blood-soaked god rule over all the earth.’ He caught Seneca’s wrists. ‘I need his name … I need everything about him. I need to know how he thinks and what he’ll do, what he eats and drinks, how he dresses, what kind of shoes he wears … everything.’

  Seneca pr
essed his palms to his eyes, shutting out Pantera’s fervour. He said, ‘It’s too long ago. All those things will have changed.’

  ‘But you must have known his name.’

  ‘I knew him as Herodias, but that was an alias and he’ll have used a hundred others since then.’

  ‘Tell me what he looks like.’

  Helpless, Seneca let his hands drop. ‘He’s a spy, just as you are. He looks how he chooses to look. If he wanted to make an impression, you’d pick him out of a crowd of thousands. If he didn’t want to be noticed, you could share a bath with him and hardly see he was there.’

  Pantera stabbed a piece of cheese and chewed on it. ‘How did he think?’

  ‘Sloppily. He wanted to be a Pharisee but the rabbis wouldn’t have him: his logic was too shaky. He’s insecure, but arrogant. More than most men, he’s driven by the need to be loved by others. By now, if you’re right, he’s surrounded himself with sycophants who believe every word and who’ll die on his behalf.’

  ‘Not if we can stop him first.’ Pantera looked as if his mind was already out in the streets, directing the searches. He pressed his fingers to his temples. ‘No man is invisible to those closest to him. Does he have family? Whom does he love? Women? Men? Boys? What did he do to earn money? What skills did he have? Something? Anything?’

  Seneca stared at his own hands, the better to sift the rush of images that assailed him now; of covert meetings in marketplaces, of ciphered letters, of reports sent by others of this one man among many, a single thread in the vast web of his network that must be drawn tight and examined for what set it apart from the rest.

  ‘He doesn’t love anyone,’ he said, slowly. ‘He’s too much in love with himself for that. As for family, he was a cousin to Herod, of the royal house of Judaea, but the Herodians are Idumaean first; they have their roots in the desert. He learned the skills of the desert early and can pass himself off as a middle-ranking tent-maker, but I don’t know if he—’

  ‘No!’ Pantera slammed both hands against the wall, as he threw himself upright. ‘An Idumaean! Invisible except when he wants to be seen … Why didn’t I see it?’ He swept back the curtain in a clatter of beads. The startled woman ducked out of the way. ‘I have to go. You should leave too. Both of you. It isn’t safe to stay.’