Rome 2: The Coming of the King

by M C Scott

  ‘Should we stay to watch the play?’ Pantera asked quietly.

  ‘We should,’ Menachem said. ‘Whether we wish to is another question. The riots will start now. This is not a safe place to be.’ He glanced sideways, past Pantera. ‘By happy chance, it would seem that we are near the end of a row which is near the door. If we were to depart now – a call of nature, perhaps, that must urgently be answered – it might be that we will not cause great offence.’

  Outside, vast man-high torches shed good light all around the theatre. Pantera and Menachem walked together to the place where the light ended and the dark began. And with that dark, a crowd; the two thousand men – more – who had not gained entry to the theatre stood outside it, waiting to glean what news they could from inside. They were not happy, but none of them was young.

  ‘The youths aren’t here,’ Pantera said. ‘But these men are angry enough to wreak havoc on their own.’

  ‘Whatever we do now,’ Menachem said, ‘the fighting will start. Yusaf’s efforts were laudable, but we have to acknowledge that he has failed. Perhaps if Agrippa had taken the bribe at the moment of its offering … But we shall never know, now, what might have been.’ He held out his hand, the beginnings of a cautious friendship. ‘I leave for Jerusalem tonight. If you travel there, send me word. It can be a difficult place to enter if you are not known.’

  ‘I will remember.’ Pantera had been born in Jerusalem, but now did not seem the time to say so. He shook hands with the dangerous young man who faced him. ‘May your night pass in peace.’

  Behind them, the theatre simmered to a boil. Noise leaked out like a great rushing tide, and the Watch stood back to let men and women flee from the coming violence.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  KEEPING AHEAD OF the growing riot, Kleitos walked swiftly north along the wide avenue that led from the palace to the Temple of Augustus and thence to the harbour. Mergus and Estaph followed him at a distance, keeping his bulk always in view in the growing dusk. Estaph held a double-headed throwing axe in either giant hand with an ease that left Mergus feeling uncommonly cheerful.

  Kleitos turned east after a tall villa with a verdigrised roof and trotted easily down progressively narrower residential streets and across a small square, past a nine-pillared fountain, whose music sang in measured tones as the water landed, past a small temple to Jupiter Dolichenos and along a wall, blind for three storeys without a single window.

  Kleitos turned the corner at the wall’s end. Mergus and Estaph stopped just short of it, and listened.

  Inside, men spoke in Greek, with the true accent of Athens and Corinth. A torch had been lit, perhaps several torches; the air was alive with the light, peppery smoke of good pitch, thickened by heavier strands of burning straw.

  ‘A carpenter’s workshop is there,’ Estaph said, in Mergus’ ear. ‘They make furniture for half the city. The wood is aged for ten years in their sheds. Does your enemy like fire?’

  ‘Always.’

  Already the orange glow of the fire had turned to lemon and the shadow play of the men was faster and easier to watch.

  ‘Six,’ Mergus said, after a moment’s counting. ‘Three each. Let’s go.’

  Flames smothered him as he rounded the corner. Momentarily, he was lost in scorching heat and light and a dark, dense smoke that sucked the air from his lungs and brought tears to his eyes so that he faltered as he ran and the knife in his hand struck awry and the first of the arsonists did not die cleanly, but fell, choking, with blood jetting from a torn artery in his neck, and his hands scrabbling at his throat.

  He heard the smack of iron on bone and a body toppled next to him, hard as a felled tree, then Estaph was at his side, tears streaming down his wide cheeks. Through smoke and fire, he croaked, ‘It’s a trap.’

  A blurred shape moved beyond them. Mergus’ knife flashed out and back, wetly dripping. A man fell, yowling like a cat. ‘Three more,’ Mergus said, and held up his fingers in case the big man couldn’t hear clearly. ‘Kill them.’

  Easy to say. Not easy to do when the three were warned and Estaph had breathed in too much of the poisonous black smoke and was blundering, bear-like, swiping at random with the two-headed axe that was as dangerous to the friend who might be standing too close behind him as it was to the enemy in front.

  Mergus dodged one blow that came near to breaking his skull and ducked down, and found that the air was clearer below waist height. He could see a pair of legs and knew Kleitos by the shape of his knees, having spent a month in the desert sitting opposite him at the fires.

  He had one knife and he didn’t need to see a whole man to know where his throat was, to feel in his bones that place just above the larynx, where a knife might pass through and the tip slide into the spinal column, bringing instant, silent death.

  He crouched, pulling himself tight, ready to leap—

  And rolled sideways, away from the spear that smashed the pavings where he had been. His knife clattered to the ground. He thrust down on his palms and came up into the sea of smoke, and peered forward through new tears and saw Estaph grappling the spear-bearer, holding the haft of the weapon, thrusting it back and back, keeping the point away from his own massive abdomen. Two others came at him from either side, as men at a bated bear. One of them held the Parthian’s own axe.

  ‘Estaph! Left!’ Mergus grabbed a burning plank and swung it, flat, and hit no one, but forced one of the three back, and gave Estaph time to spin away from the axe and reach out and grab it with his left hand, even as his right hand held the spear, so that he was drawn out tight and wide, with the haft of a weapon in each hand, unable to let go of either in case it killed him.

  Mergus tucked his head down below the smoke, bunched his fists at his side, and ran. As a human ram, he battered the side of the spear-holder. Ribs broke on the crown of his skull. He felt the jerk and rip as Estaph wrenched the spear free of the hands that gripped it, and drew it back, and smashed the hilt into the face in front of him, breaking bones and teeth and the soft tissues of the mind.

  Mergus was still moving, turning, swinging himself free of the spear-bearer’s corpse. He dropped down, pivoting all his weight on one palm, slid his legs out wide, and scissored them together to trap the ankles of the axe-holder. He spun on his own axis, and kept spinning away as the man fell. He rose at last, gasping, in time to see Estaph strike down into the smoke with his axe, and come up again, smiling.

  ‘Kleitos,’ said Mergus.

  ‘That way.’ Estaph doubled over, coughing, but his free hand pointed south, towards the theatre, from whence came the distant sounds of riot, like an evening’s thunder.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AGRIPPA’S TREASURY IN Caesarea was a room within a room, locked and barred and windowless and altogether too much like a prison for Berenice’s comfort.

  With a riot brewing outside, she hadn’t wanted to go there, but basic decency required that the entire royal family take a detour to examine the Hebrews’ gift, and make the right noises to Polyphemos, who was blotched white and scarlet with the shock and kept hopping from one leg to the other, exclaiming that the gods – or god, he was unclear as to which – were positively beaming benevolences on the king and his family.

  Polyphemos was given to displays of high emotion, but tonight even stolid Koriantos, the royal treasurer, was speechless, and that was not a thing Berenice had ever expected to see. Sometime in the recent past, he had bitten his knuckles so hard they bled and now he was walking round and round the gold like a hen who has hatched her first egg and found she has given birth to a harpy.

  He had ordered extra torches brought in, and extra guards to hold them, and so the cramped room smelled of avarice and panic and the air glittered with polished iron from the guards’ mail and the bright, terrifying glamour of gold.

  Berenice was a queen of the royal line; she was able, therefore, to smile, and nod, and smile again and ignore at all times the noise of the riot that was reaching its climax in t
he streets outside the palace.

  It was no surprise, the riot. She had felt the pressure growing for days; sometimes she could taste it, rusty and sharp, like fetid iron, tinged with blood and bile. But now it was crushing her temples in a headache of fantastic proportions and the possibility that she might vomit was becoming increasingly real.

  Such a thing could not be allowed to happen. Breathing the night air, she stepped out into the corridor that led to the throne room and, closing her eyes, counted down the line of the women who stood waiting in the corridor behind her. Drusilla was first, placid and compliant as ever, then Kleopatra, who was neither of these, but had bled for the first time a month ago and by rights should be found a husband.

  After Kleopatra came Selene, Koriantos’ cousin on his mother’s side, who was sharper than she ever let on, and behind Selene … behind Selene stood the startling Alexandrian woman with the blue-black hair who had come as a gift from Poppaea, the friend-become-empress whom Berenice had loved, and who had loved her, and had understood more than anyone the many routes to power. Poppaea never did anything without good reason, and Hypatia, Chosen of Isis, had been her parting gift in this life.

  Berenice did not believe that those given to Isis ever truly bent to the command of any other mortal. Their first meeting had been … disconcerting. Rarely had she felt so easily read, so readily seen. Her soul had been laid bare of its coverings and studied and it had taken a lifetime’s training to stand still and endure it, and smile, and maintain a steady flow of her own questions, so that she might not seem discomfited. She had learned from it, though, and thought she knew how to use that knowledge.

  From her place at the head of her train, she turned. ‘We go next to the audience chamber,’ she said to Hypatia. ‘There, you will watch and listen to everything that takes place, but you will not speak unless asked. Afterwards, when we are alone, you will speak the truth to me, as the Oracle does.’

  Hypatia inclined her head. ‘Majesty.’

  Berenice straightened her back and turned to face ahead. A hundred blazing torches had lit their way to the palace and continued to do so within it. She led her women down the corridor towards the audience room, sweeping at a near-trot along marble tiles beneath lamps that burned sandalwood with their oil, to keep the air perpetually sweet; past confusions of cut flowers, of blood-red tulips in gold vessels, purple irises and scented thistles in silver, yellow thorowax in white marble; past watchmen at ten-pace intervals, dressed in full chain mail, sweating in the hot, humid air.

  The chamber was as it had been, but that a second dais had been raised, with a throne for the king. The two banks of seats were set opposite one another, women to the west, men to the east, with the frieze in echo behind.

  Agrippa was already there, lost in all his tissue of gold, so much his father’s son, and trying so hard not to be. And beside him, as ever … was nobody, at least nobody that mattered. Two counsellors sat, one on either side, and if she had been pushed, Berenice could probably have named them, but the third seat, which should have been occupied, was empty. As queen, she could not be seen to smile, but her heart danced, seeing an opening where none had been before.

  She nodded towards her brother and saw Agrippa twitch a reply. He was tense, possibly also in pain, and for the same reasons as she was; he had always been sensitive to the mood of the city and just now it was as jagged and vicious and full of hate as it had been on the night their father died, when his three children had hidden in a palace cupboard and listened to the slaves whisper of the effigies on the rooftops that men paid good money to rape and stab and set on fire.

  It was not a good thing to remember. Berenice took her seat and, after a finite pause, her courtiers did likewise: Drusilla, Selene, Kleopatra, Hypatia, those latter two not looking at each other, not making eye contact, which meant that the morning’s hunt had raised tensions or secrets that must be hidden.

  And then, swiftly, Yusaf ben Matthias was ushered to a seat that was apart from both the men and the women, midway between both. The man who was the Hebrews’ most senior counsellor sat with his hands on his knees after the manner of the Egyptian pharaohs; with his beard and his so-costly silks, he came close to matching them for dignity.

  Berenice caught his eye and nodded, fractionally, enough for him to know he had her support. She held his gaze for a heartbeat. They were not allies, but, for tonight, his wish was hers, and she needed him to know that.

  A cymbal sounded the beginning of the conference. Berenice closed her eyes and sat back against the stiff, jewel-crusted throne and prayed to three different gods that Hypatia was at least half of all that myth and rumour said she was.

  ‘You pay us too much,’ Agrippa said, with no preamble. ‘The Syrians will wonder how you collected eight whole talents of gold.’

  Yusaf answered evenly. ‘His majesty has six thousand loyal Hebrew merchants in Caesarea, each one of whom values the sanctity of God’s house above all else. If each man therefore donates a shekel here, a gold aureus there, even a handful of denarii, the amount comes to what our king holds now in his treasury. We commend it to his care, and pray that it might be used wisely.’

  ‘There are ten thousand Syrian men in Caesarea, and as many youths,’ Agrippa answered. ‘Would you have us hold them back single-handed when they endeavour to tear down your synagogue? They will do that if we grant you this. You must know that.’

  ‘I know that if his majesty orders peace,’ Yusaf said, ‘the peace will be kept. The Watch will see to that.’

  ‘The Watch can do nothing in the face of ten thousand angry citizens.’

  ‘And yet if it is known that the Watch will mount a guard on the synagogue, it may send a message to the Syrians that will cool their ardour.’

  ‘It will tell them that their king does not love them,’ Agrippa said. ‘It would not be true and we cannot allow them to believe so. It would be the end of our reign.’

  Berenice saw Yusaf blink, open his mouth to speak and close it again. He lowered his head.

  Nobody else spoke. Polyphemos lifted his arm to strike the cymbal that closed the debate. She caught his eye and made him stop; as queen, she alone had permission to speak after the king. She softened her voice, and yet gave it power to carry.

  ‘And yet if his majesty fails to act on so public a giving, on such a weight of generosity, if he returns the money, the Hebrews will likewise come to believe he does not love them. As will the Syrians, who may become importunate in their enthusiasm. It is well known that his majesty worships the Hebrew god. The gift was given to him. Therefore, he may use it as a pious act. None will think less of him.’

  Agrippa turned his head, resting his chin on one finger, and studied her as if from a distance. She wondered then if he had been drugged; in the light of the many blazing torches, his eyes were dark dots. She thought he might accept, saw him nod, as if to an inner voice, and open his mouth and she leaned forward and forward, until Drusilla tapped her elbow and said, ‘Beware,’ in Latin, softly.

  She had not heard Saulos enter. Soft-footed, smelling of smoke and rage, he strode past, throwing her a look of such loathing, such triumph, that she felt her heart tumble in her chest. Shock held her still as he took his seat and by the time he had turned he was still again; the consummate counsellor, all-wise and ready with an answer. His features, when he turned to Yusaf, were a portrait of restrained regret.

  ‘The king loves all his subjects equally,’ Saulos said. ‘Which is why he must return the gold to the Hebrews and yet forbid the Syrians from any further action which will discommode them in their worship. In such a way, will he be seen to reign with an even hand, fairly and decently.’

  Yusaf slapped his hands on the chair arms. ‘But there will be chaos! The Syrians will take advantage. Our youths will not be restrained. They will—’

  ‘They will do as their king commands. As will you.’ Saulos’ voice held a new bite. ‘And now he commands you to silence.’

  Agrippa had
not spoken. He stared at Yusaf, who stared back, disgust barely veiled in his eyes.

  ‘Then, with great regret, I must take my leave. Your majesty … My queen.’

  He had not been dismissed, but Yusaf rose anyway, his knees cracking in the hush. Guards came forward, one on either side, to hold him still or to help him depart, whichever was commanded.

  Agrippa waved him away. ‘Leave the eight talents in our treasury after you are gone. If we return them to you, and so refuse your request, know that it will be in sorrow, but that we do what is best for our city.’

  ‘Your city is in riot, majesty,’ Yusaf answered. ‘The Syrians bay for your blood. Know that we would have prevented it, had we been granted the power to do so.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  KLEITOS WAS A large and clumsy moth, flitting haphazardly through Caesarea, along wide streets, with their flower gardens muted under the rising moon; Mergus and Estaph were fleet as wolves on his trail, silent as night owls whose wing feathers make no sound.

  Here, in the mercantile quarter, everything was uneasily peaceful. The sounds of the riot were a background mumble, and if there were fires beyond the one that Kleitos and his friends had tried to light, their flames were yet to paint the horizon.

  This is not Rome. Not Rome, Mergus said to himself, timing the words with each footfall. Not Rome … not fire … not burning …

  He had not realized how afraid he was of fire until the smell of smoke in his nostrils had been tainted also by memories of roasting flesh, and the ears of his mind had been deafened by the screams of men and women, burning. He turned back at each corner and searched the horizon, but saw no fire, yet. The roar of the crowd grew louder though, until it was the roar of a circus crowd, a gladiators’ match, heard from the far side of the city.