The Seven Stars

by Simon Leighton-Porter

  ‘Nice view,’ said Josephus, hoping he’d given the right answer.

  ‘Too many houses though. That’s the problem.’

  ‘Er, I’m not sure I follow you, sir.’

  ‘I want to extend the palace. You see the buildings on the hill there?’ he said, pointing eastwards to the Caelian Hill. Josephus said yes and Nero continued. ‘Well, I want to build out from here, across to the Caelian and on to the Oppian. All of it, one big palace in its own grounds: an artificial lake, vineyards, pastures – there’ll have to be shepherds of course – a theatre set in a woodland glade and a statue of me playing the lyre. It’s going to be my very own rus in urbe – just think what an improvement that’ll be over all those horrid apartment blocks, and all of it designed to my own specification.’

  Josephus noticed the look of bliss on the emperor’s face and chose his words with care. ‘I don’t think the people who’re living there now will be too impressed when they find out.’

  Nero made a dismissive gesture as though swatting away an insect. ‘Oh, I’m sure they’ll get over it – anyway, it’s too late, I’ve already started building at the Esquiline end and my people have acquired lots of properties in between. As for the plebs, I’ll have the senate fund building of new houses for them somewhere, I’m sure we can fit them in: we usually do.’ He rubbed his stubbly chin, deep in thought and then brought his hand down on the marble balustrade with a slap. ‘That’s it. Why didn’t I think of it before? Once I tell them they’re getting new houses then, all I have to do for a couple of years is to double the Annona –’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The Annona – you know, the grain dole?’

  ‘Er, yes, of course,’ said Josephus who until then had no idea that the citizens of Rome were regularly bought off by such handouts.

  ‘Then, listen, listen, it gets better.’ Nero’s excitement was almost manic. ‘Once the palace is finished, we’ll have the games, gladiatorial combats and I’ll race my own chariot. And what’s more, you can be sure I’ll win – I take it you’ve heard that I’m the finest and boldest charioteer that’s ever lived?’

  Josephus was learning fast – the man was completely unhinged and the only thing to do was to go along with him. ‘I had and I’m overcome with admiration. Little wonder the citizens hold you in such awe.’

  Nero took his eyes off the cityscape below and as he did so his mood seemed to alter, turning to look at Josephus with cold, dead eyes. ‘Awe is understandable, but it’s not what I seek: let me explain. Fear and respect are close cousins. First, I made people fear me, then they came to respect me, but now I wish them also to love me. In fact I insist on it. Come to my next concert and you’ll see what I mean.’

  ‘It would be a great honour,’ said Josephus, secretly dreading the thought. According to Alityros, anyone falling asleep or showing any symptoms of flagging enthusiasm during one of the emperor’s interminable performances risked summary execution. Men had been known to feign death and women to pretend to go into labour just to escape from them.

  ‘Now, let me think when my next performance is –’

  ‘Sir, please forgive me for interrupting,’ said Josephus, his voice quavering. ‘But we were on our way to see my three countrymen.’

  ‘Yes of course. I quite forgot. Each time I come up here I can see in my mind’s eye the greatest palace the world has ever known and everything else – except my music of course – just seems so petty and irrelevant. But you’re right, come, I’ll take you to them myself – I could do with some fresh air and the populace could do with seeing their beloved emperor.’

  As they continued downwards through the palace complex painted plaster and roughcast took over from the marbled walls of the higher floors and at last, on a subterranean level they came to a broad landing with a guard-post. About a dozen soldiers of the Praetorian Guard, a permanent detachment from their barracks on the Campus Martius, were sitting on simple wooden benches surrounding the walls of the room, the entire area suffused with the characteristic smell of the oil lamps – combined with the tang of sweat and second-hand garlic – whose dirty yellow light glinted dully on the men’s oval shields.

  At Nero’s appearance, the Evocatus in charge of the detachment called the squad to attention. Each soldier was armed with a gladius at his waist and outside, in a rack against the wall were the soldiers’ pila, the army’s standard issue infantry javelins. The guard commander saluted and with a nod of his head, Nero beckoned him and his men to follow.

  A flight of stone steps, barely wide enough to allow the passage of two men abreast, led down to a brick-lined tunnel about ten feet high and the same wide. It was lit by pitch-soaked torches and at the far end daylight filtered through the bars of an iron gate. A soldier unlocked it and the emperor and Josephus stood aside. The troops of the guard filed past and formed three ranks in the sunshine outside.

  With six of the Praetorians in front of them and six behind, they marched through the courtyard and into the south side of the forum, past the Temple of Saturn and the Basilica Julia, then left towards the Capitoline.

  No trumpet-blowing, shouting or announcement of the emperor’s passage was required and the crowds melted before the marching feet of the guard, the eyes of the curious straining to get a look at the emperor, who waved cheerfully to the mob as they passed.

  People craned their necks to try and identify the young man who walked beside Nero – nobody had troubled to tell Josephus to keep a respectful three paces behind.

  Passing in front of the rostra, the raised platform used by orators and for official pronouncements, they climbed the steps at the north west corner of the forum, passing beside the low, two-storey Carcer prison and up towards the Carceris Lautumiae, the jail where the three priests, Josephus’ friends, were being held.

  The officer commanding the prison was missing and one of the jailors scuttled out through a back door to look for him. Nobody could find the right keys. Nero watched the pandemonium with detached amusement.

  ‘Now you see why I like to pay surprise visits, Josephus,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t give anyone time to paint over the cracks or hide things in cupboards. I’ll have somebody’s balls for this and I don’t mean that metaphorically.’

  Eventually the keys were found and a jailor led them into the dark heart of the prison. The stairs widened out into a broad ante-chamber with a vaulted ceiling, and Josephus was surprised to see natural light coming from high, barred windows set into the eastern wall: lack of space in the forum had obliged the builders of the Lautumiae to enlarge the galleries of the former quarries on the south-eastern slope of the Capitoline Hill in order to squeeze it in between the other buildings. They were climbing the inside of a man-made cliff-face.

  As the next door opened, the stench and the noise hit them. On either side of the vaulted passageway, the floor of which was raised on wooden duckboards, were iron grilles against which pressed the faces of the prisoners, some in rags, others naked: all covered in sores and paddling ankle-deep in their own filth. They beat against the unyielding metal, pleading in every language of the empire. Josephus pulled his cloak around his nose against the stink and tried to hurry on, but Nero, seemingly oblivious, continued his measured pace, nodding and smiling in satisfaction at the plight of those who had offended against Rome and its laws.

  He laid a fleshy hand on Josephus’ shoulder. ‘You’ll be pleased to know we have a good number of Chrestos cult members in here,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure you’ll be equally pleased to hear that they burn well too, and light up the night sky in a most amusing manner.’ Josephus shuddered.

  At last they came to a smaller chamber with only one other door and where the air was clearer. The lock clicked open and Nero signalled a halt. ‘We’re now in the more select part of the prison,’ he said leading Josephus to a low, barred window with a view over the forum. ‘Nothing but the best for our esteemed Jewish guests. Now, if you take a look down you’ll see we’re right above the main
prison and that opening in the top leads to the cell where Vercingetorix was held before Gaius Julius had him executed – the roll-call of famous names who’ve spent their last hours in there is quite impressive and nearly as long as that of the not so famous in the cells you’ve just passed: never forget that.’

  The young Judean was suddenly aware of a chill in the poorly-lit chamber as the emperor beckoned him back to the open doorway. To his surprise, the three priests were accommodated in a spacious suite of rooms, lit by natural daylight from windows in the eastern wall. They looked up as the guard pushed the door open: hidden in the shadows, neither Nero nor Josephus were visible to them. ‘Go on, what are you waiting for?’ asked the emperor, giving him a nudge in the back. ‘Tell them they can go home. Hurry up before I change my mind.’

  Josephus cleared his throat and took a step forward into the light. ‘Philo, Giora, Jozar, it’s me, Josephus. I’ve come to take you home.’ At first they just stared at him in disbelief, then as one, leapt to their feet and ran to hug him, all shouting at once in Aramaic.

  ‘Please say this isn’t a joke,’ said Giora, the youngest of the three. Despite his time in jail, his burly embrace left Josephus worrying for his ribs. Laughing and crying at the same time, he kissed Josephus on both cheeks, his wiry beard temporarily blocking his friend’s view, but the laughter died in his mouth when he saw who was standing in the doorway. ‘It’s a trick, Josephus. Look who’s behind you…it’s him, the emperor. He’s going to lock you up too.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Josephus. ‘And be careful, he may understand what we’re saying for all I know. There’s no trick. He’s agreed to release you and I’ve come to take you home.’

  Next to greet him was Jozar, also bearded but at fifty-five, the oldest of the group. Josephus was appalled at how much older he looked – he tottered into Josephus embrace on legs that seemed barely able to support him.

  Last came the scholarly Philo. Clean-shaven in the Greek style, he approached warily as though unable to believe the good news. He and Josephus were life-long friends who shared a passion for knowledge and the history of their people. Clasped him tight to Josephus breast, emotion finally got the better of him and he burst into tears, babbling his relief and gratitude,

  Retracing their steps with the three men still chattering excitedly to Josephus, the Praetorian Guard formed up around them to march back across the forum, the former prisoners shielding their eyes against the unaccustomed brightness and Nero waving to the crowd.

  Once inside the palace Nero turned Josephus and the three priests over to one of his administrative clerks. ‘Marcus Vedius here will look after your needs,’ he said. ‘This evening I am giving a recital of my Ode to Venus and you are most cordially invited to attend: until then I bid you a good day.’ With that, he turned on his heel and left.

  Later that day, bathed, fed and wearing fresh clothes, the three former captives were still all talking at once and Josephus had to shout to make himself heard. ‘Gentlemen, please, there are things I need to explain to you.’ They fell silent and he continued. ‘This may not be what you want to hear, but you’re not free yet. Nero has released you for a reason and if you want to see your families again, you’ve got to keep your side of the bargain. Let me explain –’

  ‘What bargain?’ said Giora, leaping to his feet, towering over Josephus with his bearded chin thrust forward. ‘We haven’t agreed to anything. You heard what Nero said – there were no charges against us and our account of events was entirely satisfactory.’

  ‘Sit down, Giora,’ said Josephus. ‘And hear me out. The deal involves the two men who were in prison with you until recently: the two Chrestos cult preachers, Paul the Cilician and Peter the Galilean.’

  ‘What? Those idiots?’ snapped Giora. ‘In all my born days I’ve never heard of such a pair. If age begets wisdom, those two are going to have to live longer than Methuselah before they have the common-sense of a five-year-old.’

  ‘Nero didn’t realise who they were. When he released them he thought they were just a couple of ranters.’

  ‘A pair of charlatans,’ said Giora. ‘One of our jailors was a follower and kept trying to convert us – I’ve never heard such a lot of half-baked nonsense in all my born days.’

  ‘Nero’s been listening to Seneca and Seneca thinks they’re dangerous. What do you think?’

  ‘I think they’re soft in the head, the pair of them.’ Giora turned to the other two. ‘Well, what do you reckon? Harmless madmen or dangerous?’

  Jozar, the eldest of the three, thought for a moment. ‘I believe Seneca may be right. It’s easy enough for us to see through their nonsense but don’t forget the mob aren’t capable of rational thought. If the cult catches hold it could spread like wildfire, nonsense or not.’

  ‘Nero wants us to find them,’ said Josephus. ‘He thinks they may still be in Rome.’

  ‘And when we do?’ asked Philo. ‘What then?’

  ‘He didn’t say. I presume he’d prefer them delivered alive, knowing his taste for sadism, but on the other hand I don’t think he’d shed any tears over two corpses. Do you reckon you could find them though?’

  ‘And then Nero lets us go home?’

  ‘That’s what he said anyway,’ Josephus replied.

  ‘And I suppose the fact they were involved in your father’s killing has no bearing on the fact?’ asked Philo, looking at him suspiciously.

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘Nothing, just making a logical deduction. With Seneca dripping poison in one ear about the Christians, it would certainly make Nero a more receptive audience to anything you had to say in the other. Am I right?’

  ‘No, you’re wrong. Until now I’ve been working pretty much on my own with the help of one or two local Roman contacts who have similar views on these people to mine. Word of what I was doing got back to Nero but this is the first time he’s actually offered to help.’

  ‘And we’re the price for that help.’

  ‘Wrong again, Philo. He was the one who suggested it, not me. And if you must know, I stuck my stupid neck out and said I’d only do it if he let you three go. If you like, I can go back and tell him I’ve changed my mind.’ He got to his feet and walked over to the window. With his back turned to the three men he stared out over the city, his adoptive father’s words ringing in his ears: “Never expect gratitude, Josephus, and you’ll never be disappointed.”

  Philo remained seated with his head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Josephus. I misjudged you.’

  ‘I understand,’ Josephus said. ‘In your place, I’d probably feel the same. Now, all of you, it’s your decision and I won’t pretend there aren’t risks involved.’

  The three whispered together while Josephus retreated out of earshot to the far corner of the room. ‘Tell him we’ll do it,’ said Jozar.

  ‘Good. So where do we start? I need to show Nero we’ve got a plan.’

  ‘If we’re to find them, I think Jozar has the best chance of any of us,’ said Giora.

  ‘Oh thanks,’ said the older man. ‘Why me? I’ve got a wife and family don’t forget.’

  ‘I’ll tell you why,’ he replied, clapping Jozar on his bony shoulder. You’re the only one who knows what they look like.’

  ‘Well, that’s a start at least,’ said Josephus.

  ‘Hardly,’ replied Jozar. ‘It was only a few weeks ago. I saw two other men in chains being taken past the door to our cell. I asked our jailor – the idiot who kept trying to convert us – who they were.’

  ‘And he said they were Paul and Peter?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Josephus thought for a moment. ‘Would you recognise them if you saw them again?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Jozar.

  ‘Did they see you?’

  ‘Yes. I think they were as surprised to see me as I was to see them.’

  ‘In that case, we’ll need to make sure they don’t get a decent look at you,’ said Josephus. ‘But w
e’ll be four against two and once we find them Nero can do the rest.’

  ‘I still don’t like the sound of it,’ Jozar said.

  ‘You’ll be fine. I’ve got a plan. Bring your chairs and gather round, we’re probably only going to get one chance at this so we need to get it right. Now, tell me, assuming both of them are still in Rome, where are they likely to be?’

  Jozar shrugged. ‘With the rest of the cult, I suppose.’

  ‘And where’s that?’

  ‘Could be anywhere. Most of them are of the members are of the more biddable, less intelligent classes – freedmen, slaves, beggars and the like – and what passes for their leadership is, I’m ashamed to say, made up of Jews who’ve gone over to them.’

  ‘Any names?’ asked Josephus.

  ‘Afraid not’ said Jozar.

  ‘So where do we start looking?’

  Jozar gave a shrug. ‘The poorer areas I suppose. Maybe start at the rough end of the Aventine. Then you could try asking around the Porta Capena or near the Porta Octavia.’

  ‘And those gates, where are they?’

  ‘The Porta Capena’s where the Appian Way comes into the city, near the Caelian Hill – about five minutes walk, certainly no more. And the Porta Octavia is west of here, near the Tiber.’

  ‘Good,’ said Josephus. ‘We’ll start there. From what Alityros has told me, if we go poking our noses into the tenements of the Aventine, it’ll be us who end up with our throats cut, not them.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning,’ said Jozar. ‘Really fills me with confidence, that does.’

  Josephus ignored him. ‘Good, that’s settled then. Tomorrow morning, we’ll split into two pairs: Giora and I will take the Octavia; Jozar, you and Philo take the Capena. We’re all new in town and we’re looking for Paul the Cilician because we’ve heard such wonderful things about his preaching. It’s not subtle but it’s the best I can think of for now unless anyone’s got a better idea.’