The Splendor Before the Dark

by Margaret George

  “Subrius told me what happened,” he said. “That you actually climbed up the Palatine. You barely missed being roasted alive. The whole of it is ablaze now. At least, we think all of it is. None is so foolish as to venture close enough to make sure. It has spread to one end of the Forum as well.”

  “I know,” I said. “I saw it attack the Temple of Vesta yesterday.”

  He grimaced. “Attack. Now you understand. Yes, it’s a beast; it thinks and it stalks and attacks and kills. It has a will of its own. Perhaps it even plans.”

  “We have to outsmart it, then.”

  “We are trying. But so far it has outsmarted us. Every place we try to set up a firebreak, it jumps over us and mocks us. I swear it laughs.”

  “It’s still safe across the river. We can direct people there.”

  “If any will listen. They are hysterical. We may have to find them out in the fields. Some have taken refuge in the tombs lining the roads outside the city.” He hoisted the leather protective gear over his shoulder. “Are you coming with us again?”

  “No,” I said. “Not today.”

  “Tomorrow?” Was he testing my resolve, or was he just cajoling me into thinking he wanted my participation?

  “I hope by tomorrow you will not need to go out.”

  He laughed. “Hoping is not getting.” He jiggled the gear. “And you need to take better care of yourself.”

  “I won’t come close to the fire again.”

  “I don’t mean the fire. I mean exposing yourself like this, running around without even a guard. You walked all through the city to get here, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but I kept far from the fire.”

  “I don’t mean the fire. I mean assassins! Anyone could have assassinated you this morning. Good gods, Caesar, have you no prudence? You are instantly recognizable, and you were alone.”

  “I don’t think many people would want to assassinate me,” I said. Only members of my family wanted to do that, not my people.

  “It only takes one!”

  “You are right, of course,” I admitted. “It would have been easy.”

  “It is no reflection on you. No matter the person, there is always someone who would prefer they disappear. Such an enemy may even be insane, but his knife is as lethal as anyone else’s.”

  “Yes, yes,” I said. I wanted an end to this conversation. The thought of anyone wanting to kill me was unnerving. I should have been hardened to it, but I wasn’t.

  Turning away, I stood and looked down at the spreading fire. By now seven of the fourteen regions were ablaze—from the south near the Caelian Hill, across the bases of the Viminal and the Esquiline, the entire Circus Maximus, most of the Palatine, half the Forum, one side of the Campus Martius near the theaters. Only the Capitoline Hill stood secure, an island in a sea of flame. Perhaps Jupiter himself was protecting his own. The Subura, the densely packed center where the poor were concentrated, was an inferno. The crooked narrow streets, the overhanging upper stories, the close houses that shared a wall, had made ideal conditions to feed the fire.

  If only it would rain! If only one of the thunderstorms for which Rome was notorious would rescue us now. But no, the gods turned their faces away, did not take pity on us. A drenching, pounding rain would put out the fire, or at least beat it back to levels that we could fight. The sky—that part of it not obscured by smoke—remained tauntingly clear.

  I busied myself conferring with Tigellinus and other Praetorians about the measures we could take to alleviate the sufferings of the displaced population. It kept me from thinking about the unspeakable things happening below, things I was helpless to do anything about.

  “You hiked across the city,” said Tigellinus with disapproval. “You could have—”

  “Yes, I know,” I said, cutting him off. “We must take control of what we can. We need to make provisions for the people who have fled, lost everything.”

  “There are a million people in Rome,” said Faenius Rufus, separating himself from the other Praetorians. “How can we take care of all of them?”

  “Faenius,” I said, “it is good to see Tigellinus’s elusive partner.” Although I had appointed him to share the title of Praetorian prefect with Tigellinus, Faenius, a quieter sort, usually disappeared in the broad shadow Tigellinus threw. “All of Rome’s population has not fled—yet. So there will not be a million refugees.”

  “Yes, some of them are dead,” said Tigellinus. “So we need do nothing for them. The fire has even cremated them for us, so everything is taken care of.”

  Faenius scowled. “You’re a bastard, Tigellinus.”

  “So they tell me. That’s why I am where I am.” He then switched on his charming smile, the one he gave to all the brothel ladies.

  The brothels! Most of them were located in the Subura, I remembered with horror. I hoped the women had all fled, they and their customers, in time.

  “First, are your men patrolling the streets to limit the looting?” I asked. “That should be one of your tasks. Then, we need to locate and count the displaced people. Only when we have a count can we provide enough relief.”

  “The numbers keep growing as long as the fire does,” said Faenius. “It is not over yet.” As if to emphasize the point, a gust of wind laden with soot and foul smells of rot and burned flesh reached us. He held a handkerchief up to his nose and coughed. “And yes, we have units out patrolling. Although it seems hopeless to stop it. And there are even reports that some soldiers themselves are looting.”

  “I saw both looters and arsonists when I was there yesterday.”

  “Arsonists?” asked Tigellinus.

  “Men deliberately throwing torches into buildings and threatening anyone who tried to stop them. They said they were obeying orders.”

  “Whose orders?”

  “‘One with authority’ was what I heard,” I said. “And then there were different men, calling on Jesus and saying the end times were here and they were to help bring it about.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Faenius.

  “Yes. Absolutely,” I said.

  “People lose their minds during a crisis like this. They do not know what they are doing or saying,” said Tigellinus.

  “These people did,” I insisted. “But that is not our concern. Our concern is the ones who have survived, but only with their lives. So get a count. Then we will prepare my grounds in Vatican Fields and open the public buildings in the Campus Martius—the Pantheon, the Theater of Pompey, the baths, and the gymnasium.”

  “They will be hungry,” said Faenius.

  “The grain warehouses at the docks have caught fire,” said Tigellinus. “There is nothing to feed them with.”

  “Then let us bring grain up from Ostia,” I said. “And from neighboring towns. See that it’s done.”

  Darkness came early, twilight masked by the smoke. As we watched from the hill, the glowing red below seemed to fill almost all the empty spaces. Nymphidius and his men returned, exhausted and defeated. Pulling off his helmet, he gasped, “It is still growing. We had to abandon the central part of the city and retreat to safety.” He sat down, panting, draping his sweaty arms over his knees.

  “Is everyone out safely?” I asked.

  “All my men, yes. But for many others, no.” He put his head in his hands as if he could squeeze the images out of his mind. “So tomorrow we must destroy everything below the base of this hill. Everything. Every house, every insula, every shop and stable and shrine. We must create a huge firebreak, something so wide it cannot leap it. And we must spend tomorrow doing it, before the fire gets any closer.”

  There was nothing more to be done in the darkness, so I retired to rest. I lay rigid on the camp bed, pretending to sleep. Perhaps if I pretended, I would be able to actually sleep. But thoughts ran through my mind like scuttling rats. Flames cascading. P
eople engulfed. Destruction of all our history, the tangible remnants of our achievements, shields and spoils and trophies from faraway wars. Fear. What was going to happen? What would remain? Anything?

  Poppaea. I should get word to her, let her know what was taking place. But it was frivolous to send a messenger all the way to Antium with a letter, when we needed every hand here. And how could I describe it? And yet, not to describe it would be cruel and disrespectful—to her who would want to know, to those who had perished. I must wait until I was with her to tell her. And when, when would that be? And what would be the world we looked out upon?

  * * *

  • • •

  The world I looked out upon the next morning was one of utter destruction. The fire beast had gorged overnight and grown again, spreading out like a stain, glowing and pulsating. It was the fifth day of the fire. We gathered on the top of the hill and looked down in anguish. The fire was now visible to our right, encroaching on Region Six, which held the Gardens of Sallust. It was reaching its arms around, seeking to encircle us and obliterate all traces of safe space.

  Tigellinus had called out all the Praetorians from their camp on the far east of the city, adding thousands more hands. He had also ordered all the ballistae to be brought to the base of the Esquiline, to knock down houses and create a firebreak.

  “All sizes,” he said. “We have three giants, the kind that can throw stones weighing eighty pounds. But they are huge themselves and hard to maneuver in narrow spaces. So we will use the smaller ones as well. We have about thirty of them.”

  “We have more but they are too far away in other camps to bring quickly,” said Faenius. “Come, let us all get ready and at the signal descend.”

  Once again I put on the heavy leather gear, which was more uncomfortable now that my skin was blistered. But no matter. I found I was eager to go down, to do something rather than stand and watch.

  Nymphidius would direct the firefighters and Tigellinus the soldiers. At the base of the hill the ballistae were lined up and waiting, along with the Praetorians. I beheld, in amazed admiration, the strength of these machines, put together by Roman expertise. They were instruments of destruction, but destruction could have its own spectacular beauty.

  They worked by a wound spring, made of animal sinews, cranked back to high tension. I walked around the largest one, running my hands over it, marveling at its construction of wood and metal. A wagonload of stones waited to be loaded into the machines. Each stone would slide back along a trough, resting against a plate that would be released when the torsion was sprung.

  “This can fling a boulder a third of a mile,” said Tigellinus, patting it as if it were a pet donkey. “But we won’t need to be that far back, if we can get closer to the houses and aim directly at them. Let’s go!” he ordered the men. Mules pulled the ballistae along on creaking wheels.

  I fell in behind them, and soon we had selected our targets: a wide swath of houses and shops that bordered on the Gardens of Maecenas, several blocks deep.

  “It’s a pity, yes?” said Subrius, standing beside me as the machines were hauled into place. “Rich people’s houses, filled with treasures, gardens with rare plants—all to be obliterated.”

  “Warn everyone!” yelled Tigellinus. “Get everyone out!” Dozens of soldiers ran up and down the streets crying for people to evacuate.

  Surely there was no one left inside. But to my amazement, people poured out of the doors. Were they blind and deaf? How could they have stayed here?

  They flung themselves on the soldiers and catapults and screamed, “No, not my house! Not my house! My grandfather built it—” or “It’s my private property, you have no right to destroy it!”

  Now I had to speak. I stepped forward and pulled off my helmet so they could know who addressed them. “We do have the authority,” I said. “You will lose your house in any case; this way the sacrifice can have some value. Otherwise it is just wasted. Let us build this firebreak to save other areas.”

  “The emperor!” one man said. “What would you know about the loss of a house?”

  “My own house has just burned, with everything in it, everything I treasured. And for nothing. It is gone, and all it served to do was feed this fire and the horror of it along to what was next.”

  “You can build another!” he cried. “What of us?”

  “You will be recompensed. You can build again, too.”

  “I won’t move!”

  “Enough of this!” said Tigellinus. He motioned to his soldiers, who took out their swords. “We are losing precious time. Your house is going to be knocked down. So run inside and take what you can in the next few minutes, then go out the Via Praenestina east and wait in the fields.”

  “We will be coming to the fields, providing relief, food, and shelter,” I said.

  The argument was repeated up and down the line of houses, and they were quickly cleared and the demolition began.

  The ballistae were swiveled into place ready to launch at the houses, and at a signal, one at a time, they released their stones from a safe distance. The impact as they hit was explosive. The bricks and wood crumpled like paper; the stones penetrated inside, and it took only four or five to complete each job. The houses turned into mere heaps of rubble.

  We then advanced to the next block and repeated the process. By midafternoon a wide band of debris encircled the base of the Esquiline, a mile long and a quarter mile wide. Then we soaked the debris with vinegared water.

  “Good work, men,” said Tigellinus, raising his arm in a salute. “Now go back to the camp and get a good rest.” The Praetorian camp, outside the city on high ground, was surely in a safe area.

  The rest of us climbed back up the Esquiline. And waited.

  And got drunk. It began with Nymphidius bringing out amphoras and assuring us not to stint ourselves, there was more, we had earned it. Exhaustion and fear and tension had already debilitated us. Now Bacchus marched in and took command. Soon we were all sitting on the ground, swigging wine, some singing, some weeping, some muttering incoherently.

  I kept staring at the fire below us. Even with my poor eyesight, I could see the different intensities of the fire, some places burning with a bright flame, others a deeper red flame, and still others with flames tinged with blue. It was a collection of gems, rubies and carnelian and citrine and topaz, lit from within.

  It was hard to think. All I could do was stare at the conflagration, but my mind could not form words. I did not want words to rush in and fill the empty space. No words. Without them, I could keep fear at bay.

  * * *

  • • •

  I was walking through cool fields, stalks of poppies swaying on either side. Above me a hawk soared, cutting the sky with its wings. “Caesar! Caesar!” someone was calling. I looked but saw no one, only the lone hawk.

  “Caesar, Caesar!” The voice was outside the dream; it was by my ears. I opened my eyes and the poppy field melted away and I was staring into the face of Tigellinus. The real world was back, and I was in it.

  “Yes?” I said. What now? What dreadful new thing had happened?

  “It worked!” he said. “The fire has stopped. Overnight it reached our cleared ground and could advance no farther. And it is dying down in the rest of the city, too. It has run out of fuel!”

  I swung my legs out of bed. “Because it has burned everything to a cinder?” I said. Not a victory.

  “Not everything is gone,” he insisted. “But it would have been without the firebreak.”

  I pulled on my clothes and ventured out of the tent, eager to see what had happened.

  The hilltop was abuzz with activity. Everyone was staring out at the city, which showed only a few spurts of flame and great volumes of smoke. People were cheering and laughing—some hysterically. I saw many faces that belonged to neither the Praetorians nor the Vigiles; th
ese people must have gathered here seeking a safe place.

  They were not the rabble but the more refined sort. Possibly aristocrats who had hurried up to the city from their seaside villas when they heard about the fire, eager to know if their property had been spared. Some also looked like local well-to-do merchants.

  “Caesar!” A hearty voice called behind me, and I turned to see Epaphroditus, my principal secretary. “The tide has turned!” he said.

  “Thank the gods you are safe. Where have you been?” I had been frantic with worry not knowing where my staff had been during the fire.

  “I’ve been staying with Phaon. He has a villa four miles out near the Via Nomentana, far from all this.”

  What a relief. Phaon, my minister of accounts and revenues, was safe as well. “What of your property?”

  “I don’t know. It was in Region Two.” He shrugged. “I heard about your relief efforts. The emperor, putting on firefighter’s gear and going out with the Vigiles,” he said. “I don’t think Claudius would have done that.” He laughed.

  “He wasn’t able,” I said. Claudius had done the best he could, which was all the gods can ask of us. “Caligula was, but he wouldn’t have done anything but watch with amusement.”

  “Well, we have a fighting emperor!” His dark eyes were warm with approval. Epaphroditus was a freedman who had the build of a bull but an affable nature. Nearly all my administrators were freedmen, who were unpretentious and willing to work, unlike the senators. Epaphroditus had just proved the point, having come back into the city to search for me. I had no doubt that once restitution efforts were under way, he would be an invaluable help.

  “More of the warrior in me than I thought,” I said, smiling. “What did you see on your way in?” I asked.

  “I was coming from the northeast,” he said. “There were hordes of people in the fields and sheltering in the tombs. They were dazed, some wandering aimlessly. And I heard some calling for death, crying that they had lost everything and begging for someone to put them out of their misery. They called for a dagger, for poison, for a kind soul to strangle them.”