Rome's Sacred Flame

by Robert Fabbri

  Paetus snatched his arm away. ‘It’s intolerable; we’re not even allowed our honour any more.’

  ‘Our honour faded with the death of the Republic and now that is no more than a distant memory. Nero holds all power in his hands so, of course, we have no honour; but we do have life.’

  ‘And what is life without honour?’

  Gaius had no doubts. ‘Far more pleasant than death without honour, dear boy.’

  ‘And furthermore, when the Parthian puppet-king, Tiridates, sent emissaries to discuss peace, I did not rebuff them,’ Lucius Verginius Rufus, the junior consul, declaimed, reading from a scroll containing Corbulo’s despatch, ‘as news had come to me of a rebellion in the east of the Parthian kingdom and I realised that Vologases would not wish to prosecute two wars at once; consequently, the Great King agreed to a truce. However, as the discussions continued, I executed or drove into exile all the Armenian nobles who had sworn allegiance to us and then switched sides after Paetus’ debacle, thus ensuring the loyalty of those who remain.’ Verginius paused as a growl went through the ranks of senators seated in rows on stools to either side of the Senate House.

  Sabinus put his hand on Paetus’ wrist, keeping him in his seat.

  ‘And then I razed all their fortifications to the ground so that they could not be used against us again. Tiridates asked for a parley face-to-face and chose the very place where Paetus had been cornered. I did not shy away from this as I thought that coming in strength to the scene of their earlier victory would emphasise the contrast between the two situations.’

  Again a rumble went through the meeting and Sabinus felt many pairs of eyes turn to his son-in-law; seated next to Verginius on a curule chair, Nero tutted demonstratively.

  ‘I was not going to let Paetus’ disgrace distress me so I sent his son, who is serving on my staff as a military tribune, in advance with some units to wipe away all trace of that unfortunate encounter. He went willingly, anxious to help expunge the memory of his father’s folly.’

  This was almost too much for Paetus who had to be physically restrained by all those around him. Nero sneered at the sight.

  ‘I arrived with an escort of twenty cavalry at the same time as did Tiridates with his entourage of a similar number. I am pleased to report that he did me the honour of dismounting first; I did not hesitate and went to him and, clasping both his hands, praised the young man for rejecting war and coming to seek terms with Rome. We have come to an honourable compromise: he for his part declared that he shall place his crown at the feet of our Emperor’s statue and then come to Rome so that he can take it back only from Nero’s hand. I have agreed to this in principle, subject to imperial approval, and the meeting ended with a kiss.’

  All eyes turned to Nero, conscious of his reaction the last time one of Corbulo’s despatches had proclaimed a swift settlement in Armenia: the Senate had broken out into cheers only to be silenced by an outburst by Nero declaring that Corbulo had only done what anyone present in the chamber could have achieved. This time they wanted to be told how to think before they reacted and they did not have to wait long.

  ‘What a spectacle that will be!’ Nero declared, rising from his seat, raising an arm and gazing into the future. ‘Imagine: a king from the Arsacid dynasty, brother of the Great King of Parthia, no less, coming to Rome as a supplicant. Coming to me! Not going to his brother, but to me for I am the most powerful. In acknowledging me as the ultimate giver of the Armenian crown, he acknowledges my dominion over Armenia. I have won!’

  Nero opened his arms to encompass the whole House as they rose, almost as one, and hailed their Emperor, the master of Armenia.

  ‘Get up!’ Sabinus growled, hauling Paetus to his feet to join in the praise, ‘and look pleased.’

  Paetus added grudging applause.

  ‘Corbulo seems to have learnt the art of flattering the Emperor,’ Gaius observed, sweating profusely from the exertion of lauding Nero. ‘That should keep him alive for a little while longer.’

  On they went, clapping, shouting, waving folds of their togas and holding their hands out towards the Emperor as he basked in the glory. Eventually even the most hardy of the Senate had begun to tire and Nero, sensing the volume begin to trail off, brought the applause to a close and sat back down.

  ‘Is there any more?’ he asked Verginius, once all were again seated.

  ‘Just a couple of lines, Princeps.’

  ‘Well, read them before I go to hear the appeals.’

  ‘Given that it has always been accepted that the Governor of Syria has authority over Judaea and given that I have already taxed Syria hard to pay for this war, I have ordered the procurator, Porcius Festus, to substantially increase the taxation due in that province and will ensure that his replacement, Gessius Florus, continues that policy when he arrives in the new year; it’s nothing that they can’t afford, the Jews being notoriously wealthy as one look at their temple complex will confirm. The extra revenue will go a long way to re-equipping the two legions that Paetus so carelessly lost and which I have since brought back to Syria under my command.’

  The last word echoed around the chamber and then there was silence.

  Nero sat, shaking with fury as he grasped the arms of his chair before composing himself, abruptly standing and then storming from the Senate House in a swirl of purple and gold.

  ‘Oh dear, dear boys,’ Gaius muttered as uproar broke out after Nero’s departure. ‘By being seen to amass legions, I rather think that Corbulo has just undone any good he did himself by making Nero the ultimate dispenser of crowns.’

  ‘And just when I thought that nothing good was going to come from this,’ Paetus said, his face fixed in an unpleasant leer.

  ‘Plea dismissed!’ Nero screamed; yet another convicted citizen, an eques who had been originally found guilty of murdering his business partner, fell victim to the Emperor’s foul temper. ‘What was the original sentence?’

  Epaphroditus briefly consulted the scroll on the table before him. ‘Execution by decapitation, Princeps.’

  ‘Strip him of his citizenship and damn him to the beasts for wasting my time.’

  The large crowd of mainly common people, surrounding the outdoor court, cheered appreciatively, always pleased to see one of their betters condemned and caring not unduly about the fairness of the hearing.

  The doomed man fell to the ground, pleading for mercy, only to be dragged away by his ankles as his fingers tried to grip the gaps between the paving stones covering the forum.

  Sabinus looked back at the twenty or more other supplicants who had witnessed nothing but dismissed appeals in the two hours of Nero sitting in judgement; none looked confident. None? No, one man caught his eye; short, balding and with bandy legs, Paulus of Tarsus wore an expression of serenity that could, almost, be construed as the vacant stare of the bewildered, considering the danger he was in.

  ‘An interesting reaction, wouldn’t you say? Most, er ... what’s the best word for it? Most composed, yes, that’s it, composed, considering he’s going before an emperor whose worry about a potential rival in the East seems to have removed every last vestige of justice that remained in him.’

  Sabinus turned to look into the bloated face of Lucius Annaeus Seneca. ‘Who are you talking about, Seneca?’

  ‘Paulus of Tarsus, obviously; I couldn’t help noticing that you were studying him so intensely.’

  Sabinus’ curiosity was piqued. ‘You know him?’

  Seneca beamed in his avuncular fashion and placed a chubby arm around Sabinus’ shoulders. ‘He’s been pestering me, since he came to Rome to appeal to the Emperor, to use my influence with Nero to have the accusation against him of sedition quashed.’

  ‘You don’t have any influence over Nero any more.’

  Seneca patted Sabinus’ shoulder. ‘Now that’s not necessarily true, and you know it. I still have access to him, it’s just that he no longer takes my advice on principle; he likes to humiliate me by doing the exact
opposite to what I recommend, and Epaphroditus encourages him in order to emphasise to me that he is now the power behind the Emperor. It’s, er ... what would you say? It’s galling, yes, galling – at least it was.’

  Sabinus understood immediately. ‘Until you started to advise him to do the exact opposite of what you wanted?’

  ‘Ah, my friend, how well you understand our Nero. And having read some of that disgusting atheism that Paulus espouses and the way he urges his followers not to acknowledge the Emperor as the ultimate power on earth and yet, hypocritically, he’s quite happy to appeal to him, I decided that I would grant his wish and have urged Nero to leniency in his case.’

  Sabinus nodded in approval. ‘Good. I had to nail up quite a few of his followers whilst I was Governor of Thracia and Macedonia; they deny the gods, refuse to sacrifice to the Emperor – or even on his behalf as the Jews do – and believe in an afterlife that is better than this world and therefore seem to have very little fear of death, which, apparently, is imminent, as what he calls the End of Days will be upon us very soon. It’s dangerous, irrational and bigoted as well as being contrary to everything our ancestors have believed for generations.’

  ‘I agree; although he has got one thing right.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I saw a copy of one of his letters to some Greek follower in which he says that women should be silent; if only Poppaea Sabina would take that advice.’ Seneca chuckled at his own observation. ‘As, I’m sure, your brother, Vespasian, would now agree,’ he added as Paulus was brought forward to stand before the Emperor.

  Epaphroditus consulted a scroll. ‘Gaius Julius Paulus; accused by Porcius Festus, the outgoing procurator of Judaea, of stirring up anti-Roman and anti-Jewish feeling and causing a riot. He refused trial in Jerusalem and decided instead to appeal to you directly, Princeps.’ He handed the scroll to the Emperor. ‘Seneca recommended leniency in this case,’ he added, giving Seneca a sly look.

  Nero eyed Paulus as if he were scrutinising an unpleasant skin disease. ‘Well?’

  Paulus smiled at the Emperor with exaggerated benignity and opened his arms to him. ‘Princeps, may the peace of the Lord soothe you and—’

  ‘Just get on with it!’ Nero was in no mood to be soothed.

  Paulus stepped back at the vehemence of the order. ‘I, er ... I’m sorry, Princeps.’ Rubbing his hands together, Paulus hunched his shoulders and smiled with an ingratiating demeanour that made Sabinus feel queasy. ‘Princeps, I was misunderstood. I had come to Jerusalem to bring money that had been collected for the poor. The priests in the temple refused to let me distribute it as they thought that it should be their duty, which would have meant that they would have kept it all. When I protested, the High Priest had me arrested by the Temple Guards and handed to the Procurator. That’s when the riot broke out.’

  Nero had had enough. ‘So there was a riot and you did disobey your priests who do make sacrifices on my behalf. What’s more, you were wanting to distribute money to the poor in person as if you were the font of all bounty and not me, your Emperor?’

  Paulus looked unsure. ‘Well, yes, and then no. I—’

  ‘Take him away,’ Nero ordered, ‘and execute him.’ He turned towards Seneca. ‘Leniency?’ He shook his head in disgust.

  Even Sabinus was startled at the arbitrary nature of Nero’s justice that day. ‘I’m very pleased to see the last of Paulus but I’m relieved that he pardoned my son-in-law before he heard Corbulo’s report.’

  ‘Very fortunate,’ Seneca agreed, smiling, as Paulus was man acled and made no attempt to struggle. ‘And a very gratifying verdict.’

  ‘Do you think there’s any chance of wiping the stain Paetus has left from my family’s record?’

  ‘That entirely depends upon two things: how your brother, Vespasian, acquits himself in Africa; and also upon your decision as to that suggestion I made to you.’

  ‘I told you, Seneca; I won’t make a decision until I’ve spoken to my brother upon his return next spring.’

  ‘By next spring we may all be dead.’ Seneca smiled without mirth and walked away as a change seemed to come over Paulus: his ingratiating manner evaporated as the finality of his sentence sank in; he glanced down at the manacles and then stood erect looking Nero in the eye. ‘Your sentence means nothing to me. This world is not for long; I will just be leaving it sooner than you, but not by much for judgement is in sight. Until then I shall be with my Lord, Yeshua bar Yosef, the Christus.’

  ‘Wait!’ Nero raised a hand. ‘What did he say? Christus?’

  ‘I believe so, Princeps,’ Epaphroditus confirmed.

  Nero peered at Paulus. ‘A follower of that new cult with the crucified god, are you?’

  ‘I believe the Christus died for our sins,’ Paulus stated with certainty, ‘and will come again very soon at the End of Days, which is fast approaching. The rise of the Dog Star will herald it in and it will start here.’

  Nero’s pleasure was obvious. ‘Will it, now? Will it indeed?’ He turned to Sabinus. ‘Keep him safely locked away in the Tullianum, prefect; I may well have a use for his death.’

  PART I

  GARAMA, 400 MILES SOUTH OF THE

  ROMAN PROVINCE OF AFRICA,

  DECEMBER AD 63

  CHAPTER I

  IT WAS NOT the city of Garama itself that impressed Vespasian most but, rather, the environment in which it was set. Fields of wheat and barley interspersed with orchards of fig trees and grazing pastures were not an uncommon sight in most parts of the Empire; but here, four hundred miles across scrag and desert, beyond Rome’s frontier to the south of Leptis Magna in the province of Africa, it was surely a work of the gods.

  Just over an hour after dawn the previous day, shortly before the caravan had made camp to sleep away the hours of burning sun, following its night-march, the line of distant hills could be discerned as being verdant. Now, as the sun rose a day later and the caravan was forty miles further south, the full beauty of this unlikely oasis could be enjoyed. For at least ten miles to either side of a high-towered city, not more than a couple of miles away, perched on a hill three hundred feet above the desert floor, was nothing but arable land; and within that sea of green, gangs of tiny figures laboured.

  ‘That’s a sight that’s about as unlikely as seeing a Vestal doing the splits naked.’

  Vespasian looked at the originator of the remark, a battered man in his early seventies with the cauliflower ears and broken nose of an ex-boxer, sitting on a horse next to him and sporting, as did Vespasian, a floppy, wide-brimmed straw hat. ‘And what makes you so sure, Magnus, that Vestals don’t go in for nude gymnastics?’

  Magnus turned to Vespasian, one eye squinting against the rising sun, the other just reflecting its glow, for it was but a glass replica – and not a very good one at that, Vespasian had always found himself thinking. ‘Well, I ain’t saying that they don’t cavort naked and do all sorts of interesting stretches, leaps, acrobatics and the like; all I’m saying is that I’m unlikely to see them do it, if you take my meaning?’

  ‘I’m sure I do and you’re probably right: even if they did allow spectators you look far too unsavoury to be allowed in.’ Vespasian grinned, his dry lips cracked, causing a stab of pain; he winced and put his hand to his mouth.

  ‘There; that serves you right for your constant mockery, sir.’ Magnus gave a satisfied nod and leant forward to address the man on the other side of Vespasian. ‘Does he ever accuse you of unsavouriness, Hormus? Or is he politer to his freedman than he is to his oldest friend?’

  Hormus scratched his wispy beard that part concealed an undershot lower jaw and then gave a shy grin. ‘Seeing as I have no wish to see females naked, Vestal Virgins or not, it would make no difference to me whether the master thinks me un savoury or not.’

  ‘That didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘I know.’

  Magnus grunted and then returned his attention to the wonder before them. ‘So, under those hil
ls is a sea?’

  Vespasian sucked a drop of blood from his finger. Sweat trickled down from under his hat, catching in the heavy growth on his chin and cheeks, causing it to itch; his eyes squinted against the sun making the strained expression that he constantly wore on his rounded face seem even more tense. ‘A sea or a big lake; who knows? But what is certain is that they have hundreds of wells that feed an irrigation system that runs through buried pipes and so that water must come from somewhere.’

  ‘Well, I wish it didn’t and then we wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘And I thought you liked visiting new places.’

  ‘Bollocks I do.’ Magnus rubbed his back and groaned. ‘At my age the only new thing I like to see is a new day.’

  Vespasian, for the sake of his lips, refrained from smiling at the joke made by his friend of nigh on thirty-eight years; instead he kicked his horse forward towards the road that snaked its way up to the city, wishing, too, that he was not there.

  But the sad truth was that he had no choice but to be there; he was, once again, the victim of political manoeuvring in Rome but this time he had no one to blame but himself in that he had been guilty of advancing his position through manipulation. However, that was the only way to get any preferment in Nero’s Rome. When a document implicating Epaphroditus in a business that would not have pleased Nero had fallen into the hands of Vespasian’s mistress, Caenis, herself a palace insider, it had seemed only natural for her, if Vespasian were to become the Governor of Africa, to inform the powerful freedman of its existence. Epaphroditus had no alternative other than to use his influence over Nero to have Vespasian granted the position in return for the document. He had not been at all content as he could normally have expected to have received a substantial bribe for such a prestigious governorship. But it was not just the enmity of Epaphroditus that had earned Vespasian this trip to the extremity of the known world; it had been a force far more potent: the Empress, Poppaea Sabina. Quite why she had behaved so spitefully towards him, Vespasian did not know but he knew enough about imperial politics to understand that often there was no reason for maliciousness other than the thrill of exerting power over those weaker than you.