Rome's Sacred Flame

by Robert Fabbri

‘Very comfortable, thank you.’ Decianus opened one eye and looked at Vespasian, smiling, before closing it again.

  Vespasian decided against enquiring further so as not to flatter Decianus with his curiosity; and, besides, he knew that it would become apparent in the course of the day.

  The sun continued on its relentless rise, burning down with increasing ferocity until it was almost directly overhead and Vespasian felt as if he had been forced into a baker’s oven. But Decianus made no move to stop and seek shade, being amply supplied of that commodity and cooled by the fan-work of his slaves. On they went at the lumbering pace of Decianus’ mules, pausing only to allow the beasts and slaves to drink together regularly at one of the many troughs along the route that ran, almost straight, to the west. Here and there protrusions of orange-brown rock jutted from the ground, soaring high, providing a focus for the countless swifts wheeling about the deep-blue sky as brown-necked ravens cawed from their nests in the crevices high above the fields that supplied them with the locusts and small snakes they favoured. Higher still circled birds of prey, majestic in the air, as they surveyed their kingdom below so full of bounty.

  Shortly after noon Decianus stirred from his slumber as they approached what seemed, from a distance, to be a small town; but as they drew nearer Vespasian could see that it was not a town in the normal sense of the word but, rather, a collection of long, single-storey barrack blocks.

  ‘Now you will see exactly how important I am in this kingdom,’ Decianus said as a reception committee of half a dozen brown-skinned men in long black robes and wide-brimmed sun hats, from beneath which protruded frizzy black hair, walked from the buildings to meet them.

  ‘We are most honoured by the presence of one so favoured by The Lord of the Thousand Wells,’ the leader of the group announced, bowing low, so that he had to prevent his hat from falling off. His brethren had equal difficulty paying their respects, the frizziness of their hair making it hard for the hats to sit firmly upon their heads.

  ‘You are indeed, Anaruz,’ Decianus replied with no trace of irony. ‘I wish to be away from here as soon as possible so you will provide me with your inventory and a cool place in which to study it.’

  ‘There is nothing that would give me greater pleasure, Lord.’

  Decianus seemed to take the lie at face value or, perhaps, Vespasian considered, even believed it, as the group turned and escorted the carriage back towards the buildings. Vespasian, Magnus and Hormus followed, ignored by the reception committee, none of whom had even glanced their way such was the awe with which they had received Decianus.

  And Decianus revelled in the attention as he was helped down from his carriage by Anaruz’s underlings at the foot of the steps of what was evidently, judging by its portico, the administrative building. He cuffed away a hand that supported his elbow with too much vigour, dismissing its owner from his presence for the rest of the visit; he slapped the slave who rushed to hold a parasol over his head for allowing the sun’s rays to touch his skin for an instant; he rebuked Anaruz for the sloppiness of the slave and insisted that the miscreant be returned to field-work; he then rejected, for no apparent reason, each of the three slaves brought forward to replace the man before accepting the services of a fourth as the original was hauled off, screaming, to a slow death through overwork and malnutrition. Having mocked Anaruz’s cringing apologies for the incident, humiliating him in front of his underlings, and then issuing an ear-splitting tirade into their faces, berating them for their inability to support Anaruz in the heavy duties of his position, he then selected one at random and ejected him from the compound with orders to walk back to Garama and to report to him for punishment upon his return from his tour. Once confusion had been well and truly sown so that everything was to Decianus’ satisfaction and he judged that those around him were in sufficient fear of his power, he turned into the affable master, placing an arm around the visibly bewildered Anaruz and asking after his family as they made their way into the only building in the complex that was not just designed for functionality.

  ‘I’d say that Decianus is confusing importance with fear,’ Vespasian observed as he and his companions dismounted.

  ‘One thing’s for sure,’ Magnus mused, watching the confused Anaruz try to cope with his superior’s abrupt change of mood, ‘if Decianus were to spontaneously burst into flames you wouldn’t see Anaruz rushing to the nearest well with an empty bucket, if you take my meaning?’

  ‘I do, Magnus; I most certainly do.’

  ‘And in this heat there’s always hope.’

  Leaving their horses with the carriage driver, they followed Decianus up the steps, into the shade of the portico and then on, through a tall set of doors, into a spacious hall, high-ceilinged and lit by north-facing windows that were never subjected to the direct force of the sun. Here, in this cooler atmosphere, desks were set out at which functionaries sat scratching with styli at wax tablets. A barked order from Anaruz sent them all scurrying away to disappear in the shadowed far end of the room.

  ‘Your excellency would care for some refreshment?’ Anaruz asked in a voice that betrayed anxiety as to what the consequences would be if this was the wrong subject to bring up.

  But his worry was unfounded as Decianus slapped him on the back. ‘An excellent suggestion, my dear Anaruz.’ Then he noticed Vespasian for the first time since their arrival. ‘You may serve Governor Vespasian and myself as I go through the inventory with him.’

  The inventory was not at all what Vespasian expected and he began to understand exactly how Decianus had made himself so useful to the king in so short a time. Seated on a large divan and surrounded by his slaves, fans in constant motion, Decianus scanned wax tablet after wax tablet containing one long list of all the slaves housed in the complex; each had a number but no name and each had a purchase date that represented the day that the slave had arrived in the kingdom. That in itself was an impressive piece of bookkeeping but it was the final symbol next to each slave that amazed Vespasian.

  ‘“L”,’ Decianus said to Anaruz. ‘Note down slave ninety-four from the calends of July purchase of two years ago as “Latin Rights”.’ He carried on down the list as Anaruz scratched the note onto a fresh tablet. ‘“L”; slave one hundred and twelve from the same purchase.’ Decianus looked over to Vespasian seated opposite and sipping a beaker of coconut water. ‘It’s my system; I had to do something to get noticed by the king when I arrived here so I suggested that I use the organisational skills I’d found that I had a talent for whilst serving as a procurator collecting tax from uncooperative barbarians.’ He looked smug and continued consulting the list. ‘“R”; slave thirty-two from the December purchase of the same year is a “recognised citizen”.’

  Anaruz noted this number down on a different tablet as Decianus, with remarkable speed, continued going through the inventory.

  Vespasian put his beaker down, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. ‘Tell me, Decianus; what is your system?’

  Decianus made no attempt to conceal his delight. ‘Ahh! So you’re interested. How gratifying!’ He paused to collect himself, his pride in his achievement visible. ‘I suggested it to the king when I arrived here with enough money to see me set up in comfort but not in the sort of luxury that I prefer to enjoy. It seemed to me that a kingdom that relies so much on slave labour, to the extent that its subjects have no need to work because all they require is grown on huge farms, like this, and given to them freely and so consequently they lead an idle life, is in grave danger. Apart from the slave-keepers and some of the younger men who, for want of any other excitement, hunt wild beasts for the circuses in the Empire, who is there to protect it should the slaves realise just how vulnerable the kingdom is to a revolt? It would be no Spartacus, let me assure you; the Garamantes kingdom would disappear in a matter of days with just a few hundred slave-keepers and hunters to suppress an uprising. As the king told you, there is no army because there is no one to defend the kingdom against. But
Nayram doesn’t see the full horror of the threat from within; nobody here does because they’re complacent and think their way of life is secure.’ He looked at Anaruz. ‘Don’t you, Anaruz?’

  ‘Not now you have shown me the threat, Lord.’

  ‘The threat. Yes, Anaruz understands the threat and the threat is very real. I decided that if I was going to make Garama my home then I needed to do something about that threat and so I suggested to the king that I make a full inventory of every slave.’ He paused for Vespasian to make a comment as to the magnitude of the task but was disappointed; Vespasian had no intention of flattering the ex-procurator. ‘As all the slaves are publicly owned – in other words the king pays for them – there are records of all the expenditure going back decades. Slaves come here from four sources: first from the Empire; mainly beast-masters bringing in stock in return for the wild beasts caught by the hunters, for the circuses. These slaves are generally quite low quality for agricultural labour as the strongest in the Empire generally end up in the gladiator schools or the farms or mines, but nevertheless we do get some good specimens from that route, especially in the wake of the rebellion in Britannia.’ He paused, waiting, Vespasian assumed, for him to make some comment on Boudicca’s revolt; when it became apparent that he would not, Decianus pressed on. ‘Then there are the caravans that come across the desert from the south. They bring outlandish-looking slaves dressed in animal skins and blacker than Nubians, and strong and healthy, even the women, perfect for all sorts of things. From the west come a steady stream of slaves of reasonable quality; but since Claudius incorporated Mauritania into the Empire, twenty years ago, most of the traders take their goods to the imperial slave markets up on the coast. And then there’s the eastern route ...’

  ‘The Marmarides.’

  Decianus was impressed. ‘You know them.’

  ‘I served as quaestor in Cyrenaica. I was obliged to go after an idiot who had managed to get himself captured by the tribe and was in danger of ending his life down here.’

  ‘Well, you know all about them then. Suffice it to say that a goodly percentage of the slaves that come to Garama by the eastern route are citizens. Now, that in itself was not what I was interested in, but a record of all the Roman citizens in bondage here was the by-product of my inventory. You see, there are twelve centres like this, spread throughout the realm, where the slaves are housed and each has its own records of what slaves it receives when a new batch arrives in the kingdom. So I suggested to the king that I should go around each of the centres and cross-check who had what slaves because what I was concerned about was the concentration of too many slaves from the same ethnicity in the same area. Far better, I think you’ll agree, to have as many different races and languages as possible so that there is less likelihood of them uniting in a common purpose. The king understood the scheme perfectly and agreed to recompense me for the work, lavishly I may add.’

  There was another pause for a look of complete self-satisfaction. ‘And so I began a tour of all twelve centres and went through every slave and cross-checked where he or she had come from and when; it took me over six months as there are over a thousand slaves in each area – two thousand in a couple of them. I had to do it myself as no one locally could understand my methods and, besides, I wouldn’t want anyone else to understand the system. But still, I got it done and once the work was complete I began to organise the breaking up of large groups of the same peoples, spreading them thinly over many centres so now there isn’t one dangerously large concentration of any sort anywhere in Garama.’

  ‘And that’s how you know who is a Roman citizen?’

  ‘Of course; and that way it won’t take long to find the four hundred and sixty.’

  ‘I brought five hundred pearls.’

  ‘Did you? I tallied forty fewer.’

  Vespasian knew it was futile to argue. ‘I’m surprised you only helped yourself to that number.’

  ‘No, I only helped myself to twenty.’ Decianus looked pointedly at Vespasian.

  Vespasian kept his face neutral. ‘But, as I said, we’ll negotiate if there are more and I’m sure that you can be of great service in seeing the deal through.’

  Decianus understood, smelling profit as Vespasian had intended. ‘I’m always happy to be of service to Rome.’

  ‘And yet you did nothing to help her citizens here?’

  ‘What business is it of mine if someone is foolish enough to get themself enslaved?’

  Vespasian conceded that Decianus had a point: he had used a similar argument with his wife Flavia, years ago, when she insisted that he should rescue her then lover from the same fate. In the end he had rescued Statilius Capella, not so much because he was a Roman citizen but more to impress Flavia; however, he was not about to let Decianus feel completely justified in his actions. ‘Not only did you do nothing about their predicament, you also split them up and potentially made it worse.’

  ‘Naturally; where my safety is concerned no precaution is too great.’

  ‘I noticed that in Britannia.’

  ‘Oh, do stop harking back to that, otherwise I might start remembering the flattened nose and shattered jaw.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘Vespasian, please try to understand that I don’t need to threaten you as you are already completely in my power; I can have you killed any time I like.’

  ‘That’s a lie, Decianus, and you know it. Your fat master wouldn’t be at all pleased if you did because he’s well aware that Nero is not going to take the disappearance of one of his governors on a diplomatic mission very kindly. For Nayram it’s vital that he keeps on good terms with Rome; why else do you think he agreed to Nero’s request in releasing all the citizens here? Now, enough of this; get back to your lists and leave me to marvel at your importance.’

  It was mid-afternoon by the time they were back on their way, heading to what Decianus had assured Vespasian was the farming complex furthest to the west of the kingdom; after this they would head south and then east before returning to Garama having completed a full circle of Nayram’s domain. Anaruz had been left with a list containing fifty-three numbers and orders to have those slaves mustered at Garama seven days hence.

  Reaching their destination – which was very similar in design and layout to the first – before nightfall, Decianus went through the inventory, having terrorised the officials running the farm complex in much the same way as he had done earlier. This list produced a total of thirty-six slaves that Decianus insisted were paraded before him and Vespasian upon their return from their labour at dusk.

  It was a weary and bedraggled group of slaves, both male and female, that Vespasian found himself looking at in the flicker of torchlight on the parade ground outside the administrative building that evening. The slave-keepers tried to whip some order into the ragged lines but most were too exhausted and too immune to the lick of leather to care.

  ‘That’s enough!’ Vespasian shouted as a young woman fell to her knees under repeated lashes.

  The slave-keeper looked around to see that Vespasian was addressing him and desisted with a show of reluctance.

  Vespasian approached the group, stopping in front of an older man staring at the ground. He lifted the man’s chin and looked into his eyes; they were almost vacant and refused to meet his own. ‘Where are you from?’ he asked in Latin.

  The slave said nothing, barely registering that he had been addressed.

  Vespasian repeated the question.

  This time the slave shook his head a fraction as if trying to clear it; he raised his eyes and looked quizzical. ‘What did you say?’ His voice croaked; it had not been used for a while.

  ‘I asked where you are from.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just answer me.’

  The slave thought for a few moments. ‘Apollonia.’

  ‘The port in Cyrenaica?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you are a Roman citizen?’

 
‘I was.’ He made a grim attempt at an ironic grin that convinced Vespasian of the veracity of the claim.

  ‘How did you end up here?’

  ‘I had a fishing boat.’

  Vespasian did not need to hear any more having heard a similar tale, many years before, from Yosef, the Jewish tin-trader he had freed from the Marmarides along with Statilius Capella. ‘And you pulled in for water along the coast between Cyrenaica and Egypt and were captured by Marmarides slavers?’

  The slave looked astonished. ‘Yes, three years ago; how did you know?’

  ‘Never mind.’ He moved on down the line to satisfy himself that each slave had a genuine claim to citizenship or Latin Rights; each one was in a pitiful condition and each one had a tale of woe.

  It was therefore with some surprise that Vespasian stood before a well-built man in his mid-twenties, standing straight and meeting his eye. ‘Marcus Urbicus,’ the man said, snapping to attention. ‘Optio of the third century, sixth cohort of the Third Augusta, sir.’

  Vespasian stared at Urbicus in total surprise. ‘How long have you been here, Urbicus?’

  ‘Just over six months, sir. Since the Suphetes of Leptis Magna took me when I came with your message to them to co-operate in the matter of the water dumps.’

  ‘They did what?’

  ‘They took me and my men, sir, and sold us to the Garamantes. Nothing we could do about it, sir!’

  Vespasian looked in horror at the optio and then turned to Decianus. ‘Did you know about this?’

  The ex-procurator shrugged with an air of indifference. ‘I can’t recall.’

  Vespasian looked back at Urbicus. ‘Where are the rest of your men?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir; there were eight of them before we were separated.’

  Vespasian rounded on Decianus. ‘You did know about this! You had them separated, you fat—’ Vespasian checked himself.

  ‘Careful what you say, Governor; we don’t want any unpleasantness. They were slaves in the Kingdom of the Garamantes; I just carried out the policy.’