‘You could have just taken him there in the first place.’
Tigran wagged a finger. ‘No, no; we were hoping that he would be a little more forthcoming with us here first, because we’ll have no way of checking what he tells us as he’ll be dead.’
‘Dead?’
‘Of course; then Decianus will think that his freedman has run off with his pearls and won’t realise that you’ve got them back.’
Vespasian rubbed his hands and then clapped them once, grinning. ‘That’s a most excellent idea. But, before you finish off the snake, ask him who the traitor is in my household.’
Still there was no sign of the heatwave abating as Vespasian and Magnus made their way back to the Aventine, across the Forum Romanum and around the base of the Palatine, past the Temple of Vesta whence came the signs of activity.
‘What are they doing on such a day?’ Magnus wondered as the six priestesses processed out, Domitia holding a lantern containing an offshoot of Rome’s Sacred Flame shielded from the breeze by thin strips of horn that glowed warm in its light.
‘More to the point, what’s he doing there? He went down to Antium with Nero,’ Vespasian asked as Domitia presented the flame to Nero’s freedman, Epaphroditus.
‘Perhaps he wants to rekindle Nero’s hearth-fire in readiness for his imminent return.’
‘He would have sent a slave to do that; he’s far too aware of his own importance to do that himself.’
Magnus spat and clenched his thumb to avert the evil-eye. ‘Still, it seems a strange thing to do on a Black Day, rekindle a hearth-fire; no good will come of it, Dog Star rising or not.’
Vespasian found comfort in that thought, if it really were what Epaphroditus was doing; but somehow he doubted it. He put it from his mind as they passed by the baking hulk of the Circus Maximus; its great wooden gates at its flat end were closed as were most of the shops within its precincts due to the blackness of the day. However, as they walked along its length, still bustling with folk going to and fro, it became apparent that some shop-owners thought more of profit than superstitions and used the lack of competition to bolster their takings. The smell of fresh bread wafting from a bakery at the far end of the huge construction proved too much for Magnus to resist.
‘I ain’t ever been in this one before,’ Magnus said, coming out with his purchase; he broke the loaf in half and then ripped off one of the pre-shaped segments. ‘It’s new, apparently; just opened yesterday, which is why they didn’t want to close today, according to the slave who served me.’ He took a bite of the bread, chewed a bit and then frowned as they headed around the curved, southern end of the circus hemmed in by many tenement blocks, pushing their way through a group of young boys playing at gladiators whilst their sisters and girl-cousins played a shrieking game of tag. ‘Well, I’d say that whoever is in charge of the baking needs to take a few more lessons; that’s pretty chewy on the inside.’
But it was not the standard of the local bakeries that concerned Vespasian as they ascended the Aventine with the sun beginning to fall towards the western horizon before them. ‘Just make sure that none of your lads let on to Sabinus what you’re about tonight. You’re all only here to escort me home once Sabinus has read this contract, all right.’ He produced the mortgage contract from the fold in his toga to emphasise the point. ‘Obviously, he’ll not sign it today but tomorrow, if it’s acceptable to him.’
‘Don’t worry, sir; the lads know when to keep their mouths shut. With luck they should be here soon after dark. I can’t imagine that it would take Tigran long to get what he needs out of Drakon; he’s very good at encouraging a bit of chat, if you take my meaning?’
Vespasian only half heard the remark, his mind occupied with the dishonourable deeds that he seemed forever to be forced into. Through the heaving maze of tenement buildings they went until they passed beneath the Appian Aqueduct, which acted as the demarcation line between the crowded squalor of the lower Aventine and the sumptuous villas towards its summit. Coming into the less densely populated neighbourhood of the hill, Vespasian stopped and turned to look out over Rome across to the imperial residences on the Palatine, on the opposite side of the Circus Maximus, with the beauteous marble-colonnaded edifice of the Temple of Apollo behind them and the new Temple of Claudia Augusta next to that. His gaze then moved on to the Esquiline beyond, with its villas encircling its summit which was crowned with the tranquillity of the Gardens of Maecenas. There, in its midst, stood the three-storey tower that Caligula had had built so that he could oversee his city when in residence at the gardens that had been bequeathed to Augustus by his friend and canny political advisor. The hubbub of humanity rose from the tenements below in striking contrast to that imperial oasis of peace.
Vespasian turned his gaze northeast to the Capitoline Hill, supporting the Temple of Jupiter; the heart of Rome, glowing golden in the deepening light. Behind it lay the baths, theatres, temples and other public buildings on the Campus Martius with the Gardens of Lucullus and Sallust to their east and the ribbon of the Tiber to the west and north. And then in the distance lay the conical-roofed Mausoleum of Augustus, the man who had claimed that he had found a city of brick and had left one of marble.
Vespasian recalled the first time he had set eyes on the mistress of the world thirty-eight years ago, a lifetime ago. He had been on the other side of the city, on the Via Salaria, travelling to Rome for the first time, with his parents and brother. Overawed by her sheer scale as she perched upon her seven hills crowned with the pall of brown smoke from the tens of thousands of fires that warmed and fed her, it had been at that moment he had vowed that he would serve her all his life.
Vespasian smiled at the naïvety of his youth in thinking that Rome was a noble cause; he had seen enough to know that there was nothing noble in the ambition that drove men to serve her. No, the motives were not the pure ideal of serving the state for the common good as he had imagined, looking down upon the city with his father next to him; they were far different: they were power and position received through the patronage of one man, the Emperor. And now that Emperor, Nero, was disporting himself in a way that no Roman of noble birth should: singing in public, having never once taken the field with one of his legions – even his uncle, Caligula, had had some experience of the campaign tent; an experience that his crippled predecessor, Claudius, could also boast, just. Even now Nero was probably either gorging himself with food and drink or filling himself with his new husband. Would he, Vespasian, have entered into the public service of Rome had he known how low it would fall?
It was a question that he had asked himself many times and he had always contemplated the alternative when considering the answer: would he have been satisfied staying on his estates where – as his brother had once put it – the only way to differentiate between the years would be to note the quality of the annual vintage? He knew such an existence would not have been for him despite the fact that before he had beheld Rome a quiet life as a country farmer had been all he craved. But now, no; now he could not imagine tolerating such a dull reality even though he had the opportunity to go back to it at any time. So it was that he would continue on his course: he would authorise a burglary in order to retrieve goods that had been stolen from him, using the information of a recently murdered man. And why was he doing all this, wallowing in dishonour? In order that he would have a better chance of surviving the reign of Nero. Not for the good of Rome but for himself alone. And it did not surprise him; after all, he had stooped even lower in his time: the murder of Poppaeus which seemed to forever haunt him; his involvement with Nero’s matricide and many other acts of which he could be less than proud. Each one, however, had helped to secure his survival and his rise in the pool of cess that was the Rome of the Caesars; for the time being, at least, Vespasian reminded himself; at least for the time being.
Could life for the élite improve under a new regime? What was certain was that it could not get any worse than it was now. And so, as the su
n fell into the west, casting the greater part of the city into shadow, Vespasian wondered what it would take to cleanse the city of the malaise that blighted it and as he did so his eye fell upon the mighty edifice of the Praetorian camp right across the city, just without the Viminal Gate. There was the key to it all; there was the power that kept this most unmartial and effeminate of men upon the throne. This man who affected great artistic talent as if it were a thing of equal import as military prowess or firm, enlightened leadership and yet still failed to live up to the standards he had set himself, such were the limits of his abilities.
Shadows still lengthened; candles and lamps were lit, turning the city into a mini earthbound cosmos as soft points of light became myriad. Such was Rome on this evening of the third day after the ides of July, one of the blackest days in her calendar; tinderbox dry after almost two months without rain so that there was now but a trickle of flow in the Appian Aqueduct below.
‘Beautiful, isn’t she?’ Vespasian muttered as he took in the view. ‘The greatest city on earth but dominated by the greatest mediocrity the world has ever seen.’
‘Can you have a great mediocrity?’ Magnus asked, genuinely interested.
Vespasian laughed. ‘I suppose not; but you know what I mean.’ He turned and continued up the hill as the sun set on the city he loved.
It was as Vespasian and Magnus approached Sabinus’ house that the news they had been waiting for arrived in the form of Sextus accompanied by Marcus Urbicus and Lupus carrying a couple of ladders between them.
‘Well, Sextus?’ Magnus asked.
Sextus screwed up his eyes in a struggle for recollection; it took a few moments but it came. ‘Under the lilies in the pond at the centre of the courtyard garden, Magnus.’
‘Good man, Sextus; did he say exactly where?’
‘Yes, Magnus.’ There was another pause for a bout of recollective exertion. ‘The corner closest to the Forum Boarium.’
Magnus clapped the bovinesque brother on the shoulder. ‘Well done, Sextus; you and the lads go and keep an eye on the house, and keep out of sight, we don’t want anyone asking what them ladders are for, do we?’
‘No, Magnus, we don’t; that would be ... er ... awkward.’
‘It would indeed. I’ll join you in half an hour or so.’
‘Yes, Magnus.’
‘Sextus,’ Vespasian said as the brother turned to go, ‘did Tigran give you an answer to the question I asked him to put to Drakon?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, senator, it slipped my mind what with all the other stuff I had to remember. Here.’ He pulled a wax tablet from his belt and handed it to Vespasian.
Vespasian peered at it but could make nothing out in the faded light; he placed it in the fold of his toga. ‘I’ll look at it when we get to Sabinus’ house.’
‘Just what are you doing bringing me the contract on a Black Day, Vespasian?’ Sabinus said after Vespasian had explained his excuse for the visit.
‘And it’s very nice to see you too, Sabinus. Of course I don’t expect you to sign it today but I thought that you might like to look at it and then sign it tomorrow, as I’m eager for the money.’
Sabinus grunted grudging acceptance. ‘I was just about to go to bed but I’ll have a look at it if you wish over a jug of wine. Magnus?’
‘Er ... no thank you, Sabinus; I’ve got a little bit of business to do whilst I’m in the area. I’ll come back when it’s done with a few of the lads and escort Vespasian home.’
*
‘What are you really doing here, Vespasian?’ Sabinus said as he placed the contract on his desk in the tablinum. ‘It’s a perfectly straightforward contract that doesn’t need anything added to it before signing and you know that very well.’
‘Hmmm?’ Vespasian looked up at his brother, tearing his eyes away from the name written in wax that he had been staring at, his guts crawling.
Sabinus repeated the question.
‘As I said.’ Vespasian’s throat was dry and he could barely talk such was the shock of the betrayal.
‘Bollocks, brother. You turn up under some false pretext and Magnus just happens to have a bit of business in the area? Do you think I’m stupid? And you’ve been staring at that wax tablet as if it was your death warrant, so you’ve evidently just received it, therefore you must have met with somebody on your way over here; associates of Magnus, would be my guess.’
Vespasian looked again at the name on the tablet. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Sabinus.’
‘As you wish.’ Sabinus poured them both a cup of wine and passed one over to Vespasian; he contemplated his brother for a few moments before changing the subject. ‘I don’t mind telling you but since Nero’s latest wedding I’ve been getting some very strange enquiries.’
‘What sort of enquiries?’
‘Well, you know: how am I enjoying my position as prefect of Rome? Questions left half asked as if it may be possible for me to rise higher; hints at better times in the future should I wish it and that sort of thing.’
‘Don’t get involved with Piso and Seneca, I’ve told you that already.’
‘It’s not from Piso or Seneca, or Lucanus for that matter; it’s others: Scaevinus, one of this year’s praetors, the grain merchant, Antonius Natalis and Senator Afranius Quintianus to name but a few, all of whom are associated with Piso. Scaevinus was sharing a couch with him at the banquet on the lake, for example. The problem is that at the moment everything has been vague, but if it carries on then they’ll be forcing me into a situation whereby if I don’t report them to Nero it’ll look as though I support them, and if someone else reports them to the Emperor and he finds out that they have been talking to me then my life will be as worthless as theirs.’
‘Just make sure that you are never in private with these people and certainly make sure that you don’t know what their ultimate objective is.’
‘Well, to get rid of Nero, obviously.’
‘Obviously, but what I mean is make sure that you don’t know who they plan to replace him with.’
‘That’s just the point; I think they are sounding me out as their figurehead. Perhaps they don’t think that Piso is up to it, but I get the impression that they would be willing to offer the throne to me.’
‘To you!’
‘I would seem one of the obvious choices seeing as I’m the prefect of Rome and Piso is just a senator from a very good family.’
Vespasian could see the logic of it and the extreme danger. ‘Don’t be tempted, Sabinus.’
‘I don’t have the troops behind me who would secure me in place or the money to buy them, so of course I’m not tempted.’
‘Good.’
‘Why? Because you want the ultimate prize for yourself?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘Come on, Vespasian, we both know what I’m talking about.’
‘Do we? You’ve never revealed the nature of the prophecy.’
‘But I’ve hinted at it once or twice and you know that to be ...’ Sabinus paused and sniffed the air. ‘Patroculus!’
The slave waiting outside the room stepped in.
‘Is the hearth-fire smoking?’
Patroculus went to have a quick look and soon returned. ‘No, master.’
‘Well, something is, I can smell it. Go and have a look around the house.’
With a bow, the slave departed as a commotion erupted in the atrium.
Sabinus stood in alarm. Magnus dashed into the room.
‘What’s wrong, Magnus?’ Vespasian asked, getting to his feet as well. ‘Was there a problem?’
‘I’ll say there was, sir; the lads were in and then it was like someone had poked a stick in an ants’ nest. The boys just managed to get out in time, but empty-handed unfortunately.’
‘Why?’
‘You’d better both come and have a look. I reckon you’re going to have a busy night ahead, Sabinus. The Circus Maximus is burning.’
CHAPTER X
‘
THAT’S THE WHOLE southern end on fire,’ Sabinus exclaimed, incredulity in his voice.
‘And it’s already spread to two of the tenement buildings next to it, by the looks of it,’ Vespasian said, thinking of the children who had been playing in that very place as he had passed it a little over an hour previously and hoping that they had been taken to safety.
‘It spread really fast,’ Magnus informed them, ‘it was half that size when we first saw it from Decianus’ place.’
Sabinus gave Magnus a quick quizzical glance but his mind was more focused upon his duty. ‘I’d better get down there and take charge.’
Vespasian followed his brother down the hill at speed until the streets became choked with terrified people fleeing the ever growing conflagration that now, with flames clawing at rising, billowing smoke, lit the entire quarter. Their passage was made even more gruelling by knots of spectators from the surrounding areas whose properties were not yet threatened and had no concept of the danger that lurked.
‘Get back to your homes!’ Sabinus shouted to the onlookers, as Magnus, Sextus and the two other South Quirinal brothers beat a path through the crowds in lieu of Sabinus’ lictors whom he had dismissed for the day. ‘Get back, the Vigiles will need easy access if this isn’t to spread too far. Your homes could be next.’ The authoritative voice of the Urban prefect, conspicuous in his purple-bordered toga, warning them of imminent danger to their property brought a sense of reality to many and it was with urgency and rising horror on flickering faces, at the thought of losing everything, that the curious dispersed.
Still fighting against the tide of panic as people, carrying or dragging possessions or clutching babes or small children’s hands, struggled to get clear of the heat emanating from what were once their homes, Vespasian and Sabinus struggled forward with Magnus and the lads doing their best against the throng. Even as he glanced up at it, the tenement next to the two already burning burst into flames that leapt from windows as if the place had been torched by fire-razers. Out ran the inhabitants who had been clinging on until the last moment in the hope that their squalid abode would be miraculously spared; but it was not to be. So quick was the building engulfed that Vespasian did wonder, briefly, whether there had been foul play, but all extraneous thoughts were soon banished as the scale of the blaze, compared to the lack of effort to counter it, became apparent. The entire rounded end of the circus was being consumed by flames that seemed to spring from the very stones themselves rather than just the thick wooden beams upon which the edifice had been constructed. Facing the fire were two pathetically weak hand-pumps, whose jets of water spurted irregularly and barely made it twenty feet into the air, and four bucket-chains of twenty or so sweating Vigiles conveying water from a nearby cistern.
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