Rome's Sacred Flame Page 19

  ‘Where are the rest of your men?’ Sabinus shouted at the Vigiles centurion overseeing the pitiful attempt to douse the flames.

  ‘Coming, prefect, I hope,’ the man replied, recognising Sabinus at once.

  ‘You hope? What’s taken them so long?’

  ‘Confusion, sir; orders and counter-orders came as we left our barracks. Some of us were told to turn back and wait in reserve.’

  ‘Reserve! Reserve for what? Reserve for when the whole city is ablaze because we only tried half-heartedly to put out the fire?’

  ‘I don’t know; all I know is that it seemed stupid so I came with my century anyway.’

  ‘You mean you’re only here because you disobeyed orders?’

  The man gave a nervous nod of his head. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And whose orders did you disobey?’

  ‘Nymphidius Sabinus’, sir.’

  ‘The prefect of the Vigiles himself ordered you not to attend this fire?’

  ‘Er ... yes, sir; that would seem to be about it.’

  ‘There must be some mistake.’

  ‘That’s what I thought and so I came anyway.’

  Sabinus flinched back as the next portion of the circus caught and spewed forth a searing jet of flame, scattering the bucket-chains as the temperature became unendurable; literally blistering.

  ‘It’s too late to fight it,’ Vespasian said, recoiling and pulling an arm up as if he could ward off the heat. ‘Even if we had all the Vigiles from this area’s cohort and those surrounding, it would be impossible.’

  ‘You’re right; everything is so dry because of the heatwave,’ Sabinus agreed. ‘It’s containment that we need.’ He looked back to the centurion. ‘Do we know where it started?’

  ‘In the bakery just around the corner.’

  Vespasian knew it at once. ‘The one that only just opened yesterday?’

  ‘That’s the one, sir; how did you know?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  Sabinus was not interested in that detail either. ‘Get your men making fire-breaks, centurion; pull down every building in its path, starting with that one there.’ He pointed to a four-storey tenement that stood next to one that had begun to smoulder. ‘And then pull down the one next to that and work in; I don’t want it spreading up the Aventine.’ He did not add that it was because his property lay at the hill’s summit. ‘Get started and I’ll have as many Vigiles Cohorts and all three of the Urban Cohorts come to aid you as soon as I can.’

  The centurion snapped a salute, evidently pleased that he had orders that he could obey. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And as soon as more men arrive have some of them start wetting down the circus to try to prevent that from spreading.’

  ‘That will be difficult, prefect.’

  ‘Difficult! Of course it will be difficult, man; but do it anyway.’

  ‘Yes, sir; but it will be very difficult without water.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Vespasian said. ‘On the way up here I noticed that there was only a trickle in the Appian Aqueduct.’

  Sabinus punched his fist into his palm. ‘This fucking weather! What about the cisterns and water butts, centurion?’

  ‘All of them almost empty; we were struggling as it was.’

  ‘We’ll just have to fetch it from the Tiber. I’ll mobilise every public slave we have and put pressure on people to lend their personal slaves; this has got to be halted.’ He looked up to the imperial residences on the summit of the Palatine, glowing golden in the radiance of fire. ‘At all costs, it must not be allowed to spread to the Palatine or my life will be worth nothing and I might as well jump into the flames now. Get on with it, centurion.’ He turned to Vespasian. ‘Come, brother, we’ve got work to do, starting with a polite enquiry of Nymphidius Sabinus as to just what the fuck he thinks he’s doing.’

  ‘How long has he been prefect of the Vigiles?’ Vespasian asked Sabinus as they hurried towards the Forum Romanum, still feeling the warmth of the blaze on their backs despite being at least three hundred paces from it.

  ‘Hmmm? Oh, he was appointed towards the end of last year, whilst you were in Africa; needless to say, he’s Tigellinus’ friend.’

  ‘And he’s no friend of ours.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t you recognise the name? He was the prefect of the auxiliary cavalry ala that accompanied Decianus to Boudicca’s settlement. He acquiesced in leaving us to her mercy.’

  ‘Was that him? Are you sure?’

  ‘Pretty sure; I’ll know when I see him.’

  ‘We haven’t got time for personal feuds at the moment.’

  ‘Indeed not, Sabinus; but it’s always good to know where old friends can be found.’

  ‘Very true, brother. Once we’ve fought the fire I think we should make life even hotter for the bastard. I’m in a very good position to make Rome exceedingly dangerous for the prefect of the Vigiles.’

  Vespasian looked back over his shoulder to where the fire was noticeably growing. ‘If there is any Rome left, that is.’

  *

  ‘What do you mean, he won’t come before the Senate?’ Sabinus roared. ‘I want him here to explain why he ordered his Vigiles to do next to nothing about the fire.’

  ‘He says he’s too busy fighting the fire to come and talk about it,’ the senior consul, Gaius Licinius Mucianus, said. ‘I sent a message for him to present himself to the Senate as I rushed over here; that was his reply.’

  There were rumblings of outrage around the shadows of the Senate House; at least two hundred senators were now present with more coming through the doors all the time as, beyond, the southern half of the circus was almost entirely engulfed. Public slaves bustled about the chamber lighting lamps and candles that had been hastily gathered to illumine this impromptu and most irregular night-time meeting; but such was the urgency of the situation that convention had been set aside as all present wanted the fire halted before it reached their property. Even the customary prayers and sacrifice had been omitted.

  ‘However,’ Mucianus continued, ‘I believe that we should ask the Emperor to come and take personal command of the fire-fighting effort.’

  That met with unanimous mutterings of approval. Vespasian joined in, smiling inwardly to himself. He knew Mucianus very well from when the man had been his thick-stripe military tribune in the II Augusta in Germania Superior and then in the early part of the invasion of Britannia. He had proved himself to be a very capable soldier and an intelligent politician, as he was now showing: to invite the Emperor back to Rome to take charge was a good way of ensuring that Nero could not blame Mucianus for the disaster.

  Sabinus realised it would provide him with a certain immunity too. ‘I second that. I think that a combined appeal from the senior consul and the Urban prefect would convey to the Emperor the seriousness of the situation and the fact that his advice is desperately needed.’ Sabinus looked around the gradually filling chamber and then added: ‘Especially seeing as the prefect of the Vigiles seems to be giving contrary orders to his men.’

  Again there was unanimous agreement as the process of focusing the blame had begun even whilst the disaster was still growing.

  ‘Very good,’ Mucianus said, his eyes roving around the gathering, ‘whoever leads the delegation to the Emperor could make that suggestion in a way that the Emperor would understand without it being an out and out accusation.’ His eyes rested on Vespasian. ‘The leader of the delegation should be of proconsular rank and I would nominate my former commander in the Second Augusta, a man with Triumphal Ornaments, a newly returned Governor of Africa and a hero of the invasion of Britannia as well as playing a crucial role in the suppression of the revolt in that province a few years ago: Titus Flavius Vespasianus. In him we have a man who can represent the full dignity of the Senate and thereby demonstrate to the Emperor just how much we honour him. Who will second the motion?’

  As the senators vied with one another to be associated wit
h the proposal, Vespasian turned to his brother in alarm. ‘Seeing Nero is the last thing I want to do; can you get me out of it?’

  Sabinus shook his head. ‘You can’t refuse such an honour from the senior consul, Vespasian; Mucianus is doing you a great favour. He doesn’t know about the problem of the pearls.’

  Vespasian understood and had no option but to comply with the will of the Senate as a vote was called and passed with very little opposition. ‘I thank the Senate for the honour it does me and will do my utmost to ensure that the Emperor understands the gravity of the situation and speeds to our aid. I would recommend that the delegation be made up of men of propraetor and proconsular rank; a dozen of each. I propose my uncle, Gaius Vespasius Pollo, as one member; I leave the rest up to you, Conscript Fathers. To save time we should travel to Antium by sea. We will take boats from the Campus Martius at dawn, sail down to Ostia and take a trireme from there.’

  *

  A breeze had got up and was blowing with increasing vigour to the south as Vespasian and the delegation boarded a small flotilla of river craft at the landing stage on the Campus Martius, next to Agrippa’s Bridge, in what would have been the half-light before dawn had the sky not glowed with the force of many dawns, obscuring the rise of the Dog Star after its seventy-day absence from the night sky. Flames leapt high, being driven south, away from the centre of the city by the freshening wind. The small boats pushed out into the current and, combined with its strength, the power of the oarsmen and the wind, sped south. Crowds of refugees had already begun to cluster in the few open places on either bank, looking back at the consumption of what little they owned in this world.

  ‘This is going to turn out very expensive, dear boy,’ Gaius observed, steadying his bulk against the rocking of the vessel. ‘Those people are all going to have to be rehoused if we’re to keep the peace; if the mob was to get resentful it would be at our throats in no time, especially if there is nowhere to stage any games.’ He looked at the burning bulk of the Circus Maximus as they sailed past the Tiber Island and came out from under the Fabrician Bridge. Behind the circus the imperial residences on the Palatine looked to be safe for the moment as the wind had taken the flames away from them; but all the tenements crowding between the circus and the Servian Walls were now blazing. The fire-breaks had not worked. The flames now straddled the city walls and ran amok in the tinder-dry shanty town beyond. Each time Vespasian looked there seemed to be a broader front to the fire. The summit of the Aventine still remained untouched but the fire was eating its way around it as the wind gusted and veered from south to southwest and then back again. Within the time it took them to reach the Aemilian Bridge the flaming detritus blown on the breeze had passed over the Laveran Gate, to the southwest of the Aventine, and seeded the area beyond with sundry infant conflagrations that, despite the efforts of countless silhouetted figures scurrying around with buckets, began to link up.

  ‘The granaries will be next, Uncle,’ Vespasian said as the sun rose on a city that had little need for more light.

  Gaius wiped the sweat from his brow; his handkerchief came away smeared with soot. ‘They’re full as well; the Egyptian grain fleet arrived shortly before you did. That will be very costly.’

  ‘More to the point, if they go up then they’ll take everything around them; all the warehouses, everything. People are going to lose fortunes and that means ... well, chaos.’

  ‘And chaos will mean Nero will be looking for even more money to solve the problem; we’ll all be paying for this. Nero will definitely be wanting your non-existent pearls now, dear boy.’

  ‘They’re not non-existent, Uncle; Decianus had them all along.’

  ‘Well, that is rather fortunate, dear boy,’ Gaius said after Vespasian had explained the details to him. ‘What are you doing about it?’

  ‘I’ve got Magnus and Tigran’s lads working on the problem; we know where they are hidden, it’s just a question of breaking into Decianus’ house. They were in the process of doing that when the fire broke out and they had to get out quickly, without the pearls. Magnus and the lads have gone back to try again or see if they can grab them as they’re being moved out of the house if the fire starts to threaten the summit of the Aventine.’

  ‘Which it will. Look.’ Gaius pointed to the hill, just within the Servian Walls, bathed with a mixture of risen sun and burning city; the untouched crown of the Aventine had definitely diminished.

  ‘It must be getting very close to Decianus’ house. Sabinus’ house will be in trouble soon too as will Domitilla and Cerialis’. I sent a messenger to them this morning to tell them to get their valuables over to our houses; Sabinus is doing the same.’

  ‘Thank the gods that we live on the other side of the city.’

  ‘What makes you think that we’ll be safe on the Quirinal?’

  ‘Surely the fire can’t travel all the way over there?’

  ‘How do you think we’re going to manage to stop it? Men with buckets and a few pumps? It’s in the hands of the gods, Uncle. If the wind stays in the south then we should be fine and just the Aventine and perhaps the Caelian will suffer; but if it comes around to the east or even northeast to north, what then? Whoosh.’

  Gaius’ jowls wobbled with the hideousness of the mental image. ‘I see what you mean, dear boy; I shall have my boys make preparations for an evacuation as soon as we get back.’

  ‘Let’s hope that Decianus is in the process of doing just that,’ Vespasian said as he looked back at the burning Aventine; in the foreground the first of the granaries burst into flame and, as they left the city behind them, the smell of the fumes clung to their clothes.

  ‘The Emperor will see no one until he has completed his recital,’ Epaphroditus informed Vespasian at the gates of Antium’s theatre, adjacent to Nero’s newly constructed villa boasting a sea frontage that was eight hundred paces long.

  Vespasian took a deep breath in a monumental effort to remain calm. ‘Epaphroditus, Rome is burning; the fires are running out of control.’

  The freedman shrugged. ‘There is nothing that I can do about it; he’s given exact instructions that he is not to be distracted until he has competed in this competition. He’s determined to win it.’

  ‘Of course he’s going to win it; the judges won’t dare vote for anyone else. I must speak to him now.’ He turned and gestured at the two dozen senators behind him. ‘Look at the makeup of the delegation: all proconsuls or propraetors; that’s how important the Senate deems the situation to be. The Emperor must be informed immediately.’

  ‘It’s impossible, I’m afraid,’ Epaphroditus said as a welling up of applause came from within the theatre. ‘That’s the Emperor being announced, he’ll be going on now. If you’re quick you can get in before he starts. It wouldn’t do to be here and not watch the performance; Nero won’t take kindly to that.’

  ‘It looks as if we’ve no choice, dear boy,’ Gaius muttered. ‘Although how we’re going to report to the Senate that we were forced to sit through a performance of the Emperor’s as Rome burned, I don’t know.’

  ‘Sit?’ Epaphroditus asked. ‘Oh no, we haven’t got time to get you seats; they’re all taken and I can’t start moving people now, that would be very off-putting for the Emperor. I’m afraid you’ll have to stand at the back.’ He pointed up to the top tier of the theatre to a group of men in headdresses and wearing black and white mantels over their tunics. ‘You can squeeze in behind the Jewish delegation from Jerusalem; you had better hurry.’

  Vespasian could contain himself no longer. ‘But the dignity of the Senate cannot be treated like that, freedman! I insist that seats are found for us; we’re not being made to squeeze in behind some Jews.’

  ‘And I insist that the Emperor is not distracted. It’s also for your own good as if he doesn’t win this competition he will be in no mood to grant your request.’

  ‘Of course he’s going to win it, you fool.’

  ‘Is he? With his voice I’m sure he
will but it requires his full concentration so therefore you will have to stand.’

  ‘I have done what I can,’ Nero said, addressing the six judges sitting at the centre of the front row. ‘The issue will now be in Fortuna’s hands. Since you are men of judgement and experience, you will know how to eliminate the factor of chance.’

  Vespasian and his delegation looked on in horror, from the very top of the theatre, down onto the stage where the Emperor stood in an ungirded tunic, his lyre poised. And then it happened: he plucked a chord – it was almost melodic – then, with a reedy voice that barely made it to Vespasian’s ears, he launched into an epic ode of the Fall of Troy. An emperor performing in public; on he went, as the audience sat as if enraptured, through verse after mediocre verse, never improving. Behind him the Tyrrhenian Sea, speckled with fishing boats and merchant vessels going about their business, glistered as the sun touched its zenith; a warm breeze, laced with salt, blew in bringing with it the gentle, slow crash of breakers from the beach below. The beauty of the setting contrasted so markedly with the chaos left behind in Rome that Vespasian found it hard to believe that there really was a disaster of such a scale occurring in the city until he looked in its direction: there, rising over the horizon, fifty miles away, was the column of smoke that spoke of the reality of the fire; a reality that the Emperor was not yet aware of as he waded on through the Fall of Troy with tears flowing down his cheeks as he sang of her burning towers. Vespasian clenched and unclenched his fists and seethed at the irony but he, like the rest of the world, was powerless to do anything against the young ruler of Rome and her Empire whose dignity was expiring as he performed, so outrageously, in public so close to the seat of his power.