Rome's Sacred Flame Read online

  ‘Indeed, my friend,’ Gaius agreed from the comfort of his carriage that he shared with Domitian, ‘you are most fortunate. I intend to remain as inconspicuous as possible and keep a tight grip of my purse-strings until the last brick has been mortared into place and the final piece of scaffolding has been dismantled.’

  Vespasian did not look so sure of the possibility of his uncle’s strategy. ‘I’m afraid that may be rather difficult, Uncle; I imagine that the Emperor is going to want the Senate to vote him all sorts of new taxes. I think that hiding in your tablinum is not going to be an option unless you want to become even more conspicuous because of your absence.’

  Gaius’ jowls juddered at the thought. ‘Oh dear, dear boy; oh dear.’

  And it was in a city of wooden scaffolding, piles of building materials and countless workmen, slave, freed and free, that Vespasian, Titus, Magnus and Gaius found themselves as they passed through the Porta Collina a couple of hours later. Immediately their pace slowed as the streets, narrow at the best of times, were obstructed continually by the accoutrements of reconstruction and a procession of builders’ carts delivering endless materials, their daytime ban being rescinded for the reconstruction.

  They had left their horses and Gaius’ carriage outside the gates with a few of their slaves to make the arrangements whilst the rest had been sent on ahead, with Domitian, to warn the small staff remaining in Vespasian’s and Gaius’ houses that the masters were approaching.

  Pushing along the Alta Semita it was apparent that the fire had caused far more damage on the southern side of the street; indeed, this close to the gate the street seemed to be the demarcation line between those houses that had remained untouched and those that had suffered.

  ‘I’ll leave you here, Father,’ Titus said as they approached the acute junction of the Alta Semita and the Vicus Longus, at whose apex stood the tavern that acted as the headquarters of the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood. ‘I’ll organise a meeting with Quintus Marcius Barea Sura tomorrow so that we can discuss the financial details of the marriage contract. He’s keen to have it done as soon as possible, as you know.’

  ‘Tell him that I’ll be at the Senate House in the morning, we’ll do it there.’

  ‘I will, Father. I’ll see you then.’ With a sad smile, as he took his father’s forearm, Titus conveyed the depth of his sorrow that Flavia would not be a witness to the wedding and then, with a nod to Gaius and Magnus, walked away downhill, into the centre of the city.

  ‘Looks like the lads have got a bit of work to do,’ Magnus commented, his eyes on the tavern that was in the process of almost complete reconstruction. ‘The second time in twelve years.’ He shook his head and drew the wind through his teeth in disbelief.

  ‘Have they been doing what I requested?’ Vespasian asked, looking up at the hod of roof tiles being winched up the none-too-reassuring scaffolding that covered the front of the building.

  ‘I expect so; I’ll go and find out. Tigran was outraged when I told him and he said that he was going to call a meeting of all the brotherhoods who had suffered in the fire, which was most of them, and get them to join in the campaign.’

  ‘No need to ask.’ Vespasian pointed to a recently finished building; fresh red paint had been daubed on both sides of the doors. ‘“Nero me rebuilt caused to be” and “Fire are the colour from Nero’s beards”. I think that makes it quite clear.’

  Magnus looked surprised and impressed. ‘I’m amazed the lads could write so well.’

  ‘Well, obviously it’s not fantastic grammar, but the sense is there.’

  ‘You should tell them to write something on your tavern,’ Titus pointed out, ‘as it will look a bit strange if it’s the only building without.’

  ‘Fair point; I’ll do that.’ Magnus turned to Vespasian. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you home, sir?’

  ‘We’ll be fine, Magnus. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll have Tigran have some lads waiting at Senator Pollo’s house at dawn.’

  ‘Thank you, Magnus,’ Gaius said, as he and Vespasian moved off along the Alta Semita towards its junction with Pomegranate Street.

  ‘I’m so sorry for your loss, my love, she was a good woman.’ Caenis held Vespasian’s hands, as they stood in the atrium of his house; she looked up into his face as she expressed her genuine sympathy at the news of her rival’s death. ‘Flavia was very good to me and I shall miss her.’

  Vespasian stroked her cheek and then looked around the room, seeing signs of his late wife everywhere. ‘She wanted you to fill the gap that she leaves and act as a mother to the children with her blessing.’

  Caenis kissed the back of Vespasian’s hand as it passed her lips. ‘Of course I will, my love, of course. Would you want me to move in here?’

  ‘You don’t mind living with the memory of Flavia surrounding you? I doubt it.’

  Caenis gave a sad smile and shook her head. ‘You’re right: I don’t think that I could; I would want to change things but would feel that I was intruding if I did. Perhaps you should move into my house.’

  ‘Along with Domitian?’

  Caenis could not conceal a flicker of reluctance passing across her face. ‘Naturally Domitian can come to live there; I’ll try to provide him with the guidance that Flavia would have wanted.’

  Vespasian checked himself from saying that Domitian was not at all susceptible to guidance, however good and well meaning. ‘I suppose that I should sell this place.’

  ‘That would be a foolish move.’

  Vespasian paused for thought; he saw his error almost immediately. ‘Ahh, any cash that I released would just end up being taken by Nero.’

  ‘It’s been terrible these last couple of months; Nero’s Golden House has—’

  ‘Sucked Rome dry?’ Vespasian interrupted.

  ‘And continues to do so. There is almost one suicide every three or four days as informers concoct false charges against the wealthy that Nero is only too pleased to believe; and with all the rumours going about that he caused the fire it’s only too easy for him to imagine that there are conspiracies against him everywhere.’

  ‘So the graffiti is working?’

  ‘Very well; but it’s not just the brotherhoods who have been doing it; the common people have started to question how the fire started. Now that they can see this huge palace rising in the centre of the city they are starting to wonder at the coincidence that so many of their homes were destroyed and then Nero builds himself one massive one on the ruins.’

  ‘And builds it so quickly.’

  ‘Indeed; the more intelligent of them have realised that the plans must have been drawn up before the fire for it to have progressed with such speed. Epaphroditus is looking for something to distract them from their muttering against his master.’

  ‘A scapegoat?’

  ‘Yes, someone else to blame for the fire.’

  ‘The followers of Paulus of Tarsus,’ Sabinus said in response to Vespasian’s question as they and Gaius walked down the Quirinal Hill the following morning; their combined entourages of clients made a formidable escort now that Sabinus had made his uncle’s house his temporary residence whilst awaiting the rebuilding of his house on the Aventine. ‘Epaphroditus told me yesterday.’

  Vespasian sighed. ‘I’d prefer the blame to stick to Nero, but I can’t say that I’m not pleased that the little shit and his followers are going to suffer.’

  ‘It’s well overdue, dear boys,’ Gaius said with certainty. ‘They’ve been allowed to spread their atheist filth for too long unchecked. Have you still got that scoundrel Paulus under arrest, Sabinus?’

  ‘I have, Uncle; he’s safely imprisoned in the Tullianum. I debate with him from time to time. He genuinely believes his lies; he is a spiritual man who would have found great solace in my Lord Mithras but I cannot persuade him. We’ve also got one of his rivals, Petrus; we finally ran him down a couple of days ago. He and Paulus have been arguing for
years, apparently, over whether non-Jews should be allowed to join their sect; they seem to have come to some sort of compromise and were in the process of setting up a temple, or something like it, here in Rome. A nasty thought, and I should know after what I witnessed when I was Governor of Thracia and Macedonia.’

  ‘Indeed, dear boy,’ Gaius agreed, ‘we were there, remember; we saw how many you had to nail up when they refused to sacrifice to the Emperor.’

  ‘Quite; but it was easier to catch them there. The trouble with Rome is it’s so big they can go unnoticed; my information is that their numbers are growing at quite a frightening rate now that there’s a rapport between Paulus and Petrus, and so the thinking is that we use this chance to get rid of them before they get too established.’

  Vespasian thought he saw a flaw in the plan. ‘What evidence do you have that will make the accusation stick?’

  ‘Other than in a time of crisis or doubt people enjoy picking on a minority and giving them a good bashing?’

  ‘Yes, other than that.’

  ‘Well, it’s to do with an old prophecy.’

  Vespasian was interested. ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Yes; it’s from Egypt and it says that Rome will burn as the Dog Star rises. Now it transpires that this prophecy was well known amongst Paulus’ supporters because many see Rome as an oppressive place rather than the inclusive and tolerant society that is its reality.’

  ‘So when did the Dog Star rise last year?’

  Sabinus grinned. ‘Very conveniently on the night the fire broke out.’

  Vespasian tapped his forehead with his fingers. ‘Of course it did, I remember Magnus mentioning it. So, was that coincidence or was it planned?’

  ‘Well, that’s a very interesting thing. If it really was Paulus’ people, one could say that he had planned it thus and would claim the prophecy as his own to bolster this religion that he’s conjured. However, if it was actually Nero’s doing then it could either be a coincidence or—’

  ‘Nero chose the date on purpose with an eye to putting the blame elsewhere should people begin to realise who really burned down the city.’

  ‘Precisely. And if that is the case then Nero was planning this for at least a year.’

  Vespasian frowned. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘The November before the fire, eight months before it, whilst you were in Africa, Nero finally got around to catching up on all the appeals to the Emperor that were outstanding due to his obsession with building a temple to his daughter. One of those appeals was Paulus’. Now, Nero didn’t know exactly who Paulus was but he had heard of the worshippers of the Christus, who hadn’t, since Claudius clamped down on them and expelled them from the city? Now, whether it was a spontaneous decision on Nero’s part or whether he had already decided that this sect would be the perfect scapegoats, I don’t know; but what is certain is that when Nero found out that Paulus was a follower of the Christus and when Paulus then claimed that the end of the world would be heralded by the rise of the Dog Star, he immediately delayed his execution and told me to keep Paulus safe as he thought that he’d found a use for his death.’

  Vespasian’s smile was slow in growing. ‘Which he has; a perfect use for his death; doubly so because he’s a citizen.’

  ‘What difference does that make?’ Gaius asked as they entered the partially rebuilt Forum of Caesar, still missing the equestrian bronze of the dictator destroyed in the fire.

  ‘Because he will be the first citizen to be executed for being a member of this intolerant sect that denies the existence of the gods, refuses to sacrifice to the Emperor and is generally antisocial and keeps itself apart. It will show that Rome will not tolerate such beliefs in its citizens.’

  Gaius was confused. ‘But Sabinus told me that he was condemned for causing a riot in Caesarea, not being a member of a proscribed sect; even if there were a law against it, which, to my knowledge, there isn’t.’

  Sabinus slapped his uncle on the shoulder. ‘Somehow, Uncle, I think that there soon will be. Although, in a way I feel some regret as I’ve found him to be a spiritual man and very knowledgeable about my Lord Mithras, which is unsurprising seeing as he comes from Tarsus, one of the great centres of my religion. In my view he could just have easily preached Mithraism, there are so many similar elements and he would have caused a lot less trouble.’

  ‘But then he wouldn’t have been the leader of the sect,’ Vespasian reminded Sabinus as they stepped out into the Forum Romanum. ‘He’d have been just another Mithraic preacher and that would never have suited Paulus.’

  ‘Father Jupiter Optimus Maximus, or whatever name you wish to be addressed by, in offering this bull to you we make a good prayer that you may be propitious and of good will towards us the Senate, and our Emperor, Nero Claudius Germanicus Caesar, and to Rome, the city in which you dwell.’ Aulus Licinius Nerva Silianus, the senior consul, stood, with his palms upraised and a fold of his toga covering his head, at the top of the steps of the rebuilt Senate House; smoke from the altar fire spiralled skywards behind him. Senators, over five hundred of them, stood before the building, bearing witness to the sacrifice of a pure white bull. Behind them, covering almost the entire forum, the people of Rome looked on in reverential silence as Vestinus Atticus, the junior consul, stunned the beast with a mallet blow to the head and Silianus slit its throat.

  More prayers were intoned as the sacrificial blood streamed into a bronze basin that quickly filled and then overflowed, so that the steps of the Senate House were stained deep red and the iron tang of life’s fluid filled the warming, post-dawn air. The bull crumpled to its knees and then keeled over and was soon being eviscerated by the two consuls. As Silianus held up the liver, announcing that it was perfect, an eagle passed high above the forum, it’s wings beating with slow majesty as it steered a direct course due east; many would swear later that the bird had a burning coal clasped in its talons – although how it did so without causing itself serious injury, none could quite say, unwilling as they were to let practicality get in the way of an otherwise impressive omen.

  Silianus pointed to the sky as the eagle flew over the vast construction site of the Golden House and on to the Esquiline. ‘Jupiter Optimus Maximus has accepted our sacrifice. What is more he has guided our thoughts with this omen. We shall now take our places and await the arrival of the Emperor, who will grace us by taking time out from overseeing the reconstruction of our city to make a plea for our aid. Conscript Fathers, until his arrival we shall hear from the prefect of Rome, Titus Flavius Sabinus, who will report on the progress of the reconstruction.’

  Vespasian looked at his brother in surprise. ‘You didn’t say that you were due to speak this morning.’

  ‘I didn’t know; I haven’t really got anything new to say that no one already knows.’

  ‘Then it’s a trap, dear boy,’ Gaius asserted. ‘Silianus wouldn’t have put you on the spot like that unless there was some way that he could gain by it. My advice is to make a very short statement heaping praise upon the Emperor for the excellent job he is doing co-ordinating the resources; even though we all know that he’s just concentrating on his new palace complex and letting unscrupulous contractors milk as much money as possible out of the rest of the reconstruction by employing shoddy building practices, if only half of the rumours are true.’

  ‘You’re right, Uncle; I’ll be fulsome with imperial praise and brief with hard fact.’

  And he was true to his word, Vespasian mused as his brother delivered a flowery paean of praise for the Emperor’s selfless struggle to improve the situation of the deserving people of Rome and neglecting to say that in Nero’s mind that amounted to one person: himself.

  ‘And as to the progress of the public works,’ Sabinus declaimed as he drew to a close in the high-vaulted chamber that smelt of fresh paint and sawdust with an undertone of sweat, ‘we have recently imported another two thousand public slaves from the slave markets of Delos and work is underway in all the pu
blic buildings being reconstructed at the Treasury’s expense. And that, Conscript Fathers, is all I have to report.’

  ‘Our thanks to the prefect of Rome,’ Silianus said as Sabinus made his way back to his folding stool between Vespasian and his uncle. ‘But before you sit down, prefect, would you tell us who was responsible for the disaster, as I believe that you now have that information?’

  Sabinus came to a sudden halt as if he had walked into an invisible barrier. Vespasian now understood just why Epaphroditus had furnished his brother with the information as to who was to be the scapegoat for the fire: Sabinus was to be the one to falsely accuse the sect and in doing so it would make it seem that Nero had been wronged by the people’s suspicions, something that would not have been possible had the Emperor, or anyone closely associated with him, made the claim.

  Vespasian watched the very same thoughts go through his brother’s head as he too realised that he had been manoeuvred into being the one who would be responsible for protecting Nero’s reputation with the people. To do it successfully would mean that he, Sabinus, would have to persecute the sect without mercy.

  Sabinus turned and faced the senior consul. ‘Without doubt it was a new sect of gods-denying atheists. They have in the past refused to make sacrifices to the Emperor or, even as with the compromise reached with the Jews, for the Emperor.’

  Silianus took on a grave countenance as mutters of outrage circulated in the chamber. ‘And what evidence have you uncovered that supports this claim?’

  Vespasian could see that his brother was thinking fast.

  ‘I have confessions from a number of slaves who are members of this sect, made under torture in accordance with the law, that the fire was organised by two people: Paulus of Tarsus and an accomplice of his, Petrus. Both of whom are in my custody in the Tullianum and—’

  ‘In your custody!’ The voice was immediately recognisable and Vespasian did not need to turn his head to know that Nero was standing, unannounced, in the open doors of the Senate House; it had been a well-planned move as was attested by the expression on the face of Epaphroditus, standing just behind the Emperor.