Rome's Sacred Flame Page 30

  And it was a sight that neither Vespasian nor his brother had been prepared for that greeted them as they arrived at a large terrace surrounded by a balustrade in the midst of which reclined Nero and his Empress, Poppaea Sabina, now noticeably pregnant again, eating from a laden table. But it was not this reasonably normal scene that so shocked Vespasian; it was what made it visible. At intervals around the balustrade great torches had been erected, a dozen in all, and Vespasian now understood whence came the smell of roasting meat.

  ‘Prefect Sabinus!’ Nero rasped as he licked the juice of a pear from his fingers. ‘So you have brought me the culprits.’

  ‘As you have ordered, Princeps; here are Paulus of Tarsus and Petrus of Judaea, ready for your judgement.’

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ Poppaea asked, pointing at Vespasian.

  Nero frowned at Vespasian. ‘Well? What are you doing here?’

  Vespasian knew that it would do him no good to feel any shame. ‘I came with my brother to have the pleasure of seeing you condemn the two men responsible for the burning of Rome, Princeps. I enjoy seeing justice done.’

  ‘Yes, quite; justice must be done.’ Nero peered at the two prisoners for a few moments in the ghastly, flickering light. ‘But there’s no need to hear the case, I can tell they are guilty; but we shall take them before the people now.’ He gestured to a shadowed figure beyond the balustrade. ‘Subrius, have the people in the camp gather in my circus, as quick as you can, so they can see the truth of it. And make sure the Jewish delegation has arrived.’

  ‘They’re waiting outside the gardens, Princeps.’

  ‘Good. Tell them to join me as I make my way to the circus.’

  The Praetorian tribune saluted and hurried off about his errand.

  Nero looked back at the prisoners. ‘I remember this Paulus; he said something about the End of Days starting here in Rome when the Dog Star rose. Well, it seemed for a while that the prophecy might have come true, but ...’ He gestured around him. ‘Life still goes on.’ He looked up at one of the torches. ‘Not for them, obviously, but for most others.’ He then glanced at a small group of condemned waiting in the shadows for their turn to provide the lighting. ‘Except, perhaps, them as well. The day turns to night now but tomorrow it will be day again. So, it was not the End of Days; it was just you and your people trying to make it so. Now the people of Rome shall know the truth.’

  Paulus did not flinch. ‘The whole of Rome knows that it was you.’

  ‘Silence!’ Poppaea shrilled. ‘How dare you address your Emperor without leave?’ She placed a soothing hand on Nero’s arm. ‘Ignore his lies, my treasure; don’t allow them to furrow your brow. The people know how much you love them and how hard you work for them; they would never believe such vicious slander. Let’s put this to rest for once and for all.’

  ‘Will the Emperor finally hear our plea, prefect?’ a long-bearded Jew in his late twenties asked Sabinus as the Jewish delegation of six men joined Nero’s entourage processing to the circus.

  Sabinus did not look at the man. ‘I don’t think he ever had any intention of hearing your case, Yosef. Jewish priests imprisoned by the procurator of Judaea for refusing to pay the new taxes and then causing a riot over them are very low on his list of priorities.’

  ‘But they’re innocent.’

  ‘What Jew is ever innocent?’

  Yosef’s eyes narrowed. ‘You push us too far, Roman: Procurator Florus is squeezing us to get money to pay for your Armenian war and, also now, the reconstruction of Rome, and at the same time we are denied justice from the Emperor. Nine months we have waited here; nine months and he won’t hear us.’

  ‘Are you a citizen?’ Vespasian asked, recognising the man, having seen the Jewish delegation in the theatre at Antium. ‘If not then you have no automatic right to be heard by the Emperor.’

  Yosef flashed a look of disdain at Vespasian. ‘And who are you?’

  ‘My name is Titus Flavius Vespasianus, Jew, a proconsul of Rome, and I would advise you to treat me with courtesy or I predict that you will never see your homeland again.’

  ‘And I am Yosef ben Matthias, of a House of priestly blood, and I will give you this prediction, proconsul: if Rome continues the rape of my homeland there will be a fire in the East greater than the one I witnessed here in Rome.’

  Vespasian stopped and turned to confront Yosef. ‘And if that does come to pass, Yosef ben Matthias, ask yourself this: just who will be burning, Jews or Romans?’

  ‘What would we care so long as there is a fire?’

  ‘It will be Jews, Yosef, Jews who will burn; and I can guarantee you that Rome will not hurry to extinguish the flames until you are all incinerated.’ Vespasian turned on his heel and followed Nero to the circus.

  The circus was full as Nero stepped out, with his Empress, onto the sand to address the crowd from within another semi-circle of the human torches; more of the torches were spaced along the spina, the central barrier in the circus. He waited for the last of their screams to die down as Vespasian watched from the side with Sabinus and the Jewish delegation; the prisoners were nowhere to be seen.

  ‘This evening, my people,’ Nero declaimed in a high but weak voice that barely reached the huge obelisk in the middle of the spina that Caligula had caused to be brought back from Egypt, ‘we have found the guilty people who destroyed our beloved city; atheists led by two men: Paulus of Tarsus and Petrus of Judaea, both of whom deny the existence of the gods and instead worship a crucified Jew.’ The two Jews were dragged, naked, out of a grille gate, by a couple of Praetorians commanded by Tribune Subrius, and thrown down upon the sand before Nero. ‘It is their followers that burn in the flames, a fitting punishment for their crime; and I promise you that the fires will not go out until every one of these atheists has been purged. And what, you may well ask, is the proof of their guilt?’ Nero paused as the crowd’s interest began to grow volubly. He indulged it for a while and then signalled for silence. ‘The Urban prefect will give you all the proof you need.’ He signalled for Sabinus to come forward.

  ‘The bastard,’ Sabinus muttered under his breath as he stepped out of the shadows; but Vespasian realised the truth of Sura’s words: Sabinus was, in Nero’s mind, proving his love for him and Vespasian was very pleased to have taken Sura’s advice to associate himself with it.

  ‘What proof do you have for my people, prefect?’

  Clearing his throat, Sabinus struck a classic orator’s pose, right hand down by his side and the left one clasping his toga on his chest. ‘People of Rome, it is true what our Emperor says. I have heard confessions from many in this sect to the effect that they started the fire in a bakery in the Circus Maximus and then they helped the flames to spread as well as hindered the fire-fighting efforts of our gallant Vigiles; and finally when the flames started to die down they rekindled them by setting fire to the Aemilian Basilica.’ Sabinus held up his arms to quell the growing outrage for, so far, his narrative fitted the known facts. ‘And as for absolute proof of guilt, I give you this: a year and a half ago this man ...’ He pointed down to Paulus. ‘This man, before many witnesses in the Forum Romanum, predicted the day that the fire would start; and how did he know? Because he knew he was going to start it and when. It was in his interests to start it for he hates Rome and all she stands for. And I can bring forth dozens who will swear to the guilt of him and his accomplice kneeling next to him.’

  Nero burst into tears of relief at the revelation as the crowd shouted their outrage. Poppaea placed a protective arm around her emotional husband and Sabinus held his hands high, helping to swell the noise. For a hundred heartbeats he let it grow and then he signalled for silence.

  ‘I know that there have been other rumours, unsavoury, vicious rumours that had no place to be circulated. But ask yourselves this: why did such rumours emerge? Who was responsible?’ He pointed down to Paulus and Petrus still kneeling on the ground. ‘What better way to deflect the guilt than to blame someone else,
someone innocent? And so it was the very people that perpetrated this outrage that tried to blame the very man who is making it all well again: our Emperor. Our beloved Nero.’ Sabinus turned and gestured to Nero, who fell to his knees and clasped his hands, extending them to the audience; tears fell, glittering in the torchlight, and the crowd moaned with remorse. Each onlooker felt the weight of guilt from falsely blaming their Emperor, the very man who was rebuilding the city with such alacrity. The scale of their misconception now exposed to them, they called upon Nero to forgive them, for they loved him still. Nero trembled and sobbed, feeding off the emotion of the crowd who in turn reacted to his growing state.

  Vespasian stood in wonder that with half-truths and groundless implications the mob could have been so swayed; now Nero had found their love again he was once more secure. The people would protect him for they would allow no assassin to survive the death of their beloved Emperor. But then Vespasian realised that the followers of Paulus and Petrus were a far more tangible target for the people’s hate than the relatively removed Emperor. Everyone in the lower classes, no doubt, knew of someone who adhered to this vile cult and they would enjoy taking righteous retribution on them. A smile crept across his face as he understood that once there was no one left to persecute it would be easy to refocus their attentions back onto Nero; this was far from over. In burning their city, Nero had burnt the people’s love for him and it was just a matter of time before they realised it; and then his, Vespasian’s, class would be free to act.

  ‘And what shall we do with these two villains?’ Sabinus roared over the crowd’s repentance so that only those closest to him could hear. He moved further down the track and roared the question again and then again and again until he had made a complete circuit of the circus. And there was only one answer and that was unanimous and it was: ‘Death!’

  And it was with joy that Nero complied with the wishes of his people; he pointed to Petrus. ‘This man shall be crucified here, in my circus on the Vatican; he can share the same fate as the crucified Jew he worships.’

  Poppaea leant over and whispered into her husband’s ear.

  Nero gave a malicious smile and turned back to the crowd. ‘But let us not give him the pleasure of aping the dead man he considers to be god: tribune, let him be nailed upside down.’

  This met with the wholehearted approval of the people.

  Petrus, to Vespasian’s surprise, remained calm at the news of his hideous fate as Subrius ordered one of his men to haul him up. The condemned man glanced back at Paulus. ‘I would not have been worthy to share Yeshua’s death.’

  ‘Go in peace, brother,’ Paulus replied, before being slapped around the head by the other guard as Tribune Subrius led Petrus to where a cross lay on the ground.

  Nero turned to Yosef and the Jewish delegation and indicated to the human torches and then to the two condemned men. ‘See what happens to those who want no part of Rome, Jews; those who refuse to accept her and become a part of her. Go now, back to Judaea; go and tell your countrymen that this is what awaits them, fire and nail, if they continue to resist me.’ Nero slammed his fist to his chest. ‘Me! For Rome is me and I am Rome.’ He raised both arms in the air to emphasise the point to an adoring crowd.

  ‘But our petition,’ Yosef shouted over the cheer that this last assertion had brought.

  ‘Your petition has been heard and rejected; why should I spare those who withhold their tax from Rome? From me!’ A shriek cut through the air; Nero licked his lips, savouring the pain as the mallet blows drove the first nail through Petrus’ wrist, and glared at Yosef. ‘Now go, Jews, go before you join him.’

  Yosef paused as Petrus’ agony intensified and then, with head held high, turned and led his delegation towards the gates to the jeers of the crowd, who pelted them with whatever they had to hand.

  Nero watched them go as the final nail was struck home and Petrus lost consciousness. ‘Bring him back round,’ Nero ordered Subrius. ‘I want him to know he’s dying; and when he’s dead, bury the body somewhere here on the hill in secret in an unmarked grave. I don’t want his tomb to become a focus for any of his followers that somehow manage to evade justice and survive.’ Nero then fixed his attention on Paulus once again. ‘This man, though, is a citizen. Despite his turning his back on Rome I will still treat him as such. Let all witness that, although he wished to destroy Rome, Rome has survived in the form of her law. Therefore he shall be decapitated in accordance with that law. Prefect Sabinus, take this man back to the city and publicly execute him tomorrow morning in front of the refugees on that side of the river so that all the people know that justice has been done. But do it outside the city walls as I do not want his blood staining Neropolis or the Campus Martius.’ Nero turned and took his wife’s hand as Petrus’ cross was raised; his wail bestial as he hung head down, his weight tearing at the three nails transfixing him. Nero smiled at the sight. ‘Now, my dear, let us return to our dinner. Vespasian and Sabinus, join us.’

  ‘That, I hope, is the last time I have to play the fool for Nero,’ Sabinus said as he and Vespasian approached the gates of Nero’s gardens having endured sharing dinner with Nero and Poppaea. The Empress’s glances at Vespasian had been as cold as her remarks but Nero’s buoyant mood, now that he felt that he had the love of the people again, had smothered any frostiness in the atmosphere. Paulus had been sent back to the Tullianum under guard for his final night in a world full of sin, as he had put it.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Vespasian asked, knowing full well the answer.

  ‘Because—’

  Vespasian put his hand on his brother’s arm. ‘You don’t have to tell me, Sabinus; I know what you think but I see it in a different light. You have been forced into being Nero’s ally; he trusts you, in as far as he can trust anyone, and that is going to help keep us safe.’

  Sabinus looked doubtful. ‘That would imply that Nero has a sense of gratitude.’

  ‘Gratitude has nothing to do with it; it’s more that if he dispenses with you then a whole part of his narrative that Paulus and his followers started the fire would disappear; you are his proof. Now, once every one of those atheists has been dealt with, the distraction in the people’s mind will have been removed and they will go back to blaming Nero; you, and now me as well, as I made myself a part of it deliberately, will be responsible for trying to keep Nero’s version of the truth current.’

  ‘And will we try to do that?’ Sabinus asked as the two Praetorians guarding the gate moved aside to let them through.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course we will; but not very hard.’

  ‘Prefect Sabinus!’ A short man with unkempt hair and servile demeanour waited just beyond the gate.

  Sabinus glanced down his nose at the man, who rubbed his palms together and looked up with an attempt at an ingratiating smile but was unable to meet his eyes. ‘What is it?’

  ‘My name is Milichus, sir; I have been trying to see the Emperor but these men won’t let me in.’

  ‘And quite right too; why the Emperor would want to have anything to do with the likes of you escapes me.’

  ‘Because there is a plot to assassinate him and I have proof.’

  ‘You? How could you—’

  Vespasian dug his brother in the ribs. ‘Come with us and tell your story.’

  Milichus bobbed and cringed in the recognisable way of someone weighed down with years of servitude. ‘Thank you, sirs.’

  ‘Well?’ Sabinus asked as they made their way back through the refugee camp.

  ‘I am the freedman of Senator Scaevinus.’

  Sabinus was immediately interested as it had been Scaevinus who, as a praetor the previous year, had made subtle representations to him of a treasonous nature. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, this evening he came home having spent a good part of the day at the house of Antonius Natalis.’

  Sabinus nodded, immediately realising the significance of this; Natalis, the fabulously rich grain merchant, had also sounded h
im out at around the same time.

  ‘When my master came back he sealed his will and took his old military knife out of its sheath, tested it, and, complaining that it had grown blunt over time, gave it to me to whet with a stone until its point was gleaming. He then ordered the most sumptuous supper, more lavish than I have ever seen him eat, and whilst he did so he freed three of his slaves and distributed money to the rest and to his freedmen.’

  ‘Did you get a gift?’ Sabinus asked.

  ‘I did, sir; not very substantial but nonetheless a consideration.’

  ‘Sounds like he was planning to commit suicide,’ Vespasian observed.

  Milichus nodded, his head bobbing furiously. ‘That’s what I thought; he was downcast and very obviously deep in thought and any show of cheerfulness seemed to be put on. But then, when he had finished his meal, he retired to his bed and not to the bath to open his veins. But, before he did so, he asked me to get bandages, tourniquets and dressings for wounds ready for tomorrow.’ Milichus gave a look to imply that the last piece of information was completely damning. ‘My wife said it was my duty to report this.’ He reached behind him, under his cloak, and pulled out a knife. ‘This is the proof; this is what he gave me to sharpen.’

  ‘Proof of what?’ Vespasian asked, disliking the man very much.

  ‘Proof that he is planning to kill the Emperor.’

  Vespasian failed to see the connection. ‘Why should that mean that your master is planning an attempt on Nero’s life? I suggest that you have been disappointed by the gift that Scaevinus gave you and are trying to get him into trouble for petty revenge.’

  ‘No, brother,’ Sabinus said as they began to traverse Nero’s Bridge. ‘Both Scaevinus and Natalis have been associated with Piso; remember I told you about them the night the fire broke out.’

  Vespasian cast his mind back and remembered the conversation despite the horrors of that event. He signalled to Milichus to drop back so that he could talk in private with his brother. ‘So what do you make of it, Sabinus?’

  ‘I think there may be something to this; if there is, what should we do?’