Текст книги "Empire"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 45 страниц)

AD 64

Before dawn on a warm morning in the month of the Divine Julius, in his house on the Aventine Hill, Titus Pinarius awoke with the smell of smoke in his nostrils.

“Hilarion!” he called.

Chrysanthe stirred beside him. “What’s happening?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, my dear. Go back to sleep.”

Young Hilarion appeared at the door. The former doorkeeper had become one of Titus’s favourite slaves; that was why Titus called for Hilarion by name, rather than simply clapping his hands to summon whichever slave was nearest.

Over the last three years or so – since the Pedanius affair – Titus had made a point of actually looking at his slaves, learning to tell them apart, paying attention to their idiosyncrasies, and even learning all their names. Every slave owner in Roma had taken a closer look at his human possessions in the aftermath of Pedanius’s murder, and Titus had made a conscious decision to treat his slaves with more care. He told himself this was not a sign that he was growing soft with age (he was only forty-six, after all); he was simply being prudent. Did not a well-treated horse or dog return the investment of its master’s kindness with better and longer service? Why should it not be so with the people one owned?

Among his slaves, Titus had taken special notice of Hilarion. The young man was not only presentable, being easy to look at and always well groomed, but was quick-witted and uncannily deft at anticipating his master’s needs. Titus had taken to calling on Hilarion for almost everything, and so, waking with the smell of smoke in his nostrils, it was Hilarion’s name that sprang to his lips.

“Yes, Master?” Hilarion spoke softly, in deference to his dozing mistress.

“Do you smell it, too?” Titus whispered

“Yes, Master. Smoke. It’s not coming from inside the house. I woke some of the other slaves and we checked everywhere. It’s not from close-by, either. I sent two of the messenger boys to circle the neighbourhood, and they saw no signs of fire.”

“That’s a relief. Good for you, Hilarion. That was very responsible of you.

“Thank you, Master.”

“Still, there’s definitely smoke in the air. I think the smell is getting stronger.”

“I think you’re right, Master.”

“Did you go on the roof?”

“Not yet, Master.” Hilarion averted his eyes. The young man seemed to have a fear of heights. Ah well, no slave was perfect.

“Bring the ladder to the garden.” Titus rose from his bed, groaning as he stretched his limbs. “I shall climb up myself.”

Chrysanthe, keeping her eyes shut, murmured, “Make one of the slave boys do it.”

“I think not, my dear. If there’s something to be seen, I want to see it with my own eyes. But I’m sure I’ll see nothing. Go back to sleep.”

The climb up the ladder, even by the dim light of dawn, did not frighten Titus, but the possibility of slipping on a loose or broken tile did. He trod very cautiously across the roof, feeling the dry wind on his face. The wind came from the east and carried the smell of smoke. The sunlight just breaking over the distant hills to the east illuminated a small cloud of smoke that appeared to be rising from the far end of the Circus Maximus, down in the valley between the Palatine and the Aventine. As the cloud rose, it was tattered and dispersed by the wind, but lower down it was dense and black, and within it Titus fancied he could see the glow of flames and bits of whirling cinder.

What was burning? There was a shopping arcade at that end of the circus, with a large fabric storehouse Chrysanthe sometimes visited. Burning wool and linen would account for such a dense volume of smoke rising from such a small area. Ascertaining the source of the flames reassured him. The fire was a long way off, and undoubtedly the vigiles were already moving to contain it.

What wisdom and foresight the Divine Augustus had displayed when he established the vigiles! Before that, there had been only privately operated fire brigades in the city, composed of slaves hired out by their masters to fight fires. That system had never worked very well; the slaves had little incentive to risk their lives, and not everyone could afford to pay the exorbitant fees demanded by the brigade owners. Augustus levied a tax on the sale of slaves to establish the state-run vigiles, put military men in charge of their training, and induced slaves to take on the hazardous duty by offering them freedom and citizenship after a six-year term of service.

Climbing carefully down from the roof, Titus decided to get on with his day. He would send some slaves to keep watch on the fire, but unless there was some unexpected development, he would simply try to ignore the acrid smell. He would have a quick bite to eat, then bathe at his local establishment – but no, those baths were located not far from the source of the flames, so perhaps that was not a good idea. He would hire a sedan and go to the Baths of Agrippa instead; out on the Field of Mars the air would almost certainly be clearer. Titus had a number of letters to dictate to business associates in Alexandria, and that was best done after a relaxing soak in the hot plunge. There were also arrangements to be made for young Lucius’s upcoming toga day. How was it possible that his son was almost seventeen?

But even at the Baths of Agrippa the smell of smoke was strong, and everyone was talking about the fire. Titus, who had seen the source, overheard so many obviously false rumours that he dismissed them all. But on his way home, he saw that the fire was now producing a great deal of smoke. The black cloud filled a quarter of the sky.

Hilarion greeted him with alarming news. Far from being contained, the fire had spread to the Circus Maximus, engulfing the entire eastern end. The flames had begun to work their way up the slope of the Palatine and were threatening the imperial residence.

Titus happened to know that Nero was away from Roma, down at his villa at Antium. At least the emperor was safe.

Titus found Chrysanthe in their bedroom. He was going to tell her to begin packing her more valuable jewellery, but she was already doing so. He ordered Hilarion to fetch a specially designed trunk from the storage room and bring it to the vestibule. Tending to the task himself, Titus began to take the wax masks of his ancestors from their niches, wrapping each one in linen and stacking them carefully in the trunk.

Lucius appeared. “Can I help, father?”

“Of course, son,” said Titus, glad to see the boy take an interest in his ancestors. Lucius took the mask of his namesake in his hands. Looking from the mask of his father to the face of his son, Titus smiled to see how closely Lucius resembled his grandfather.

“Are we leaving the house, father?”

“I don’t think it will come to that. Still, it never hurts to be prepared.” Titus meant what he said. He was not seriously worried, at least not yet, but already in the back of his mind he was calculating the time it would take to reach their country house on the far side of the Tiber. It was usually only half a day’s journey, but the roads might be crowded with others fleeing the city.

“There, that’s the last of the ancestors, carefully packed away,” he said. “Now I think I shall go and take a look at the fire myself.”

“May I go with you, father?” said Lucius.

Titus hesitated. His impulse was to say no, but Lucius was nearly a man, after all. In some families, he would already have received his manly toga. Titus could hardly order him to stay at home with his mother.

“Of course, son. You’ll come with me, and together we will see what there is to see.”

Taking only a pair of bodyguards with them, father and son set out. Smoke was thick in the air, stinging their eyes and making Titus cough. The streets were full of people. Some seemed to be going about their normal business, conversing and even laughing as if nothing untoward was taking place. Many more were heading away from the fire, towards the Tiber, looking anxious. Common people pushed carts piled high with their meager possessions. Groaning under the weight, slaves carried litters and sedans normally used for passengers but instead loaded with trunks and precious objects. One of the most bizarre sights was a gilded litter carried by an elegantly outfitted troupe of Nubian slaves, in which the passenger was a bronze statue of Aphrodite reclining. Young Lucius laughed aloud at the strangeness of it.

People were on their knees, praying before the Ara Maxima. A huge throng had gathered in front of the Temple of Fortune, where harried-looking priests were trying to calm the wailing women on the temple steps.

Titus and Lucius passed a cart loaded with scores of round leather boxes. No doubt the capsae contained the prized scrolls of some devoted bibliophile. Titus had not even thought of what would become of his small library in a fire. Did he own enough capsae to stuff them all into, if he needed to carry them to safety? Some of his books were quite old and valuable, like the history of Livius that had been a gift from Claudius to Titus’s father.

The entrances to the Circus Maximus were open, so they went inside and ascended the steps to the highest tier of seats in the curve at the far western end. A number of others had done the same thing. It was as if they were spectators at a play staged by Vulcan himself. The far end of the circus was a bowl of flame that reached as far as the spine down the middle of the track. To their left, much of the slope of the Palatine above the circus was aflame, including a small part of the imperial complex. The fire had also engulfed the farthest slope of the Aventine. With a gasp, Titus realized that his local baths, the place he had considered visiting that morning, must be completely lost to the fire. He thought of the little man who always greeted him at the entrance and the Egyptian slave boy who performed massage and flirted so outrageously with the customers. Had they been trapped by the fire? What if Titus had gone there earlier this morning? Would he still be alive?

A hot wind blew down the length of the Circus Maximus, stinging Titus’s eyes and filling his mouth with the taste of ash. He wiped his hand across his face and saw that his fingers were black with soot.

Titus had seen enough and was ready to leave, but Lucius pointed to a distant group of vigiles who could be seen at work on the Aventine. A small group of spectators inside the circus had gathered, leaning over the upper parapet of the viewing stands to watch them.

“Father, let’s go see!”

“We should head back. Your mother will be worried-”

“But others are watching. It must be safe. Please?”

In truth, Titus was curious himself to see the vigiles at work. They walked along the upper parapet until they reached the crowd and could go no farther. It was just as well; this was as close to the flames at the end of the circus as Titus cared to go. Leaning over the parapet, they had a clear view of the vigiles below.

Flames had just been sighted on the roof of a building of three stories just across the street from the circus. The vigiles were using all their tools to fight the fire before it could claim the building. A portable pump with a tank of water had been rolled as close as possible. While two of the men aimed the huge metal nozzle, four others worked the see-saw pump that sent a jet of water streaming all the way to the roof of the building. More vigiles, calling on citizens to help them, had formed a bucket brigade to continuously replenish the tank with water from a neighbourhood fountain.

Farther away, another group of vigiles was attempting to demolish a building already lost to the flames. A ballista of the sort the legions used to hurl missiles – essentially a huge crossbow with a hand-cranked ratchet to set the tension – was used to launch three-pronged iron hooks attached to chains. Aimed with uncanny precision, one hook after another landed inside a window frame and caught fast. When five of the hooks were in place, the vigiles formed teams, seized the chains, and heaved in unison. The burned-out wall gave way and collapsed with a shower of sparks. The vigiles dropped the chains, took up picks and axes, and ran to break up the fallen debris.

“What they’re doing must be incredibly dangerous!” said Lucius. “But look there, farther up the hill. Aren’t they actually setting a fire?”

With their prefect barking orders at them, some of the vigiles took up firebrands, lit them from the smoldering embers of the demolished building, and set fire to a long, narrow, one-story building at the periphery of the conflagration.

“I think that must be what’s called a fire break,” said Titus. “If they can destroy that building quickly, you see, the gap they’ll create may put an end to the fire’s progress, as least in that direction.”

Lucius nodded, fascinated by both the fire and the techniques used to combat it. “Could I join the vigiles someday?”

Titus laughed, and quickly looked around, thankful that no one in the crowd seemed to have overheard. Tradition and the law said that Lucius was almost a man, but he still had some boyish ideas about the world. “The vigiles are all slaves and freedmen, Lucius. Such labour is not for freeborn men, not even those of the lowest social rank.”

“But who commands them? Like that fellow there, shouting orders?”

“Men of the equestrian class are eligible to serve as prefects of the vigiles. But no patrician would ever stoop to such a prefecture. If you’re looking for adventure, for a young man of your social rank there’s always a military career-”

“But soldiers don’t put out fires. They burn down cities on purpose.”

Titus pursed his lips. “Yes, sometimes fire is a weapon used by the legions. But I’m sure the troops are trained to put out flames, as well, when the enemy uses fire against us.” He thought of an example. “When your many-times-great-uncle the Divine Julius was trapped with his army in Cleopatra’s palace at Alexandria, the Egyptians tried to burn him out. They set fire to a warehouse attached to the Great Library. I imagine Caesar’s men were responsible for putting out that fire before it spread out of control.”

Lucius nodded thoughtfully. He gazed at the vigiles below. “Just a group of slaves and freedmen, then. Still, one has to admire their bravery and their skill.”

Not long after noon, the wind abruptly ceased. The cinder-filled smoke rose straight into the air, like a vast column. Thanks to the calm air and the hard work of the vigiles, the fires appeared to be under control, at least on the Aventine.

Titus decided not to leave the city. Before he went to bed, he instructed Hilarion and several other slaves to keep watch through the night and to wake him at once if the need arose.

That night he and Chrysanthe made love, something they had not done in a long time. Perhaps it was the air of crisis that aroused him, and her as well, for she seemed to enjoy herself immensely. Certainly the act relieved a great deal of tension and helped Titus fall asleep.

He had a strange dream. He was taking an augury on the Palatine, but there were no spectators; the whole city was empty. He was watching for birds when suddenly, one by one, every cloud in the sky burst into flame, like tufts of white fleece set afire. The flaming clouds began to loose raindrops of fire on the city, setting everything alight.

That was when Chrysanthe and Lucius woke him. Titus bolted upright, drenched with sweat. He found it hard to breathe, and his throat was sore. The air was thick with smoke.

“Father, come to the garden. Look at the sky!”

He followed his wife and son, wondering if he was still dreaming, for in the middle of the night the star-less sky was aglow with a dull red illumination. Titus climbed the ladder to the roof, with Lucius following him. From his rooftop, he witnessed a horrific sight: the entire Circus Maximus was in flames. The long valley between the Aventine and the Palatine was a lake of fire. Indeed, below a certain level, the entire city appeared to be a sea of flames, with the hills rising like islands from the conflagration. Even on the hilltops, here and there he saw spots of flame or the glow of orange embers amid the charred remains of areas already burned. The imperial complex on the Palatine was almost entirely engulfed.

“Why was I not awakened sooner?” he shouted. “I told Hilarion to wake me at once if the fire grew worse.”

“They say it happened very quickly, father. The fire seemed to spread everywhere all at once-”

“We must leave immediately, and pray we’re not too late!”

The trunk with the wax effigies and other essential valuables, packed and loaded onto carts earlier in the day, were wheeled into the street by his strongest slaves. His three young daughters were roused by their mother. By the time they were all ready to leave, everyone was in a near panic.

Titus summoned the slaves and gave them instructions. They were all to come with the family, each carrying something of value, except for two of the youngest and strongest bodyguards. “You two will stay here as long as possible. If the flames fail to reach this street, it will be your job to protect the house against looters. If the flames do come, and if vigiles are here to fight it, you will help them save this house.”

“But, Master,” said one of the slaves, “what if the house catches fire, and there’s no one to help, and we have no choice but to flee?”

Titus realized that both slaves were hardly more than overgrown boys, ill-equipped to make such a decision. “Hilarion will stay with you. He’ll decide if you’re to leave or stay. Do you understand? Hilarion has authority to give you orders while I’m gone.”

Titus looked at Hilarion and felt an unaccustomed twinge of some unpleasant emotion. Was it guilt? Before he could think about it, Hilarion stepped forward and took his master’s hand.

“Thank you, Master. You honour me with your trust.”

Titus nodded but found it difficult to look the slave in the eye. He gathered the household and set out.

The route Titus intended to take was blocked, and they were forced to double back and seek another. The dark streets, filled with terrified people, were lit only by a dull vermilion glow from the sky. Amid the chaotic crush of bodies, Titus overheard an outrageous statement. A man nearby said, “It was set by the emperor, you know! It was Nero’s own agents who started the fire, and then kept starting more fires, all over the city!”

Titus grabbed the man by the arm. “That’s a filthy lie!”

“It’s the truth,” said the man. “I saw it happen with my own eyes. Uniformed men in leather caps demolished the wall of a granary, using some sort of battering ram – a good stone wall that would never have caught fire – and then they deliberately set fire to the contents. I know arson when I see it!”

“What you saw were the vigiles, you fool, setting fire to a warehouse full of highly flammable grain before the greater fire could reach it and cause the grain dust to explode. Tearing down walls and setting small fires is a part of the vigiles’ work-”

“Setting fires to stop a fire? How stupid do you think I am?” shouted the man. “This fire was set by Nero’s men. I’ve seen the evidence, and so have plenty of others. As for the vigiles you talk about, they’re doing nothing to stop the fire. They’ve joined in the looting.”

There was no time to argue. Titus roughly shoved the man aside and pressed on.

The streets were like something from a nightmare, littered with rubble and overturned carts. Abandoned children huddled in corners and wept.

Confused elders wandered aimlessly, looking lost. There were also a great many dead bodies blocking the way. Some had died from inhaling smoke, perhaps, for their bodies were unmarked. Others had died from burns, and others appeared to have been trampled by the crowd.

Finally, Titus and his household reached the nearest bridge across the Tiber. The area in front of the bridge that funnelled into the narrow roadway was jammed with people, animals, and carts. It would take a long time to cross. Some people, in desperation, were swimming across the river instead. At last Titus and his household set foot on the bridge, with the crowd pushing them forward. He counted heads. By some miracle, they had all managed to stay in a group, even the oldest and weakest of the slaves.

But not everyone in his family was accounted for.

He called to his son, “Lucius, you know the way to the villa. You can lead the others there, can’t you?”

“Of course I know the way, father. But what are you talking about? You’ll lead us there.”

Titus sighed. “No. I have to go back.”

Chrysanthe heard him and spun around. “Don’t be ridiculous, husband! What could you possibly have forgotten that’s worth going back for?”

“I’ll join you later tonight, or perhaps in the morning. Don’t worry about me. The gods will look after me.”

Titus stopped in his tracks. The crowd surged past him, carrying his household onto the bridge and quickly out of sight.

It was a struggle to move against the current. He was jostled and poked and cursed at, and several times he was almost knocked down. At last he cleared the thickest part of the crowd and was able to move more freely.

He made his way to the Forum. Here the flames were haphazard, with some buildings alight and others as yet unscathed. Had the holy hearthfire, which must never go out, been transferred to a sacred vessel by the Vestals and taken to safety, as in the days when the Gauls invaded the city? How strange, to worry about a fire going out in the middle of an inferno!

Above the Forum, the whole Palatine appeared to be aflame. The Auguratorium, the ancient Hut of Romulus, the temples, the houses of the rich, the imperial residence – was everything destroyed? The catastrophe was beyond comprehension.

He pressed on and reached the Subura. There were large areas here where the flames had not yet reached. What a conflagration that would make, if all these towering tenements, built so closely together, should catch fire! He tried to remember the streets that would take him to Kaeso’s latest residence, but found himself lost in the darkness and the unfamiliar maze of alleys. What a fool’s mission he had undertaken! What mad impulse had driven him back into the city to look for his brother? What were the chances he could possibly find Kaeso amid so much confusion?

Titus rounded a corner and came upon a large area where a tenement had recently been demolished. In the open space, a small group of people had gathered and were watching a burning building nearby. In the middle of the group were Kaeso and Artemisia, holding hands.

While all the other people around were in frantic motion, Kaeso and his friends stood perfectly still. With their faces turned towards the fire, they seemed to be in a kind of trance. Some stood in silence with linked hands. Others clapped or sang or shouted prayers to their god. Some seemed to be weeping with joy.

“The end has come! The end has finally come! Praise God!” cried one of the women, raising her hands.

“This is judgement day! Roma has been judged and found wanting!” cried a man in a tattered tunic with a long white beard. “Fools call on their false gods to save Roma, but I say God has cursed Roma! God has damned Roma! Praise God and all his works! And of all his works, this is the mightiest, to smite this wicked city and destroy it!”

Some passersby overheard the man’s ranting and were outraged. They shook their fists, shouted curses, and threw stones at the Christians, then hurried on.

Titus strode into the gathering. He walked up to Kaeso. His brother had a blissful expression, lit by the flames. He did not notice Titus at first. Finally he lowered his eyes and looked at his brother in surprise.

“Titus! Why are you here?” Kaeso looked perplexed, then smiled. “Have you come to join us at last?”

“I came to see that you were alright, Kaeso.”

Kaeso grinned and nodded. “Words can’t describe my joy!”

“At what? Seeing the city of our ancestors burned to the ground?”

“This is the end of the world, Titus. The day we’ve been waiting for, longing for.”

“Don’t be absurd! Come with me, before it’s too late.”

“‘Too late’? Those words have no meaning now. This is the end of all things, the end of time itself. Praise God!”

Suddenly the burning building collapsed. The Christians let out a collective sigh of ecstasy at the awesome sight, but as showers of cinders and bits of flaming debris swept towards them, they retreated in confusion. Even Kaeso gave a start and staggered back from the fiery blast. The golden amulet at his breast glittered bright red in the firelight, like a flaming cross.

Without thinking, Titus reached out, grabbed the fascinum, and gave it a hard yank. The twine necklace snapped. Titus turned and ran back the way he had come, clutching the talisman in his fist, desperate to return to the bridge and be reunited with his family.

Let Kaeso perish in the flames, if that was his desire. Titus would not allow the fascinum of his ancestors to be lost in the conflagration.

For days the fires continued to rage.

From his country estate on the far side of the Tiber, Titus could see the distant glow of the flames at night. During the day he could see great columns of smoke.

Eventually the glow grew dimmer and the smoke diminished. Had the fires been extinguished?

The news he received from neighbours and passersby was confusing and contradictory. The fires had been contained but continued to burn in isolated areas; the fires had spread all the way across the Field of Mars to the Tiber, consuming the whole city, so that nothing was left to burn; the fires had been put out several times, but someone kept setting more fires. It was impossible to know what to believe.

Was his house still standing? If the house was lost, Hilarion and the two slaves should have come to join him, but they had not. Was the house destroyed, then, and were all three slaves dead?

At last Titus decided to venture back to the city. Lucius wanted to come with him. Feeling anxious and uncertain about what he might find, Titus was glad to have his son for company. They took bodyguards with them. Who knew what degree of order prevailed in the city?

As they neared the Tiber, the smell of smoke grew stronger. That was not a good sign. But no vast clouds of smoke loomed over the city. There was very little traffic on the road, and they crossed the bridge with almost no other people in sight. It was as if Roma had been completely abandoned. But this was a temporary illusion. The fire had not reached the waterfront, leaving the wharves and warehouses intact, and here and there they saw sailors and dockworkers going about their business. Nor had the fire consumed the Capitoline Hill. Above them, the great temple precinct, including the most ancient and sacred Temple of Jupiter, appeared to be unscathed.

Titus had intended to head directly to the house, but Lucius suggested they scale the Capitoline first; from its summit they could see virtually the entire city and ascertain the state of things. Titus acquiesced, in part because he dreaded finding his house in ruins and was willing to postpone the discovery a little longer.

Long ago, when he first came to Roma, Titus had stood on the Capitoline and gazed out over the city, marveling at the view. Now he stood with his son in the same spot and was aghast at the extent of the damage. To be sure, while small fires still burned in a few scattered locations, in most places the flames had been extinguished. And the extent of the damage was not as great as he had feared. The worst of the devastation was on the Aventine and the Palatine and in the low area between the Palatine and the Esquiline. Much of the Forum was undamaged, the Field of Mars had largely escaped the ravages of the fire, and only a few areas of the Subura had been destroyed. Looking towards the Aventine, he could not tell whether his house still stood or not. Some parts of the neighbourhood looked blackened and charred but others appeared unscathed.

When Titus had first stood on this spot to take in the view, Kaeso had been beside him. Where was his brother now? Titus touched the fascinum at his breast and whispered a prayer to Jupiter, greatest and most powerful of gods, that his brother was still alive, and – since the world had not ended, as Kaeso had so joyfully predicted – that he had seen the foolishness of his beliefs and was ready to repent of his atheism and return to the worship of the gods.

They descended from the Capitoline and headed to the house. As they drew nearer, they saw that some houses had been burned and others had not; the caprice of the fire followed no discernible pattern. They rounded a corner, and Titus saw the house of his nearest neighbour. The place was a pile of smouldering rubble. His heart leaped to his throat. He could hardly breathe. He took a few more steps, and his own home came into view.

The house still stood. The wall adjacent to his neighbour had been scorched and blackened, but there was no other sign of damage.

Lucius cried out with joy and ran ahead. He reached the entrance, hesitated for a moment, then disappeared. Were the doors standing open? Surely Hilarion had the sense to keep them shut and bolted. Titus quickened his pace. Before he reached the house, Lucius reappeared. The boy looked stunned.

Titus reached the entrance and saw the cause of his son’s distress. The doors had been smashed and ripped from their hinges. In the vestibule lay two mangled bodies. By their tunics, Titus recognized the two young bodyguards he had left to protect the house.

He walked slowly through the house, from room to room, speechless.

His home had been ransacked. Every portable object of value left behind when the family had fled had been taken – vases, lamps, rugs, even some of the larger pieces of furniture. Gone was the antique chair in which Cato the Younger had once sat.

What the thieves could not take they had destroyed. The marble statue of Venus in his garden had been overturned and broken into pieces – an act of wanton desecration. Floor mosaics had been shattered, as if beaten with a hammer. Wall paintings had been smeared with excrement. In the room where Titus slept, the bed he shared with Chrysanthe had been destroyed, the wooden frame broken and the bedding ripped apart.