by Simon Turney
God’s great plan. Did all gods have a plan, I wondered idly, or was it all my god?
Bread and circuses was a formula that Commodus began to turn to daily. No matter what the senate thought of his lavish presentations, he was keeping the people content. He was shepherding them into that golden age they had anticipated. Chariots thundered around the circus and gladiators and bestiarii fought in the arena. Plays new and old were performed. The people began to forget the plague that still stalked the streets of Rome, at least for a time. And with the new grain fleet now at work and the extra dole being delivered from Africa, hunger had abated.
I spoke to Commodus one night, finally content my reasoning from that day in the arena was sound.
‘The people seem happier.’
Commodus, lying beside me, and toying idly with locks of my glossy black hair, nodded. I felt the movement on the pillow. ‘Juvenal was astute. Would that I could remove the underlying cause of their ill and banish the plague. But neither my father nor the best physician in the world could manage such a feat. Yet we are at peace, starvation is forgotten, and only that Parthian sickness remains to ruin lives.’
‘You are loved.’
He sighed and leaned over, kissing my neck, which sent a delicious shiver through me. ‘Not by the senate,’ he said as he leaned back again. ‘But then do I care for the love of the senate? I most certainly don’t love them. Not the way I love you,’ he added, and kissed my forehead now, then my nose, then my lips, lingering for a long moment. He leaned back with a huff. ‘But the men in charge of the treasury are beginning to worry about the funds I lavish on the people. To keep the plebs happy costs money, and we run low. I must soon choose what to do about it. The clear solution is to tax those men of property who we all know can afford it. But then my relationship with the senate will erode even more. And while I do not care overmuch for them, it would be foolish indeed not to consider the danger they might represent should they take against me.’
So he did consider the danger, then.
‘You are of divine blood, are you not?’ I asked, with a silent apology to God for even the notion. I knew there was no more divinity in Commodus than there was in me, but sometimes I had to play to the pagan in people.
‘So they say.’
‘The people need to see that,’ I replied. ‘Caesar built his temple to Venus Genetrix in the forum, reminding the whole world that he carried that goddess’ blood. You told me about Hadrian and Jerusalem? Well, I read more upon that. Did Hadrian not build a temple of Jupiter upon the ruins of the Jews’ holy site and place in it a statue of his deified self? These were the men who were walking gods. You are no Venus, nor Jove . . .’ I prompted.
‘I am Hercules,’ said Commodus softly. It was said so quietly, so matter-of-fact, that I wondered then if perhaps he was beginning to believe in his own divinity. Still, despite everything, I did nothing to disabuse him of the notion. Rome hung in the balance now. He had almost healed the wounds caused during Cleander’s reign of terror, but if this was to truly be the golden age of Rome, he could not stop and rely upon having done enough. He must always build. Always strive. Always improve.
‘You are their Hercules. Be their Hercules.’
He nodded, then leaned over me. ‘Then I must issue my first divine command,’ he grinned, and rolled on top of me as I laughed breathlessly.
That summer there was a shaking of the ground in Rome, such as is recorded happening from time to time. The people panic, believing that Vulcan is angry, a few buildings develop cracks, there are a few injuries. It happens occasionally. But this particular tremor was much worse for one of the neighbouring towns. A deputation from Lanuvium reached Rome in the month of Augustus. I wonder what they thought to arrive at the front of the palace and be greeted by statues of Jove and Hercules, the latter bearing more than a passing resemblance to the emperor, for busts and statues of Commodus in the guise of his patron deity were beginning to appear in all corners now.
The men were shown into the aula regia. I was becoming known as the emperor’s consort, an empress in all but name these days, and no longer did anyone blink to find me seated in the presence of Commodus during official engagements.
‘My friends, welcome,’ Commodus called warmly, rising from his seat and greeting the newcomers. ‘How fares my city?’
I frowned for a moment at his choice of phrase, then realised that it was at Lanuvium that he had been born, in a villa that had belonged to Antoninus Pius upon a time.
The representatives from that town were unhappy, their faces downcast. ‘Majesty, Lanuvium is in dire trouble. The city suffered a fire last year that was devastating. Much of the city’s funding went to the extensive repairs that were carried out over the proceeding months. Indeed, the wealthy landowners and the ordo have all donated of their own purses to the effort. Then, a few days ago, the shaking of the ground came and caused fresh disaster. Much of our town is in rubble again, only having been reconstructed after the fire for mere months. Majesty, we simply do not have the funds to rebuild after this new disaster and we must throw ourselves upon the emperor’s mercy and beg for his aid.’
Commodus nodded slowly. ‘It would seem I am to be Titus to your Pompeii. Be of good cheer, dear friends, for Lanuvium is a city close to my heart. Though the treasury is low, I shall find ways and means to do what must be done. Return to Lanuvium and begin planning your rebuild. Nay, not just a rebuild, but a refounding. Lanuvium shall be greater, grander and better than ever. I vow it.’
The ambassadors left a short while later with endless words of praise for the emperor, bowing to kiss the statue of his Herculean self outside the door.
‘Where will you find the money?’ I asked.
He sighed. ‘I fear it is time to make myself even less popular with the senate.’
But while he continued over the following months to widen that divide, he became ever more the people’s emperor. Even during my rare encounters with the ordinary folk of Rome, I became aware that he was spoken of in the same breath as Hercules, in the same reverential tones as the gods. Statues of the curly-haired and bearded Hercules emperor appeared at strategic sites around the city and beyond. I heard it said that statues of Hercules in Athens had been reworked to bear the emperor’s face. I felt quietly smug, for my initiative, born of observing a hungry crowd at the arena watching their gods, seemed to be working. Commodus was becoming a god to his people.
I suspect that my place in Hell has been earned by that as much as anything I have done in my life. All followers of Christ know that one of the inviolable rules of the faith is not to worship at false idols. How much worse is it, then, to create one?
Perhaps my very presence as a known Christian by the side of the emperor did some good, though, for my people had ever suffered ills at the hands of Rome. Worse under some emperors than others, admittedly, but never had we had a glory time. Yet now, people were beginning to think before they chided. Christians were beginning to identify themselves openly in the streets. Vicious governors and soldiers were being lenient with the faith, where before they would torture and condemn.
A chance at the redemption of my corroding soul came that autumn. Commodus was at his bath, which was sometimes a lengthy visit, and I was simply relaxing in one of the Palatine libraries, looking into the history and legends of Hercules, when one of the palace slaves found me and approached, bowing deeply. Odd how I had arrived first on this hill almost twenty years ago as a penniless peasant at whom even slaves looked askance, and now here I was bedecked in finery in a library, being bowed to by palace functionaries.
‘Highness?’
That took me by surprise. It was not the first time I’d been referred to in such a manner this past year or so, but it always stunned me to be treated as though I were some kind of princess.
‘Yes?’
The slave remained bowed.
‘Someo
ne seeks an audience with you, Domina.’
I frowned. This was new. ‘With me?’
‘Yes, Domina. He is some sort of priest, I think.’
Still beneath a furrowed brow, I pursed my lips. I was just the emperor’s mistress. I did not hold audiences. I had no place to do so, and certainly the emperor’s aula regia was out of the question.
‘Show him to the library,’ I said quietly. Was that appropriate? Would he be impressed? I was aware that in some odd way I would represent imperial authority and whatever I did would reflect on Commodus. While the slave was gone, I ducked outside and found a couple of Praetorians on guard.
‘You. I need you in the library for an imperial audience.’
The soldiers looked at one another, each seeking guidance from his friend. I had no official authority whatsoever over the Praetorians, but I was known to have the emperor’s ear and was seated with him in public as though I were an empress. Refusing me could be a fatal career move. Both men bowed their heads and followed. Thus, when my guest arrived, I was seated in one of the city’s most erudite places of learning, perfectly arranged and pretty, with two mean-looking Praetorians in attendance.
I boggled as my guest was shown in and the slave announced him.
‘The high priest of the Christians.’ He paused as he wrapped his tongue around an unfamiliar word. ‘Bishop of Rome and pontifex of the Church, Aelius Victor.’
The servant left, and the man who was the head of my faith stood in the doorway, a long white robe covering a grey tunic, hair short and curly and beard neat and trimmed. Victor was clearly of African origin, his skin tone that of cinnamon, his flesh like well-worked leather. His eyes were a warm brown and he was tall.
‘Highness.’ He greeted me with a slight incline of the head.
I was baffled by how this worked. He was the high priest of a church that no one respected, while I was the de-facto empress, yet low-born and one of Victor’s flock. I could see from his uneasiness that he was as unsure as to the realities of this as I.
I chuckled. ‘We edge around this as though we wish to dance but neither knows how to begin.’
Victor gave a relieved grin. He was young for a man in his position, and I know that his predecessor in the office had died only the last month. He was still finding his feet in a world that was all new to him.
‘Please, sit.’
He did so, sinking into a seat opposite me. ‘It is said with surprising openness that you are of the faith, Highness. I do not know if you attend our meetings? I have not seen you at mine.’
I felt sheepish, looked it too. Mother would have disapproved to know that I had not attended meetings of the faith. But then she had lived a relatively unimportant life and had been free to do so.
‘Sadly, in my position the opportunity is not often forthcoming,’ I admitted. I probably could. It did not occur to me often. I lived my relationship with God largely in private.
He nodded. ‘I understand. The world interferes with our faith all too often, and a lady in your position must have many demands upon her time.’
A few. A touch of guilt struck me, though, as he went on. ‘I am here to petition you, Lady Marcia, and to beg you to intercede with the emperor.’ I felt nerves touch me then. This sounded important. ‘The governor of Sardinia,’ he said, ‘is a notorious hater of Christians. While the reign of the blessed Commodus has been a boon to our people and across the empire, much of the pressure has lifted as men have chosen paths of tolerance, the governor of Sardinia is steadfast in his hatred. On that cursed island, many sons and daughters of the Church are endangered and harmed. When a Christian is identified, they are charged with impiety and condemned to the mines, where they are worked to death on behalf of the Roman state. Is this, I ask you, a way for man to treat his brother? Would the emperor approve?’
In fairness, I doubted the emperor would care much one way or another, but the situation did sound appalling. I would like to say that I agreed to help through the altruistic nature of my Christian soul. It would be a lie. Like most of the less devout, my piety becomes greater when I perceive danger, and I knew that I had been a corrupt soul these past few years, my virtue on the decline. I perceived a way to perhaps redress the balance somewhat and make my heart a little more pure.
‘I will speak with the emperor,’ I said to the head of my faith. ‘I will seek his support for your plight. Such things should not be allowed.’
He left with a grateful bow and I felt if anything more fraudulent than ever with the idea that I might buy redemption with the help of my love.
I did not want it to be official. To register such things in the annals of Rome might not be the best of ideas. I waited until we were alone that night, lounging in our bed, sated and content. If ever there were a time to ask something of a man, that was it.
‘I have a favour to ask.’
He leaned close, his piercing blue eyes fixing me with their gaze. ‘Ask.’
‘Who is the governor of Sardinia?’
He frowned at me in confusion. ‘A man called Sempronius. Huge eyebrows and no chin. Sense of humour of a drowned cat. Hates Christians. You’d love him.’
Sounded likely. ‘Is Sempronius important?’
He snorted. ‘Is any senator important?’ He fell serious again for a moment. ‘Not especially. He has connections. Old family. A few cousins and a brother in various positions. After Sardinia he’ll probably just retire. I expect he will have skimmed enough gold off the top of Sardinia’s coffers to make his retirement more than a little comfortable in that corrupt way all senators do. Why?’
‘Are you willing to pit yourself against him for me?’
His frown deepened. ‘What can he have done to you when you don’t even know his name?’
‘He persecutes Christians.’
Commodus sighed. ‘There is no law against that, Marcia. Indeed, from time to time it is positively encouraged.’
‘Not by you.’
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘I have never seen the danger in Christians. Perhaps that is your doing. Some say they anger the true gods. In my opinion the gods would be petty if they cared too much about the wayward wanderings of a small part of Roman society.’
‘Would you be willing to intervene in his affairs?’
Now he shot me with a meaningful look. ‘Officially, it is the policy of Rome to punish those who deny our gods – in particular the divinity of the emperors. It smacks of defiance and disrespect. In that manner, Sempronius is only supporting Roman policy. Interfering in such a thing would not be without its consequences. Would saving a few criminals in Sardinia make a grand difference to you? What of Gaul, then, whose governors use identified Christians to pad out the ranks of the gladiators since the plague thinned their numbers?’
I shuddered. That happened too? I bit down on my lip. I could not save everyone, but I could at least save some. ‘Those on Sardinia I know are worked to death in the mines for nothing more than having faith in the same god as me. Would you send me to the mines?’
‘Of course not.’
‘And the only difference between me and those men and women is that you know me.’
‘I might suggest there is a little more to it than that,’ chuckled Commodus, but subsided as he saw the set of my chin and my determined expression. ‘Very well. For you. For you, I shall have Sempronius recalled and given a nice little stipend to send him to happy obscurity. I shall make sure to appoint someone tolerant in his place and have all extant Christians in the mines freed. Does this make you happy?’
I smiled. ‘Did you know that when we were in Athens I bought a new book called An Embassy for the Christians by a man called Athenagoras, and he had dedicated it to you?’
He laughed aloud. ‘The man clearly had foresight. Then perhaps I had better do something about Gaul too, before he scratches out my name and replaces it.’
He was joking, but there was that about Commodus which meant he rarely said he would do something without at least attempting to carry it through. ‘Will you?’
He rolled his eyes at me. ‘That is an easy proclamation, to end their punishment as gladiators. It won’t end your people’s troubles, though, Marcia. Cruel men will always find a new way to abuse the weak. But for now it will close one door for them.’ He laughed. ‘D’you know, I rather like Christians? I wish all of Rome was as easy to please as your people. To make a Christian deliriously happy all you have to do is not set fire to him.’
I smiled and kissed him then, my glorious golden prince, champion of the just.
Hercules completing a new labour.
XXI
THE ROME OF COMMODUS
Italia, Maius ad 191
That spring we quit Rome for the summer. The city was settled. The people were as content as could be expected, given that the city was still ravaged daily by the ongoing plague and carts continued to ferry the dead out across the Quirinal in a macabre convoy. Still, chariots hurtled at a sickening pace around the circus and men fought in the arena for the gruesome entertainment of the mob. The senators still grumbled about the repeated increases in their taxes, yet they continued to pay and somehow still managed to get by with their amassed personal fortunes. The borders remained quiet and the armies of Rome continued to nestle in their garrisons, acting mostly as a peacekeeping force and living more as an army of builders and engineers than soldiers.
Happy that Rome was not going to become a seething hotbed of resentment in our absence and that Eclectus was trustworthy enough to leave at the reins of state, we abandoned the city when the temperature began to rise in late spring and moved south.
We had decided to take the journey we’d talked about during our last time away at Laurentinum, down to Puteoli where the gate to Hades and the sulphur baths waited. Imperial estates lay everywhere, having been confiscated when their original owners fell foul of the emperor of the day, and the Neapolis Bay was no different. The main luxurious estate of the imperial family there had been buried during the disaster of Titus’ reign a century earlier, when the mountain exploded and the city of Pompeii vanished beneath the earth. But there were still a couple of lesser estates, including a seaside villa at Surrentum, for which we were bound.
