by David Blixt
“Will you speak for Vitellius?” asked the gladiator suspiciously.
“I certainly will! I'll say no more than he said this morning.”
That produced a growl from the crowd. “He was duped into that statement – duped by you!”
Old Sabinus shrugged. “If Vitellius is a fool, I did not make him one.”
Leaning in, Sabinus hissed, “Pater, don't—”
But it was too late, the insult had given the gladiator cause. Poking a beefy finger into the elderly man's chest, he declared loudly, “You are kin to a traitor, old man!”
Old Sabinus slapped the hand away and spoke in even more ringing tones. “I am a senator of Rome, you clod! I piss on you – you and all your friends! Now let me pass!” With his open hand, he pushed at the man's shoulder.
The gladiator responded by slapping Old Sabinus across the face.
It was years since anyone had dared to strike the ancient senator. Shameful tears of rage and shock filled his eyes. His toothless mouth flapping incomprehensible curses, Old Sabinus bravely started again to walk into the Forum, shoving the man back.
This time the obstructionist raised a closed fist, only to find his hand engulfed by the larger, hairier hand of Mamercus. The swarthy centurion applied pressure, and the surprised ex-gladiator gasped and sagged to one knee.
That was when the gladiator's friends came to his aid.
* * *
Domitia was pushing past Abigail for a better view. “Can you make out what they're saying?”
Hands on Perel's shoulders, Verulana stood upon her toes. “They're accusing Old Sabinus of treason! Oh! Someone has struck him!”
The crowd began to surge in several directions at once. “A fight! A fight!” cried Domitia, hopping in delighted excitement.
“Oh wonderful!” Buffeted this way and that, Verulana used Perel as a shield as she tried to push forward to strike a blow herself.
Domitia shoved Abigail from behind. “Make yourselves useful! Hit someone!”
* * *
At the first sign of disrespect to Old Sabinus, the men from the urban cohorts joined Mamercus in pushing the Vitellian supporters back. Shoves led to fists, and soon an all-out brawl was taking place on the edge of the Forum.
A knot of Praetorians arrived. Some had fought for Otho, some were new conscripts added by Vitellius. Regardless, they all viewed the city guards with contempt. Their swords scraped free of their scabbards, and suddenly what had been a shoving match became a scene from a gladiatorial game, with blood flying into the air. But unlike in the arena, here only one side was armed.
Yet Praetorians were not hardened soldiers. Mamercus wrested a sword from a white-clad figure and expertly used it to clear a path. “This way!”
Sabinus grabbed the collar of his father's tunic. “Pater! We must go!”
Unable to retreat due to the crowd, they escaped by the only path left to them – up the clivus Capitolinus, the winding stairs up to the Capitol.
* * *
“Oh look!” cried Verulana, pointing to a man with a crushed nose, his blood bubbling as he fought for breath.
Abigail and Perel saw their mistress' expression transform from delight to terror. The sight of blood had killed all excitement in Domitia. The noble lady turned to flee, but they were penned in, with more bodies pushing them towards the fighting ahead.
The direction of the shoving shifted, and the four women found themselves carried up the Capitoline steps. “Run! Run!” shouted Verulana gleefully. Raising her skirts, she turned to offer the Vitellians an obscene pelvic thrust. “Pipinna!” She then fled up the remaining stairs towards an ancient gateway.
* * *
The marble steps were narrow, curving like a crooked finger near the top. Along one side were porticos of gods and famous Romans topped with cupids. Racing past an image of his own ancestor, the consul Atticus called back curses at the Vitellians: “Your master is an oath-breaker! A pleasure-seeking catamite, and a pawn of lesser men!”
Higher up the stairs, the knot of senators containing Sabinus and his father reached the Capitoline gate. Their slippered feet pounded up the stone ramp that led to the top. Irony of ironies, high above them Nero drove his four-horsed quadriga into the sky, while images of battles and great victories and foreign submissions played out all across the marble monument. This was the Arch of Corbulo.
Passing under the arch, they emerged into the open air of the Mons Capitolinus. Several temples flanked the central altar, and at the north end, towering above the rest, stood the great Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus.
Dodging around massive obelisk and passing the rough stone altar, Sabinus shouted, “Into the Temple!”
Startled Capitoline slaves jumped back and fled from the sudden influx of men as Mamercus waved the senators and city guardsmen up the wide staircase, into the great god's home.
Two hundred feet deep and slightly less wide, set behind eighteen columns all several times thicker than a man, Jupiter's temple easily contained the refugees. The thirty foot high ceiling reverberated the frantic gabbling into a deafening cacophony. Of the nearly two hundred men, half were senators and knights, the rest were city guards.
And four were women. Verulana entered the great god's temple with a flushed and smiling face. “What fun!”
Hair falling from her pins, Domitia ran inside, panting. Perel entered, looking wide-eyed at their surroundings.
Behind her, Abigail came to a sudden stop, her flesh crawling. This was the home of the Roman's greatest god. The pillars from floor to ceiling were hung round with shields and weapons of varying types – spears, axes, swords, and things she didn't even have a name for. Gilt letters spelling IOM were everywhere. The god himself was seated in Greek style, fashioned of ivory and gold. He held a thunderbolt high, as if ready to strike her dead.
Abigail had traveled the world with her Symeon, hidden in caves and dined with princes. She had seen the prisons he had inhabited, and lived in the wilds when they were being hunted by their own people. But this was the most frightening place she had ever seen. Would the Lord forgive her presence here? Would the Roman god strike her dead for trespassing? And what about Perel? Quickly Abigail dragged her staring daughter behind a pillar, out of view of the idol, and together they knelt to pray.
“Shut those doors!” commanded Sabinus to the slaves at the two side entrances as he and Mamercus closed the huge main doors with a resounding 'clang.'
* * *
The Vitellian mob checked at the temple steps. Unlike Greeks and Jews, Romans did not believe in religious sanctuary. But it was sacrilege to shed human blood within the shrine to Jupiter Best and Greatest. Unsure what to do, the Vitellians opted to pull back and throw up a loose cordon around the bottom of the hill, penning the Flavians at its peak until their unwilling leader could decide what to do with them.
* * *
With Mamercus at his elbow, Sabinus quickly took charge. He stationed the soldiers of the city cohort at the doors. Gesturing to the shields on the columns, Sabinus ordered the more panicky senators to take them down, just to give them something to do.
Walking through the temple, looking at entrances and trying to formulate a plan, Sabinus paused in surprise when he spied the young Jewess, Domitia's girl. “Jupiter! Perel, isn't it?”
Domitia looked up in surprise as the slave girl blushed, clearly surprised and embarrassed to be recognized. “It is, Titus Flavius.”
Domitia said, “You know my girl?”
“We met a couple years ago,” said Sabinus briefly. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“We were enjoying the Saturnalia and got caught in the crowd.”
Sabinus nodded. “I'm sorry you were caught up in our folly.” Then he smiled at Perel. “No quick escape this time, I'm afraid.”
Perel smiled back at him, the asymmetry of her expression at once comic and tragic. “You will think of something, domine.”
“I wish I had your faith.” Sabinus note
d Abigail. “Is this..?”
“My mother, Titus Flavius.”
“Well met. Again, I apologize for the circumstances. Forgive me, there are things I must see to.” Sabinus spent the next few minutes rounding up the temple slaves and freedmen, those charged with care of the temples. Temples were not just religious houses. Rome's religion was inextricably mixed with the government. Thus temples did the state's business, and civil servants plied their days under the gaze of the divinities that had jurisdiction over their work.
Collecting the servants between two massive pillars, Sabinus issued brisk instructions. “Go into the basement and bring up any usable weapons.” The temple was the repository of hundreds of years of gifts from foreign kings and despots, hoping to make nice with Rome. For once their gifts would prove useful. “Then make sure there is water for everyone, and start storing it in basins, in case they try to cut off the spring. Move!”
As they scampered away, Sabinus leaned close to Mamercus. “How am I doing?”
“Better than this summer,” said the veteran frankly. “There, you were playing the part of commander. Now you're issuing commands, which is what a commander does.”
Sabinus smiled wanly. “Here, I know what we're fighting for.”
“Our lives, you mean?” Mamercus laughed. “It does clear the mind, doesn't it?”
“Senator!” called one of the urban guardsmen. “I think they've gone!”
Plucking a spear down from a wall, Sabinus had them open a door. Taking a deep breath, he ventured cautiously out and saw that the mob of Vitellians had retreated from the hilltop. There were at least a thousand Praetorians milling around below.
Mamercus quietly fed suggestions to Sabinus, who issued them as orders. “Marcus Aemilius, take twenty men and guard the gate we came through. Titus Didius, do the same for the gate at the southwest corner. Atticus, please begin searching the other temples for more weapons.”
The ancient wall encircling the hill had seven watchtowers – though by the modern standards they could barely be called towers, hardly higher than the wall itself. Sabinus divided the remaining men from the urban cohort to stand along the wall as look-outs.
In titular command of these cohorts, Old Sabinus stood nodding as though the orders were his own. He was still shocked from his treatment, and dazed from the run up the narrow stone stairs. But as he recovered himself, he began to protest. “Surely when Vitellius hears, he'll call them off. We had a bargain!”
Sabinus squeezed his father's shoulder. “Until he comes to his senses, best we defend ourselves and not rely on him.” As Old Sabinus stalked off, muttering, Sabinus wondered how his father had become so small. To Mamercus he said, “My father's used to getting his way.”
“Don't I know it,” replied Mamercus wryly. “I sure as certain didn't want to go north with Otho and some young noble wet behind the ears. But he was right to keep you alive. Rome needs you.”
Sabinus was utterly humbled. But before he could stammer out some reply, Mamercus said, “Now, let's secure the other gate.”
“What other gate?”
“The one to the Asylum.”
“Cacat!” Sabinus had forgotten the hill's third entrance. “Let's take a look.”
The Capitoline Hill was actually two mounds, with a low saddle connecting them. Jupiter's Temple was on the large southern peak, while the smaller northern peak held temples to lesser gods – including, amusingly, the temple to Venus Erucina, the protectress of whores. The northern mound was called the Arx of the Capitoline, and the dip between the two was known as the Asylum.
Traditionally, the Asylum was a place of inviolable safety, where a man could dwell without fear of assault or detention.
A marble walkway linked the two rises. At the center of the walkway, stairs led down both sides. Sabinus had used them hundreds of times to get from the Forum to the Tiber's banks. “If I'd been thinking, we could have escaped this way.”
“And been hunted down later, individually,” said Mamercus. “No use second guessing. Besides, no escape now.” At the bottom of the stairs on both sides, Praetorians had taken up watch.
“Find twenty men and seal this gate, too.” Sabinus noticed Mamercus frowning at the ancient wall above them. “What's the matter?”
“Romulus built this wall. It's been centuries since there's been a real threat.”
“Is the wall weak?”
Mamercus slapped a huge block of tufa stone. “Hardly. They knew their business. No, the problem is that.” Mamercus pointed at the private homes that butted up against the wall's far side.
Still Sabinus didn't understand the problem. In a city where housing was an ever-growing concern, the state had made a tidy profit leasing this area for private homes. “They're houses.”
“They're higher than the wall, and offer a perfect view down. A great place to leap over the wall and take us unawares.”
Sabinus had an ugly moment of shock. “This isn't very defensible, is it?”
“Not with less than two hundred men,” agreed Mamercus. “Our best hope is what your father said – Vitellius orders them off. That, or their awe of Jupiter will keep them away.”
“It's pretty to think so,” said Sabinus. “But no one respects the gods anymore.”
* * *
Delighted at the exciting turn of the day, Verulana followed the slaves into the open air. Meanwhile, more frightened than she would ever acknowledge, Domitia vented her anxiety by ordering around the only people under her sway. “Abigail, fetch me water. Perel, rub my feet. That run up the stairs was murder. My slippers are giving me calluses. Abigail, I said I was thirsty!”
Abigail did not like being separated from her daughter in this place, but she obeyed, exiting the confines of the temple to draw water from a fountain outside. She told herself that they were in no real danger. Now that the mob had gone, the madness surely would pass. She was here with senators, even the consul. And they were in the seat of the Roman religion, very like the Temple in Jerusalem. Nothing bad could happen to them here.
Thinking of the Temple of her people, she recalled the waft of scent that filled the city each day as the spices were burned. Romans did the same, but here it was more acrid, less sweet. She recalled the times she had gone through the Susan Gate to the Court of Women. It was as far as women were allowed to go, as high as they could travel with their uncleanliness.
Being here, in Jupiter's home, made Abigail feel as profane as if she had passed through the Court of Women and ascended all the way to the Holy of Holies. Unlike that most high place, access to Jupiter was open to all, that they might look upon the faces of the three gods that made this their abode on earth – Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva. Yet Abigail felt her presence was here wrong.
As she returned with the water for her mistress, Abigail paused before a massive statue of Jupiter. It was not stone, but the red terra cotta of ancient times. It being a feast day, the face of the statue was painted crimson. The empty eyes seemed to follow her, and she could almost hear a voice asking her why she, who refused to believe in him, had sought refuge in his home. Her unease grew, creeping up her spine, an eldritch sensation that made her want to pick up her skirts and run.
But it was the gaze of her own Lord Abigail feared most. “I am the Lord thy God. Thou shalt have no other gods before Me.” She told herself that she was not here to worship another god, that she was here against her will, and that one building was like any other in terms of shelter.
But Abigail was too intelligent to fool herself. They had entered Jupiter's temple in order to gain the great god's protection. Entrance meant a form of worship. She had to get her daughter out of here before the Lord struck them dead.
* * *
Sabinus and Mamercus returned to find the Capitol slaves emerging with bejeweled weapons made of silver, gold, and bronze. Though beautiful and costly, only a few were practical, and these were handed out among the city guards.
“Success!” The consul Atticus eme
rged from the smaller temple to Jupiter Feretrius, where the overflow of treaties and armaments were kept. Here he had found a cache of ancient arms and armour. Other men invaded the temple of Honos and Virtus, a cult for military commanders, and returned with yet more weapons.
“Forget the gold armour,” advised Mamercus to the senators and knights who clustered to arm themselves. “It's too soft – one sword-thrust will punch a hole right through.”
While a few nobles heeded his advice, most dressed themselves in the finest armour from foreign lands – golden greaves and bracers, jeweled helmets, intricately crafted chest-plates depicting scenes from myth and history. Even Verulana put on armour, much to the dismay of the men. But what better Saturnalian role-reversal could there be than a woman pretending to be a soldier?
Sabinus armed himself with a round Greek shield made of pure silver. The face of it showed the noble Leonidas and his three hundred Spartans at the battle of Thermopylae. Fitting. Let's hope we do better. To protect his chest, he put on a chain-link shirt from some Eastern land, possibly Syria. His ancient helmet was classically Roman, with the horsehair plume intact. For a sword, he chose a plain gladius, entirely unadorned, but with a wicked point.
His father approached, dressed in glittering gold and carrying an impressively rich sword. “If it comes to it, I doubt I'll be doing much fighting,” said Old Sabinus, grinning at his son, “but I may be able to awe them. Vespasian's not the only capable soldier in the family. And remember, we have access to the money kept in the Temple of Ops.” This was a shrine to the god of plenty, and the Senate kept an emergency fund beneath its podium.
“What will we do, buy the Praetorians off?”
“Why not? They deserted Otho readily enough.”
“Only when he was dead. Besides, I think they'd rather kill us and take the silver for themselves.”
Old Sabinus sighed. “You're probably correct. But we can try.”
Armed, Sabinus and Mamercus climbed out onto the most ill-omened spot on the Capitol – the Tarpean Rock. A flat slab of basaltic rock jutting out into space on the southern slope of the hill, it stood eighty feet above a bed of needle-like rocks. This was the traditional place to execute Roman enemies to the state. But it also provided an excellent view of the Tiber side of the Capitoline Hill.
