by David Blixt
Sabinus wanted to strike the young man across his smug face. “This is hardly the time for games. Where's Tertius?”
“With luck, already in Antonius' camp,” said Clemens. “We put the girls into a litter, then Domitian and I escorted them across the street in full view of our watchers. While they were looking at us, Tertius slipped out the back of our house and ran for it. We got the girls settled in Caenis' house, then—”
“This is genius,” interjected Domitian.
Clemens grinned. “It all hinged on showing the Vitellians what they wanted to see. They were expecting us to try and escape somehow. Well, you know that Caenis has a freedman with five sons? We asked two of them to leave by the back door to Caenis' house. Thank Jupiter for this rain! Hunched in their heavy cloaks and caps of liberty, they looked exactly like people trying not to be seen. Our watchers thought we had traded clothes with them, and followed them, while Domitian and I walked out the front door, free of trouble!” concluded Clemens with real pride.
“The worst part was leaving the girls,” added Domitian. “I thought they were going to give us away with all their pleading.”
Sabinus was unimpressed. He glared at his son. “I wanted Domitian to escape the city.”
Clemens was unrepentant. “We thought this was safer, so we came to join your reenactment of the siege of Saturninus. Appropriate to the season, no?”
One hundred sixty-nine years earlier, a senator called Saturninus tried to crown himself King of Rome. Easily thwarted, he fled up the Capitoline and took refuge in the Temple of Jupiter. Being no soldier, he and his allies had surrendered the following day. “An ill example,” said Sabinus. “They all died.”
“They weren't soldiers,” said Domitian, a fire in his eye. “We won't suffer their fate. And as my father's only son here in Rome, I refuse to soil his cause by running away.”
“Well said!” Mamercus smacked his lips happily, having drained the wineskin. “There are more of us, and our enemies are not of Marian caliber – they've forgotten to cut off our water supply.” The reason for Saturninus' quick surrender had been a lack of water.
“Still, it was foolish to come,” insisted Sabinus.
Clemens gazed at him steadily. “I felt it was my duty, pater.”
“'Ferae pericula quae vident fugiunt.'”
“Beasts may,” answered Clemens. “But we are men. And Vitellius must fall.” This last was said in a very hard voice. Clemens was thinking of Spiros, and all those who had died thanks to a Caesar's whims.
Mistakenly, Sabinus thought he understood. Denied the chance to go to Vespasian's war, the young men were seizing the chance to be at the center of an armed conflict. Very dramatic! Time to put a shaft into their high-flying hopes. “Well, it's unlikely there will be any fighting at all. In the morning we'll send to Vitellius, and doubtless he'll order our freedom. Attacking us is against his long-term interests.”
Domitian frowned. “If Antonius comes—”
“—then the Praetorians will rush to face him, leaving us behind. Look, there's a difference between hoping for a fight and being ready if one comes. Running headlong into danger only says you place little value on your lives. Now find someplace dry and get some sleep. Nothing will happen until sunrise.” With that, Sabinus stepped back into the rain to continue patrolling the walls.
Watching him go, Domitian said, “Forgive me, cos, but your father is an ungrateful sod.”
Tempted to agree, Clemens instead said, “I doubt I can sleep.”
“Me either.” Squinting through the dimness, Domitian caught sight of several female figures standing beside a brazier under the roof of Fortune Primigenia. Some were slaves, some wore the clothes of noblewomen. One even wore armour.
Domitian nudged Clemens in the ribs. “Look over there. My father's whore was telling the truth – there are women up here.”
“They must be terrified,” observed Clemens.
The fire in the brazier flickered, and in that moment Domitian's eyes took in Domitia Longina. He frowned. “Cacat! What is she doing here?”
* * *
FIDENAE, ITALIA
Having successfully escaped the city, Tertius traveled a mere five miles north along the via Salaria before encountering a force of Flavian horsemen. As luck would have it, the patrol belonged to his second cousin by marriage, Cerialis Rufus.
“Jupiter!” cried Cerialis, pulling up as Tertius was identified. “Where have you come from?”
Tertius relayed all the news, first assuring Cerialis that his daughter was safe in the house of Caenis, then explaining the ridiculous chain of events that had led to the stand-off on the Capitoline Hill.
The instant Tertius was through, Cerialis eagerly assembled his cavalry. He sent a perfunctory report to Antonius, still many miles to the north, but didn't wait for orders. Boldness! Boldness would carry the day! Telling Tertius to join, he leapt onto his horse and led his thousand horsemen down the Salarian Way towards Rome.
* * *
ROMA, ITALIA
As dawn arrived in a grey haze, with lingering clouds continuing to spit rain, Sabinus argued with Mamercus. “Get out of my way. I'm going.”
Arms folded, Mamercus continued to block his path. “All due respect, Titus Flavius, consular or no, you're not.”
“I'm certainly not letting my father—”
“It won't be your father, and it surely won't be you.”
“It has to be one of the family—”
“If one of your family sets foot out that gate, he'll not be coming back.” Mamercus placed a foot on a stone step and leaned forward. “It's like I told you back in April, Titus Flavius. Things are disordered now. In an ordered world, a man of your stature and birth would never be touched. But those men out there are like wild dogs. They've tasted the blood of men of stature and birth, and they like it, see? That's why you can't go. You can't even send the consul. They won't respect a senator. Only a soldier.” With that reasonable and thoughtful summation, Mamercus pushed past Sabinus and hauled at the southern gate.
Sabinus went after him, but only to help him through. Then Sabinus shut it firmly, allowing other men to re-barricade it while he climbed to the ramparts and watched as the unarmed Mamercus was escorted by the Vitellian treating party down the Capitoline and up the Palatine. Across the way, the old centurion finally disappeared into Caesar's palace for an audience with the unwilling Princeps of Rome.
Sabinus pulled the folds of his cloak over his head, as Romans did when they prayed.
* * *
With the Praetorians focused on the Capitol, Cerialis Rufus expected no resistance when they arrived at Rome. But the Vitellians had placed spies along the road, and these men sent word ahead of the racing cavalry.
Just as the Flavian force entered the city from the northeast, Cerialis' thousand horse troopers were knocked off the road by an armed mass of both foot and cavalry. The fighting spilled over into the suburbs, where the winding paths were too narrow for horses to deploy properly. Worse, Cerialis' men got lost. Many of these provincial soldiers had never been to Rome before, whereas the Vitellians knew the area well.
As the fighting grew more dogged and confused, hundreds of citizens, still dressed for the Saturnalian revels, climbed onto walls and roofs to watch. While the two sides struggled, bled, and died, the citizens and slaves sat picnicking, cheering, and making wagers as if this gruesome struggle below were no more than a gladiatorial contest, staged for their amusement.
* * *
“…and honoured his negotiations with senator Vitellius in all ways,” said Mamercus. “Ever since the war started, Titus Flavius Sabinus Senior has remained neutral, refusing to side even with his own blood brother. Through it all, he has remained a loyal Roman. Whereas it seems the current holder of the title Princeps partook of the meetings only to lure honest men to their destruction. If Aulus Vitellius truly meant yesterday to abdicate, why did he not then retire to his family home on the Aventine, like a common cit
izen? Instead Aulus Vitellius returned to the Palatine and issued orders for his soldiers to attack senators and members of the Ordo Equester who carried no arms and had broken no laws. Men died, blood was shed in the Forum, and now the soldiers of Aulus Vitellius threaten the very sanctuary of the Great God himself.”
Mamercus spoke with more formality than he had intended. But he had known within moments that his was a failed embassy. Vitellius sat limp and boneless in his ivory curule chair of office. At the mention of the temple he winced, but for the rest of the formal complaint he kept his eyes fixed at a point somewhere up and to the left of the centurion's face.
The Princeps was surrounded by Praetorians, and Mamercus doubted they were here to protect him. Even were Vitellius inclined to step aside, his loyal 'followers' would never allow it.
Still, there was nothing for it but to continue to the end, and try to leave with both his dignitas and his life. Though if he had to choose, Mamercus was more fond of the former. He was, after all, a Roman.
* * *
Tertius fought in the first battle of his life, hacking from side to side with his long cavalry sword, his legs curled tight around two of the four posts of his saddle. He was so consumed with his personal success that he did not take in the slaughter around him until he heard the bugles sounding the retreat. All unwilling, he fell back. Pulling his horse up alongside Cerialis, he gave the red-headed commander an accusing look. “What are you doing?”
“Retreating until Antonius arrives!”
Tertius cursed. Just like in Britannia, the man had lost his nerve. “What about my father?”
Cerialis shrugged the shoulders of his armour. “Perhaps we've bought him time to escape! Better than nothing.”
There was no more time for words. Along with the rest of their small force, they fled.
* * *
Mamercus was still making his case when several more Praetorians rushed in, overpowering him with their voices. “Caesar, Caesar, we are attacked!”
Vitellius hardly stirred. “Attacked?”
“Yes, Caesar!” said Gaius Julius Priscus, the Praetorian Prefect. “While this dog speaks of clemency and honour, the Flavian forces have struck at the very walls of Rome herself!”
“Where are they now?” asked a listless Princeps.
“In flight up the via Salaria! We've beaten them back!” Priscus turned upon Mamercus. “Return to your masters and tell them to make peace with the gods, for this treachery shall not go unpunished!”
One more try. Ignoring every other man, Mamercus beggared his pride and went down on one knee to Vitellius. “Aulus Vitellius, please – let there be an end to fighting!”
Leaning forward, the fat Vitellius smiled wanly, looking sallow and sick. “Mamercus Cornelius, I apologize for the zeal these men show in my cause. As you can see, I no longer exercise any measure of control over what is done in my name. I am no Imperator, no master of war. I find myself merely this war's cause, as much a prisoner to the times as you, as Titus Flavius. Please give him my regards, and tell him I wish him nothing but success in all his endeavors.”
Flabbergasted, Mamercus was hauled to his feet and dragged unresisting out. As he was escorted back to the Capitol gates, the Praetorian in charge said, “Tell them we're coming.”
Mamercus had no biting retort. His mind was still grappling with the absurdity of their situation. They were about to be slaughtered for the sake of a man who wished himself slaughtered in their stead. It was as though the mad god Janus had his hands upon both hills, playing with them as a child did the little wooden figures of war. O, why did not Vitellius have the strength to fall on his sword and end all their troubles?
Entering the Capitoline fortifications, Mamercus told the Flavians to prepare for battle.
* * *
“I wish I knew how to use this,” said Verulana, flexing her fingers around a short sword. She turned to Clemens, measuring him with her eyes. “I do wish your brother was here to show me. Are you at all like him?”
“Nothing at all like him,” said Clemens, resenting the embarrassed flush of his cheek. “Nothing at all.”
Domitian decided to save his cousin. “You already know what to do. Stick it in and pull it out! That's why it's called man's work.” He laughed hard at his own crude jest, chucking Verulana under the chin. Yet his eyes were on Domitia, daring her to say something.
She did not. And based on Verulana's lack of reply, she had not these past two years. All the time Domitian had been thinking she was mocking him, spreading the tale of his strange collapse into womanly tears all over Rome. He had burnt her letters unread, done his damnedest to utterly ignore her existence.
Yet she was not mocking him now. She now sat upon the temple steps with her arms about her knees. Nor was there a jot of pity on her face. Instead she simply winced, as if he had wounded her, not the other way around.
Domitian dared himself to address her. “What about you, lady? Would you wield a blade?”
“I don't think I could,” said sixteen year-old Domitia.
“Truly?” asked eighteen year-old Domitian, unable to help himself. “I would have thought there was nothing you did not dare.”
The way she looked at him, with shame and anger and fear, made his stomach uneasy.
“It won't come to that,” said Clemens. “Mamercus says Antonius is coming. We only have to last until nightfall. Then Domitian here will be hailed as heir to the new Caesar.”
“Who knows?” added Domitian jauntily. “By evening, we may all be across the way on the Palatine, celebrating my father's victory. Would you like to join us there, Domitia Longina?”
Domitia blinked. “If my husband allows it, Titus Flavius.”
Verulana was obviously astonished at her friend's newfound meekness. “Your husband sponges the backside of anyone called Caesar. I think he can be convinced.”
That at least made Domitia Longina smile. Domitian saw this and was about to add his voice to the abuse of Plautius when they heard a shout from the eastern gate. “They're coming!”
“Here we go!” Forgetting all about the women, Domitian and Clemens raced to the gate.
XXV
The assault began on the Forum side of Capitol. The Praetorians marched up the Clivus Capitolinus and mounted the steps with swords drawn, eager for blood. The hilly street was too narrow for them to take more than five abreast. Assuming the defenders had no missiles, they didn't bother with shields.
A costly mistake. The temples had contained enough pila for those atop the walls to launch two volleys. The first two lines of Praetorians fell, forcing the third to step over their dead comrades.
Pila spent, the defenders turned to other weapons. Domitian had found a bow, and was showing surprising accuracy with shot after shot. Atticus had discovered slings inside Jupiter Feretrius. Though not as deadly in Roman hands as in Judean, they still shattered bones and rattled skulls. Bodies piled up on the Capitol steps. Yet the Praetorians kept coming.
Standing along the wall, Sabinus glanced up to his left at the arch of Corbulo. It was much higher than the wall, an excellent vantage point. And something even better. Casting his last pilum, he said, “Mamercus, give me a boost.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“A little help from a god.”
Glancing up, Mamercus laughed and held out his cupped hands for Sabinus to step in. “One. Two. Three!” Just as with the girl Perel, Sabinus soared upwards, hands clutching the marble. Gripping the intricate carvings as finger-holds, it took him several moments to scale up to the top of the three story arch. He hauled himself over the top, breathless and panting as he stared up at the larger-than-life form of Nero driving a four-horsed chariot.
Forcing himself to his feet, Sabinus drew his sword and began hacking at the statue's base.
Below him, the fighting continued. “I need more arrows,” observed Domitian to Clemens as they ducked down behind the rampart. “If we die like Saturninus, I'll blame you, co
s! A bad omen, even mentioning him.”
Something about the death of Saturninus rang a bell in Clemens' brain. After the siege upon the Capitol, the rebels had been locked in the Curia Hostilia, down in the Forum. At dawn, several young nobles had climbed up to the roof of the Curia Hostilia and…
“Follow me!” Sheathing his sword, Clemens climbed over the wall's edge and dropped.
“What in the name of Charybdis are you doing?” shouted Domitian, eyes wide.
Clemens had already landed not far below, on the roof of a shrine to some famous Roman. A dozen such buildings lined one side of the Capitol steps, and these were topped with the traditional clay tiles used for all Roman roofs.
Clemens pried one up and, curling it like a discus, flung it down into the throng of Vitellians on the steps below him. The first tile struck with a crack like thunder as the ten pound clay missile burst into sharp fragments, wounding several men.
Grinning, Clemens looked up at Domitian. “Saturninus!” Saturninus had died under a hail of these tiles. Clemens was now using that traitor's demise as inspiration to rain death down upon the Praetorians.
“Brilliant!” Laughing, Domitian quickly followed suit.
Standing fifteen feet above the Praetorians, they hurled down tile after tile, wounding half a dozen men with each one. The two teens were quickly joined by more defenders and the hail of tiles became unbearable. The Vitellians faltered.
“We've got them!” crowed Domitian, dodging a torch thrown by a furious Praetorian.
It fell short, landing inside one of the niches. Sheltered from the elements, the ancient wood holding up the roof was dry. Worse, the seals had been made of cheap oakum, the crudely-bound fibres of flax plants. Though sometimes used for caulking, oakum was most often employed in the making of lamp wicks.
The moment the flames from the torch licked the oakum, the whole shrine seemed to burst into an inferno. In seconds the flames quickly spread beneath the defenders' feet, forcing Clemens and the rest to pull back.
