“Look after Elsa,” Marcus snapped fixing his eyes on his young secretary, “nothing else matters now.”
“I will,” Cassius repeated, “What are you going to do Sir?”
Marcus took a deep breath and turned to look past the stoic Indus and out into the bustling street.
“Poseidon has made his move and we must device a counter move,” he growled. “But first I am going home to look after my family. I must protect them.”
***
Marcus stood in the garden of his villa on the ridge of the Janiculum hill, gazing out over the huge imperial metropolis that stretched away along the banks of the Tiber. He had discarded his senatorial robes and was clad in a common white tunic, over which he was wearing a long, grey winter-cloak. A sheathed gladius hung from his belt. It was growing dark and on the river, the cargo barges from Portus were moving up and down as normal. A few lights were beginning to twinkle in the great city and for a moment Marcus had the feeling that he was gazing down at a surreal picture, a vast, magnificent painting of something immortal. But the sickening sense of impending disaster that had started to gnaw away at him was growing worse. It was all going wrong for him. From his vantage point he had a splendid view of the temple of Jupiter that crowned the top of the Capitoline hill and, to the south the distinctive shape of the coliseum was unmissable. Kyna had not been at home when he’d come back and after a brief moment’s panic, his slaves had informed him that she was out shopping for books in the Argiletum. He’d sent Indus into the city to find her and bring her back at once. Now his wife stood beside him holding a cup of Posca, sour wine mixed with herbs as she too gazed out over the city.
“Maybe it won’t be as bad as you fear,” Kyna said with a frown. “I mean ships are lost in storms all the time, aren’t they? Surely this has happened before. Can’t we buy the grain from some other place?”
“Let’s hope so,” Marcus growled. “But it is better to be prepared than to be caught with your pants down at your ankles. And there are no other significant sources from which we can get the quantities of grain that we need. Egypt is the empire’s fucking bread basket. The loss of the grain fleet is a fucking catastrophe. There is no other way that I can put it and I don’t know what to do about it. The grain supply to the city of Rome is my responsibility. I am supposed to be in charge.”
“Are we safe here?” Kyna said turning to him with a troubled look. “I mean if you think it’s going to be as bad as you say, should we not just leave Rome altogether? Get out now whilst we can. Maybe we should go back to Vectis, Marcus. Maybe now is the time to retire to the farm.”
“I am not leaving my house,” Marcus growled. “I told you once before; I will not be run out of town by anyone. This is my home and I will not abandon it. I am too old to run Kyna. We are going to stay and sit it out and that is the end of this discussion. My decision has been made. I must try and sort out this mess. That’s my fucking job and I am going to do it.”
At his side Kyna sighed.
“You are a stubborn old man, Marcus,” she said with a hint of bitterness; “so stubborn and proud.”
“I have closed down the charity,” Marcus said, ignoring his wife. “At least temporarily just for a few days until the situation becomes clearer. They will not be accepting any new arrivals and I have brought Numerius and Cato here into the house to provide us with some extra security. They are good men. They know how to handle weapons.” Marcus turned to Kyna and fixed her with a determined look. “I also called the slaves together and gave them a choice. They have my permission to leave the city and go to their loved ones or stay with us. They all decided to stay.”
Kyna raised her eyebrows in surprise as she looked at her husband.
“You gave the slaves a choice,” she remarked.
“Yes,” Marcus nodded, as he turned to gaze at the sprawling city across the river. “If it comes to it, I will need to arm them. Slave or not, they have a right to choose how they die and personally I much prefer to know that they are standing beside me out of their own free will. Like I said, they all chose to stay with us. Now there is loyalty for you.”
Kyna shook her head in bewilderment and looked away.
“Maybe they just decided to stay because they are afraid of you Marcus,” she said. “Have you considered that?”
Marcus did not reply as he gazed out across the city.
“And what about Ahern,” Kyna said sharply. “Should we not bring him back here. I mean this is his home. I am his mother.”
“Lady Claudia is well protected,” Marcus replied. “She knows how to look after herself. She will take care of that insolent whelp.”
“I would feel better if he was here with us,” Kyna said, nursing her cup. “I take it you had a talk with him today. How did it go? Did he apologise?”
“He will,” Marcus growled as his face darkened. “He will when I am done with him. The boy doesn’t know how lucky he is.”
***
It was just after dawn when a hand shook Marcus awake. It was Indus.
“Sir,” the burly Batavian bodyguard muttered in his Batavian language. “I think you had better come and have a look.”
Hastily and without saying a word, Marcus rose from his bed where he’d slept fully clothed and grabbed his belt with the sheathed gladius hanging from it. Kyna too quickly slipped out from under the covers as Marcus, still fixing his belt around his waist, followed Indus out onto the terrace of his garden. The Batavian paused at the edge of the terrace and Marcus grunted. In the strengthening light a dozen or so plumes of smoke were rising from within the city of Rome. For a long moment he stared at the columns of smoke in silence.
“Fuck,” Marcus swore at last. The plumes of smoke were unusual. They had no right to be where they were.
“All right,” Marcus snapped turning to Indus. “Tell the others to keep their eyes open. If there is any sign of trouble you come and tell me right away.”
Indus nodded and hastened away into the house and, as he did he passed Kyna coming the other way. She was about to say something when she stopped abruptly, and her face grew pale as she caught sight of the plumes of smoke rising from within the city.
“What do we do Marcus?” she exclaimed in a fearful voice.
“We wait,” Marcus snapped. “Go back inside.”
It was an hour later when a warning cry from Numerius, who had been posted out on the road that ran alongside the villa, caused Marcus to appear at the front door to his property. Numerius was slowly retreating towards the doorway, one hand on the pommel of his sword and, coming up the hill towards the house was a small party of horsemen. Marcus stepped out into the road and peered at the party as he tried to make out who they were and then, as the horsemen drew closer, one of them hastily raised his hand in greeting.
“Marcus, Marcus is that you,” a tense voice cried out.
“Yes, it’s me,” Marcus called out as he suddenly recognised one of the youthful senators who supported Nigrinus’s faction in the senate. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“Have you not heard,” the young senator cried out in alarm, as he trotted up to the house followed by his companions. “The city is on fire. Rioting has broken out everywhere. There is no fucking law and order. It’s chaos. They say that the Egyptian grain fleet has been destroyed by a storm. The price of bread has gone through the roof. Most bakers have closed their shops. People think they are going to starve. They are taking matters into their own hands.”
“I heard about the loss of the fleet,” Marcus snapped as his gaze swept across the small party. Apart from the senator there were four women, one clutching a baby and two teenage boys, their faces pale with fear.
“We’re leaving the city, we’re heading north,” the senator said as he struggled to control his nervous horse. “This is my family. It’s no longer safe for us to stay. It’s a fucking nightmare. We have had to abandon everything. The mob has taken the law into their own hands. They are settling scores, looting, raping and a
ttacking people in the streets. Anyone who looks like they have some money is being set upon. It doesn’t matter who you are. And that’s not all,” the youthful senator’s eyes widened in horror. “My boys here witnessed the murder of the prefect of the night watch. The mob ambushed him and his men in the street. Slaughtered them all. Do not go into Rome, Marcus. The mob has blood on its mind and there is no one who can stop them. It’s a fucking disaster. Flee now whilst you still can.”
“They killed the prefect of the night watch?” Marcus called out as he took a step forwards. “So, who’s in charge of security in Rome?”
“No one. It’s fucking anarchy. No one is guarding the gates into the city. The praetorians at the imperial palace have barricaded themselves inside. Paulinus is at the aerarium in the temple of Saturn, trying to protect the gold and silver reserves. He says he is not leaving. He fears the mob will try to loot the state treasury. He’s determined to try to protect the state’s money. He’s a fool,” the senator cried. “Flee now, get your family out of here, that’s the best advice you are going to get,” the senator called out. Then raising his hand in a hasty farewell, he started to gallop away down the road with his family following close behind.
Chapter Six – Duty
“Marcus this is insane. You heard what that senator said. The city is not safe,” Kyna cried out, as she tensely fiddled with her fingers, her eyes flashing with alarm.
Marcus stood in the hallway of his villa. He slipped a small bag of coins into his cloak pocket and reached towards an army pugio knife that lay on a cupboard. In a corner Indus was watching him in stoic silence.
“I must do something, Kyna,” Marcus growled. “I have a job to do. It’s my duty. I am the prefect in charge of the supply of grain to the city. This is my responsibility. I cannot just sit here and do nothing. People are counting on me to sort this out.”
“It’s not your fault,” Kyna said in a voice that quivered on the edge of tears. “It’s not your fault that the fleet sank. It’s the work of the gods. What can you do about it? What can you do on your own? The mob will kill you. Wait until Similis returns. Let him sort this out. It doesn’t have to be you - please husband, I beg you! Don’t leave me here alone. Don’t do this!”
“I must go,” Marcus said, turning to look at her. “Paulinus is holed up in the temple of Saturn. He seems to be the only one who is doing something. He will need help.” Then, sliding the pugio into his belt, he crossed the hallway and caught hold of his wife in a surprisingly affectionate embrace.
“I will be all right Kyna,” Marcus said in a gentler voice. “You are safe here. Indus, Numerius and Cato will protect the house. This is not the first time that we have faced danger. You need to stay strong.”
Then releasing his wife, Marcus turned towards the door and as he did, Indus started to follow him.
“Indus, I need you to stay behind here at the house,” Marcus said as he turned to his bodyguard.
But Indus shook his head.
“No, Sir, I am sworn to protect you Sir. I am coming with you,” the Batavian said.
“Indus, I need you to stay behind. That’s an order,” Marcus growled, but Indus again shook his head and stood his ground.
“No, Sir that it not an order I can obey. I have sworn an oath Sir,” the bodyguard said in a calm voice, speaking in his native language. “You will have to kill me if you want to stop me from coming with you Sir.”
***
There was no sign of any unrest or trouble as Marcus and Indus cautiously made their way down the road towards the bridges across the Tiber. In the distance however, a pall of black smoke hung over the city and there was no one about. The normally busy road was completely deserted. As Marcus approached the pons Cestius, the stone bridge that connected the western bank of the river to Tiber island he halted and edged up against the wall of a house. Behind him, Indus did the same, and slowly unslung the bow that he was carrying from across his back. In the middle of the approach road to the bridge, a wagon and a dead horse lay on its side. The cargo of amphorae which it had been transporting, lay smashed and scattered across the street. Carefully Marcus peered at the bridge. Three men armed with clubs and knifes were standing over something that was lying in the street. From his vantage point Marcus could however not see what it was they were looking at.
“Shall I shoot them Sir,” Indus said in his native Batavian language, as he notched an arrow and raised his bow.
Marcus hesitated as he peered at the men. It was impossible to know whether they were looters or just ordinary citizens, out inspecting the damage.
“No,” he said at last as he shifted his gaze towards the temple of Aesculapius on Tiber island, “but keep that bow handy. Let’s go.”
Boldly Marcus left the cover of the wall and started out towards the bridge. As he passed the dead horse and overturned cart, he pulled his gladius from its sheath. The cargo of red wine had stained the paving stones and, as Marcus hurried onwards, his boots crunched over the shards of broken pottery. Following closely behind him, Indus kept his bow trained on the three men standing on the bridge. The men had not moved but, as Marcus approached, they turned to face him gripping their weapons. Keeping his eyes on them, Marcus began to move across the bridge keeping to the opposite side of the walkway and, as he drew closer, he saw that the men were standing over the lifeless body of a woman. Silently he and Indus moved on past and as they did, the men remained where they were and both parties stared at each other in silence. Then Marcus was past them and approaching the boat shaped Tiber island.
The temple doors to the shrine of healers were firmly shut and there was no sign of life apart from the noise of a barking dog. But people would be watching, Marcus thought, as he hurried along towards the pons Fabricius, the bridge that connected the island to the eastern bank of the Tiber. The priests were doing what everyone else seemed to be doing. They had barricaded themselves into the temple and were preparing to sit out the rioting and lawlessness. Ahead of him, the pons Fabricius was completely deserted. It was an eerie unnatural sight for this was one of the busiest bridges in Rome and Marcus had never seen it without traffic.
As he began to hurry across the bridge, from the corner of his eye Marcus caught sight of a corpse floating in the river. The current was gently carrying the body downstream. A sudden high-pitched woman’s scream drew his attention towards a shop on the banks of the river, close to the bridge. The screaming was coming from inside the building and, as he and Indus hurried across the bridge, Marcus caught sight of the corpse of a man lying in a growing pool of blood in the doorway of the shop. The man seemed to have been trying to defend his property. From inside the building men’s loud, harsh voices could be heard. It was followed by a crash and the sound of something smashing onto the ground. Abruptly the woman’s screaming ceased.
Grimly Marcus moved on with Indus following close behind, his arrow still notched to his bow. Up head an empty ox-drawn wagon stood abandoned in the street. The ox was still tethered to the cart, standing dumbly in the middle of the street but there was no sign of the wagon’s owner. Stealthily, at a half-run, Marcus moved on past the wagon and in the direction of the city gates and, as he did he caught the distinctive smell of smoke. It was growing stronger. As the gates leading into Rome hove into view he paused and crouched against a wall. The senator had been right. The gates were wide open, abandoned and there was no sign of the usual squad of urban guards, who were supposed to be on guard duty. Instead, all he could see was the body of a smartly dressed man lying splayed out in the street. The man’s white toga was soiled, and his arms were stretched out. From somewhere out of sight another dog was barking, but apart from the solitary corpse, the street looked completely deserted.
“We need to get to the temple of Saturn,” Marcus said, as he quickly turned to look at Indus. “That’s where Paulinus is making a stand. I don’t know what it’s going to be like beyond the walls, but we don’t stop for anything or anyone. We keep moving, understo
od.”
Indus nodded silently, his calm and stoic eyes already examining the terrain ahead.
“All right, let’s go,” Marcus said, as he started forwards with his sword in his hand. Ignoring the corpse, Marcus hurried on through the gates and into the city of Rome. As he passed through the formidable and five-hundred-year old Servian walls, he nearly tripped over an abandoned army shield. Close by, a woman was wailing in a loud, hysterical voice. She was on her knees, hunched over the body of a man who was lying in the street outside a ransacked shop. Grimly Marcus pushed on towards the cattle market with Indus, clutching his bow, close behind. As the two of them moved forwards the smell of smoke grew stronger. Then, as they rounded a corner into the Forum Boarium, the ancient cattle market, Marcus grunted as he caught sight of a building that was on fire, sending a plume of smoke billowing into the air. The roar and crackle of the flames filled the street with noise. A group of desperate people were trying to extinguish the blaze with buckets of water.
Moving hastily past the blaze, Marcus headed towards the Forum. Ahead he could see the temple of Jupiter, serenely sitting on the summit of the Capitoline hill. Glancing to his right the Palatine hill, home to the imperial palace and the most prestigious of Rome’s neighbourhoods, showed no signs of life. There was no one about. The usually bustling streets of Rome were completely deserted. It was as if the whole city seemed to have shut themselves in behind their doors and suddenly he was reminded of the riot he’d caused in the Subura, all those years ago, when he’d been on the run for his life from Cunitius and his men.
As he approached the entrance to the Forum, Marcus suddenly noticed movement to his right. Coming towards him down a narrow side street, was a group of twenty or so armed men. Instinctively he shot through the doorway of a looted and abandoned shop followed closely by Indus. In the front room, with his back pressed against the wall, Marcus turned and ventured a quick peek into the street. The gang seemed not to have noticed him and were moving on down the street. They were armed with clubs, knives, swords and spears and amongst them he noticed were women. They looked savage and in a mood for violence.
Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (Book 8 of the Veteran of Rome Series) Page 5
