[Gaius Valerius Verrens 05] - Enemy of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  ‘It’s like killing rabbits,’ a Guard laughed as he ran past chasing a terrified unarmed civilian.

  But capturing the asylum, or even the Arx summit to the southeast, didn’t mean they’d won the Capitol. The Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus was the true goal, and it still stood, massive and impregnable, away to Valerius’s left, inside its own walled complex. Those walls were currently held by a weak force of urban cohorts, but Sabinus would reinforce them when he realized the threat to his flank. ‘Aprilis!’ Valerius called to the Praetorian commander as he tried to rally his men. ‘The temple.’

  The centurion raised his sword in acknowledgement and Valerius studied the task that faced them. Here in the dip between the two hills it only now became apparent how formidable an obstacle the walls were. The temple sat on a raised platform of sheer rock perhaps twice the height of a man, with the walls adding a further six or eight feet to the barrier. None of the ladders carried by the Praetorians would reach the parapet, not even if two were lashed together. Likewise it was too high to repeat the tactic of the shield platform. He suppressed a grunt of frustration. A mere few dozen paces away Domitia was being held captive. Somehow he had to get across that wall. He looked around, searching for an alternative. By now most of the defenders were dead, but a few were still attempting to escape from the rear of the Capitoline, where the rocks fell away steeply towards the streets below. Here apartment buildings nudged close to the hill, some of them almost backing on to it, and Valerius saw one fleeing soldier make a flying leap over the low wall and across a gap of eight or nine feet straight through a curtained window.

  ‘There’s one who deserves to get back home to his woman tonight,’ Serpentius laughed appreciatively.

  But the man’s escape had given Valerius an idea. A pile of long planks lay beside the stones and building rubble that the Flavians had been using as missiles. ‘Get Aprilis and his men to bring the longest planks and follow me,’ he ordered. Instant understanding flashed across Serpentius’s face and he ran off in search of the Praetorian centurion.

  Valerius made his way to where the fleeing defender had disappeared through the apartment window. Brick built and unusually solid, the insula block soared another two storeys above the height of the saddle. More important, the upper windows overlooked the walls of the temple complex.

  Aprilis arrived at the head of his men and Valerius explained his plan, shouting to be heard above the clash of arms and screams of dying men that came from all around the hill. By now many of the porticoes were in flames and smoke filled his nostrils to remind him of the horrors of Cremona. He pointed to the window. ‘If we can reach that building we might be able to get a small force into the temple complex.’

  ‘Why not go down and in the front door?’ The Praetorian looked dubiously at the drop between the insula and the hill.

  ‘We don’t have time,’ Valerius pointed out. ‘Those walls are going to be reinforced before long and then they’d slaughter us. It’s now or never.’

  Serpentius grabbed one of the planks and pushed it out towards the rectangular window a few feet below. It just reached the ledge with the near end a precarious thumb’s breadth on to the surface of the asylum. Valerius looked down and caught a glimpse of a frightened female face. He prayed whoever was in the apartment wasn’t preparing to push the plank away from their window.

  ‘Do you want to live for ever?’ Serpentius brushed past him and danced across like an acrobat, ignoring the bow in the wood that threatened to plunge man and plank on to the rocks below. ‘I’ll hold it steady. Get somebody to do the same at your end.’ A guard came forward and Valerius stepped up on to the plank. ‘Keep your eyes on me, and for the gods’ sake don’t look down.’

  Every instinct told him to look down but, keeping his eyes on the Spaniard, he placed his right foot on to the flimsy bridge. The second step was easier, and with the third Serpentius was able to grab his arm and haul him into the cramped room. He was followed by Aprilis, who almost fell on top of him, and then the other soldiers tumbled through the window one after the other. A cry and a rattle of wood on stone announced that their temporary crossing had been momentarily severed, but Valerius could hear the sound of iron studs on wood as more and more soldiers crossed into the building. He noticed a woman and two children cowering in the corner of the room and gave them what he hoped was a reassuring smile before he followed Serpentius out into the main corridor. Guardsmen were already on the stairs, some of them still carrying the planks they’d recovered.

  ‘Stay down,’ Aprilis called as they darted into a room that faced the Temple of Jupiter and ducked below window level as a pilum thrown from the temple complex embedded itself in the plaster wall behind them. The centurion looked up at the spear and flinched as it was followed by a whirling oil lamp. Moments later, the curtain was alight and flames had begun to spread across the floor. ‘This is going to be interesting.’

  Valerius stepped forward with Serpentius, but Aprilis grabbed the Roman’s arm. ‘The second century of the First cohort isn’t going to let a pair of civilians take all the glory.’ He called out four or five names. ‘Have your sections ready. When I give the order you get those planks across and men with them. For Rome.’ A dozen voices echoed the sentiment, and Aprilis continued, ‘Remember Metto and the lads who died in the Forum. If it happened to us do you think they’d let us down? Not likely.’ He cursed as a second oil lamp fell into the room, the flames reaching out for cloth and straw. ‘I hope you’ve brought those fucking pila like I told you. One volley on the order, then you cross.’

  He sat back for a moment and closed his eyes. ‘Shit. What are you waiting for?’ he whispered to himself. ‘Now!’

  The spearmen rose and hurled their javelins into the defenders guarding the wall. Valerius heard the shrieks of spitted men and looked out as Aprilis’s men rammed their planks forward to bridge a gap he now saw was considerably less than it had been on the lower storey. As the first boards reached the far side defenders rose from behind the parapet braving the spears to hurl the fragile bridges aside. Away to their right a group managed to get across only to be swamped by the enemy. By now the room was well ablaze, the flames licking at their skin.

  ‘Fuck this,’ Aprilis muttered. He stood up, pulled himself into the window frame and launched himself across the void, half sprawling on the opposite parapet and then rolling forward, already hacking at the legs of the Flavian defenders who instantly flung themselves at this new threat. The remaining Praetorians saw their commander’s plight and followed his example. A few were hurled back into the abyss, but most safely made the leap to rise in growing numbers and carry the fight to the enemy.

  Serpentius shook his head in wonder and shrugged at Valerius. ‘You heard the man. What are we waiting for?’ Without a backward look he bent his knees and sprang the gap like a leopard to land, sword ready, a warrior in his gore-stained element. Valerius watched helpless as three men converged on the Spaniard, thinking they were safe behind their shields. Serpentius danced forward, his gladius flicking out like a viper’s tongue. In moments two of his attackers were down and the other had fled. The Spaniard left them to bleed and turned to urge Valerius to jump. As the Roman tensed to make the leap a new group of Praetorians burst into the room with a plank, bridged the gap and surged across. Grateful, Valerius followed them at a more sedate pace and Serpentius met him at the wall with a rueful grin. ‘Just like a soft aristocrat to take the easy way.’

  Valerius took a moment to study the scene around him. Aprilis had lost his helmet and blood ran from cuts to his head and arm, but he didn’t seem to notice his wounds. The Praetorian rallied the survivors of his century into a defensive line to meet an attack from across the compound. The enemy officer seemed to be having trouble getting his men into position. Valerius’s heart sank as he recognized Aemilius Pacensis, one of Otho’s former aides and a man he knew and liked. Joining Aprilis, he thrust any such thoughts aside. On the far side of those men lay the Temp
le of Jupiter – and Domitia. The sound of renewed fighting came from the Clivus Capitolinus, where the Praetorians had resumed their attack with new purpose. It explained why Pacensis had so few men for his counter stroke. Sabinus couldn’t afford to take men away from the gate and the walls above the Tarpeian Rock without fatally weakening the defences. But he was wrong. Because here, like a knife poised over his heart, lay the greatest danger. Valerius and Serpentius joined the line as Aprilis lost patience and launched his legionaries towards the confused Flavians. The numbers were equally matched and almost all were armoured and equipped with sword and shield, but that was where the similarity ended. Aprilis and his men had spent years on the Rhenus frontier honing their battle skills and sparring with the Cherusci, the Chatti and the Marcomanni. Fighting for survival was a way of life for them. The men facing them in the red tunics of the urban cohorts were trained in arms, but their recent experience had been breaking up bar brawls and bread riots and dealing with political upheaval. Pacensis shouted an order for a final rush, but the assault was tentative and piecemeal and the solid wall of Praetorian shields smashed the Flavians backwards. ‘Kill the bastards,’ Aprilis howled.

  Valerius found himself swapping cuts with Pacensis, the patrician’s handsome features twisted with fear and rage. ‘Aemilius? Throw down your sword. It is finished,’ Valerius urged. But the Flavian only attacked with renewed strength.

  ‘Traitor,’ he snarled. ‘Turncoat. The name Verrens will be remembered for this infamy along with the Catilines.’ Without warning his mouth gaped in a tortured shriek as a sword point found a gap in his armour and tore deep into his vitals. Valerius stepped back in bewilderment as his opponent sank to the ground, squirming spastically in his death agony. Serpentius faced him over the dead man, eyes glaring.

  ‘Serpentius, why?’ Valerius demanded. ‘He was a friend.’

  All around them men still hacked at each other with swords or wrestled together, tearing at their enemy with their bare hands, intent on smashing faces and skulls to pulp with helmet or rock. The slabs of the temple precinct flowed with blood and the air was heavy with the scent of death. Men wept, but didn’t understand whether it was with relief or sorrow.

  ‘He was the enemy,’ the Spaniard snarled. ‘How often have I told you that if a man comes at you with a sword you don’t talk to him. You kill him.’

  Aprilis’s men finished off the wounded and would have set off after the survivors, but the centurion roared at them to follow him to the gate. As Valerius turned there was an eruption of flame and smoke. The insula they’d attacked from was an inferno and the fire had spread to a second building at the rear of the great temple. Even as they watched, the flames leapt the narrow gap and greedily sought out the ancient wood of the temple gables before flickering up the pediment and along the line of the roof. Smoke began to wisp from beneath the ochre tiles and Valerius was reminded of the Temple of Claudius in Colonia. When the Celts had fired the temple roof the end had never been in doubt. Even so, his mind struggled with what he was seeing. The Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus was more than just a place of worship. More than just a place where Emperors came to cement their rule. It was Rome. Men believed that as long as the temple existed, the Roman Empire and all it stood for would prevail. But the most sacred building in Rome was being devoured before his eyes.

  XLV

  ‘Mars’ arse,’ Serpentius cursed as he saw the extent of the inferno. ‘What the fuck are we going to do now?’

  Valerius was already on the move, ignoring the groups of Flavian soldiers who ran aimlessly among the buildings like rats trapped in a maze. At the base of the temple steps he recognized Sabinus, looking old and bewildered at the centre of a group of officers urgently seeking instructions. But it was clear no instructions would save them now. Dozens of Praetorians were already swarming through the shattered gate and across the columns and statues that Sabinus had gambled would hold them. To the left of the temple fierce fighting had erupted amongst the minor shrines at the top of the Hundred Steps. Men lay dead or dying, the maimed crawling to find what shelter they could. One soldier sat on the temple steps sobbing uncontrollably beside the corpse of a friend. Despite the smoke and flames pouring from the temple roof, more and more of the terrified Flavian supporters were rushing to the building in search of an unlikely sanctuary.

  Sabinus’s bodyguard must have been drawn in to the fight, because they were nowhere to be seen. Valerius saw his chance. ‘Stay here,’ he ordered Serpentius. He sheathed his sword and, taking advantage of the confusion, strode to where Sabinus was by now being confronted by a single brick-faced officer. Valerius brushed past the man and looked into the Prefect of Rome’s face. ‘You must surrender, sir,’ he pleaded. ‘There is no point in fighting on. Save what you can.’

  ‘Get out of my way, fool.’ A hand clamped on Valerius’s shoulder and hauled him back. ‘Cornelius Martialis does not surrender and neither does the Prefect of Rome. Your brother’s legions are coming,’ he hissed into the old man’s face. ‘Hold for a day and we will hand him Rome and reap the honours. There are only a few of these Praetorian bastards in the compound. We will hunt them down like rats. But … you … must … give … the … order.’

  ‘It’s finished,’ Valerius insisted. He heard the officer snarl and the man’s sword rose to chop him down. Even as Martialis struck, Valerius rammed the hidden dagger in his left hand up under the Flavian’s chin, through tongue and palate and into the brain. He wrenched the point free and Martialis swayed for a moment, croaking like a frog, before a fountain of blood spouted from his mouth and he collapsed to the ground.

  Sabinus stared in mute horror at the dying man, but Valerius had no time for regret or indecision.

  ‘Sir, you must—’ Before he could complete his plea for surrender a terrified female scream froze the words in his mouth. He looked round and at the top of the temple steps the cloaked figure of Domitia Longina Corbulo was being dragged into the centremost of the three cellae – the inner sanctums dedicated to Juno, Jupiter and Minerva. The echo of her scream had barely died before he was on the move. Taking the steps three at a time he almost tripped as he leapt the body of the man who’d been weeping. When he reached the main platform he ran past the statue of the god dominating the pronaos only to find the copper-sheathed door slammed in his face.

  Valerius stood in confusion for a moment, fighting for breath. His carelessness almost killed him. Something moved at the corner of his vision and he turned to find a black-clad Praetorian about to stick a pilum through him. ‘No.’ The cry was in vain until a sword flicked out from nowhere to knock the thrust aside and the spear point skidded off the metal door.

  ‘We’re with Aprilis and the second century First cohort.’ Serpentius stepped between Valerius and his attacker. ‘No point in killing your mates, is there, son?’ His voice was the soul of reason, but the sword point hovering an inch from the soldier’s breast told another story. The Praetorian’s glare faded to be replaced by a look of confusion.

  A shower of sparks fell past and Valerius looked up at the burning roof and knew time was running out. ‘Get a dozen men and bring me one of the pillars from the enemy barricade.’ The soldier stepped back, ready to question a civilian’s authority, until he saw the certainty in Valerius’s eyes. As he ran off the screams of dying men rose in intensity as his comrades broke into the outer cellae where the Flavians hadn’t been quick enough to close the doors. Valerius tried to shut his ears to the sound, but the noise of men – and women – dying tore his heart. Roman killing Roman. Was there no end to the carnage he’d been trying to stop since Otho sent him north all those months ago?

  Instinctively, he moved towards the doorway, but Serpentius put a hand on his arm. ‘There’s nothing you can do for these people, and you’ll only get yourself killed.’

  A woman’s shriek scored the inside of his brain and he experienced a momentary thrill of fear before he realized it wasn’t Domitia. He tried to remember her as she w
as the night on the Egyptian beach, with the remains of the tent glowing in the darkness. For a moment his head whirled with the honey scent of hair like spun silk and lips soft and sweet as ripe peaches. Of course, the reality was different. For all her efforts her hair had been thick with salt, smelled of smoke and the sea, and the skin of her lips was chapped and cracked. It had not mattered. The only thing that mattered was a tidal wave of passion that brought a man and a woman together with a force beyond nature and beyond the knowledge of the gods. He’d fought that memory for three years, certain that she needed to be free of him even if it was not what she wanted. But he would fight it no more.

  At last the Praetorian reappeared at the run with seven or eight men carrying a marble column a foot thick and the length of a chariot pole. Valerius stepped aside and they hammered the column’s head into the centre of the door with a weight and power that rattled the oak back and caused a massive dent in the polished metal. The sound of splintering wood accompanied a second crash. The next effort smashed the double doors back and the Praetorians dropped the ram and poured through, ignoring Valerius’s cries to hold back. Serpentius followed them, surging into the crowd and roaring for passage. Several dozen of Sabinus’s urban cohort had escaped into the temple and the attackers paused for a heartbeat before launching themselves at the trapped enemy in a desperate hand-to-hand battle. Praetorian swords flashed, point and edge seeking out the nearest flesh and turning the air red. In the enclosed space the leaden stink of blood and the acrid stench of fresh vomit caught the throat like a hangman’s noose, but it was quickly overwhelmed by a gust of smoke that filled the nostrils and lungs. Valerius looked up to where an ominous glow pierced the white cloud of smoke in the rafters.