[Gaius Valerius Verrens 05] - Enemy of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  ‘Domitia!’ He roared out her name above the incessant clamour of iron on iron, demented shrieks and unheeded cries for mercy.

  At the far end of the cella, Domitia crouched behind an altar with Domitianus’s hand clinging to her arm like a slave manacle. She heard the shout and half rose to reply, only for Vespasian’s son to shift his grip and clamp his hand over her mouth.

  ‘Stay quiet, bitch,’ he hissed. ‘Don’t you understand that I’m saving you?’ The glittering eyes searched the gloom, waiting for his moment. ‘Remember,’ he addressed the four bodyguards hiding with them, ‘when my father’s legions take the city you will receive riches beyond your dreams. All I ask is that you buy me a few moments before you follow.’

  The fighting drew ever closer, the clash of swords so loud she thought her ears might bleed. ‘Domitia.’ She heard the cry repeated above the clamour of battle and the screams of the dying. A familiar shape in the smoke made her heart beat faster.

  ‘Now!’ At Domitianus’s order the guards hurled themselves over the altar and formed a protective line between the fighting and Vespasian’s son. Domitia felt herself dragged back and she struggled desperately to break free. Something clattered to the marble paving beside her and she cried out at the sight of one of the guards’ still helmeted head staring up at her with a look of surprise in the dying eyes.

  ‘Domitia.’ The shout was closer now and somehow it gave her new strength. She tore at her captor until Domitianus removed his hand from her mouth to deliver a slap, but before he could strike she sank her teeth into his arm and he recoiled with a cry of pain.

  ‘Die then, you fool.’ He threw her towards the fighting and disappeared abruptly into the gloom.

  For a moment she was too shocked to think. Her head whirled and smoke choked her throat. ‘Valerius?’ She tried to shout his name, but it emerged as a croaking whisper.

  A shadow appeared in front of her. Valerius? No, the blurred figure wore the uniform of the Praetorian Guard. She turned to run, but her scalp seemed to catch fire as a hand whipped out to grab her hair, dragging her head backwards to expose her throat. A sword blade swept round before her eyes, so close she could see the pitting in the iron and the tiny nicks in the edge. Her life could be measured in seconds before it was dragged backwards, sawing across her windpipe.

  For a moment she believed she was halfway to the Otherworld. Was it a trick of the mind or had the blade dropped out of sight? The man gave a grunt of surprise that rose into a brief cry of agony. At the same time the grip on her hair loosened and the weighty presence behind her vanished with the crash of a body falling to the marble tiles. She closed her eyes, her whole body shaking like the last leaf in an autumn storm. For a moment, she didn’t dare turn, but a hand fell gently on her shoulder and guided her. She looked into his eyes and knew she was safe.

  ‘Valerius.’ The single word conveyed all the conflicting emotions that exploded in her brain. Relief and disbelief, joy and wonder – all that and love. Only love could make your heart thunder when men were bleeding their lives away within plain sight. Only love could make a stinking, smoke-filled charnel house feel like a wedding bower. Only love …

  ‘If we don’t get out of here we’re all going to end up like roast suckling pig.’ The harsh voice cut through her thoughts and banished all idea of love, and for the first time she noticed the whip-thin figure of Serpentius at Valerius’s shoulder.

  ‘Where is Domitianus?’ Valerius ignored the Spaniard as his eyes searched the area around the altar.

  ‘A door somewhere down there, I think.’ Domitia pointed into the gloom at the rear of the cella.

  ‘Good,’ the former gladiator spat. ‘Let him burn.’ He turned to head back towards the entrance, but Valerius and Domitia stayed where they were. Their eyes met and she read the question in them. It was the last thing she wanted to say, but it had to be said.

  ‘If he escapes he will never rest until he has hunted us down, Valerius.’

  ‘Keep her safe.’ It was more plea than order. Serpentius turned to protest, and Domitia stretched out a hand, but the Roman had already gone.

  Reluctantly Domitia allowed herself to be led back to the doorway with Serpentius’s sword threatening anyone who attempted to get in the way. By now the fighting was almost over and the remaining Praetorians carried their wounded to safety or crouched to cut the throats of any Flavians who still breathed. Most of the statuary and any portable treasure had already been removed, but two Guards hacked at a golden statue of the god on a throne, only to give up in disgust when they discovered it was only ivory covered in gold leaf.

  When they reached the doors Domitia gave a convulsive sob and would have run back inside, but the Spaniard was ready for her. ‘Don’t worry, lady.’ He carried her bodily down the temple steps. ‘Gaius Valerius Verrens is not so easy to kill.’

  But even Serpentius had to revise his opinion as the minutes passed and the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus burned. A steady rain fell on the Capitoline, but it had no effect on the fire. By now the temple was a mass of flames, with thick red-shot smoke and sparks shooting hundreds of feet into the air. They watched the glowing doorway, praying every moment for the tall, one-handed figure to emerge, but eventually it became clear no one could live in that inferno. When the roof collapsed, sending an enormous bolt of fire into the afternoon sky, Domitia wept unashamedly and Serpentius was glad of the rain.

  ‘A concealed passage led to the warden’s quarters.’ They jumped at the familiar voice from behind. Domitia threw herself into Valerius’s arms, holding him as if she would never let him go. He lowered his head to kiss her hair, half smiling at the familiar memory the smoke scent brought back. ‘Of course there would be a warden responsible for the upkeep of the place,’ he continued, his voice almost dreamy with exhaustion. ‘And he couldn’t be seen walking in and out of the god’s house with a bucket and cloths. It must have been the vault where they kept the Sibylline books. He’d made it comfortable enough.’ He shrugged. ‘Domitianus had cut his throat. The other entrance was by a stairway up through the rock from the Campus Martius side. I’m sorry,’ he said to Domitia. ‘We’ll never find him now.’

  XLVI

  The Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus burned throughout the night, a terrifying beacon filled with apocalyptic portent for every Roman who witnessed the funeral pyre of Sabinus’s hopes.

  As Vitellius’s Praetorians hunted down rebel survivors by the light of the flames Valerius led Domitia to a little temple dedicated to Fortuna Primigenia, left undamaged by the fighting. Serpentius guarded the door and they sat with their backs to the wall to wait out the threat. At first, they sat a little apart, but after a few moments Domitia shifted so her body touched his and her head lay lightly on his shoulder. Instinctively, he put his left arm around her and brought her close. She sighed, and he knew that despite all she’d suffered and witnessed she was smiling. The rhythm of her breathing and the steady beat of her heart merged with his, but it was the softness of her, and the curves and hollows that he remembered so well. The combination acted as a kind of elixir, sweeping away the blood and fire and terror of the long day. Something stirred inside him, and she must have felt it, because she raised her head to kiss him, first on the cheek and then on the lips, soft, then more urgent, so that his mind dissolved. For a few short moments there was no temple, no Capitol and no Rome. They were back on the Egyptian beach and she was in his arms beneath the cloak, moving softly with him in an act so natural he sometimes wondered if he’d dreamt it.

  ‘What will become of us now, Valerius?’

  He – they – must have fallen asleep, because the words woke him with a start and they were accompanied by a delicate yawn. He had been dreading the question, but his mind must have been gnawing at it, because he didn’t have to think to know the answer. An answer that was no answer at all. Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome, sole survivor of the Temple of Claudius, and commander of legions, had as much control over his future
as a piece of swan’s down caught by a gust of wind. Events had brought him here. Events to which he’d reacted, or events in which his actions had been dictated by others. From the day Titus had saved him from the executioner’s sword his own will had meant nothing. No, from the day almost two years earlier when Vespasian had summoned him to take the message to Galba. Since that day he had given his oath to two Emperors and pledged it to a third. Strange that the man who held his fate and Domitia’s in his chubby, bejewelled hand should be the only man he had wanted to give his oath to, and, perhaps, the only one who deserved it.

  ‘We will go to the palace and seek the help of the Emperor,’ he said eventually.

  ‘That is not what I meant, Valerius.’ She said it gently, knowing perfectly well he understood.

  ‘When this is settled we will live on the estate at Fidenae where I was born,’ he tried again. ‘My sister is there now, but it is big enough and has sufficient water to accommodate two villas. We will plan the second together. I know the very place, down by the river among the trees, but sheltered and with a fine southern aspect. A small quarry for the marble, with slaves from Carrara to do the fine work. Big windows and room for the children to play.’

  She allowed him his dream, waiting patiently before she spoke again. ‘He will come for me, Valerius. For us. If he survives, he will be the Emperor’s son, with power over life and death.’

  ‘If he survives.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then he must not survive.’

  Serpentius came to them an hour later and announced that the only troops remaining on the Capitol were either dead or guarding the temples that had survived the battle and the fires. They emerged into the soft, silvery light that is the prelude to dawn.

  ‘Best not to take the Clivus,’ the Spaniard proposed. ‘The road is scattered with those foul little four-legged spikes we used against the Parthians, and the gods only know what else will be down there.’

  Instead, they hurried across the asylum towards the Arx and the Temple of Juno Moneta, avoiding the areas where the worst of the fighting had taken place. They saw a light across a courtyard where someone had helpfully placed a lamp. As they came closer, Valerius realized that it was the first of a series and suddenly, with a feeling of terrible dread, he knew where he was.

  ‘Perhaps we should find another way,’ he suggested. But the reaction to Domitia’s ordeal had finally set in and she was almost staggering from a combination of exhaustion and everything she’d experienced the previous day. It was clear that if they didn’t take the quickest route they’d have to carry her. Serpentius shot him a puzzled look, but Valerius only shrugged and continued in the direction of the light, feeling like a moth drawn unwittingly to certain immolation. They reached the head of a steep stairway barely wide enough to accommodate the three of them. Valerius had his left arm around Domitia, who walked almost as if she was in a dream, her feet barely touching the ground. As they descended she staggered, almost bringing him down with her, and Serpentius had to grab her arm to steady her. A moment later they noticed something lying in their path.

  ‘You were right,’ Serpentius said through gritted teeth.

  Valerius nodded and steered Domitia towards the wall. ‘These are the Gemonian Stairs.’

  They tiptoed through the scattered remains of a human being. A hand, still wearing a silver ring that Valerius thought he recognized, a foot with three toes missing, an upper arm, and a chunk of hacked-off thigh. Eventually a bulky obstruction, like the cushions of a cast-off couch, partially blocked their progress and they were forced to step gingerly past a headless, mutilated torso with the thick grey hairs of age on its chest.

  ‘Anyone we know?’ Serpentius tried to make a joke of the horror.

  ‘It’s difficult to be certain without the head,’ Valerius said, ‘but I think we’ve just said farewell to the shade of Titus Flavius Sabinus.’

  The Spaniard turned to stare at him. ‘Shit.’

  Domitia sensed their disquiet and stirred between them. ‘What’s happening?’ she mumbled.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Valerius assured her. Nothing but the certainty of more death, more iron and more fire. He had a vision of Cremona and the mutilated corpses stacked high in the Forum. He’d thought the burning of the Temple of Jupiter marked the end of Rome’s suffering. It turned out to be only the beginning.

  XLVII

  ‘Sabinus is dead.’ Valerius’s words dropped like a stone into the unreal calm in the room overlooking the lake at the Golden House.

  ‘We know,’ Galeria Fundana said, stroking her sleeping son’s curls. ‘They sent us his head.’

  Aulus Vitellius stirred on his couch. ‘I tried to save him, but the Praetorians insisted.’

  ‘We saved the others.’ Galeria brightened, as if the lives of a few senators might be balanced against that of Titus Flavius Vespasian’s brother.

  Vitellius nodded, setting the great jowls wobbling. ‘Saturninus has agreed to travel north to negotiate with Marcus Antonius Primus. Two cohorts of the People’s Militia checked Cerialis and his cavalry in the suburbs yesterday and chased them back to Fidenae. We can still negotiate a peaceful settlement.’

  Valerius frowned at the mention of Fidenae. It meant that the estate and Olivia were in the front line now. He wondered if the Emperor – yes, he was still the Emperor despite everything – believed what he was saying. He, Domitia and Serpentius had been turned away by successive sets of nervous Praetorians on the morning after the battle of the Capitoline. Eventually, they were forced to take shelter in an abandoned house in the Fourth District. It had taken all his negotiating skills to persuade the Guards to send word to Vitellius of the one-handed man seeking an audience with the Emperor. By then, every city junction was controlled by members of the People’s Militia, Vitellian supporters provided with weapons by the Praetorians from their armoury at the Castra Praetoria. He and Serpentius had been accosted four or five times on the way to the palace by men urging them to join and handing out swords, spears and shields to anyone who agreed.

  ‘I have a request to ask of you, as a friend,’ he said to the Emperor.

  Galeria’s head came up sharply, but Vitellius raised a hand for silence. ‘If it is within my power to grant it.’

  ‘The lady who accompanies me was held on the Capitoline against her will and is still in great danger. I would be grateful if you could keep her under your protection until I return.’

  ‘You are not staying with us, Valerius?’ It was almost a plea.

  ‘I have one more task to complete.’ Valerius decided he couldn’t tell Vitellius of his plan to kill Domitianus. He hesitated and something seemed to catch in his throat. ‘Once before, you asked me to give you my oath and I refused. I give it now, gladly, not to Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Augustus, but to Aulus Vitellius, my friend. When this is done I will return to share whatever perils you face or triumphs you achieve.’

  Vitellius’s lips twitched in a fleeting half-smile and in that moment Valerius understood that all the earlier talk of peaceful settlements had been a pretence to protect the Emperor’s wife and son. He rose to take his leave, but Vitellius heaved himself up and followed him out to the corridor.

  When they were alone, Valerius turned to his old friend. ‘Disarm the militia and open the gates, Aulus. Take Galeria and Lucius south to join your brother.’

  The massive chest heaved in a bitter sigh. ‘Do you think so little of me, Valerius? Even if it were possible I would not leave my people.’ He stretched out a plump hand and his fingers stroked a painted marble bust of his son. ‘Aulus Vitellius’s fate is not his to decide. You once told me that an officer should never give an order if he thinks it will not be obeyed. It was good advice. The Praetorian Guard are beyond my control. If I gave the order, they would ignore it. They are as much my jailers as my protectors. A week ago Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Augustus was the ruler of forty million souls. Today he is not even the ruler of his own house.’ He laid a hand on Vale
rius’s sleeve. ‘May the gods go with you and aid you in whatever mission you undertake. All I ask is that when you return, make it your task to keep my wife and child safe.’

  ‘It will not come to that, Aulus.’

  Vitellius shook his head at the lie. ‘I will always remember our time in Africa. A poor man rich in friends is wealthier by far than a rich one with none. Life was much simpler then.’

  When he was gone, Valerius tried to shake off a terrible sense of foreboding. He walked swiftly along the corridor to the guest room where Domitia slept. She woke as he kissed her forehead, the wide, knowing eyes startlingly close to his. She clutched his right arm. ‘Don’t go, Valerius.’

  He shook his head. ‘You said yourself he will never leave us alone.’

  ‘That was yesterday,’ she said. ‘I was tired and frightened. I didn’t know what I was saying. Today, I order you not to go.’

  ‘And if I obeyed, I would not be the man you think I am, or the one you deserve.’

  She drew his head down to hers and kissed him deeply. ‘Now will you obey me?’

  He shook his head, and she turned her face to the wall. He stroked her hair. ‘He may already be dead if the Praetorians have found him.’

  She didn’t respond until he reached the doorway. ‘Valerius?’ He hesitated. ‘Come back safe. I can’t lose you now.’

  XLVIII

  ‘Do you really think we’ll find him in all this?’ Serpentius searched the crowds who thronged the streets in a desperate hunt for the last available food. Vitellius had sent out heralds with a plea for calm during the negotiations with Primus, but it was clear not many people shared his optimism about a settlement. Most of the shops and stalls had already closed, their stocks sold out even at the exorbitant prices being charged by bakers and butchers, fruit and fish merchants who kept just enough back for their families. Rumour put Primus’s forces anywhere between a mile and ten miles from the city and on the Via Salaria or the Via Flaminia, depending on whom you believed. They stepped back into a doorway as a century of Praetorians marched past with purposeful strides, silver breastplates gleaming and faces grim. Every man carried a black-painted shield with the familiar lightning bolts dissecting the boss, and a pair of heavy, weighted javelins.