Then it was time for the sacrifice itself. Sacred breadcrumbs, mixed with perfumed herbs, were duly sprinkled on the ram, and the sacerdos lifted up a cup of wine for all to see, took a symbolic sip himself and scattered the remainder on the animal. This is of course the prelude to the central act: the waiting victimarius had already raised his knife and the old priest’s attendant was stepping forward with the sacred golden vessel to collect the blood. But as the pipes and flutes began again, as loudly as possible to drown out any unpropitious sound, the sheep – presumably startled by the unexpected noise – panicked and decided to make a run for it.
It was a young, strong animal and if it had indeed been dosed with poppy-juice – as rumour says that sacrificial creatures are – then it was not enough. The sudden violent movement caught the old priest unprepared: he let go of the rope. The ram eluded the victimarius, leapt off the dais like a mountain goat and went charging off into the crowd – causing consternation as it went. Worse, the old man made a futile grab for it, lost his balance and went tumbling down the steps.
There could hardly have been a more dreadful augury. There were shouts and cries of anger, some against my patron (‘this is what comes of using a substitute as priest!’) and for a few minutes there was pandemonium. But the ram was captured finally and dragged outside the court (there would be no question of using that one now) and I saw Marcus and the priest in solemn conference, together with the commander of the garrison. Then the soldier left the sanctum with a temple slave while the old priest brushed his toga down and climbed the steps to speak to us. His voice was trembling.
‘It is clear the gods have chosen to reject the sacrifice. The augurers assure me that it is for the best, as the omens would be inauspicious if we’d killed that beast. It is not the result of any change of priest. No doubt the fates are angry with the donor of the ram. So there’s no cause for alarm. Keep your places. We will offer up a pig – as is required to propitiate the gods and cleanse the altar – and then we will attempt the sacrifice again. We are fortunate to have another ram available, personally donated for the festival by the commander of the garrison.’
There were some sullen mutterings and the pipes began again. I felt sorry for Cantalarius, who had been publicly humiliated now and was obliged to leave the temple in disgrace. Poor fellow, matters had gone from bad to worse for him and as he left the rostrum things took a nasty turn. Members of the crowd began to jostle him, and soon he was being buffeted and kicked and cursed and spat upon – though the incident had really been no fault of his. In the end a temple slave was sent to clear a way for him and he was able to make his way outside, followed by a chorus of angry jeers and threats.
The hubbub subdued into a muttering, supplanted by a cheer as the commander of the garrison returned. However, he was not followed by the attendant with the pig and ram – but by a dishevelled rider from the imperial post and a legionary soldier with his sword unsheathed. This was such an unusual event, inside the temple precinct, that there was a sudden hush. I felt a little tingle down my spine.
The men strode to the front and spoke to Marcus and the priests, but it was my patron who climbed on to the rostrum steps. It was clear that he was shaken. However, he was a skilful orator. His voice rang out with dreadful clarity. ‘Citizens, I have historic tidings to impart. We have just received a verbal message that the Emperor is dead. The details are not absolutely clear, and we are awaiting written confirmation which is following. When we have fuller information it will be announced.’
There was a general tumult – though nobody knew whether it was safe to cheer. Commodus had long been hated by the populace: not only for his overweening pride – renaming Rome and all the months in honour of himself – but for his lascivious lifestyle and capricious cruelty. But no one ever dared to say so openly; the man was also famous for his spies, and Commodus was said to have amused himself by inventing more and more ingenious techniques for the execution of his so-called ‘enemies’.
However, there are generally certain protocols which have to be observed following the death of any Emperor. No doubt there were still paid ears and eyes amongst us even now, so all the crowd could safely do was indistinctly roar.
Marcus raised his hand for silence, and went on again. ‘In the meantime, there is to be no public mourning of his death, no wearing of dark togas or rubbing ashes in your hair, and private feasting may take place as usual: the senate has issued a damnatio memoriae, a statement that the dead man does not deserve your tears. The name of the successor had not been formally ratified by the Senate when the original messenger left Rome, but it is likely that the Empire will be safely in the hands of Pertinax, the one-time Governor of Britannia.’
This time there was no mistaking the crowd’s shouts of joy.
Marcus let them celebrate a bit before he spoke again. ‘In the circumstances, this festival will have to be adjourned. The priests will perform the cleansing sacrifice but the rest of the ceremony is herewith postponed …’
He was interrupted by a general gasp and cries of ‘Dreadful omens!’ ‘We shall offend the gods!’
He raised his hand again. ‘Citizens of Glevum. Do not fear! The auguries are good. It was as if this news was blessed by Jupiter – it travelled so swiftly through the empire. It is the height of winter, but every pass was open, every wind was fair and every rider reached his goal with speed. There will be a special offering here this afternoon, praying fortune on the succession of our new Emperor – amalgamated with the ritual that should have taken place just now. However, this will necessitate a change of celebrant. The sacrifices – and there will be several, at that time – will obviously include an offering to Jove and all the major deities, and must therefore be conducted by the Capitoline priests, aided by the Servir of the Imperial cult who will naturally perform the Imperial offering. I shall be providing the animals myself.’
He stepped down to a smattering of applause and the garrison commander took his place. ‘There will be a formal announcement of all this from the steps of the basilica after the sounding of the midday trumpet and any further details will be announced. In the meantime, you should all go to your homes.’
He turned away. The crowd had been dismissed.
I turned to Junio, having to raise my voice above the hoots and cheers. ‘You realize what this means? No wonder that Marcus was looking shocked just now. Pertinax is his benefactor and his special friend. That means that my patron is likely to become not just the most powerful magistrate for miles, but one of the half-dozen most influential people in the world!’
But I was talking to myself. My son was being borne away, swept along in the crush of people rushing to the gate.
FOUR
Once outside the temple I could not see my son nor, for that matter, the two councillors I had come to find: indeed it would have been hard to find anyone in the milling crowd. The whole forum was in pandemonium. People were already jostling for position near the basilica, and if it had not been for the presence of armed members of the watch the shoving and shouting might have turned into a riot. As I pushed my way through to the fountain at the end (which – in default of other arrangements – was our usual meeting place) I was elbowed and glared at by several of my fellow citizens, though others turned eagerly to babble of the news. It was obvious that rumours were flying everywhere. A complete stranger grabbed me by the arm to tell me that the Emperor had been wounded in the New Year Games.
‘You know he always liked to boast of taking part himself, especially in gladiatorial contests,’ my informant said, raising his voice to be heard above the hubbub. ‘Well he did it once too often; his opponent this time had a proper sword – instead of the wooden one he was supposed to use!’
I shook my head. ‘That isn’t possible. The New Year Games. That’s just eight days ago. No one could possibly have got the news to us by now.’
I spoke so loudly that the man in front turned round.
‘I don’t know so much. I
heard the story from a member of the watch, just now. As soon as Commodus was dead, dozens of messengers were sent out with the news, and every army post along the way sent out relays of its own, until there were hundreds of the fastest horsemen, travelling day and night, changing mounts at every opportunity and requisitioning the fastest ships and ferry boats. My informant said exactly what his Excellence Marcus Septimus told us at the shrine: it was as if the gods had given the message wings. The slowest part was getting word from Dubris to here, apparently. And he confirmed that the Emperor was stabbed, though he said that there was poison on the blade …’
A ragged street-hawker had been sidling up nearby, attempting to peddle his unappealing wares – a brace of dead pigeons dangling from a string. It was a measure of the strange nature of the day that he dared to interrupt a group of citizens. ‘Poisoned, was he? And on the Kalends? Is that the truth of it? I had it from the sentry at the gate that Commodus was strangled at the plunge-pool in his bath the night before, by a slave he used to practise wrestling with.’
All eyes turned to stare at him, but no one took offence. After a moment someone even laughed. ‘Perhaps all three stories have an element of truth – the Emperor was said to be in league with the powers of the underworld so it wouldn’t be surprising if he proved difficult to kill. But even if he somehow managed to survive for hours, it seems that Justice got him in the end.’
‘You citizens had better be careful what you say!’ Another newcomer tugged at my toga urgently. ‘Someone just told me that he isn’t dead at all, and this is just a rumour that he put about himself, to see what people do – and woe betide you if you show disrespect.’
I left them arguing and went to find my son. I found him standing by the fountain with the slaves. He made a rueful face at me as I approached. ‘I am sorry, Father, we’ve lost your witnesses. They had litters waiting for them on the street. I saw them getting in and moving off, but we couldn’t get across the crowd in time to speak to them.’
I patted his shoulder. ‘Never mind. I doubt that they would have agreed to come with us just now in any case – I imagine all the members of the curia have gone somewhere private to discuss the news. I’ll simply have to find out what their town addresses are, so I can call there later on. If I can find Marcus, he might be able to tell me where to look for them: he’s on dining terms with everyone official in the area. Though I imagine he’ll have left by now as well.’
Junio made a little gesture with his hand. ‘On the contrary. Your patron is just coming from the temple now. I can see him on the steps – though he’s got that priest with him and the commander of the garrison. Perhaps the moment is not convenient.’
I turned and saw what he had seen, but I shook my head. ‘I think I’ll take my chance. As his protégé I owe him my congratulations anyway, since Fate has made him a favourite of the potential Emperor – and he may be feeling especially cheerful and cooperative today. Wait here a moment, while I try to catch his eye.’
It wasn’t easy forcing my way back to the temple steps, and I might have missed my patron even then, but fortunately I was not the only one to seek an audience. Cantalarius had already interposed himself between Marcus’s little party and the crowd below. There was clearly some kind of argument going on and when I got there I found my farmer-neighbour confronting the old priest, much to the amusement of the spectators.
‘Call yourself an experienced celebrant!’ He was so angry he was shaking both his fists. ‘You let that creature go! Don’t try to fob me off with talk of auguries. This wasn’t a judgement from the gods at all! It would not have happened if you’d simply held the rope. Well, I’m not satisfied. I paid good money to make that sacrifice, to lift a curse that has been placed on me, as you are well aware. Don’t try to turn away. The least that you could do is come out to the farm and make an offering at the household shrine to put things right!’
He had a point, of course, and the crowd – elated by the news from Rome – was clearly on his side. There were even some whistles of support and shouts of, ‘What do you say to that?’
It was causing a commotion and the commander of the garrison was already making signals to the guard to have my neighbour dragged away. Even Cantalarius could see that it was dangerous to stay and he allowed his new supporters to take him by the arms and hustle him back down into the throng – but at the bottom of the temple steps he turned, and shouted over his shoulder, ‘You haven’t heard the last of me, I’m warning you! I want an assurance that something will be done within a day or two.’
More shouts and hollers. The crowd was restive now. The old priest raised his hand. ‘Very well,’ he murmured, smiling vaguely at the seething populace. ‘For a little fee, I’m sure that some kind of arrangement can be made.’
There were whoops of joy at this victory and people turned away. Cantalarius – though clearly none too happy at the mention of a fee – was obliged to pretend to be content. ‘Very well. Then I accept your promise.’ He shook himself free from the restraining hands and disappeared into the crowd. No doubt he was wise. The mob was satisfied and he’d lost their sympathy. Any further protest would have led to his arrest.
The little breach of public order, however, made me think again. Marcus was not looking very pleased and was tapping his baton against his leg in a way that I knew of old. Obviously his patience was wearing very thin. I decided that discretion was the better path, and was about to melt away into the crowd when I heard my patron calling after me.
‘Libertus! My old friend!’ I turned. He had parted company with his companions now and was walking down the steps towards me with his slaves. ‘Had you come to look for me? Do not fear to interrupt, I have finished all my current business here.’ He paused and extended a ringed hand for me to kiss. ‘What think you of the news?’
There was no escaping now. I went down on one knee at once to make obeisance. It wasn’t easy, on a flight of narrow steps, and I was glad when he permitted me to rise – saying as I did so, ‘Patron! Hearty congratulations on your likely rise to power. What a blessing for the Empire if Pertinax succeeds.’
He flicked his baton hard against his leg. ‘Libertus, you are no doubt a very clever man – indeed I have often relied upon your intellect. But if you really think that I find this welcome news, it shows that you know nothing of Roman politics.’
‘But Pertinax will make a splendid Emperor!’ I said. I spoke with feeling. I had met the man myself and had a high opinion of his intelligence.
Marcus shook his head. ‘Of course he would, if all he had to do was rule.’ He looked around and pulled me to one side, murmuring softly so that only I could hear. ‘The trouble is, he’s far too honest for the role. If he’s confirmed as Emperor – as he no doubt he will be, as he’s highly regarded in the capital – he’ll refuse to bribe the soldiers of the Pretorian Guard, and they will turn against him in no time at all; they are used to having handsome bonuses from the Imperial purse.’
I stared at him. ‘But surely they are the Emperor’s private guard?’ I said.
‘Exactly! Which is why it’s so important to ensure their loyalty. But Pertinax would never dream of offering them cash – for him a soldier’s duty is unquestioning. He would not think additional inducements were required.’ He sighed. ‘So there is nothing for it. I shall have to go to Rome – assuming that I get there soon enough. I have to make him listen to rational advice.’
‘But surely a letter – if there is such haste? Nothing moves faster than the Imperial Post.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous to write – someone is almost certain to intercept the messenger. A man who becomes Emperor has enemies at once – though Pertinax will take some time to understand that truth. I shall have to go and warn him. I only hope I can persuade him to do what’s sensible. He’s upright but he’s stubborn and will do his duty – as he sees it – come what may! Even Commodus came to realize that. That’s why he raised him to the Prefecture of Rome.’
‘Of course,’ I said sagely, to show I understood. ‘Though at one time …’ I was about to add that Pertinax had once been exiled in disgrace, but it occurred to me that – now that he was likely to be Emperor – it might be more prudent not to mention that. ‘… His father was a slave,’ I finished unconvincingly.
Marcus looked at me as if he’d just remembered I was there. ‘Forgive me, Libertus. I had forgotten how little you knew of politics. And this is really no concern of yours – except insofar as the Emperor is everyone’s concern.’
‘My patron’s safety is of some concern to me, especially on a long and hazardous journey such as you propose,’ I ventured, earning a reluctant smile for my flattery. ‘The weather has been dreadful and the roads are treacherous. When do you hope to leave?’
He waved an airy hand. ‘As soon as possible – once the news is definite – though arrangements will obviously take a little time. A half a moon or so at most: though no doubt my wife will argue otherwise and say that, since our son is very young, we should wait until the weather turns more fair. However, this is urgent and it cannot wait. I shall simply have to persuade her of the fact tonight. In the meantime you can escort me to a carrying-chair. Come!’ He strode off down the remainder of the temple steps and into the crowded forum area. People fell back on either side as he strode through the crush, and I was obliged to potter after him.
As slave boys hurried off to find a chair for him, he turned to me and smiled. Marcus could be very charming when he chose. ‘I’ll have to get your wife to come and talk to mine – I know your Gwellia has a persuasive tongue. Of course, the women will not know about the Emperor’s death as yet but I will send word to your house as soon as I get back, though – since I am providing the sacrifice myself – I can’t leave town until the offering is made.’
Dark Omens Page 5
