The Peacekeeper

by Jess Steven Hughes

  The troops formed four squares, ten men deep and ten wide. Upon our approach, the senior centurion called the garrison to attention, and junior centurions echoed the command down the formation. Clanking shields and the slamming of hob-nailed sandaled shoes to the pavement rumbled the entire length of the jetty. After a brief inspection, we returned to the front ranks.

  “The men are in good spirits today, Casperius,” I said.

  “They got paid, just before you arrived.”

  “That explains it.”

  Casperius frowned. “Not exactly. They think you had something to do with it.”

  “Why?”

  “Usually, the Ostian Garrison is seldom paid on time. Today they were.”

  “I don’t see why they believe I had any part in their being paid. Sabinus probably put a flea in someone’s ear at the treasury so they would be in a good mood when I arrived.”

  “No matter, the troops think it’s an omen from the gods that you’ll be a good commander. You know how superstitious soldiers are.”

  I loudly complimented Casperius on the strength and fitness of the men as I turned and faced them.

  “Soldiers,” I barked, “I will now administer the oath of allegiance.”

  In a voice only I could hear, Casperius leaned over and said, “Sir, they’re willing to swear their allegiance to you, and no one else. They know about your bravery.”

  “That’s suicide,” I answered sharply, “especially here where there are so many witnesses. Let there be no mistake, my fealty is to Sabinus and the emperor.”

  He shrugged. “As you say, sir. But if you change your mind,” he added, “say the word, and they’ll swear to a man.”

  I administered the oath.

  When I finished they gave a rousing cheer, “Ave, Reburrus! Hail, Reburrus!” Drawing their legionary swords, they banged their weapons against rectangular shields in a show of loyalty—to me. As the din of the noise grew deafening, the activity on the docks paused, and all workers, sailors, wharf officials, and others looked our way. Becoming alarmed, I immediately silenced the troops. News of the ovation would race to the emperor’s ears, not to mention Sabinus’s, and be misconstrued as a sign of treason. Everyone hearing the oath knew it had not been sworn to me but to the emperor and Sabinus. Nevertheless, my position had been jeopardized. I would need a convincing explanation for Nero and Sabinus.

  No sooner had the noise subsided than Gallus and his haughty retinue approached. As a senator, his rights of protocol could not be ignored. He barely acknowledged Casperius. And what did he think of the Guard’s acclamation? It was in his power to report the truth or distortion to Nero.

  Both of us were forty and had managed to keep our weight trim. But Gallus’s blond hair had lost its luster, replaced by a sickly yellow shade. Receding gray strands sprouted at the temples. Deep lines crept across his narrow forehead, and wrinkles surrounding the edge of his eyes, fanned like the web of a spider. His pursed mouth was set permanently in a razor-thin frown. A light film of white powder masked his face, with a touch of kohl applied to the narrow eyelids. Light-pink rouge accented his cheeks. A fine, linen toga, trimmed in purple and lined with gold thread, draped his slight build—each fold meticulously in place.

  “May I offer my congratulations to the new commander of the City Guards?” he said in a voice dripping with honey. “The Guard’s newfound loyalty to you is most impressive and shall be duly noted in the right places.”

  “Then you know from your own military experience how troops react when they’ve been paid on time. We both know the credit goes to Nero and not me. You heard me administering the oath to the emperor.”

  “I shall inform the emperor of the facts as I see them,” Gallus snapped.

  “Naturally, you’ll report the truth. I hear Nero doesn’t appreciate lying—not even from his friends.”

  “Are you saying that I would lie to his Divinity?”

  “Of course not.” I grinned. “You know when the truth is in your best interest.”

  For a moment he glared, and then a smile, as affable as a snake, rippled along his lips. He snorted. “One should always be honest with the emperor in affairs of state, but that is not why I am here.”

  “To what do I owe this visit?” I asked.

  He cleared his throat. “I realized we have had our differences in the past, but I pray they can be forgotten.”

  “Can they?” I said. I thought it possible when the sun shines in Hades.

  “Really, my dear Marcellus. What is past cannot be changed, and I regret the animosity, which developed between us.”

  “Both of us know the reasons.”

  He shrugged. “We were caught up in the hatreds of our fathers—they had nothing to do with us. Now, I ask for a new beginning, this time to culminate in a lasting friendship.”

  I didn’t believe Gallus any further than I could toss a horse. Something ominous lay behind his newly found benevolence. He never did anything without expecting to benefit tenfold. I kept my suspicions under my tunic.

  “Perhaps,” I said after a brief pause, “it’s possible.”

  “Of course, it is,” he said. “I have many friends at court. Tigellinus is my dearest friend, and the emperor takes note of my opinions, too.”

  “Oh?” He would attempt to use me to get what he wanted. “I’m only a soldier—I stay out of Imperial intrigues.”

  “Oh, come now, my dear man, of course you are joking? Prefect Sabinus may be your patron, but he is at Nero’s bidding, and one word from me—”

  I raised my hand. “What do you want, Gallus?”

  He stiffened and studied me for an instant. Apparently, judging the time right, he looked about, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “I have a proposition, but this is not the place for discussion. Perhaps tonight at the palace.” He continued in a louder voice. “The emperor is having a feast. Come as my guest, and I shall personally introduce you to Nero—an opportunity you must not ignore. Otherwise, you will have to wait months—if ever.”

  “You’re most generous,” I answered in an equally civil manner, “but I must decline. I’m due to meet Prefect Sabinus upon arriving in Rome. He may have other plans.”

  A sneer rippled over Gallus’s mouth. “Surely you know the emperor has requested the prefect’s presence?”

  A request from Nero was a command. “Then I shall be his guest, if he invites me—I’m duty bound to Sabinus. Besides . . . ,” I grinned, “I’m no politician. Why would his Divinity bother with a poor soldier like me?”

  “Naturally, you are right,” Gallus said. “You are just a soldier. However, we can still be friends.”

  “Of course,” I lied.

  “We must speak about the proposal soon. I assure you it is an opportunity only a fool would ignore.”

  Gallus turned away and strolled back to his litter. Halting in mid-stride, he faced me again. “The emperor shall hear about the Guard’s devotion to its new commander. You are a politician, or you would not have obtained your rank, but a diplomat, you are not!”

  “Beware of him, sir,” Casperius said, as Gallus’s entourage disappeared among the sea of dock workers. “He’s no fool.”

  “And neither am I.”

  *

  Casperius Niger led the century of honor guard of one hundred men, escorting my family and me the twenty-two miles to Rome. Eleyne and my sons rode in a canopied wagon drawn by four horses while I rode next to Casperius. The rest of our household rode behind us in baggage carts pulled by mules.

  Considered a hardship post, Ostia would not be a long-term assignment for Casperius. He was scheduled to rotate from Ostia to Rome during the Ides of August. Neither officers nor troops at the seaport were posted there for more than four months. Primarily trained to arrest felons and quell riots, duties of firefighting were considered hazardous and unpopular among the ranks of the City Guard—fit for only the Watch.

  “Of course,” Casperius explained, “at the Calends of December, they’l
l rotate me back. Then I can’t complain I was kept in Ostia permanently, which is what the Imperial bureaucrats want!”

  I facetiously reassured Casperius I wouldn’t put a stop to the routine by the bureaucrats. He didn’t laugh.

  Enroute, Casperius briefed me on events in Rome and the deteriorating situation under Nero. Although I had learned much about Nero through my correspondence with Sabinus, I had underestimated the emperor’s tyrannical lust for power.

  “Has Lord Sabinus written to you about Nero’s murdering ways?” Casperius asked.

  My chest tightened, and for the length of a heartbeat, I pulled back on the reins of my horse, jolting him to a halt. I kicked his sides, and he moved forward. “You mean the thirty senators who were falsely accused of treason?” I asked returning to Casperius’s side.

  “The same. They were executed or forced to commit suicide.”

  I still hadn’t forgotten how much this bothered me when I’d received Sabinus’s report. Most of the senators were honorable men. “Gods only know how many more will be slaughtered before he’s finished.”

  Casperius exhaled. “Lord Sabinus has to watch his back.”

  “All of us have to watch our backs.”

  So far, Nero had confined his terrorism to the Senate, tragic enough because its ranks contained many noble men, excluding Gallus.

  During the journey an oppressive humidity lingered in the air, and the sun never cracked the rust-iron clouds. The worst of seasons, only critical business kept Sabinus in Rome during the summer. Usually, he resided at his rambling villa along the foot of the cool Apennines. Because Nero was giving a feast tonight, the nobility had remained in the city, or they all would have escaped to the milder temperatures of the country or the seashore. Only the poor were trapped in Rome during the summer. I planned to send Eleyne to Budar’s coastal villa near Antium, south of Ostia. The tasks ahead would prevent my joining her.

  It was late afternoon when we reached Uncle Budar’s estate, across the Tiber from Rome, before I reported to Sabinus. I turned and moved back to the wagon where Eleyne and the boys rode behind Casperius and me. The dust from the long trip failed to hide her drawn face and drooping eyes.

  The boys, nine-year-old Marcellus and Sabinus, age eight, their faces and tunics streaked with dust, looked about their new surroundings. The oldest had been three and the latter two when I was exiled to Hispania. I doubted they had any memory of living in Rome.

  Marcellus squinted his dark eyes and stared at the palatial mansion. He turned to Eleyne. “Is this where Uncle Budar lives?”

  “Yes, it is, Son. It is our new home,” she answered in a tired voice, her shoulders sagging.

  He glanced toward the Tiber and to Rome in the hazy distance. He scratched his straight nose and sniffed. “Rome’s ugly.”

  “I know,” Eleyne said. She motioned to Budar’s villa and to the lush greenery of the adjacent park on Vatican Hill. “But it is nicer here and cooler.”

  “Hispania’s better,” Marcellus said. He shrugged and turned to his younger brother.

  Sabinus vigorously nodded his long, narrow face. “It is.”

  “I know you don’t like it,” I said approaching the wagon, “but for now, we will be staying here.”

  The boys frowned. I reached over and touched young Marcellus’s shoulder and then Sabinus’s. “Don’t you fret, we will return to Hispania next year for the summer, I promise.”

  Sabinus smiled. “Really?”

  “You mean it, Da?” Marcellus asked.

  I grinned and nodded. “Yes, really, I mean it.” I prayed I would keep my promise.

  Marcellus and Sabinus turned and slapped each other on the shoulder, something they did when happy.

  Eleyne gave me a half-hearted smile. “Thanks for promising the boys.” She pulled a silk cloth, tucked in her girdled waistline, and wiped her face. Tucking it back under her belt, she shook her head and sighed. “I’m so tired. The baby has been kicking me—I need to rest. Please convey my apologies for not coming with you to see Lord Sabinus.”

  “He’ll understand,” I said. I bent over and kissed her cheek.

  Dusk fell before Casperius and I arrived at Sabinus’s home at the end of Pomegranate Street on Quirinal Hill. We were led to his study, a room that opened onto the garden. The place, illuminated by several olive oil lamps, was lined with wooden cupboards filled with hundreds of scrolls from floor to ceiling. In one corner sitting on a pedestal was the bust of Cicero, and in the recess of another stood the bust of a brooding Nero. We stood before an aging, heavily wrinkled man, dressed in a white, linen toga, sitting behind an ornately carved sandarac wooden desk. Nearing sixty, Sabinus was almost bald, a white crown of hair surrounding his ears and scalp. Casting his deep, brown eyes upon me, I felt the command of his personality. We saluted, and he gave Casperius and me a spirited greeting. After pleasantries, he asked Casperius to wait in the atrium and close the door behind him.

  Sabinus and I studied one another for a long moment without saying a word. He stood, stepped around his desk, and shook my hand firmly with both of his. “Welcome back my friend, I have missed you.”

  “Likewise, sir.”

  “I know you were wronged six years ago,” he said gravely, “but what I did was a reaction to the events of the moment.”

  “Events neither of us controlled.”

  Sabinus shook his head. “That’s no consolation for the damage wreaked upon you and your family. Unfortunately, time can’t be altered, but I will do what I can to alleviate past wrongs.”

  Strange, even though I left Rome in disgrace, I looked forward to returning to my home in Hispania. And no doubt it also saved my marriage. Nevertheless, my failure to control the destructive actions of the Seventh Cohort, which led to the riot outside the naval arena, was still a painful memory. For a second my muscles tightened. Yet the healing process of time had turned what anguish remained into a fading memory.

  “There’s no point of dwelling on the bitter fruits of the past,” I said, “I want to continue with my life, serving you as before.”

  Sabinus nodded and motioned for me to be seated across the desk from him. “And you shall. You are a general in everything but name, with all the privileges and benefits going with the position. I did not recall you only because you are the best man for the job—I need someone whom I can trust.”

  “I’m grateful, sir. Your faith in me won’t prove unfounded.”

  He patted my arm. “You have already shown your loyalty and trust.”

  “There’s another matter that needs clearing up immediately,” I said.

  Sabinus eyed me quizzically. “What is that?”

  “Gallus met me at Ostia.”

  “So I heard, and the troops hailed you.”

  “Weren’t you told I simply reaffirmed their allegiance to the emperor and you?”

  “Gallus reported the actions of the Ostian troops, and explained you administered the proper oath. Tigellinus’s henchmen, who Gallus did not know were there, confirmed your actions—Nero was pleased.”

  I hadn’t realized I was so tense. The muscles throughout my body relaxed so quickly I caught myself slumping in my chair.

  “What’s wrong?” Sabinus asked.

  I shook my head. “It’s nothing. I’m just relieved to hear this piece of good news.”

  “But we must remain alert,” Sabinus said. “Depending on who is most influential on a given day, Nero has a reputation for abruptly changing his mind. He could get it into his head at a later time that you and the troops were disloyal.”

  “I’m aware of that.” I prayed to the gods, including Eleyne’s Christian God, Nero would not.

  I changed the subject. “Gallus was very friendly today. He said he wanted to resolve old differences.”

  “And I gather you are wary as to his reasons.”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  Sabinus placed his thumb and forefinger to his chin, pulling the skin almost to a point. He nodded
before lowering his hand. “I am. Since my return from Moesia, young Senator Gallus has been amiable to me, too. His motives are always suspicious, and my spies are seeking his reasons.”

  “Does he have as much influence as he claims?”

  “He and Tigellinus are considered to be intimate friends—a dangerous alliance, because Tigellinus’s powers go beyond his authority as Praetorian prefect. Nero depends heavily upon his advice.”

  “Why did Nero recall you to Rome?”

  “To do his bidding, I suspect,” Sabinus answered.

  I winced. “Surely you’re not?” Then I realized had he refused, it probably would have meant his execution.

  Sabinus exhaled and momentarily looked around his office. “I have had to learn old Claudius’s tricks. He was a survivor, and so am I. Of what value would I be as a dead martyr? By living, I help the vast majority. I am still influential, and so long as I take precautions for my own safety, I am determined to minimize the tyranny at court.”

  “Doesn’t that mean sacrificing your beliefs?”

  He slammed a hand on the table, the sound echoing through the room and outside in the garden. “My beliefs, my values are nothing compared to the thousands of lives at stake.”

  Sabinus stood and paced about the room as if attempting to calm himself. He took a deep breath and stared at the tiled floor. “I have compromised where necessary.”

  “I’m disgusted to have to say this, but you were wise to do so.”

  He returned to his chair, sat, and studied my face. “Not only wise, but necessary. There are too many lives at stake. Had I declined, I would have signed my death warrant. I cannot stop the murders of senators, some of whom are my oldest and dearest friends.” He paused, and his face tightened. It seemed as if Sabinus would be overwhelmed with grief, but he quickly recovered. “At least I can help their families in retaining properties and prevent their disgrace. It is a terrible burden to bear, and sometimes I am ashamed because I do not speak against him. At once I am afraid, but at the same time it is better I am chief magistrate, rather than one of Tigellinus’s cronies.”