Because Paul had cured her, Eleyne began spreading the word about his life, deeds, and conversion to Christianity. Whenever possible, she visited him at the home of one of the sect’s elders, where he was staying, and returned to our house inspired by his words.
She would have passed Rome’s pestilent summers among the city’s disease-infested tenements had I not insisted on her spending that season with me and our sons in Hispania. I had to remind her the Christian sect taught the importance of family devotion. Reluctantly, she conceded.
After previously living six years in exile on the latifundia, Eleyne admitted that she regarded the great cattle farm as her home. She could never return to her native Britannia again. Because she was the rightful heir to the Regni throne, Eleyne was still considered a political threat to the appointed ruler, a Roman lackey. She no longer had an interest in becoming a tribal monarch. Although I feared she might someday desire to return to Britannia as a queen and spread the message of Paul.
*
July, 64 AD
We had spent the last six summers in Hispania since my recall to Rome. Late one July morning, Eleyne and I journeyed back to the ranch from the fishing village, Abdera, where she had picked out the tunny we would eat for dinner. Ignoring the raised eyebrows and frowns of the local population, she often rode to town on her little dapple mare. Having been raised on the nearby latifundia, I knew the villagers considered it unladylike for the mistress of a great estate to ride a horse like a man, especially when she dressed in a Celtic tartan tunic and breeches. Eleyne had never forgotten her riding skills as a Briton. She freely rode her mount about the surrounding countryside, telling the people about Christus and Paul.
When we arrived home, Porus greeted us as usual at the door. “There is a courier here waiting to see you, sir. He has a message from Rome.”
As the three of us entered the atrium, I said, “Why didn’t he leave it like the rest?”
“He wouldn’t say, Lord,” Porus said, “except that he would wait for your return.”
Daily, I received documents from Sabinus and Casperius Niger, whom I had promoted to my second-in-command, keeping me abreast of the City Guard’s activities. Sometimes they asked for my opinion or clarification on one policy or another. In any event, Sabinus made the final decision. Despite the messages and the heat, Hispania had been an ideal escape from the city’s hectic pace.
The messenger, a soldier smelling of horse sweat wearing a dusty tunic, breeches, and carrying a long sword at his side, stood by the edge of the impluvium in the center of the room. He snapped to attention and saluted. “Urgent message from Prefect Sabinus, sir. I have been ordered to wait for your answer.” He held out a parchment scroll, bearing Sabinus’s seal.
For a split second I froze, before I took the document from his hand. It had to be a serious matter to require an immediate response. I would need time to study the message before giving a reply.
“Very well,” I said. “By your appearance, you have ridden long and hard from Malaca and need something to eat and drink. I will give you my answer once I have read the prefect’s message.” I turned to Porus. “Take him to the kitchen, he could use a good meal.”
Porus nodded to the courier to follow him.
Eleyne and I took seats in the wicker chairs next to one another near the water catch basin in the center of the room.
“What do you think is in the message, Marcellus?” Eleyne asked. “I didn’t like the sound of that soldier’s words.”
“Only one way to find out. It certainly won’t be the usual answers to my request for more manure rakes for cleaning out the horses’ stalls or wax tablets and scribe quills.” Although Sabinus approved the annual budget for the City Guard, I was responsible for approving operational expenditures. And the messengers never left until I signed the appropriate spending authorization.
Opening the parchment, I scrutinized the letter and shuddered. I choked out the words, “By all the gods!”
Eleyne leaned toward me and said, “What’s wrong, Marcellus? Your face is white.”
“It’s Rome,” I stammered. “A fire has destroyed nearly the entire city.”
Eleyne shot both hands to the sides of her face and gasped. “Merciful God, are you sure?”
I took a couple of deep breaths. “It’s all here in Sabinus’s handwriting. He says the city suffered the worst fire in all its eight hundred years. The fire burned for nine days. Gutted the Capitol.”
“The reports must be exaggerated.” Eleyne lowered her hands to her lap.
I shook my head. “No, they’re not. He says thousands died and as many are homeless. The City Guard, the Watch, and the Praetorians combined their efforts, but couldn’t halt its spread. Raging firestorms made that impossible.”
Eleyne raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Marcellus, all those poor people. The children—hundreds—maybe thousands must have died.” She fell silent and regarded me. “When did this happen?”
“The fire started a little more than two weeks ago. He wrote this about four days later, after the worst of the fires were extinguished and sent it on the next ship leaving for Hispania from Ostia.”
“And it takes about eight to ten days for the message to reach us.”
“Depending on weather and currents, yes.”
“Does this mean you’re returning to Rome?”
I placed the scroll on the small table in front of my chair, reached over, touched her hand, and nodded. “At once. Sabinus orders my return. I would leave in any event—my place is with the men. Don’t worry.” I pulled away, but she grabbed my wrist. “I’m not expecting you to follow—at least not for the time being.”
She sniffed. “You’re not leaving me behind, Marcellus. I’m going with you.”
Eleyne’s answer did not surprise me. “Why should you? For all we know, the fire destroyed our home, and the city is still in chaos. There may be food riots and worse.”
“I’m not going to idly stand by while you’re in Rome. The people, especially the poor, need any help we can give. They’ve lost what little they had.”
“What can you do?”
Her eyes focused squarely on mine. “The same as before. I’ll nurse the sick and injured and find food and shelter for the homeless—I’ll do whatever I can.” She released her grip. “It’s the Christian way.”
I raised my arm and jabbed a couple of fingers in her direction. “You’re taking a lot upon yourself.”
“Don’t stop me from doing my part, Marcellus.” Eleyne stood, walked to the edge of the impluvium. She seemed to study the moated sunrays that streamed down from the opening in the center of the roof onto the placid pool of shallow water. She turned back to me.
I closed my eyes and pondered her words. As head of the household, I could have forbidden Eleyne from returning to Rome. But she was a strong woman and had survived her share of the painful blows of life and could stand the shock of seeing a gutted city.
I opened my eyes and studied her for the space of a few more heartbeats. “All right,” I said, “you can come, but I promise it won’t be a pretty sight.”
She raised her head and turned to me. “Can it be worse than Briton villages sacked and burnt? More hideous than seeing everyone put to the sword by Roman soldiers? Or men slaughtered in the arena to satisfy a blood-thirsty crowd?”
“Yes.”
She stepped back to her chair and sat. Leaning over, she placed a hand back on my forearm. “When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow. We’ll ride to Malaca, and sail on the next ship to Ostia. The boys are coming with us.”
“But Marcellus is only fifteen and Sabinus fourteen. Do you think they’re mature enough to see such terrible destruction?”
“Under Roman law, they became grown men and citizens at fourteen. They’ll have to learn to deal with it, especially if they are to one day serve in the army. Believe me, thousands of children in Rome are already having to adjust to the horror of a destroyed city, our boys can do
no less.”
“Yes, but I still don’t like it.”
“We can’t leave them behind. Regardless of what Roman law says, they are still too young and immature to stay by themselves with only the slaves and Arajo. He’s a good steward, but his place is to run the latifundia in our absence, not to supervise our sons.”
She sighed. “Very well, I hope you’re right about this.”
A sick feeling lay in the pit of my stomach. Regardless of the stink, congestion, and recalcitrant population, I realized how much I cared for the city. Rome did not deserve this horrible fate. At the same time, I was concerned for the men of the City Guard and their well-being. How did Casperius Niger, my second-in-command, deploy the troops? What were our losses? Did my home on Vatican Hill survive? Those and many other questions raced through my mind.
*
Early one August morning, the merchant galley fetching my household from Hispania wove its way up the barge-choked Tiber River to Rome. Eleyne and I stood amidships at the wooden rail along with other passengers. In the distance, we saw the city’s blackened skeleton emerged through a gray, dusty haze. Mixed with smoke and soot, the smells reeked of human filth and the sickening, rancid odor of rotting corpses.
Eleyne’s light-blue, long tunic draped with a stola and yellow mantle, fluttered in the noisome breeze as did the scarlet army cloak hooked to the shoulders of my uniform. She squeezed my arm tightly. “Oh, Marcellus, this is worse than anything I could have ever imagined. Could our house have survived?”
I heard nearby passengers murmuring similar questions. A couple of sailors, including the tiller, cursed openly, more in shock than anger.
“I don’t know,” I answered, shaking my head. “We’ll learn soon enough. From what I was told by the garrison commander when we docked in Ostia, most of the destruction was inside the city walls.”
“I pray to God you’re right.”
I turned toward the ship’s bow where our boys stood with Chulainn and saw them whispering to one another. Hovering a few steps away were the rest of our household servants, who appeared stunned by the city’s destruction. Porus shook his head.
Eleyne and I leaned against the ship’s rail in shocked silence.
My sons left Chulainn’s side and came over to us. Young Sabinus, taller than me and Marcellus, looked at his mother, then me. He shook his head, strands of auburn hair falling over his pale forehead. “I don’t believe this,” he said in a voice little more than a whisper.
The dark eyes in young Marcellus’s olive face seemed to focus on the destruction. “I never liked Rome, but no city deserves this.” He ran long, narrow fingers through his black hair and shook his head. He had my coloring but his mother’s slighter features.
Eleyne and I glanced at one another and nodded.
Suddenly a woman wailed and pointed in the direction of the blackened Aventine Hill, standing in forlorn desolation beyond the wharves. “My home! My beautiful house is gone! Great Goddess Minerva, why didn’t you call on Mother Juno to stop the burning?”
“Oh, the poor woman,” Eleyne whispered, on the verge of tears.
Merchants groaned at the loss of their businesses. “I’m ruined!” one exclaimed. “There’s nothing left of the Emporium! Years of work—a heap of ashes!”
“The whole city is destroyed,” another said, “at least the parts that count.”
I turned my head away. My throat tightened. I could not speak. Fury and sadness swelled inside me. There was only one Rome. More than mortar and brick, it possessed a soul of its own. Now, lying close to death, could the grand old lady survive and rebuild? Sabinus was right: like a beautiful but moody woman, you may love or hate her, but you’ll never get her out of your blood.
Sensing my sorrow, Eleyne held back her own tears and touched my face. “You love Rome, don’t you?”
“I guess I do—more than I realized,” I answered in a voice little more than a whisper.
“I saw it in your face,” she said softly. “You’ve never hidden your emotions very well.”
“I know.”
The boys nodded.
“The city will rise again,” she said, “you’ll see. Much as I doubt it, I pray to God that Rome will be a better place to live.”
I hugged Eleyne. “Gods, I’m glad you’re my wife.” I pulled away from her, turned, and clasped the shoulders of Marcellus and Sabinus. “I’m proud to have both of you for my sons.”
The boys grinned and in unison said, “Thanks, Da.”
Eleyne smiled, and together we turned, hand-in-hand, to scan the Tiber’s bank, determined to survive whatever fate brought our way.
*
Outside the city walls, thousands of homeless people clustered along the shore of the Tiber and the Appian Way, living in goatskin army tents and spindly, thrown-together shacks. Acrid smoke from hundreds of campfires drifted over the river stinging our eyes and causing breathing difficulties. Strangely enough, the children laughed, shrieked, played games, and chased about as if it was an ordinary day.
“Look at the youngsters amusing themselves,” I said to Eleyne. “They don’t seem to see the city’s devastation.”
She placed a scented cloth to her nose and coughed. “That shows how much you know about little ones.”
“What’s wrong with them?” young Sabinus asked. “It doesn’t seem natural.”
“They’re scared to death,” Eleyne said. “Play is how they hide their fears. But they can’t escape from their dreams, and they wake up screaming. No, Son, they’re aware.”
“I’d wake up screaming, too, if I was them,” young Marcellus added. “Not afraid to admit it.”
I touched his shoulder. “You’re wiser than you know.”
The long process of recovery and rebuilding had begun the day following the extinguishing of the last fire. Yet a calm prevailed among the refugees. Near the Ostian Gate, thousands waited in long lines for bread distributed from wagons under the watchful eye of armed Praetorian Guardsmen. News had reached our ship in Ostia that Nero had opened the city granaries to feed the survivors. He had ordered the Praetorian Guard to distribute thousands of tents from the arsenal at their camp.
As the ship glided towards the soot-encrusted stone dock, I counted at least a hundred barges moored along the river. An army of slaves shoveled loads of ashes and rubble onto barges, from an endless stream of wagons and carts lining the jetty and backing into the city. In turn, the black, wooden vessels hauled the debris downriver to the south and dumped it at sea. On the wharf where we were about to debark, more slaves combed the charred rubble of a burnt warehouse like maggots on a dead carcass.
“Look, Marcellus,” Eleyne said, “there’s Casperius Niger.”
“Just as I expected.” When we arrived at Ostia, I had the commander of the Ostian Garrison send a courier to Rome to notify Niger of our pending arrival.
The boys grinned and waved in his direction. They had always regarded Casperius Niger with affection. He had shown a liking for them ever since we first returned to Rome after my exile.
“Look, he’s got a broken arm,” young Marcellus said.
Tribune Casperius Niger stood squarely on the pier before a ceremonial century of the City Guard. A series of wooden splints encircled his left arm, tightly wrapped in a linen cloth. Scabs dotted his face. I waved to him as he called the detail to attention. The crisp appearance of their red tunics and shiny chain mail and armor notwithstanding, the men appeared haggard and drawn. Dark rings circled eyes sunken from long, sleepless hours of duty.
“I’ll ask him how he broke it, and let you boys know later,” I said. “In the meantime, when I go ashore to meet Tribune Niger, you will stay with your mother. I’m now on duty.”
After the ship moored, I left Eleyne to attend to our sons, servants, and baggage while I debarked and received the troops. Standing on the pier, my legs nearly gave out. After being at sea for ten days, it took a few moments to adjust to being on land again. Even as I approached th
e men, I staggered a few yards before I could walk in a straight line. With a loud stomp of hob-nailed sandals, they snapped to attention.
“Welcome back, Commander,” Casperius said after I had stepped onto the dock and exchanged the usual formalities. “You missed one hell of a fire.”
“So I heard. What about you and the men? What’s your condition?”
Casperius frowned. “The men are exhausted. They’ve been on almost steady duty since the fire erupted, but things are settling down.”
I motioned towards the troops and back to Casperius. “Place them at ease.”
Casperius passed the order to the centurion in charge who barked at the men to stand down.
“Once I receive a full report,” I said to Casperius, “we can begin relieving the men on a rotating basis—they need rest—lots of it. And that goes for you, too, my friend.”
Casperius winced as he attempted to raise his splinted arm in salute. “Damn, I keep forgetting I’m not supposed to move this arm—it’s near mashed.”
“I noticed.”
“Pretty sight, eh?” Casperius grunted. “Don’t know if I’ll get full use again, but it’s not as serious as it could’ve been.”
“Let’s do a quick inspection of the troops, and you can tell me how and where you injured your arm.”
As we stepped along the front of the formation, giving the men cursory looks at their uniforms and weapons, Casperius filled me in on the details. “It happened at the foot of the Esquiline—nearly got caught by a falling building—escaped just in time.”
“You’re lucky to be alive.”
He snorted and grimaced. “Takes more than a few flying timbers to keep me from duty.”
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