I proceeded straight for the palace to see Praetorian Prefect Tigellinus. While his mansion was being rebuilt, he had commandeered the living quarters used by the Praetorian tribune on duty with the palace detachment.
Dressed in a white, silken night tunic stitched with gold thread, the Praetorian prefect stood by the open mahogany door to his apartment. The shadowy light of a couple of oil lamps lit the entryway. “What do you want, Commander Reburrus?” Tigellinus asked. A wry grin crossed his weathered face. He knew well enough why I awoke him in the middle of the night.
“Your troops have arrested my wife and servant and his dying daughter.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did they? The charges?”
“For incendiarism and being Christian.”
His face muscles tightened. A frown crossed his thin lips. “Those are serious allegations.”
“Sir, you know perfectly well she’s innocent of arson, and since when is it illegal to be a Christian?”
“I grant you, my troops may have acted over-zealously in charging her with arson, but . . . ” He paused and scowled. “For too long, the plotting Christians have committed seditious acts against Rome and the emperor. Especially, refusing to sacrifice to the genius of our beloved emperor. I will no longer tolerate their crimes. And lately they have appeared in the strangest places. Imagine even the wife of a trusted commander and personal friend of Lord Sabinus, belonging to that abominable sect. Incredible!”
“Prefect Tigellinus, my wife has always been loyal to Rome—even when taken as Imperial hostage years ago.”
“If true,” he answered evenly, “she will have no qualms sacrificing to the Emperor’s genius—before loyal witnesses.”
“Her religion prohibits her from making votive offerings to anyone but her God. She can’t do otherwise.”
Tigellinus cupped his hand over his mouth as he yawned. Then he shook his head. “Pity. Her Christian friends had no qualms about sacrificing Rome to please the same God.”
“We both know the rumors implicating her and the Christians are lies.”
He twisted his mouth into a sneer. “Are they? My sources say otherwise. Remember, the emperor in his infinite wisdom divines what is truth and what is false—who am I to question him?”
“Since I’m her husband, why haven’t you arrested me?”
“Because your loyalty is unquestioned, and we know you have no use for her God.” He seemed bored with my questions, and his eyes flicked impatiently toward the bedchamber.
“If I guarantee she won’t leave the house or attend further meetings, couldn’t you release her?” I asked. “It’s in your power.”
“Tribune Marcellus Reburrus, Rome’s enemies are everywhere,” he intoned with a wave of the hand, “especially among this seditious sect who pray to the dead Jew. I won’t risk the chance of releasing even one, unless . . . unless she sacrifices to the emperor.”
A girl of about ten peeked playfully through the chamber drapes behind his back as I asked, “If she doesn’t?”
“For her sake, pray to the gods she does. She holds herself prisoner, Commander, not I.” He turned on his heels and slammed the door behind him.
Fuming and full of despair, I left Tigellinus, knowing his parting words rang true.
Chapter 25
Chapter 25
During the next three days, rumors abounded about the fate of the Christians snared in the mass arrest. My spies failed to learn how long they would be imprisoned before the persecutions began. However, one brought me word that Eleyne had received the clothing I had sent her, including a gold stola, a gift from Sabinus, befitting her station.
Despite protests and threats, the authorities at Latumiae Prison spurned my requests to see Eleyne. I encountered the same resistance at Sabinus’s residence. The steward insisted his master was not home, and he refused to see me at his office. Tigellinus ordered his Praetorians to arrest me if I came near his quarters.
Late afternoon of the third day, I received a confidential message by courier from Faenus Rufus. He said he would attempt everything in his power to secure Eleyne’s release. Grateful for his concern, I recognized his efforts to remain secret. He loathed Tigellinus and the tyranny he subjected to all in Rome. Under the Praetorian prefect’s leadership, the Praetorian Guard had changed from protector of the emperor to an instrument of terror feared by the people.
Although Sabinus had refused to see me, he remained my commander-in-chief, from whom I received orders. He sent word that Nero had invited him to a party in the rebuilt gardens at the Palace of Augustus. I arranged for my daily inspection patrol of the City Guard to cross his path on the way to the palace.
At dusk Sabinus’s entourage left his home on Quirinal Hill. Scouts forewarned my escort of thirty mounted guardsmen as he approached the noisy, crowded Forum. Darkness crept over the city, and people jostled one another as they fled homeward before Rome’s criminal elements claimed the streets.
Riding in an open litter, Sabinus entered the Forum from the slum-infested Subura. His slaves and servants shouted at passersby to make way for the City Prefect, but the indifferent mob ignored their admonitions. Nonchalantly, we rode in his direction as if on routine patrol. Unlike Sabinus, my contingent had no problem plowing through the vast ocean of people. No one likes being trampled by horses with iron-shod hooves.
I halted before Sabinus, and for a knowing instant, our eyes locked. From his litter his glazed eyes stared through me without acknowledgment, like a stranger. I was seized by loathing and despair.
“Lord Sabinus,” I said, “what has happened to my wife?”
“This is not the time or place to discuss her situation,” he answered sharply. “You are blocking the way.”
Heat rushed to my face, acid filled my stomach. “I’ll move once you name where and when we can talk about Eleyne.”
Sabinus’s face darkened, the edge of his lips curling downward. “I give the orders, not you.”
I motioned my troopers to surround his litter. His followers moved out of the way, intimidated by the horses.
The prefect’s hawk eyes stared into mine. “You know I can arrest you for mutiny.”
“I’m aware of your power, Prefect Sabinus,” I said as I motioned to my guard, “but these men are loyal to me. All I want is to speak of my wife, Eleyne, the woman who you once treated as a daughter.”
Sabinus looked about as my horsemen turned their mounts outward and shoved back his people. He seldom used an escort of troops—an error on his part.
Displaying no emotion, Sabinus nodded. “Very well, you deserve at least that courtesy. I will send a messenger when I return home.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Before I departed, the troops cleared a pathway through the crowds to the Sacred Way and palace for Sabinus.
*
That evening, after Sabinus had attended the feast at Nero’s and returned home, I reported to him. His steward hustled me into his study where a lone, flickering lamp illuminated the tablinum. For a moment an air of treachery filled the room. He could still arrest me, but he was too honorable to set a trap in his own home.
“Marcellus,” a tense voice called out in the darkness. Sabinus stepped forward but did not offer a handshake or an embrace. A coldness enshrouded the library as he moved to his ancient writing desk. A slave lit the small, gold-plated olive-oil lamps sitting in bronze tripods at each end of the desk. Sabinus dismissed him with the arching of an eyebrow, and I took a chair in front of his desk.
The dim, blue-white flame cast a ghostly pall on his face. Visibly shaken, Sabinus’s bloodshot eyes contained a look of despair.
“Tonight I have witnessed,” he said, “one of the most horrifying spectacles in my life. I have attended countless games, and seen men slaughtered in many ways. Some deserved their fate and others not, but never have I seen a more repugnant, degrading scene than tonight. And in this case the victims were truly innocent.”
“Eleyne?” I asked in
stantly. “Were she and Chulainn among—”
He raised his hand to silence me.
Sabinus placed both hands to his face and rested his elbows on the table. A hush engulfed the room. Although eager to ask more about Eleyne, I sensed something ominous and waited for him to finish. Sabinus raised his head, and his dull eyes met mine.
He related his story without interruption. After the usual banquet, and a ghastly serenade by Nero, the emperor invited his guests to the new gardens for a special treat, as he called it. Illuminated by hundreds of torches, exotic flowers dazzled the imagination in a rainbow of colors. Manicured shrubbery and statues imported from all over the empire, bordered pathways and sculptured fountains. The warm night seemed made to order by Nero. A cheerful flute teased strolling lovers, and the fragrance of a thousand flowers scented the air, somehow making the stars above seem close enough to touch.
“Pathways scattered throughout,” Sabinus said, “were blocked by strings of colorful ribbons, to guide the guests to a central point.”
Sabinus hesitated. “But upon arrival, I felt uneasy. I heard a muffled scream.”
Ushers, dressed as laughing clowns, followed by all-too-serious Praetorian guards, had prodded the stragglers forward.
Then in the dancing illumination of orange and amber lights, startled guests saw the victims. On an open stretch, along a straight, mosaic-inlaid path disappearing into the tall, distant cypresses, stood sixty newly made crosses cut from pitch-bleeding pine. Men and women alike, stripped of their clothing and dignity, hung like sausages in a butcher shop, groaning in pain and gasping for air. Blood trickled from spike wounds in their hemp-tied wrists, down the sides of their emaciated bodies, and along dangling legs and feet.
“Amongst all the beauty of the world,” Sabinus whispered, “such a sight will forever pervert my memory of the night.”
He related how the stench of sweat and excrement, of stale blood and sweet roses wafted through the crowd of guests.
“Large bundles of dried faggots had been piled high for kindling,” he continued, “these surrounded the base of each cross. The captive guests realized what was about to occur. Some attempted laughter, pretending to enjoy the spectacle, but the groaning and agonized faces of the victims dampened the festive occasion.”
The dancing flute now shrilled a bizarre note of the macabre. Some guests could not mask their horror—a fatal mistake. Others radiated pleasure bordering on ecstasy. Nero’s spies scattered among the crowd to report any undesirable reactions—to the emperor’s displeasure.
With the greatest of difficulty, Sabinus maintained his composure. I continued to listen in dread, forcing myself not to interrupt.
“But it was only the beginning,” Sabinus continued. “No one noticed Nero had disappeared. A short time later he thundered into the gardens driving a gilded chariot, pulled by four snorting, white horses.”
Dressed in flowing lion skins, Nero reined up at the center of the ghastly line of crucifixes—thirty posted on each side of the path. He leapt from his chariot and motioned impatiently towards a bush. Six hidden slaves emerged carrying a ladder and hurried to the cross where a slender female was nailed. She wore a mask depicting Diana, the huntress. Deftly, they slipped the ladder behind her buttocks, resting it against the wooden beam.
Eagerly, the boisterous Nero, who snorted more like a pig than roared like a lion, climbed the ladder. He paused only when he had slid between her blood-smeared legs.
Slaves struggled to maintain the ladder’s balance and prevent him from falling. Two other slaves jumped upon the kindling and held the cross, beginning to lean slightly to one side. Nero fondled the young woman’s breasts and body as she struggled to breathe. Hiking up his lion skin, and covering them both, he coupled with her.
“Silently, she endured his animal lust,” Sabinus related. “I glanced to the other guests and surmised revulsion and horror from their eyes. Yet, none were as horrified as I. I was certain I recognized the golden stola I had given Eleyne,” Sabinus said.
I sat dazed, not realizing that I clutched a drawn sword. Had anyone but Sabinus told me this disgusting tale, I would have killed him.
“When the woman refused to return his groans of pleasure,” Sabinus said, “Nero ripped off her mask and slapped her. Then his eyes searched the crowd and locked on mine. Seeing me swaying in shock, he roared in laughter.”
“Was it—”
“It was not Eleyne.”
I breathed in relief, and suddenly, the heavy exhaustion from the days of strain dropped upon me like a blacksmith’s anvil.
“Then he moved on to other crucifixes and committed more revolting acts,” Sabinus said nearly choking on his words. “None were spared. When Nero finished,” Sabinus continued, “he rode to the standing guests, halted, and announced the criminals being crucified in his beloved gardens were the perpetrators who burned Rome. For the guests’ pleasure and amusement, they had the honor of witnessing their executions. Nero received a rousing ovation.”
Sabinus recognized eight of the victims as prominent merchants, all whom were branded Christians. Nero gave credit for the arrests to the diligent investigations of our Praetorian Prefect, Sofonius Tigellinus.
Tigellinus stood on the edge of the crowd feigning a bow of humility. Nearby, Gallus beamed his pleasure.
“At a nod from the emperor,” Sabinus added, “a century of Praetorians emerged from the shadows and heaved flaming torches onto the bundles at the base of each cross. The dried packets exploded, and in minutes flames towered to the top of the crosses. The heat was so tremendous it forced the guests back. We heard the poor souls’ screams above the fiery, howling roar—and then, silence.
“Nero laughed, and the horrified, terror-stricken guests followed suit. As the flames billowed higher, one by one the flimsy crosses burned through, and their victims toppled into the burning heap, creating one long, narrow funeral pyre.
“Afterwards, Nero returned to the palace, followed by his guests. I excused myself as soon as I dared.
“I discarded my clothes and bathed immediately to rid myself of the stench of burnt flesh, but I . . . ” His eyes clouded, and he seemed near tears. “I’m a weak man, Marcellus. I haven’t the courage to stand up to Nero.”
“And what if you had?” I said. I echoed his own words of long ago. “You’re no good to Rome dead.” Right now, Eleyne was more important to me than Rome would ever be.
“Rome wouldn’t be any worse than it is now. I had influence until Nero began attacking the people—Christians, merchants, even petty thieves. Now—”
“In the name of Jove, can’t you at least obtain Eleyne’s release?”
“No,” he said, exhausted.
“Surely,” I said, “you have some influence left. Can’t you appeal directly to the emperor?”
“No, Marcellus, it’s no use.”
“Then why did you summon me?” My stomach churned, quill bumps raised upon my arms and back. Rage grew within my being.
“To reassure you for the present, Eleyne, has remained unharmed. Forgive me for the tale I just told, but you have a right to know about Nero’s crimes.”
“I must see her.”
“You will make no more attempts.” His voice was flat, a command.
“Why?”
“I can’t say. My warning is enough.”
Heat rushed to my face. My ears filled with noise like roaring tidal waves crashing against a rocky shoreline. “And if I disobey your order?”
“Don’t be foolish,” he answered harshly. “I would place you under arrest, and this time I won’t back down.”
His candor shocked me. He saw the anger and pain in my face.
“You know I don’t condone this monstrous persecution, but I’m in no position to stop Nero and Tigellinus.”
“What about Eleyne—my wife? Is she to die like the others—crucified?”
Sabinus reached over and placed his still-powerful hand on my elbow. “Nothing will happen t
o Eleyne, I promise. You know she means the world to me. But Nero’s message was clear—Eleyne’s life is in jeopardy and depends solely upon our behavior—yours and mine.”
“Your promise?” I roared. “Nero’s message is a damn lie!” I shoved his hand away and leapt to my feet. “By the gods, you ignored me, refused to see me, treated me like . . . like . . . and now, you promise me? You bastard, I could—”
For the space of a dozen heartbeats he bowed his head and turned away. “I told you I am weak. It wasn’t Eleyne on the cross—but I believed it was her and watched her being raped. And I did nothing. Eleyne has done so much good for others as a caring and courageous woman. I was sickened, but I acted the coward. I was afraid to speak out.”
Sabinus paused and lifted his head, fixing his gaze upon me. “I will live with my cowardice and shame until I die. But neither you nor the cursed gods will by foolish actions bring harm to Eleyne, my daughter, Eleyne.” He still cared, and that alone tempered my rage.
I left Sabinus’s home angrier and more frustrated than before. Where else could I turn for help?
*
I nearly discarded the message from Gallus waiting on my return home after midnight. I was grateful I changed my mind. For the first time in days a glimmer of hope returned. Gallus said he could obtain Eleyne’s release. What irony. Whereas my patron failed, my adversary offered hope. What was his price in return? I hated him still, but for Eleyne’s freedom, I would try anything, pay any price.
I headed for Gallus’s new home east of the walls on Pincian Hill. Untouched by the fire, the palatial mansion once belonged to one of Gallus’s victims, a prominent merchant holding the state’s lead monopoly.
I stood across from Gallus as he sat at a desk in his new trophy room. Ignoring me, he gazed at a parchment laying on the flat surface, filled with obscene drawings. Assorted weapons, taken from Rome’s conquered enemies, hung on the wall, including a plain, black hardwood club. Wearing no makeup, Gallus’s once youthful face revealed the ravages of time and debauchery. Drab and limp, yellow hair, receding at the temples, replaced his once-blond locks. Cavernous furrows crossed his forehead, and thin lines tracked from the corners of his washed-out, blue eyes. The deep-set battle scar on his cheek coupled with his natural smirk, stamped his malice plainly on his face.
The Peacekeeper Page 26
