The Devil Will Come

by Glenn Cooper

  When Peter was done, Cornelius drew him aside to a corner by the cooking stove. ‘Fine words,’ he said.

  ‘They are from my heart,’ Peter answered.

  ‘You spoke of leaving your earthly life.’

  Peter seemed resolute. Another ember blew past the window. ‘It will happen soon. Rome is being consumed by the fires of hell and I fear Nero will be looking to place the blame.’

  ‘They’ll look to us, but some say it’s the Lemures.’

  ‘Superstitions, surely,’ Peter said.

  Cornelius whispered, ‘I know a man who swears he saw a charred body in the rubble of the Circus Maximus. It had a tail.’

  Peter arched an eyebrow. ‘If true, then evil may indeed be among us.’

  ‘You should leave Rome,’ Cornelius insisted. ‘Let’s have you returned to Antioch.’

  ‘No,’ Peter said, ‘I will stay. It was meant to be. Christ suffered for me and now it is my turn to suffer for Him. You know, Cornelius, what they don’t understand is that killing us only makes us more powerful. Come, friend, let’s try to help our brethren. And if there’s evil about, let us confront it.’

  *

  Tigellinus held the messenger at bay until the morning. He knew Nero was in a revelatory mood and wouldn’t have appreciated the interruption of matters of empire. Besides, Nero had known about the fire before it happened, hadn’t he? Still, the Prefect of Rome’s message had to be delivered and when the Emperor was gently awakened by his private secretary, Epaphroditus, an attentive Greek Lemures, he was informed that a contingent of Praetorians had arrived from Rome bearing important news.

  After an hour of bathing and perfuming, Nero received the soldiers in his grand reception room, attended by Tigellinus, Epaphroditus, and his devoted assassin, Acinetus. The letter he was handed was stark. The Circus Maximus was destroyed. The southern regions of the city were ablaze. The fire was uncontrollable.

  ‘And what am I to do?’ Nero asked rhetorically. ‘Am I to carry a bucket? Surely this is a matter for Prefect Sabinus to deal with. That’s his job! My job is to sing tonight in competition. There is said to be a Thracian with an excellent voice who will be my rival. I cannot disappoint my audience.’

  ‘Shall I deliver a written reply to Prefect Sabinus?’ the Praetorian commander asked.

  ‘Tigellinus can pen something if he likes,’ Nero said. ‘By the way, is there any danger to the Esquiline Hill?’

  The soldier replied he didn’t believe so and Nero dismissed the cohort with an imperial wave.

  Nero called for some watered wine. ‘It seems you’ve done a good job of it, Tigellinus.’

  ‘Rome took many a day to build but it can be destroyed in a very few,’ Tigellinus said with a smile.

  ‘Remember,’ Nero said irritably, ‘I’m as interested in destruction as you, but I just completed the Domus Transitoria and I fancy living there until the Domus Aurea is built on reclaimed land.’

  The Domus Transitoria was a long, colonnaded palace that ran from the Palatine all the way to the Gardens of Maecenas, occupying much of the Esquiline Hill in Regio III. But building the Domus Aurea was his ultimate goal, a palace so grand and audacious it would eclipse all buildings in Rome. He had personally approved the plans and drawings. It would sit on 200 acres of burnt-out land at the foot of the Palatine Hill. The entrance hall would be high enough to accommodate a 40-meter statue of himself, a true Colossus of Rome. This entrance hall, three stories high, which Nero dubbed the Millaria, would run for two kilometers along the Forum valley through the fire-ravaged Carinae and Suburba districts. There would be an enormous pool, a veritable sea in the middle of Rome which he would use for lavish pageants.

  ‘I am confident that the land you need for the Domus Aurea is already consumed,’ Tigellinus said. ‘If the winds are favorable, the Domus Transitoria should be safe. I too am worried about my shops at the Basilica Aemilia.’

  Nero was not inclined to offer sympathy. He had made Tigellinus the second-most powerful man in Rome and immensely wealthy.

  ‘If you lose your precious Basilica you’ll build a larger one with smaller shops and charge higher rents. You know how it works. We’ll use Lemures marble quarries, cement and timber works for our new constructions. We’ll give prime land to our allies. We’ll get our personal levy on every transaction. We’ll make a fortune on the back of all the suffering and death. How fine is that? By the way, are we spreading the word that the Christian Cult is behind this?’

  ‘It’s being done.’

  Nero rose and stretched. ‘It’s a good day, Tigellinus. Leave me now. I’m going to rest my throat for the evening’s competition.’

  The fire raged on. Flames climbed the Palatine, Caelian and Aventine Hills and fierce winds drove them north toward the Esquiline Hill and the heart of Rome.

  Later in the day a Praetorian messenger arrived with news which firmly caught the Emperor’s attention. The Domus Transitoria was threatened. With that, Nero angrily sent back orders that everything had to be done to protect his properties and ordered preparations for his departure to Rome by sea the following morning.

  Nero arrived in one of a flotilla of small boats that sailed up the Tiber under a filthy brown sky. As his boat drew closer to the city he marveled at the great clouds of smoke and the fierce balls of fire which rose majestically into the air. The usual dock areas in Regio XIII had been razed so the flotilla had to find a landing downstream beside the Campus Martius.

  Accompanied by Tigellinus, Nero was taken by litter to meet with Sabinus, the Prefect of Rome, who gave him a sober summary: the city was at the mercy of the fire. It was beyond the control of man. They passed through the Esquiline Gate, then entered the smoldering Gardens of Maecenas which days earlier had been the loveliest spot in Rome. Nero climbed to the top of the hill and ascended the squat Tower of Maecenas for the ultimate view of his burning city. Across the valley the Palatine Hill and all the old imperial palaces of Augustus, Germanicus, Tiberius and Caligula were burning. The Forum Romanum was gone, the House of the Vestals, the Temple of Vesta, the Regia, the ancient home of the kings of Rome – all consumed. With a heavy sigh, Nero watched the flames licking at the Domus Transitoria. A firebreak constructed by Praetorian cohorts and imperial slaves had failed.

  ‘I’m sorry your palace is burning,’ Tigellinus said glumly.

  Nero shrugged. ‘It will all be for the good. Meanwhile, let’s stay here and watch the fire. It possesses a certain beauty, does it not?’

  On the fifth day of the fire Nero toured the city, acting like a proper emperor: directing the firebreaks, ordering temporary shelter for the refugees on the Campus Martius and calling for grain stores to be delivered from Ostia. Yet despite his public overtures, there were widespread rumors that he and his henchmen were behind the conflagration and there was growing resentment that he had taken so long to return to Rome.

  When informed of the rumors, Nero’s creative response was ‘Fight fire with fire.’ Soon every Praetorian and vigiles commander was ordered to pass the word to the citizens of Rome that they had evidence that Christian arsonists were to blame – their retribution for the Roman crucifixion of Christ. Before long, vigilantes were patrolling the city, hauling known Christians from any unburned dwellings and shops and killing them on the spot.

  By the next morning the winds had died down and the fires had stopped spreading. But one piece of news sent Nero into fits of rage. While he had completely lost his Domus Transitoria and would have to make ready a temporary palace, he learned that Tigellinus’s pride and joy, the Basilica Aemilia, had survived the inferno without so much as a scorch mark on its marble façade. Tigellinus was even said to be boasting of his good fortune.

  Nero’s underling had fared better than his emperor! So he sent word over to Balbilus’s estate that some rough justice was in order. That evening a fire broke out in a fancy silk and linen shop on the lowest floor of Tigellinus’s building.

  It soon engulfed the entire complex
– and so began the second phase of the great fire. It would spread up the Capitoline Mount and ravage the sacred temples that had escaped earlier destruction. The Temple of Jupiter the Stayer would be lost, the Temples of Luna and Hercules, the Theatre of Taurus. On the down-slope of the Capitoline Hill the fire would breach the Servian Walls and demolish large public buildings on the southern edge of the Campus Martius where hoards of refugees were huddling. Had it not been for an expanse of stone colonnades and a sudden drop in the wind, the fire would have burned through the refugee camp and killed thousands more. When it finally ended two days later only four of Rome’s fourteen districts would have escaped destruction.

  When word spread that the Basilica Aemilia was burning, the priest Cornelius was summoned because several members of his congregation had stores within the building and Christians were duty-bound to help their brethren. Peter the Apostle was by Cornelius’s side when the messenger arrived and the two of them rushed to the scene with a contingent of Christian men.

  Vibius had not been pleased by the order to torch the Basilica Aemilia in broad daylight but Balbilus had been unwilling to disobey a direct command from the Emperor. As Vibius emerged from a rear window just before a plume of fire burst into the rear alley, a shopkeeper saw him and gave chase but lost him in the winding side streets.

  When Cornelius, Peter and their lot arrived, the complex was fully ablaze and there was little for them to do but join the swelling crowd and comfort distraught shop-owners.

  Peter placed his arm around the shoulder of a sobbing wine merchant and whispered that Christ would look after the man and his family. The merchant suddenly stiffened and pointed. ‘That’s the man I saw who started the fire.’

  Vibius had returned to watch his handy work from a vantage point six-deep in the crowd. At the sight of the merchant pointing at him he hurried to the rear of the throng.

  In his youth in Bethesda Peter had been a fisherman; he and his brother Andrew had gotten into plenty of hard scrapes to protect their fishing grounds. Jesus had preached non-violence but Peter never shied away from an injustice. ‘Let’s give chase!’ he shouted and the group of Christians moved as one.

  The younger men kept close with the fleeing Vibius but the older ones stretched out, struggling to keep their nearest comrade within view. Peter and Cornelius took up the rear, trotting southwards as best they could through the crowded smoke-filled lanes.

  When Peter and Cornelius reached the Porta Appia, Peter was obliged to stop and rest. ‘We’ve lost sight of them,’ Peter said ruefully. ‘I’m sorry to be burdensome.’

  ‘I hope I’m half as fleet when I’m your age,’ Cornelius said.

  Soon one of their group was running back toward them. ‘We’ve got him trapped,’ the man said breathlessly. ‘He’s nearby in a villa.’

  Balbilus’s villa had become a haven.

  Nearly a hundred Lemures were gathered in Balbilus’s reception rooms, their own homes threatened or burned. Most of them were wealthy, the women and children spoiled, and the lack of their usual comforts had made for a surly competitiveness for basic necessities. Balbilus had good personal stores of grain and wine but he would need to ask Nero to send special provisions within a short while.

  He was in his bedchamber on the top floor of the villa bitterly muttering at the ruckus that had erupted below when his servant Antonius knocked urgently at his door.

  ‘What is it?’ Balbilus asked the man irritably. ‘What are my visitors complaining about now? Aren’t they grateful they’ve a roof over their heads?’

  ‘There’s a mob,’ Antonius said breathlessly. ‘They’ve entered the gates.’

  ‘What mob?’

  The servant pointed out the window.

  Balbilus slipped on his sandals and went onto the balcony. A crowd was in his garden, wielding torches, and when they saw the tall olive-skinned patrician peering down at them they began shouting.

  ‘What is it you people want?’ Balbilus called down.

  One shouted back, ‘We want the man who started the fire at the Basilica Aemilia! We know he’s here!’

  ‘I assure you, there’s no one here who started any fires,’ Balbilus bellowed back.

  Another man yelled, ‘Give him to us or we’ll burn you out.’

  ‘I am the Emperor’s astrologer! Leave here at once or you’ll have to answer to the Praetorians!’

  Balbilus turned away.

  ‘Go away, scum,’ Antonius shouted down at them before closing the window.

  ‘Who are they?’ Balbilus asked him.

  ‘I don’t know, master.’

  ‘Find out.’

  Balbilus hurried down the stairs and found Vibius drinking wine in the crowded courtyard.

  ‘You were followed,’ Balbilus growled at him.

  ‘So I hear,’ he answered coolly. ‘I told you we should have waited until nightfall.’

  ‘Maybe so. Now what do we do?’

  Vibius finished his drink, tossed the goblet into the reflecting pool and unsheathed his sword.

  ‘What good will that do against a mob?’ Balbilus asked.

  ‘While they’re chasing after me, take everyone down to the columbarium. It’s your only hope. They may burn the villa but they’ll leave as soon as their stomachs start growling. Get word to Nero. Go to Antium. You’ll think of something. I’ll kill as many of them as I can.’

  There were more shouts from the garden and a torch flew through one of the reception room windows. A young Lemures quickly plucked it from the floor and doused it in the pool.

  In the garden Peter and Cornelius had arrived. ‘Cease your violence!’ Peter shouted at the torch-thrower. ‘Know you whether there are innocents inside?’

  Vibius waved his sword and ran out a side door. Roaring and swearing fiercely at the assembled throng he fled toward the Via Appia. The younger Christian men were upon him like dogs on a hare.

  A strong young Christian caught up with Vibius and tackled him from behind. The two men grappled fiercely on the ground for a few seconds. At first contact, Vibius had dropped his sword but he managed to get his hands around the young fellow’s neck and pressed his thumbs hard against his windpipe. Gasping, the man pushed Vibius away with a foot to the chest. As they separated, a chain around the man’s neck broke off in Vibius’s hand.

  Vibius cast it away and grabbed the nearby sword. Rising to one knee, he sliced the Christian’s belly open in a deft move, spilling coils of guts. On his feet again, Vibius fled toward the Appian Way, the men in hot pursuit.

  ‘Quickly!’ Balbilus yelled at the Lemures. ‘To the columbarium! Follow me!’

  They streamed from the villa through his fruit grove and entered the rectangular mausoleum with its barrel-vaulted roof. Antonius held the trapdoor open until his master and all his guests had descended the narrow stairs. Then he pushed a small altar over the trapdoor to conceal it and ran toward the grove, hurdling over the man with spilled guts. Something he saw on the ground caused him to stop: a silver medallion attached to a broken silver chain. He picked it up, swore an oath and ran back to the columbarium.

  Satisfied that the coast was still clear, Antonius slid the altar aside and banged on the trapdoor.

  ‘Master, it is Antonius! I know who they are! Open quickly!’

  Balbilus did so and looked up the gloomy shaft. Antonius dropped the medallion into his hands, closed the trapdoor and once again concealed it with the altar. In the grove he stopped under a tree, sat down and without a second’s hesitation defiantly slit his own throat.

  By the light of a smoky oil lamp Balbilus examined the pendant.

  The chi-rho monogram.

  It was the Christians!

  Damn them to the heavens! May Nero slay every Christian man, woman and child. May they be cursed for eternity!

  A hundred Lemures crammed into the columbarium, fighting for every centimeter of floor space.

  Balbilus stood under his fresco of astrological signs and demanded quiet. A small c
hild cried. He threatened to kill her if someone didn’t shut her up.

  ‘Hear me,’ he hissed. ‘We need only to survive the night. In the morning we’ll find sanctuary elsewhere. We’re stronger than they are. We’re better than they are.’

  Above ground one of the Christians had seen Antonius running away from the mausoleum. He found him still twitching and warm, blood pouring from his neck. Soon the Christian man was running to find Cornelius and Peter. ‘Come!’ the man insisted. ‘You must see this!’

  When they stood over Antonius’s corpse, the man pulled down the slave’s breeches.