Rome 4: The Art of War

by M C Scott

  Seen close up, the building itself was like a fortress, with huge walls and thick gates; assaulting it would have taken a proper military force, which we didn’t have. To be blunt, if the priests inside were inclined to close the gates against us, we knew we had no means of opening them.

  But gongs and cymbals had attended our march, much as the silver-boys’ whistles would have attended something similar down in the city, and now, as Sabinus approached the main gate, a small postern door opened in the wall some distance to his right. A middle-aged priest emerged, robed in scarlet, hesitant and unhappy in the ever-increasing rain.

  ‘Who seeks entry?’

  It was a rote question, asked of all who came there, and this much Sabinus could manage. His voice carried across the two hills.

  ‘Sabinus, brother to Vespasian, your emperor. We come in his name and seek sanctuary against the forces of rebellion.’

  The priest blinked. He might have spent his days in an ageing stone edifice on a hill, but rumour reached the gods as fast as it did anyone else and he must by then have known the details of Vitellius’ failed abdication.

  But he bowed, hands on his chest, in the Persian fashion, and said, ‘Be welcome, brother of the emperor. And all those who seek sanctuary with you.’

  The relief? You could have cut it up and served it on a plate to the emperor; to either of the emperors. When the priests opened the temple gates the entire group piled inside, leaving behind only the stalwart few manning the barricades and even they set up a rotation and went in for a while each.

  There was food in there, and water, rest and shelter from the downpour; we’d run up the hill in rain but it had become a thunderstorm by the time we reached the temple. Sabinus said, and nobody disagreed, that it had been arranged by the gods to protect us.

  Certainly, it was better to sit inside and listen to the rain batter the roof tiles than to stand out in all that weather, holding a cordon around the foot of the hill, which was, we were told, what Geminus’ Guards were doing. Pantera said as much to Sabinus when he was able to get him away from his throng of sycophants.

  ‘If the rain stays like this, the Guards won’t be able to hold their cordon on the hill. There will be gaps you could drive a ten-horse chariot through. We can get you out then, and away to Antonius.’

  That made perfect sense to me, but Sabinus was a politician, not a military man; his strategies were all for the look of things, not the practical necessities of survival.

  He smiled at Pantera the way you might smile at a slave you pitied, and shook his head. ‘To abandon the Capitol now would be to abandon Rome, and I am my brother’s representative: I can’t do that. Use your powers to keep us safe, and I’ll use mine to make sure that we have an empire to come out to when the rain lifts.’

  He had practised that speech, I think. It came out sounding rehearsed, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t sincere.

  We left soon after and went out to check the first line of defences just past the brow of the Arx.

  Jocasta was still there, overseeing the creation of a second layer of barricades formed from old timbers and carefully balanced masses of old masonry that could be sent flying down the hill by five men heaving on a lever. She was striding up and down the line with her tunic belted like a man’s and her dark hair flying free in the rain. She was filthy and bedraggled and she looked as beautiful as I had ever known her; and happy.

  It was heart-breaking, and all the more because she didn’t so much as look my way and there’s a limit to how much of a fool I’m prepared to make of myself, even for her. I smiled once, and then pretended to study the battlements she had made.

  Pantera, watching her, said mildly, ‘You should be in Britain. There, the women lead the armies.’

  She threw him a cheerful glance that knotted my stomach. ‘I’m told it is cold and wet and the children are born with webbing between their fingers and toes, like ducks.’

  I learned later that Pantera had had a daughter once, to a woman of the Dumnonii. It perhaps explained the strange look on his face, the longing and sorrow and yearning mixed.

  ‘Not true,’ he said. ‘It’s no wetter than here. You would thrive there. When this is over, I’ll take you—’

  ‘Someone’s coming!’ a man shouted up from further below. Every inch the military leader, Jocasta spun on her heel and ordered the defenders to the levers, ready to send rocks hurtling downhill. They were actually leaning on the first lever when a new call came: ‘He seeks the Leopard.’

  ‘Expecting someone?’ Jocasta pushed a hank of hair out of her eyes.

  ‘Possibly.’ Pantera put his hands to his mouth and shouted, ‘Ask for a name!’

  ‘Borros!’ shouted Borros, and pushed up to the barricade, and was shown the only safe place where he could clamber over without risking damage to his manhood from a series of sacrifice-knives set upright in the planking.

  Reaching us, he said, ‘The Guard has set a cordon about the foot of the hill, but they can’t hear anything over the rain and you can walk ten feet from them and they see nothing. If Sabinus wants to leave now, we could have him down the hill and out of the city to be with Antonius Primus by morning.’

  ‘He won’t leave,’ Pantera said, and stepped away from the barricade. ‘I’m sorry to have sent you on a fool’s errand. Come away from the rain and have something to eat.’

  I couldn’t wait to be free of Jocasta’s blank stare. I followed Pantera back up the hill and into a priest’s quarters in one of the small, ramshackle houses in the row that led up to the temple. It was little more than an alcove with a bed and a brazier, but as private as any we had found when the greater mass of the refugees was clustered in the main rooms of the temple.

  ‘Have you located Domitian?’ The question had been burning Pantera’s tongue since he saw Borros, but he couldn’t ask it with everyone around because nobody else knew the boy was missing.

  Borros shrugged expressively. ‘He was still in the House of the Lyre when the Guards went to burn it.’ He held up a hand. ‘Be calm, they didn’t succeed. They didn’t even try. The Belgian doorkeeper dropped the names of several people who would be mightily upset if that place was not fit for their parties and the officers thought better of it and went on their way. But Domitian left by a back route while that discussion was happening and I didn’t see where he went. One of the Marcuses might know where he is, but they won’t tell me.’

  Water was dripping steadily from the crag of Borros’ brow on to the bedding. Pantera handed him a cloth to dry himself, and a warm cloak, filched from a priest, before dragging on another cloak. It wasn’t his and it stank of incense, which is less than useful if you’re trying to hide, but he needed something to shield him against the rain.

  ‘I’ll try to find him. If Caenis and Sabinus ask, tell them. If you can manage not to mention the House, it will probably save your life when the boy becomes emperor.’

  Borros grinned. He sat on the edge of the bed and warmed the flats of his hands on the underside of the platter. ‘I’ll be in Britain long before that. And you too, if you’ve any sense. Don’t get lost in the rain. And don’t get caught.’

  I followed Pantera out. He didn’t turn me away, so I was there when he found Domitian and Mucianus’ catamite together in a hut owned by Scopius of the Crossed Spears.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Rome, 18 December AD 69

  Horus

  THE SILVER-BOYS TOLD him where we were, and directed him to us with their whistles.

  The first thing I knew, there was a scuffle outside and a knock on the door frame of our hut; the door itself was goat-hide, you understand. I was inside with Domitian, Gudrun, Zois and Thaïs in as cheerful a cluster of vivacity as you could ask for, all of us bunched in a ring round a hot brazier, eating flat bread and goat’s cheese and playing dice for copper coins. Domitian was losing.

  Pantera ducked inside with his thug Trabo close behind. I despised him, and the feeling was returned in kind. But
neither of us was able to take the edge off the joyful greeting that met Pantera as he walked in.

  ‘You’re alive!’ Zois, Scopius’ small dark daughter, who had so entranced everyone with her acrobatics in the summer, threw her arms round him.

  Thaïs, her taller, fairer, more shapely sister wasn’t far behind. ‘When we heard about the Guard and the burning houses, we were so afraid for you.’

  It was like a family, when the favoured brother returns home, or a particularly indulgent uncle. The girls clustered round, fussing over Pantera’s wet tunic, bringing dry cloths to scrub at his hair.

  Trabo eyed him sourly. ‘You’re a popular man.’

  I could have hit him for that. Pantera stiffened; the warm, easy joy was lost. Sliding behind the irony that is his shield, he said, ‘I let them dye my hair. You should try it sometime.’

  But his eyes rested on my face and there was still a kind of peace in them as if everything I had done had been forgiven. Or perhaps he was just lost in memories, for he said, ‘I had a daughter once, in Britain. She would have been their age by now, had she lived.’

  Even Trabo had the decency to look discomfited by that.

  Pantera took the bread they offered him, and the cheese, and shared it with Trabo, who ate as if he’d been starved for a week. Over the girls’ heads, the Leopard caught my eye. ‘The House is safe,’ he said. ‘But the Guards may be back. If they destroy it because of me, I will see that it is rebuilt.’ Turning to Domitian, he gave a bow, saying, ‘Your uncle is on the Capitol, in the temple of the three gods, with all but five men of the senate. If you wish to join him, it must be done under cover of darkness; we can’t slip past the Guards in daylight.’

  ‘But we can at night?’ Domitian’s glance flickered up to meet mine. ‘Would it not be safer if we left Rome now, and joined Antonius Primus?’

  I was included in that ‘we’, I could feel it. So could Pantera. Domitian may have been deliberately losing at dice, but not because of me; he was relaxed in my presence, unashamed, but discreet. Nobody looking would have known we had shared a night, and planned to share more.

  With a shrug, Pantera said, ‘There’s no doubt that leaving would be far safer. But your uncle Sabinus has said he will not leave the hill, and that means that if Vitellius chooses to abdicate in the morning Sabinus will take the throne in his stead. The first hour after a change of emperor counts for more than the next ten years. If you want to be the one to hold the throne for your father, you will need to be on hand when it becomes vacant.’

  There was a flicker in Domitian’s eyes, of choices weighed, of facts balanced. He was clever. I had found that out early in our brief time together; a swift mind and a quick study and a passion for getting things right.

  ‘What of Lucius?’ he asked. ‘Is there any danger that he will return with his cohorts from the south?’

  ‘I don’t know. Felix has been sent—’

  Gudrun interrupted him. ‘Felix was here, looking for you. He left moments before you arrived. He had news from the south. We sent him out, because you weren’t here, but he won’t be far. Marcus can find him for you.’

  A flurry of whistles and a damp walk later and we were with Felix in a smaller hut with a less well-stoked brazier, but it was warm enough and proof against the rain. Domitian came, and Trabo. Gudrun and the girls stayed safely where they were.

  ‘Pantera!’ Relief bloomed on Felix’ face. Overnight, I had revised my first opinion of him. He was an interesting boy with a lot of potential in the right hands, and just then, far more than Domitian, he had the look of a man who had spent the night sating his lust.

  He stood awkwardly, with his two hands hidden behind his back, and gave his report.

  ‘Lucius sent two messengers. The first came at noon and I killed him, but the second came at the fourth hour after and rode straight past the inn. I followed him, but he had an escort. I couldn’t kill him. I’m sorry.’

  I hadn’t known him for a killer, but it was clear now. The power of it shone from him, overshadowing the shame at the second missed kill.

  Pantera held out a hand. ‘The message from the first?’ Felix passed him the package.

  There was no need to take any particular care in opening this letter; it wasn’t going to be sent on. Pantera slit the threads and broke the seal.

  The message it carried was uncoded. He and I read it together, in all its horror.

  Brother, Tarracina is once more held in your name. Julius Claudianus, leader of the rebels, has died a traitor’s death, his men with him. Three boats were destroyed and two sailed away, but we have blocked the harbour and none will sail in while we are here. We wait only on your word to return to Rome.

  A traitor’s death. That’s what they offered Nero and he cut his own throat rather than face having his head wedged in a cleft stick to be flogged to death.

  Pantera closed his eyes against the truth. Presently, he crunched the thin paper into a ball and threw it viciously on to the brazier. Together, we watched orange flames curl the fine parchment to smoke.

  ‘So Vitellius knows Tarracina has fallen,’ Pantera said, eventually. ‘How long is it since the second messenger arrived at the palace?’

  ‘Less than an hour,’ said Felix. ‘His horse foundered and he had to change for a new one ten miles south of Rome. I was close enough to see him, but I dared not risk an attack when so many of the Guard hemmed him in. If I had been caught …’

  ‘There was no one to give you a fast death. Well done. You did the right thing.’

  In many ways, Felix was still a child. He drank in his hero’s praise like a starving hound whelp, and repaid it with that same hound’s devotion.

  Pantera’s gaze sought me out. ‘Felix can speak his message to Vitellius, but he’ll need a written reply for Lucius. Can you write for us again?’

  At other times I might have bridled at the brusqueness of that, but Domitian was watching me and he needed to know I was more than a whore, however costly.

  I shrugged easily. ‘Have you pen and ink and a seal?’

  ‘They’re in the place I last slept. Marcus can get them.’

  One of the many Marcuses retrieved from their hidden place paper of imperial weight and ink of imperial standard, a pen, a knife, thread, wax and a seal that was identical in all ways to the imperial seal but that it was wrought on an iron thumb-ring, and not a cylinder of gold.

  To Pantera’s dictation, therefore, I wrote, Brother, please accept our congratulations on your outstanding victory. We expected nothing less. We have word that Mucianus plans to make use of the mild weather to attempt an assault on the south using the port at Misene to gain entry and so encircle Rome. It is imperative that he is stopped. We require you to hold that port against any possible landings until we send word to return. Aulus Vitellius.

  The paper was sanded, sealed and stitched. I said, ‘Don’t we need one to replace the one you’ve just opened? If Vitellius is expecting two …’

  ‘But Felix has the ring, don’t you, Felix?’

  The boy flushed with joy and chagrin mixed. ‘How did you—’

  ‘You’ve been keeping your left hand behind your back since you walked in. So it holds something of value that fits only in a hand. And you are intelligent enough to have thought ahead. May we see?’

  Shyly, Felix opened the hand that he had held shut all along. On it lay a ring of a wealth and ornament such as only an emperor might wear. Or his brother.

  ‘Your story?’

  Felix might have been a youth who delighted in killing, but he was far from stupid. Promptly, he said, ‘I came upon the messenger after he had been left for dead by armed men in Vespasian’s colours. He begged me to bring his message to the emperor. I am to say that Tarracina is taken, and that now Lucius has heard of a pocket of resistance at Misene and, counting on his brother’s permission, has taken his victorious army to deal with it.’

  ‘Good. Do you have the pass-phrase?’

  ‘A brother’s lov
e is unsurpassed.’

  ‘How many others did he give you before that?’ Pantera asked.

  Domitian’s eyes flew wide. He had understood that Felix was a killer, but had imagined a cut throat, done swiftly, not the length of a death that would have drawn from a loyal man this kind of secret.

  Felix said, ‘He tried two others, but this one is real. I will bet my life on it.’

  ‘You’re about to. You know where the horses are.’ Pantera slid the message I had written into Felix’ pack. ‘They may send you south with a reply to your message; if they do, be sure to give this one of ours to Lucius in its place. If they send someone else, he must be stopped. Can you handle a bow?’

  ‘Well enough.’

  ‘Good. Diogenes, who feeds the horses, has one in safe keeping. Tell him the Leopard asks that his weapon be liberated. He will give it to you then. Stay safe.’

  Felix grinned. ‘Trust me, life is too interesting. I don’t intend to throw it away.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Rome, 18 December AD 69

  Geminus

  ON RISING THAT morning, I had made an oath to myself that I would remain by Vitellius’ side for as long as it took to secure his right to the throne.

  I had no part in the fiasco at the forum that saw Sabinus besieged; that was a group of men who were entirely out of control of any officers, but once it had happened we had to make the best of it.

  I sent orders to keep the hill only lightly secured (there was no harm in finding out who would commit to Vespasian, and allowing out those who were having second thoughts), while at the same time locking down the gates so that nobody might leave the city without our knowing it. Above all, I didn’t want either Sabinus or Domitian to reach Antonius’ troops and give them a figurehead to fight for.

  I could have gone out to arrange this myself, but I was, as I’ve said, not happy to leave Vitellius’ side and he wanted to keep me close as much as I wanted to be there; Juvens, too. The pair of us flanked him wherever he went, to eat, to drink, to the latrines: we were with him at every step, every squat, every arcing stream of urine.