by Allan Massie
Vitellius proceeded to the Senate where he made a speech that was so confused that few could understand its meaning, except that he spoke much in praise of his own magnanimity. The Senators responded in like vein. The Emperor's brother moved a resolution condemning Caecina, and Senator after Senator spoke in the finest of antique manners deploring the action of a Roman general who had betrayed the Republic and his Emperor. But it was remarked that all were careful to say nothing that might be held against them should Vitellius lose the Empire. Indeed, not a single Senator uttered a word of condemnation of the Emperor's enemy. The name of Vespasian was not spoken. This encouraged Flavius Sabinus. All this I learned later. I did not of course, attend the Senate myself, being otherwise occupied, and in any case not yet a member of that august assembly (as I suppose I must still call it, though a more accurate description would be a collection of poltroons and self-seeking time-servers who disgrace their ancestors.)
My business was with Domitian. It will not surprise you, Tacitus, to learn that, though he had been so fearful and so desirous of finding a place of safety or refuge, he received his uncle's instructions with suspicion.
It was, he said, some plot to prevent him distinguishing himself in his father's cause. It was another attempt to push him to the margin. It was treating him as a child and not a grown man. Why should it be safe for his uncle to remain in his post, while he was commanded to go into hiding? What sort of double game was his uncle playing?
And so on; his indignation burst forth in a cascade of confused and often contradictory questions.
At last I said: 'Do as you please then. I'm sure nobody cares whether you live or die.'
Which infuriated him still further.
'I didn't mean that,' I said, 'but really you try my patience. Don't you understand that we all have your best interests at heart? Yes, your uncle is playing a dangerous game. But he is an honest man. I've no doubt of that. And the game will be still more dangerous if Vitellius gets his hands on you. You are the most valuable bargaining counter he could have.'
'He's right,' Domatilla said, 'it's because you're important that you must disappear from the scene. It would be terrible if you were arrested and held as a hostage. I couldn't survive it if anything awful happened to you.'
She was near tears. She laid her arm around her brother's neck, and drew his head towards her, and kissed his cheek. He could not fail to feel her anxiety and her affection, and could not fail, I thought, to be moved by it. But he disengaged himself from her grasp.
'I don't know,' he said.
I looked out into the street.
'You may not,' I said, 'but you had better make up your mind quickly. There's a detachment of the Guard at the end of the lane, and I think they are making enquiries. They could be coming for you.'
That was enough. Whether Domatilla's flattery would have persuaded him to obey his uncle, I don't know. Fear was more successful. He looked round wildly.
Where can we go?'
'There's only one way out that may be safe. The roof He was out of the door of the apartment and up the stairs like a rat surprised in a kitchen. I took Domatilla by the hand. You must come, too,' I said. She resisted for a moment, then gave way.
Fortunately, no one emerged from any of the upper apartments as we mounted the stairs, no one who might have indicated to the soldiers where we had gone. A little skylight, used by the workmen who required access to the roof, was our way out. I gave Domitian a leg-up. He struggled to open the window which at first seemed to be stuck fast. He uttered little panting gasps of anxiety as he did so. From below, from the bottom of the staircase well, I could hear the soldiers questioning the porter. Then the window moved. Domitian got it open, eased his way out, for a moment vanished from our sight. I didn't dare call to him. I picked his sister up and, with a movement like a dancer's, lifted her so that she could get her hands through the opening and find purchase on the roof. Then with another heave, I had her through. I stepped back three paces and, with a running leap, caught hold of the outer rim of the window. One hand slipped, and for a moment I dangled in the air, supported only by the other. I swung my free hand around. The sound of the soldiers mounting the stairs to the apartment came to me, as my hand, missing the rim again, was caught hold of by Domatilla. I swung myself up and was on the roof. Domitian was lying face down on the slates. He had almost slipped off and was clinging by his fingers. I turned and shut the skylight. Then I pulled him up, so that all three of us were standing on a narrow ledge. I saw now that the skylight did not open onto the flat top of the roof but on to its sloping side. Domitian had very nearly gone over the edge. I suppose now it would have saved Rome a lot of trouble if he had done so but, of course, that didn't occur to me at the time.
'We can't stay here,' I said. 'If we thought of this way out, they will, too. We can't be sure that they will not know we were in the apartment.'
'Our aunt won't give us away,' Domitian said.
'No, but the porter will have done so. You can be sure of that. If not when they first questioned him, then on their way down. We must get across the roofs.'
Domatilla said, 'I know we must, but I'm afraid of heights.'
Again I took her by the hand. We made our way along the ledge.
'Don't look down,' I said, 'and you'll be all right.'
We would have moved faster on the flat roof but I was afraid we might attract more attention there. So we worked our way to the end of the building. The lane below which seemed so narrow when you passed along it now appeared a dangerous chasm. There was a gap of ten or twelve feet to the next building. I could have cleared it easily if I had been able to take a run at it. So, I suppose, could Domitian, a better athlete than myself, if his nerve had held. But it was beyond Domatilla's powers, and I dare not leap with her slung over my shoulder, which would have been the only means of carrying her.
I hesitated. There was no sound of the soldiers. They might have left the building. They might not after all have thought of the skylight. If the aunt had said we were out, they might be content to await our return. Down below in the lane a pedlar with a donkey was selling his wares. There was no other movement, nothing to alarm us. But we could not remain there and, when Domitian muttered that it might be safe to return the way we had come, I asked him if he wanted to walk into a waiting reception committee of the Guard.
We worked our way round the building. It was late afternoon, heavy with rain-swollen clouds. Then, about twenty feet below us, there was a balcony, a rickety dangerous-looking thing protruding from an apartment on what I judged must be the floor second from the top of the building. We had tried two skylights opening out of different staircases and found them unbudgeable. The wood had swollen and they were fixed fast. I looked at the balcony. I could jump down there without difficulty but would it hold? And would the shutters that must open on to it be closed and fastened from within? And if they were, could I get back up to the roof?
We went round the roof again. There was no other way off that I could see. It began to rain. Domatilla was shivering, more from anxiety than the cold. I explained what I intended to do. She shook her head. Domitian would neither meet my eye nor offer an alternative plan.
So, gripping the edge of the roof, I lowered myself and, with my feet kicking the empty air, dropped to the balcony below. It shuddered as it took my weight, but didn't come away from the wall as I had feared it would. Whether it could take three people's weight was another matter.
The shutters were indeed closed and fastened. I rattled them, and held my breath. If the apartment was empty, then I would try to force them open. If it wasn't. . .
I heard movement from the other side of the shutters. I called out, gently. A dark shape appeared behind them. The sound of a bolt being withdrawn, and they were open. I found myself looking at a woman. She had a large moon-face and a dark complexion. She did not speak, but waited, seemingly impassive. I blurted out apologies for disturbing her, explained that my friends and I had b
een stranded on the roof. She nodded, and stepped back. I said, 'We're not dangerous, not criminals. Will you let us leave the building by way of your apartment?'
Again she inclined her head, saying nothing. I still wasn't sure, apologised again, began to offer a further explanation.
'That doesn't concern me. I don't want to know,' she said. Her accent was southern, with the little lisp of Basilicata.
I turned away, called up to Domitian, told him to lower Domatilla, and to take her weight as long as he could. Then she was in my arms. The balcony shuddered again and quickly I thrust her from me and into the room.
'Now yourself,' I called. 'Don't jump, let yourself hang down.'
I stretched out my arms to receive him. Shouts came from the roof beyond. Domitian uttered a cry, little more than a whimper. Then his feet appeared. He dropped, instead of hanging, and, as I caught him, his weight caused me to sway backwards against the flimsy balustrade. I heard a creak, flung him into the room. He landed, sprawling. I heard footsteps on the roof above, and a voice shouted, 'He's gone over the edge.' The balcony shuddered and swayed again. I felt it tear itself away from the wall, and, just in time, leapt into the room. Behind me I heard it crash into the lane.
The woman looked at me. There was no expression on her face.
Tm sorry about the damage,' I said. 'I'll pay for it, of course.'
She spread her hands wide, in a gesture of denial.
"We never use it,' she said. 'I've told the landlord for months now it isn't safe.'
'You might have killed us,' Domitian said. 'As it is, I've cut my knee.'
The woman closed the shutters and bolted them.
'I don't want to know anything,' she said. 'As far as I'm concerned you're not here. But whoever was after you is going to see there are no bodies in the lane.'
A girl, dressed in a stained shift and rubbing sleep from her eyes, came into the room. She left the door open behind her and I had a glimpse of a tumbled bed.
'What's happening?' she said.
'Nothing. You've seen nothing. Go back to bed. As for you,' she said to me, 'I'll thank you to be on your way, whatever that is.'
'I've lost my bearings,' I said. "Which lane does the door of this block open on?'
'I don't know about that. We just call it the lane.'
I looked at Domitian. He was trembling again - a reaction from fear which I have often seen since in battles.
I said: We'll have to chance it. We came a long way over the roof. There was only a small detachment of the Guard. They can't have posted men at every doorway in the block.'
He took me by the sleeve and led me into a corner of the room.
'We could stay here,' he said. 'There's only this woman and the girl. If they make trouble you and I could deal with them. We could tie them up.'
'No,' I said.
'Why not? Then we could wait till it's dark.'
'No,' I said. 'She let us in. She didn't have to. Besides, with the curfew, we would be in more danger in the streets after dark than we are now.'
The woman said, 'We haven't seen you, like I said. Now be on your way.'
There was still no expression on her moon face. Domitian said: 'Could you send the girl down to the street to see that it's safe?' The woman shook her head.
Domatilla said, 'Don't mind my brother. We're very grateful to you, really we are. Now we'll be off. I am sorry about the balcony.'
The girl looked at me. She had slanting eyes, almond-shaped, with long lashes. She hitched up her shift and scratched her thigh. She gave me a smile.
I said to the woman, 'Again, we're grateful.'
The girl said, 'I don't mind going down and having a look-see.' She smiled at me again. 'It could do no harm.' 'No,' the woman said. You'll stay here.' 'There's no need,' I said, 'but thank you.'
We didn't speak as we descended the stairs. At the corner of the last flight, I had the others wait while I went down to the lane. It was deserted, except for two old men arguing fiercely and aiming futile blows at each other. I beckoned to Domitian and his sister.
I put my hand on his elbow when they joined me.
'Walk slowly,' I said. 'Casual. No hurry. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves.'
His arm was rigid. It was with difficulty that he obeyed. When we were out of the lane and had turned two or three more corners and got ourselves into a busy street, he said, 'Where are we to go?'
'Have you no ideas?'
He shook his head.
'AH right then. Leave it to me.'
'What about your mother's?' he said.
'I'll take Domatilla there, but not you. We have to get you out of the way first. You're the one in demand.'
There was a boy from Rieti who had been a fellow-student of ours and who lived in this quarter. His parents were dead and he lived on his own while struggling to make a living practising law. He was a reserved and silent youth whose contempt for the corruption of the times was deep-grained. I had always been impressed by his honesty and his refusal to advance himself by the customary means of flattery of the great and toadying to those who might be useful to him. I had no doubt that he would receive Domitian and give him shelter, all the more because he felt himself superior to him. So I led Domitian there, and he was accommodated as I had expected.
'I can't put the girl up,' Aulus Pettius said. 'It's a question of propriety, not reputation, you understand.'
'That's all right,' I said, 'she's going to stay with my mother, but you will understand I can't place my mother in danger by asking her to take in Domitian, too.'
'What absurd and ignoble times we live in,' he said. It occurred to me that he was receiving Domitian precisely because his need of a refuge confirmed his own disgust with the degeneracy of the Republic. He had once described Nero to me as 'that base comedian who plays at being Caesar'. I liked the contempt, though the description was inaccurate. Nero played more enthusiastically at being a great poet and actor.
My mother was happy to receive Domatilla.
'But,' she said, 'you will have to find somewhere else to lodge yourself while she's here. It's not that I mind what people say, but the girl has a reputation to be protected, and it would be wrong to give evil tongues any opportunity to spread scandal about her.'
'I can't thank you enough,' Domatilla said. 'I don't know what would have become of Dom if you hadn't been there.'
She knew all too well of course. She kissed me good-bye. It was a chaste kiss owing to my mother's presence, but even that small measure of affection had my mother clicking her teeth in disapproval.
Later in the afternoon, I returned to the moon-faced woman's apartment. I brought a small gift, and told her I had come not only to thank her, but to make sure that she had come to no harm. She nodded her head, but gave no thanks for the gift.
'I didn't need a reward,' she said.
The girl said, 'I knew you'd come back.'
She poured me a cup of wine. The woman withdrew to the kitchen. The girl stretched herself out. She was still wearing the same shift and displayed breasts and thighs.
'She'll make us some food,' she said. 'She's not my mother, you know.'
'So what is she?'
'She just took me in. Now, you could say I'm a lodger. I pay rent, quite a lot, depending . . .'
'I see,' I said, and reached down and, putting my arm round her, raised her up. She turned and kissed me. I slipped my hand under her shift. For a moment she let it rest there. Then she led me through to her room and the tumbled bed.
XXXIV
I didn't send all that last chapter to Tacitus; an edited version merely. I am even puzzled as to why I wrote it in such detail. At first I thought it was because it showed me in a good light, and therefore demonstrated Domitian's ingratitude. But that isn't really so. I even doubt now whether Vitellius would have put Domitian to death had I not intervened to save him. It would have been foolish, given Vitellius' own uncertainties, and the negotiations he still maintained with Flavius
Sabinus. To have killed Vespasian's son would have been to destroy any chance of extricating himself from his own terrifying position. For that is the truth, I've no doubt: Vitellius was living in a nightmare, and fully conscious of the likely consequences of his unthinking weakness which had compelled him to give way to the demands of Caecina and Valens. Yet there were also moments when he believed in himself as Emperor.
Aulus Pettius kept Domitian safe. He was never forgiven. Within a few weeks of becoming Emperor Domitian ordered him to remove from Rome. I suppose he was fortunate Domitian acted so early in his reign, while the balance of his mind was not completely overthrown. I last heard of Aulus Pettius living in misanthropic retirement in the wild country of Boeotia. He used to write to me occasionally. I was his only correspondent. Later, that was to be one of the charges brought against me: that I had maintained a treasonable correspondence with an exile. Certainly our letters, which were intercepted and copied, could not fail to have displeased Domitian. We wrote of him with disdain.
But I have run ahead of myself. I find it hard now to keep my thoughts in order. This enterprise on which I embarked so reluctantly has come to exert a strange fascination over me.
Was it to recall the girl Sybilla that I wrote that last chapter in such detail?
She was Sicilian. At first I took her for a prostitute and the moon-faced woman, whose name was Hippolyta, for her pimp or madam. The relationship was different and more complicated. Hippolyta had indeed found her on the streets, fallen (as Sybilla told me) in love with her, and bought her from the man who ran her. That was extraordinary enough. What was more extraordinary was that Hippolyta tolerated Sybilla's desire for men, though, as the girl told me, 'only one at a time'. She kept her mostly a sort of prisoner in the apartment, and Sybilla did not object. 'What is there out there,' she said, 'except the opportunity now and then to pick up a man? Now that I have you, for the time being, I've no need to go out.'
