Empire (28 page)

When the herald spoke, the crowd’s hopes were dashed. “The Senate has debated the issue which concerns you. The Senate has reached it judgment. The law will be upheld. The sentence will be carried out. Caesar admonishes you for this unseemly and threatening behavior. This gathering is declared unlawful. You are hereby ordered to disperse at once!”

The mob reacted with howls of protest. More stones were hurled. Some landed near the herald, who quickly retreated.

More torches were passed though the crowd and set alight. The sight of so many flames was alarming. What were these people thinking, to use fire as a threat? An open flame was a force no man could control; fire could sweep anywhere, destroy anything if its power was unchecked. In the last years of the Republic, the Senate House itself had been incinerated by an angry mob. The Divine Augustus had rebuilt it in greater splendor. Was it now to be burned again?

Scanning the crowd, Titus suddenly spotted a familiar face. Hackles rose on the back of his neck. It was Kaeso. His brother was part of the mob. No, not a mere participant, but some sort of ringleader! Kaeso was brandishing a torch in the very faces of the Praetorians protecting the Senate steps, waving with his other arm and yelling encouragement to those around him.

Titus shook his head. Just as he had harbored the false hope of receiving the accolades of his fellow senators for making a fine speech, so he had been looking forward to telling Kaeso what he had done, to let his brother know that he was not such an unfeeling fellow after all, in fact that he had done something rather courageous, especially considering his position in society. What a change that would have been, to receive some approval, even praise from Kaeso! But here was Kaeso, spoiling things, as always, not just taking part in the demonstration but yelling louder than anyone else and making a spectacle of himself. Titus cringed; what if one of his fellow senators noticed Kaeso in the crowd, took a good look at him, and despite the shaggy beard and wild-eyed expression noted his resemblance
to Titus and realized who he was? If the other senators knew that his brother was one of the leaders of the mob, Titus would be mortified.

Suddenly his brother looked back at him. Kaeso’s reaction at seeing him exactly matched that of Titus on seeing Kaeso. He blanched, looked shocked and appalled, then disgusted and angry. The twins stared at each other for a long moment, as if looking into a distorting mirror. Then, as neither could bear to look at the other a moment longer, at the same instant they turned their gazes elsewhere.

Soon the tramp of marching feet echoed through the Forum. Having failed to quell the mob with his edict, Nero had summoned more Praetorians from their garrison outside the city. As the ranks of grim-faced soldiers converged with swords drawn, many in the crowd panicked and fled at once. Others pulled back reluctantly, throwing rocks as they withdrew. A few dared to stand up to the Praetorians, wielding their bludgeons and torches.

Titus looked for Kaeso, but he had disappeared in the surging crowd.

To reinforce the Praetorians, Nero also called up the vigiles, the troop of trained firefighters first organized by Augustus. The vigiles also acted as night watchmen and sometimes apprehended runaway slaves. They wore leather helmets instead of armor and carried firefighter’s pickaxes, not swords, but their discipline made them more than a match for the shopkeepers and laborers in the crowd.

A few heads were broken and some blood was spilled, but soon the mob dispersed. While the vigiles extinguished the abandoned torches scattered around the Forum, the Praetorians regrouped and headed for the house of Pedanius, where the slaves were being kept under guard.

Within the hour, the slaves were driven to the place of execution outside the city, with Praetorians lining the entire route to forestall any interference. Normally the crucifixions would have been a public event—the larger the crowd, the better, for the purpose of moral instruction—but once the slaves were outside the walls, the Praetorians closed the Appian Gate and diverted all traffic from the Appian Way.

The crucifixions were carried out with no spectators. The work went on through the day and into the night.

The next morning, with Praetorians still patrolling the area, the Appian
Gate and the Appian Way were reopened for traffic. For travelers arriving from the south, their first view of the city’s outskirts was the grisly display of Roman justice that lined the road. From within the city a steady stream of citizens came to witness the fate of the four hundred slaves of Pedanius. Some gawked, speechless. Some muttered angry words. Some wept.

The crucified bodies remained on display for many days. Most of the senators found time to go and take a look at their handiwork, including Gaius Cassius Longinus, who cursed the failing eyesight that prevented him from beholding the full splendor of Roman justice.

Titus Pinarius did not go to see the crucifixions. He tried to forget everything that had happened that terrible day in the Senate House.

Before dawn on a warm morning in the month of the Divine Julius, in his house on the Aventine Hill, Titus Pinarius awoke with the smell of smoke in his nostrils.

“Hilarion!” he called.

Chrysanthe stirred beside him. “What’s happening?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, my dear. Go back to sleep.”

Young Hilarion appeared at the door. The former doorkeeper had become one of Titus’s favorite slaves; that was why Titus called for Hilarion by name, rather than simply clapping his hands to summon whichever slave was nearest.

Over the last three years or so—since the Pedanius affair—Titus had made a point of actually looking at his slaves, learning to tell them apart, paying attention to their idiosyncrasies, and even learning all their names. Every slave owner in Roma had taken a closer look at his human possessions in the aftermath of Pedanius’s murder, and Titus had made a conscious decision to treat his slaves with more care. He told himself this was not a sign that he was growing soft with age (he was only forty-six, after all); he was simply being prudent. Did not a well-treated horse or dog return the investment of its master’s kindness with better and longer service? Why should it not be so with the people one owned?

Among his slaves, Titus had taken special notice of Hilarion. The
young man was not only presentable, being easy to look at and always well groomed, but was quick-witted and uncannily deft at anticipating his master’s needs. Titus had taken to calling on Hilarion for almost everything, and so, waking with the smell of smoke in his nostrils, it was Hilarion’s name that sprang to his lips.

“Yes, Master?” Hilarion spoke softly, in deference to his dozing mistress.

“Do you smell it, too?” Titus whispered

“Yes, Master. Smoke. It’s not coming from inside the house. I woke some of the other slaves and we checked everywhere. It’s not from close-by, either. I sent two of the messenger boys to circle the neighborhood, and they saw no signs of fire.”

“That’s a relief. Good for you, Hilarion. That was very responsible of you.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Still, there’s definitely smoke in the air. I think the smell is getting stronger.”

“I think you’re right, Master.”

“Did you go on the roof?”

“Not yet, Master.” Hilarion averted his eyes. The young man seemed to have a fear of heights. Ah well, no slave was perfect.

“Bring the ladder to the garden.” Titus rose from his bed, groaning as he stretched his limbs. “I shall climb up myself.”

Chrysanthe, keeping her eyes shut, murmured, “Make one of the slave boys do it.”

“I think not, my dear. If there’s something to be seen, I want to see it with my own eyes. But I’m sure I’ll see nothing. Go back to sleep.”

The climb up the ladder, even by the dim light of dawn, did not frighten Titus, but the possibility of slipping on a loose or broken tile did. He trod very cautiously across the roof, feeling the dry wind on his face. The wind came from the east and carried the smell of smoke. The sunlight just breaking over the distant hills to the east illuminated a small cloud of smoke that appeared to be rising from the far end of the Circus Maximus, down in the valley between the Palatine and the Aventine. As the cloud rose, it was tattered and dispersed by the wind, but lower down it was dense and black, and within it Titus fancied he could see the glow of flames and bits of whirling cinder.

What was burning? There was a shopping arcade at that end of the circus, with a large fabric storehouse Chrysanthe sometimes visited. Burning wool and linen would account for such a dense volume of smoke rising from such a small area. Ascertaining the source of the flames reassured him. The fire was a long way off, and undoubtedly the vigiles were already moving to contain it.

What wisdom and foresight the Divine Augustus had displayed when he established the vigiles! Before that, there had been only privately operated fire brigades in the city, composed of slaves hired out by their masters to fight fires. That system had never worked very well; the slaves had little incentive to risk their lives, and not everyone could afford to pay the exorbitant fees demanded by the brigade owners. Augustus levied a tax on the sale of slaves to establish the state-run vigiles, put military men in charge of their training, and induced slaves to take on the hazardous duty by offering them freedom and citizenship after a six-year term of service.

Climbing carefully down from the roof, Titus decided to get on with his day. He would send some slaves to keep watch on the fire, but unless there was some unexpected development, he would simply try to ignore the acrid smell. He would have a quick bite to eat, then bathe at his local establishment—but no, those baths were located not far from the source of the flames, so perhaps that was not a good idea. He would hire a sedan and go to the Baths of Agrippa instead; out on the Field of Mars the air would almost certainly be clearer. Titus had a number of letters to dictate to business associates in Alexandria, and that was best done after a relaxing soak in the hot plunge. There were also arrangements to be made for young Lucius’s upcoming toga day. How was it possible that his son was almost seventeen?

But even at the Baths of Agrippa the smell of smoke was strong, and everyone was talking about the fire. Titus, who had seen the source, overheard so many obviously false rumors that he dismissed them all. But on his way home, he saw that the fire was now producing a great deal of smoke. The black cloud filled a quarter of the sky.

Hilarion greeted him with alarming news. Far from being contained, the fire had spread to the Circus Maximus, engulfing the entire eastern end. The flames had begun to work their way up the slope of the Palatine and were threatening the imperial residence.

Titus happened to know that Nero was away from Roma, down at his villa at Antium. At least the emperor was safe.

Titus found Chrysanthe in their bedroom. He was going to tell her to begin packing her more valuable jewelry, but she was already doing so. He ordered Hilarion to fetch a specially designed trunk from the storage room and bring it to the vestibule. Tending to the task himself, Titus began to take the wax masks of his ancestors from their niches, wrapping each one in linen and stacking them carefully in the trunk.

Lucius appeared. “Can I help, father?”

“Of course, son,” said Titus, glad to see the boy take an interest in his ancestors. Lucius took the mask of his namesake in his hands. Looking from the mask of his father to the face of his son, Titus smiled to see how closely Lucius resembled his grandfather.

“Are we leaving the house, father?”

“I don’t think it will come to that. Still, it never hurts to be prepared.” Titus meant what he said. He was not seriously worried, at least not yet, but already in the back of his mind he was calculating the time it would take to reach their country house on the far side of the Tiber. It was usually only half a day’s journey, but the roads might be crowded with others fleeing the city.

“There, that’s the last of the ancestors, carefully packed away,” he said. “Now I think I shall go and take a look at the fire myself.”

“May I go with you, father?” said Lucius.

Titus hesitated. His impulse was to say no, but Lucius was nearly a man, after all. In some families, he would already have received his manly toga. Titus could hardly order him to stay at home with his mother.

“Of course, son. You’ll come with me, and together we will see what there is to see.”

Taking only a pair of bodyguards with them, father and son set out. Smoke was thick in the air, stinging their eyes and making Titus cough. The streets were full of people. Some seemed to be going about their normal business, conversing and even laughing as if nothing untoward was taking place. Many more were heading away from the fire, toward the Tiber, looking anxious. Common people pushed carts piled high with their meager possessions. Groaning under the weight, slaves carried litters and sedans normally used for passengers but instead loaded with trunks and
precious objects. One of the most bizarre sights was a gilded litter carried by an elegantly outfitted troupe of Nubian slaves, in which the passenger was a bronze statue of Aphrodite reclining. Young Lucius laughed aloud at the strangeness of it.

People were on their knees, praying before the Ara Maxima. A huge throng had gathered in front of the Temple of Fortune, where harried-looking priests were trying to calm the wailing women on the temple steps.

Titus and Lucius passed a cart loaded with scores of round leather boxes. No doubt the capsae contained the prized scrolls of some devoted bibliophile. Titus had not even thought of what would become of his small library in a fire. Did he own enough capsae to stuff them all into, if he needed to carry them to safety? Some of his books were quite old and valuable, like the history of Livius that had been a gift from Claudius to Titus’s father.

The entrances to the Circus Maximus were open, so they went inside and ascended the steps to the highest tier of seats in the curve at the far western end. A number of others had done the same thing. It was as if they were spectators at a play staged by Vulcan himself. The far end of the circus was a bowl of flame that reached as far as the spine down the middle of the track. To their left, much of the slope of the Palatine above the circus was aflame, including a small part of the imperial complex. The fire had also engulfed the farthest slope of the Aventine. With a gasp, Titus realized that his local baths, the place he had considered visiting that morning, must be completely lost to the fire. He thought of the little man who always greeted him at the entrance and the Egyptian slave boy who performed massage and flirted so outrageously with the customers. Had they been trapped by the fire? What if Titus had gone there earlier this morning? Would he still be alive?