Enemy of Rome (29 page)

‘True.’ She heard a smile in the other man’s voice as if he needed to show evidence he took no offence at the mild rebuke. ‘But the current occupant sits on an Emperor’s throne and wears an Emperor’s purple. He also has substantial forces in the field, forces which currently outnumber those of your brother, we are told, by two to one …’

Sabinus laughed, but the laugh had a forced quality. Domitia imagined him wearing the terribly sincere but patently dishonest mask he donned whenever he was trying to convince someone that lie was truth. ‘When the armies of Syria and Africa take the field …’

‘But prefect,’ the other man said reasonably, ‘those armies are still six hundred miles beyond the borders of Italia. Our understanding is that Marcus Antonius Primus is determined to bring the enemy to battle the instant he is in a position to do so. Why, the battle might already have been fought … and won, of course.’

‘Vespasian would never have countenanced it.’ Sabinus sounded horrified. ‘He advised caution. A consolidation of Primus’s position until Mucianus could bring the Syrian legions forward …’

‘Perhaps if your brother were with his army?’ the other man suggested.

‘He has made his position clear.’ To Domitia’s ears Sabinus sounded overly defensive. ‘The legions hailed him Emperor. It is for the legions to make him Emperor. Until the Senate and people of Rome proclaim him so he cannot move from his position in Judaea. The beginning of his stewardship must not be associated with bloodshed. That is why Primus must wait for Mucianus and his legions. When they combine they will form a force so great that the enemy must bow to the inevitable and surrender.’

‘A commendable strategy,’ the other man’s voice held little conviction, ‘but one which depends on many assumptions. Let us understand each other, Sabinus. I can persuade the Senate to declare for Vespasian, but only when his armies are at the very gates of Rome and we can see his banners on the Via Flaminia. Even that is dependent on your assurance that the urban cohorts will arm to protect the Senate. Perhaps the tide does not favour Vitellius, but he can be eloquent and persuasive. Look at the speech he made condemning that fraud Caecina. He still has the support of the mob, and the mob will not take kindly to our opposition to an Emperor who, after all, has been declared so by the Senate and
people
of Rome. We must consider our own safety. What is the point of acting too quickly if it invites Vitellius to help himself to our heads?’

‘Perhaps I’d receive more spirited support from Trebellius Maximus,’ Sabinus said sulkily. ‘He too has asked for an appointment, you know.’

The man called Saturninus laughed. ‘Only because the Emperor despises him and he seeks a new sponsor. What kind of support would you get from a man who was thrown out of his province by his own troops? I know Trebellius of old, Sabinus. He will tell you he can supply the support of five hundred senators and you can divide that figure by ten, yes, and ten again, and only then will you have the truth of it. Come, let us not part in bad odour. We need do nothing for the moment, and you may be correct in your assertion that Vitellius’s time is coming to an end. Certainly, the current events in Germania do not favour him.’

‘What have you heard?’

‘Civilis and his barbarian allies run riot from one end of the Rhenus to the other while the legions of Rome stagger around like headless chickens. Vetera gone, the entire Rhenus fleet lost, Moguntiacum, Novaesium and Colonia besieged, our troops demoralized and old Flaccus dithering as usual …’

The voices faded as the two men moved away from the window and Domitia allowed herself to breathe for the first time in minutes. Her hands trembled and she had to clasp them together to still the shaking. She had been listening to treason.

She walked towards her quarters with her head spinning, her own perilous situation within reach of Domitianus’s clutching fingers driven from her mind. What did it mean, and what should she do about it? The first was the easier question to answer. Sabinus was planning to take Rome and hand it to Vespasian when circumstances were favourable. He had the support, at least in principle – though it seemed hardly enthusiastic – of certain powerful members of the Senate. Saturninus. She remembered the name, though she couldn’t place it for now. But when would circumstances be favourable? She was her father’s daughter, and she couldn’t help but take an unwomanly interest in military matters. She knew the Emperor still commanded the support of at least ten legions. If, as she’d just heard, the Flavians were only capable of fielding five, the matter should be beyond doubt. Of course, that might change when Mucianus – she remembered the name with distaste from her time in Syria – arrived with his legions. Still, Saturninus had been quite insistent that he would not act until Vespasian’s army was at the gates. But what did it mean for her? Titus Flavius Vespasian had been her father’s friend and had supported her after he’d been murdered. He’d helped her return to Rome and had a hand in arranging a respectable if unappealing marriage. She enjoyed Sabinus’s protection, for what it was worth. As a man, she owed Aulus Vitellius nothing, but Domitia Longina Corbulo was blessed with a very old-fashioned notion of loyalty, and Aulus Vitellius was her Emperor. She remembered her father’s words.
A Corbulo does not have the luxury of choice, only duty
. But what was her duty? Her head dropped and she blinked away a tear.

‘You seem perplexed, lady.’

Domitia felt her heart stutter. How long had he been watching? She turned, willing her face to smile. Whatever happened she must not alienate Domitianus further; the future of Rome might depend on it. ‘I was thinking of my father,’ she said truthfully. ‘I miss him very much.’

‘Your father, not your husband?’ Domitianus’s laugh and his thoughtless, uncaring appropriation of a sensitive subject for his own ends irritated her almost beyond control. She clenched her teeth and somehow maintained her composure. ‘My husband sends word that he is well and thanks your uncle for my safekeeping,’ she replied.

‘What kind of husband would go off to his province and leave a wife such as you unprotected in the first place?’ Domitianus demanded. He stood closer than was necessary, as always; so close the pockmarks in his sallow skin were clearly visible. She forced herself not to step away from the piercing, overbright eyes. A head taller than Domitia, with a thin, elongated neck, Titus Flavius Vespasian’s younger son was a man who considered low cunning a more admirable trait than honesty. ‘
I
would never abandon a wife such as you.’

Domitia turned, elegant as a dancer, and slipped away. He followed as she walked towards the viewpoint that looked out towards the Domus Aurea, the great golden palace built by Nero and now inhabited by the Emperor Vitellius. ‘Your uncle has had visitors.’

Domitianus frowned at the change of subject. ‘My uncle has many visitors.’ He sounded bored and she felt a surge of relief. His words suggested her fears that he’d seen her listening below the window were unfounded.

‘This one looked very distinguished.’

‘Oh, Volusius Saturninus.’ His lips twisted in a sneer that was mirrored by his tone. ‘A pompous old fart from the Senate. He came to consult my uncle about some land dispute.’

Of course, now she remembered. Quintus Volusius Saturninus served as consul in Nero’s time and still had great influence. Deep in thought, she would have missed his next words but for the almost comic intensity of the passion that accompanied them.

‘You dismiss me because you think I am young and of little consequence.’ He shook his head. ‘You are wrong. When my father is Emperor I will have power and wealth, and some day I may follow him. Divorce your husband and you will never regret it.’

So it had come to this? She almost laughed aloud at his arrogance. Emperor? This unformed puppy? Did he think her a fool? If Vespasian’s forces triumphed, Titus would be his father’s heir and Domitianus would be what he’d always been: a nobody clinging to the skirts of power. Yet the suggestion had been made. She must not simply dismiss it, because that risked becoming his enemy. She could not afford that now.

‘I am not blind, Domitianus. I know you are attracted to me.’ She said the words, though they almost choked her. ‘I will think on it, but I must have time.’ She nodded and turned away, so he didn’t see the look of disgust on her face.

If only Valerius was here to guide her.

They were passing the city’s bath house when Valerius heard a high-pitched scream of the utmost terror. He searched the area to look for the source, but Serpentius urged him to continue. ‘Haven’t we done enough?’ the Spaniard demanded.

‘Where did it come from?’

‘Over there.’ Serpentius pointed to a burning building on the corner of a street of
insulae
apartments. ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ he insisted.

But Valerius was already racing towards the smoke and flames vomiting from the lower windows. At street level the building was occupied by small shops, the frontage covered by a wooden awning to shelter their displays. The awning stretched the entire breadth of the arcade and by the time they reached it the structure was well alight.

‘I told you, there’s nothing we can do,’ the Spaniard repeated. ‘We should—’

A second shriek split the air, this time the unmistakable cry of a terrified child.

‘
Merda
,’ Serpentius cursed.

Valerius paused when he felt the blast of heat from the blazing awning. At first glance it looked impossible to get into the building. Flames ate at the wooden posts supporting the roof of the structure. But when he studied it more closely he saw that the door and the stairway beyond were still relatively clear. ‘We can do it,’ he insisted. ‘It will hold long for enough for us to reach whoever’s inside.’

Serpentius studied the burning awning doubtfully. ‘You don’t know what it’s like in there. If that comes down we’ll be trapped with our arses on a roasting plate.’

‘Then let’s get it done before it does.’ Crouching low, Valerius made a dash for the doorway. With a muttered curse, Serpentius followed him.

As they sprinted upwards through the darkened stairwell a stumpy figure walked warily across the street towards the burning building. Gaius Brocchus had had a good day. He’d survived the assault on Cremona, made more than a few Vitellians pay, and found a goldsmith who had helpfully guided him to the location of his buried stock, thanks to the incentive of a
gladius
point in his rectum. He carried the most portable slice of the proceeds in the bag across his shoulder, but there was more, much more. He’d come back for the rest in a couple of hours, when it was dark. Brocchus had seen Valerius in the alleyway by pure chance, but the encounter had been enough to make him follow the two men. Gaius Valerius Verrens had insulted him in front of his men and undermined his authority. As far as Brocchus was concerned his new legate was nothing but trouble and not really a proper legate at all. He studied the doorway where they’d disappeared, the smoke now billowing from the second-storey windows and flames licking at the shutters. But it was the awning he found of greatest interest. With a grin he put his boot to the support nearest the doorway, so that it shuddered and sparks fell from above. Once. Twice. With the third kick the structure gave way, bringing the burning roof crashing down with it. Jumping away from the glowing cinders, Brocchus studied what he’d accomplished with satisfaction. Where the door had been was nothing but an inferno of flaming timbers.

Whoever was inside wasn’t coming back out again.

Valerius heard the crash below and a blast of heat surged up the narrow stairway of the apartment block.

‘
Merda!
’ Serpentius repeated, the
I told you so
left unsaid.

‘Keep going,’ the Roman shouted. ‘The scream came from one of the top rooms.’

‘That’s comforting,’ the Spaniard coughed. ‘We’ll be able to offer them the choice of being incinerated or trying to fly five floors without the benefit of wings.’

‘You’ll breathe less smoke if you keep your mouth shut,’ Valerius rapped.

On the first landing the maze of corridors and curtained doorways was already well alight, but the stairs were clear. Valerius launched himself at the next set, taking them three at a time to escape being scorched. A distinctive scent caught his attention and the stink of roasting flesh reminded him of the day poor Messor had burned to death nailed to the doorway of the Temple of Claudius. Already the heat seared his bare legs and he could feel it through the soles of his iron-shod sandals.

It was a similar story on the second landing and they continued upwards without pause. Halfway up the body of an old man lay face down on the stairs, the blood from his cut throat staining the worn concrete. They leapt past with barely a glance. Valerius noticed that although the lower floors of the
insula
had been brick built, up here it was different. The stair corridor was constructed of tinder-dry wood, added by a greedy landlord who’d somehow circumvented the fire regulations. When the flames reached this level the entire building would probably go up like a torch soaked in pitch. Up here there was no water supply, but a two-storey light well looked on to a small paved courtyard where the residents could safely cook food in shared ovens.

‘Is anybody there?’ Valerius shouted breathlessly.

‘What now?’ Serpentius demanded when there was no response from the curtained doorways surrounding the courtyard.

‘If you were trying to escape a fire and hiding from killers, where would
you
go?’

The Spaniard’s eyes immediately went to the top floor. They headed for the stairs, only to be halted by a crash that shook the whole building. A new cloud of sparks and smoke exploded from the lower stairwell. ‘There’s no going back whether we wanted to or not,’ Serpentius grunted. ‘I hope you’re working on a way to get us out of here.’

‘Just one last look,’ the Roman insisted.

This time they split up, making a cursory search of each apartment. Valerius was just about to give up when he heard what might have been a sob, instantly drowned out by another thunderous crash and a great flare of yellow that illuminated the sparsely furnished room.