Enemy of Rome

XLV

‘Mars’ arse,’ Serpentius cursed as he saw the extent of the inferno. ‘What the fuck are we going to do now?’

Valerius was already on the move, ignoring the groups of Flavian soldiers who ran aimlessly among the buildings like rats trapped in a maze. At the base of the temple steps he recognized Sabinus, looking old and bewildered at the centre of a group of officers urgently seeking instructions. But it was clear no instructions would save them now. Dozens of Praetorians were already swarming through the shattered gate and across the columns and statues that Sabinus had gambled would hold them. To the left of the temple fierce fighting had erupted amongst the minor shrines at the top of the Hundred Steps. Men lay dead or dying, the maimed crawling to find what shelter they could. One soldier sat on the temple steps sobbing uncontrollably beside the corpse of a friend. Despite the smoke and flames pouring from the temple roof, more and more of the terrified Flavian supporters were rushing to the building in search of an unlikely sanctuary.

Sabinus’s bodyguard must have been drawn in to the fight, because they were nowhere to be seen. Valerius saw his chance. ‘Stay here,’ he ordered Serpentius. He sheathed his sword and, taking advantage of the confusion, strode to where Sabinus was by now being confronted by a single brick-faced officer. Valerius brushed past the man and looked into the Prefect of Rome’s face. ‘You must surrender, sir,’ he pleaded. ‘There is no point in fighting on. Save what you can.’

‘Get out of my way, fool.’ A hand clamped on Valerius’s shoulder and hauled him back. ‘Cornelius Martialis does not surrender and neither does the Prefect of Rome. Your brother’s legions are coming,’ he hissed into the old man’s face. ‘Hold for a day and we will hand him Rome and reap the honours. There are only a few of these Praetorian bastards in the compound. We will hunt them down like rats. But … you … must … give … the … order.’

‘It’s finished,’ Valerius insisted. He heard the officer snarl and the man’s sword rose to chop him down. Even as Martialis struck, Valerius rammed the hidden dagger in his left hand up under the Flavian’s chin, through tongue and palate and into the brain. He wrenched the point free and Martialis swayed for a moment, croaking like a frog, before a fountain of blood spouted from his mouth and he collapsed to the ground.

Sabinus stared in mute horror at the dying man, but Valerius had no time for regret or indecision.

‘Sir, you must-’ Before he could complete his plea for surrender a terrified female scream froze the words in his mouth. He looked round and at the top of the temple steps the cloaked figure of Domitia Longina Corbulo was being dragged into the centremost of the three cellae — the inner sanctums dedicated to Juno, Jupiter and Minerva. The echo of her scream had barely died before he was on the move. Taking the steps three at a time he almost tripped as he leapt the body of the man who’d been weeping. When he reached the main platform he ran past the statue of the god dominating the pronaos only to find the copper-sheathed door slammed in his face.

Valerius stood in confusion for a moment, fighting for breath. His carelessness almost killed him. Something moved at the corner of his vision and he turned to find a black-clad Praetorian about to stick a pilum through him. ‘No.’ The cry was in vain until a sword flicked out from nowhere to knock the thrust aside and the spear point skidded off the metal door.

‘We’re with Aprilis and the second century First cohort.’ Serpentius stepped between Valerius and his attacker. ‘No point in killing your mates, is there, son?’ His voice was the soul of reason, but the sword point hovering an inch from the soldier’s breast told another story. The Praetorian’s glare faded to be replaced by a look of confusion.

A shower of sparks fell past and Valerius looked up at the burning roof and knew time was running out. ‘Get a dozen men and bring me one of the pillars from the enemy barricade.’ The soldier stepped back, ready to question a civilian’s authority, until he saw the certainty in Valerius’s eyes. As he ran off the screams of dying men rose in intensity as his comrades broke into the outer cellae where the Flavians hadn’t been quick enough to close the doors. Valerius tried to shut his ears to the sound, but the noise of men — and women — dying tore his heart. Roman killing Roman. Was there no end to the carnage he’d been trying to stop since Otho sent him north all those months ago?

Instinctively, he moved towards the doorway, but Serpentius put a hand on his arm. ‘There’s nothing you can do for these people, and you’ll only get yourself killed.’

A woman’s shriek scored the inside of his brain and he experienced a momentary thrill of fear before he realized it wasn’t Domitia. He tried to remember her as she was the night on the Egyptian beach, with the remains of the tent glowing in the darkness. For a moment his head whirled with the honey scent of hair like spun silk and lips soft and sweet as ripe peaches. Of course, the reality was different. For all her efforts her hair had been thick with salt, smelled of smoke and the sea, and the skin of her lips was chapped and cracked. It had not mattered. The only thing that mattered was a tidal wave of passion that brought a man and a woman together with a force beyond nature and beyond the knowledge of the gods. He’d fought that memory for three years, certain that she needed to be free of him even if it was not what she wanted. But he would fight it no more.

At last the Praetorian reappeared at the run with seven or eight men carrying a marble column a foot thick and the length of a chariot pole. Valerius stepped aside and they hammered the column’s head into the centre of the door with a weight and power that rattled the oak back and caused a massive dent in the polished metal. The sound of splintering wood accompanied a second crash. The next effort smashed the double doors back and the Praetorians dropped the ram and poured through, ignoring Valerius’s cries to hold back. Serpentius followed them, surging into the crowd and roaring for passage. Several dozen of Sabinus’s urban cohort had escaped into the temple and the attackers paused for a heartbeat before launching themselves at the trapped enemy in a desperate hand-to-hand battle. Praetorian swords flashed, point and edge seeking out the nearest flesh and turning the air red. In the enclosed space the leaden stink of blood and the acrid stench of fresh vomit caught the throat like a hangman’s noose, but it was quickly overwhelmed by a gust of smoke that filled the nostrils and lungs. Valerius looked up to where an ominous glow pierced the white cloud of smoke in the rafters.

‘Domitia!’ He roared out her name above the incessant clamour of iron on iron, demented shrieks and unheeded cries for mercy.

At the far end of the cella, Domitia crouched behind an altar with Domitianus’s hand clinging to her arm like a slave manacle. She heard the shout and half rose to reply, only for Vespasian’s son to shift his grip and clamp his hand over her mouth.

‘Stay quiet, bitch,’ he hissed. ‘Don’t you understand that I’m saving you?’ The glittering eyes searched the gloom, waiting for his moment. ‘Remember,’ he addressed the four bodyguards hiding with them, ‘when my father’s legions take the city you will receive riches beyond your dreams. All I ask is that you buy me a few moments before you follow.’

The fighting drew ever closer, the clash of swords so loud she thought her ears might bleed. ‘Domitia.’ She heard the cry repeated above the clamour of battle and the screams of the dying. A familiar shape in the smoke made her heart beat faster.

‘Now!’ At Domitianus’s order the guards hurled themselves over the altar and formed a protective line between the fighting and Vespasian’s son. Domitia felt herself dragged back and she struggled desperately to break free. Something clattered to the marble paving beside her and she cried out at the sight of one of the guards’ still helmeted head staring up at her with a look of surprise in the dying eyes.

‘Domitia.’ The shout was closer now and somehow it gave her new strength. She tore at her captor until Domitianus removed his hand from her mouth to deliver a slap, but before he could strike she sank her teeth into his arm and he recoiled with a cry of pain.

‘Die then, you fool.’ He threw her towards the fighting and disappeared abruptly into the gloom.

For a moment she was too shocked to think. Her head whirled and smoke choked her throat. ‘Valerius?’ She tried to shout his name, but it emerged as a croaking whisper.

A shadow appeared in front of her. Valerius? No, the blurred figure wore the uniform of the Praetorian Guard. She turned to run, but her scalp seemed to catch fire as a hand whipped out to grab her hair, dragging her head backwards to expose her throat. A sword blade swept round before her eyes, so close she could see the pitting in the iron and the tiny nicks in the edge. Her life could be measured in seconds before it was dragged backwards, sawing across her windpipe.

For a moment she believed she was halfway to the Otherworld. Was it a trick of the mind or had the blade dropped out of sight? The man gave a grunt of surprise that rose into a brief cry of agony. At the same time the grip on her hair loosened and the weighty presence behind her vanished with the crash of a body falling to the marble tiles. She closed her eyes, her whole body shaking like the last leaf in an autumn storm. For a moment, she didn’t dare turn, but a hand fell gently on her shoulder and guided her. She looked into his eyes and knew she was safe.

‘Valerius.’ The single word conveyed all the conflicting emotions that exploded in her brain. Relief and disbelief, joy and wonder — all that and love. Only love could make your heart thunder when men were bleeding their lives away within plain sight. Only love could make a stinking, smoke-filled charnel house feel like a wedding bower. Only love …

‘If we don’t get out of here we’re all going to end up like roast suckling pig.’ The harsh voice cut through her thoughts and banished all idea of love, and for the first time she noticed the whip-thin figure of Serpentius at Valerius’s shoulder.

‘Where is Domitianus?’ Valerius ignored the Spaniard as his eyes searched the area around the altar.

‘A door somewhere down there, I think.’ Domitia pointed into the gloom at the rear of the cella.

‘Good,’ the former gladiator spat. ‘Let him burn.’ He turned to head back towards the entrance, but Valerius and Domitia stayed where they were. Their eyes met and she read the question in them. It was the last thing she wanted to say, but it had to be said.

‘If he escapes he will never rest until he has hunted us down, Valerius.’

‘Keep her safe.’ It was more plea than order. Serpentius turned to protest, and Domitia stretched out a hand, but the Roman had already gone.

Reluctantly Domitia allowed herself to be led back to the doorway with Serpentius’s sword threatening anyone who attempted to get in the way. By now the fighting was almost over and the remaining Praetorians carried their wounded to safety or crouched to cut the throats of any Flavians who still breathed. Most of the statuary and any portable treasure had already been removed, but two Guards hacked at a golden statue of the god on a throne, only to give up in disgust when they discovered it was only ivory covered in gold leaf.

When they reached the doors Domitia gave a convulsive sob and would have run back inside, but the Spaniard was ready for her. ‘Don’t worry, lady.’ He carried her bodily down the temple steps. ‘Gaius Valerius Verrens is not so easy to kill.’

But even Serpentius had to revise his opinion as the minutes passed and the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus burned. A steady rain fell on the Capitoline, but it had no effect on the fire. By now the temple was a mass of flames, with thick red-shot smoke and sparks shooting hundreds of feet into the air. They watched the glowing doorway, praying every moment for the tall, one-handed figure to emerge, but eventually it became clear no one could live in that inferno. When the roof collapsed, sending an enormous bolt of fire into the afternoon sky, Domitia wept unashamedly and Serpentius was glad of the rain.

‘A concealed passage led to the warden’s quarters.’ They jumped at the familiar voice from behind. Domitia threw herself into Valerius’s arms, holding him as if she would never let him go. He lowered his head to kiss her hair, half smiling at the familiar memory the smoke scent brought back. ‘Of course there would be a warden responsible for the upkeep of the place,’ he continued, his voice almost dreamy with exhaustion. ‘And he couldn’t be seen walking in and out of the god’s house with a bucket and cloths. It must have been the vault where they kept the Sibylline books. He’d made it comfortable enough.’ He shrugged. ‘Domitianus had cut his throat. The other entrance was by a stairway up through the rock from the Campus Martius side. I’m sorry,’ he said to Domitia. ‘We’ll never find him now.’