False God of Rome

CHAPTER XX

‘I don’t understand why Flaccus ain’t doing a fucking thing about it,’ Magnus announced, looking with disgust at the bodies of two Jewish women who had evidently been savagely raped before having their throats slit. A dead infant had been placed under the head of one corpse in mocking imitation of a pillow.

‘Because at the moment the Greeks are doing his work for him by keeping the Jews confined to their quarter,’ Vespasian replied, studiously ignoring the bodies and giving Flavia, travelling in another chair next to him, a concerned look; she had gone very pale despite Ziri’s efforts with a large fan to keep her cool. She should not have too much trouble fainting in Alexander’s temple, he reflected with morbid irony, especially if they should come across more corpses on the way there.

News of Herod’s humiliation at the ceremony and his swift departure from Alexandria the previous day — forfeiting the other half of his grain — had spread through the city, and the Jews, taking this insult to be against everyone of their race, had rioted en masse and invaded the Greek Quarter. The Greeks had responded by driving their hated and outnumbered co-inhabitants back into their quarter and blockading it, thus confining the violence. They had, however, not been content with just bottling up the Jews and had pressed on into the quarter, pushing the Jews further and further back until almost their entire population was cramped into just a few streets along the coastal area to the east of the Royal Palace. And they were the lucky ones; those who had had the misfortune to be captured had been flayed, crucified and then burned alive on their crosses.

From the palace windows that morning, Vespasian had seen tens of thousands of women and children huddled on the beach, taking refuge, while their menfolk fought with whatever improvised weapons they had to hand to keep control of the areas that they still possessed; the rest of the quarter burned with such intensity that the fumes were strong even two miles away as he approached the Temple of Alexander. Although the violence was confined to the Jewish Quarter, Hortensius had requested, and been given, another sixteen men for his guard after Vespasian — having heard from Felix that the replica breastplate was ready — had disregarded all advice and insisted on venturing out on the pretext of showing Flavia Alexander’s body.

‘I still don’t understand it,’ Magnus said as a group of Greeks ran past them in the direction of the riot, yelling excitedly and taking a wide berth around Hortensius and his legionaries marching ahead of the chairs. ‘If the riot’s been confined, why allow the killing to go on?’

‘Because the worse it gets the more grateful the Jews will be to Flaccus when he eventually stops it and they’ll have to acquiesce to all his terms,’ Flavia said weakly.

‘Surely they’ll just be very pissed off that he didn’t act sooner?’

‘They may well be,’ Vespasian agreed, ‘but Flaccus will just tell them that next time he might not act at all so they should shut up, stop making demands, be thankful that most of them are still alive and go back to how things were before. It’s almost as if he engineered it.’

‘Oh, but he did, I’m sure of it,’ Flavia informed them.

‘You mean he didn’t prevent it rather than engineer it?’

‘No, he caused it, I’m certain.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

‘I saw who organised the charade in the arena and I recognised him from the riots in Cyrenaica, he’s a trouble-maker.’

‘Paulus? I know, but that doesn’t mean that Flaccus was using him; in fact, I had his word that he would try and arrest him.’

‘And you believed him?’

‘Why not? It was in return for some useful information about Herod and it was also in his interest to do so.’

‘Then ask yourself this: if he had meant to arrest Paulus, then why didn’t he do it yesterday in the Gymnasium? You saw him, I saw him, Flaccus saw him and yet he sent no one after him; Paulus didn’t even run away, he walked.’

The realisation hit Vespasian like a sling-shot: she was right. ‘Flaccus sat through Alexander’s speech with a smile on his face because he knew what was coming next; he’d set it up. He knew what the result would be: the Jews would be provoked into a full-scale riot. So he’s not going to stop the violence until the Jews almost beg him to, and then he can get them to agree to anything; just as he’d planned. And I gave him the means by telling him just how divisive Paulus was.’

Flavia raised her eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t blame yourself, my dear, Flaccus already knew. You see, that wasn’t the first time I’d seen Paulus in Alexandria. He was at the palace the evening I met you again; I saw him leave as I arrived.’

Recollecting that Flaccus had hurried off to a meeting after his first interview with him, Vespasian groaned. ‘He’s been using Paulus all along as another way to stir up discontent among the Jews; he never had any intention of arresting him. He’s managed to get himself everything he wanted: an official ceremony where the people of the province witness the Emperor’s emissary, Herod, hand over his mandate, at which he’s so completely humiliated that he leaves without his grain — which Flaccus will now, no doubt, claim as his own — and leaving the Jews so incensed by the insult that they riot, stupidly putting themselves in a position that only Flaccus can rescue them from on condition that they agree to his terms.’

‘He is a clever man,’ Magnus commented appreciatively as they arrived at the Soma, ‘but I reckon that you shouldn’t dwell on it, sir; let’s just do what we came here to do and get the fuck out of it and leave this shithole to rot.’

Vespasian sighed as Hortensius brought their bodyguard to a halt at the Soma’s gates, resigning himself to the fact that any attempt at redressing the humiliation that he felt at being so played by Flaccus would have to wait for another time, and besides, he had the consolation of taking Flavia from him. He took her hand to help her down from her chair. ‘Are you happy about the timing, my dear?’

‘Perfectly, Vespasian.’

‘Good. Hortensius, wait for us here, we won’t be long; the lady wishes to see the great Alexander.’

The sun had now almost reached the horizon and Alexander’s Temple was filled with a rich amber light giving it a feeling of restful peace, a far cry from the violence being meted out just a couple of miles away. Vespasian and Magnus watched from beneath the great equestrian statue as the priest led Flavia past the guard and down the steps to the burial chamber; Ziri waited close to its entrance as was expected of a slave attending his mistress. Vespasian had declined the priest’s offer of a second visit to the chamber on the plausible grounds that Augustus had only visited it once, but in reality because it was vital that Flavia should appear at the top of the steps alone for the few moments that it took the priest to complete his cleansing ritual.

As Flavia’s head disappeared below the floor level Vespasian turned to Magnus. ‘You go and stand directly opposite the top of the steps. When Flavia comes back up she’ll turn and walk towards me; as soon as you see the priest coming up, rub your nose and I’ll give her the signal to faint.’

‘Right you are, sir; let’s hope that Ziri doesn’t eat all the bread meant for the geese while he’s waiting down there,’ Magnus said with a wry smile and then walked around the temple to take up his position.

Vespasian glanced over at Ziri who nodded back and tapped the satchel slung over his shoulder. Satisfied that the little Marmarides was ready, Vespasian studied the full-bearded guard. He was dressed in the uniform of an argyraspides, the elite, veteran phalangites who had formed the backbone of Alexander’s infantry: a crested, bronze Thracian-style helmet, a brown, hardened-leather cuirass over a plain white chiton, bronze greaves and a small, round, silver-plated shield — from which the unit took its name — emblazoned with the sixteen-pointed star of Macedon inlaid in bronze. He was armed with a short stabbing sword slung on a baldric over his right shoulder to hang on his left and, held upright, the fearsome sixteen-foot pike that, wielded two-handed, had swept away all armies before it, until it had come up against the Roman pilum. He and his four colleagues, two guarding the temple door and two at the Soma gate, were the only soldiers still allowed by Rome to wear the uniform in deference to Alexander. Vespasian prayed to Mars Victorious that this ceremonial guard would not show the same rigid discipline that had enabled his forebears to conquer the largest Empire ever seen and would leave his post to help a stricken lady.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably in reality less than half the time that Vespasian had spent in the burial chamber a few days earlier, Flavia reappeared. As she reached the top of the steps she paused next to the guard, and swayed slightly on her feet; giving out a little moan as if overawed by what she had just seen, she put her hand on the guard’s heavily muscled forearm to steady herself. He looked down at her, concerned. Vespasian smiled inwardly: she knew how to handle men, the touch had created a small bond between them. She smiled apologetically at the guard, patted his arm, turned towards Vespasian and began to walk slowly and unsteadily towards him. Vespasian kept his eyes on Magnus. After Flavia had gone four paces Magnus’ hand came up to his nose. Vespasian looked at Flavia and nodded; with a weak cry she crumpled to the floor. The guard spun round and immediately dropped his pike with a clatter and leapt to aid the woman who had touched him so gently as the priest appeared at the top of the steps; he looked to see the cause of the commotion and hurried to help his erstwhile charge.

‘Flavia!’ Vespasian cried, running forward as the guard knelt down to lift her head from the cold marble floor.

‘What happened?’ the priest asked, looking anxiously over the guard’s shoulder.

‘I don’t know,’ Vespasian replied, concern written all over his face. He looked up to see Magnus approaching; Ziri had disappeared. ‘Magnus, send Ziri to get the chairs ready.’

‘He’s already gone, sir.’

‘Good, help me lift her.’

‘It’s all right,’ Flavia whispered, fluttering open her eyes, ‘I’ll be fine in a moment, I was just a bit overcome, that’s all.’ She eased herself up with the guard’s supportive arm around her shoulders.

‘I’ve seen this happen before,’ the priest said solemnly, ‘people get overawed just looking down through the tunnel at Alexander’s face.’

‘Being so close to him in the chamber was completely overwhelming, especially for a woman,’ Flavia said sweetly, ‘I would advise you not to let women down there into the presence of such a powerful man.’

The priest nodded sagely. ‘You might be right, lady; I shall form a committee of priests to review our policy on allowing women so close.’

‘You are most kind,’ Flavia said with sincerity, getting to her feet with the guard’s help. ‘I feel much better now; Alexander’s latent vigour has washed right through me. Vespasian, shall we go? I have an urgent need to feel a man’s arms around me.’

‘We shall, Flavia,’ Vespasian replied, hoping that would be the limit to her melodrama.

Flavia took his arm and looked at the guard with doe-eyes. ‘Thank you, my strong Guard of Alexander.’

The man’s mouth broke into a wide grin beneath his bush of a beard; Vespasian tugged Flavia forward with a fixed smile on his face. ‘Come, my dear.’

‘I shall pray to Alexander for your wellbeing,’ the priest called after them as they passed through the doors.

Felix was waiting for them at the bottom of the steps eyeing the small enclosure filled with geese next to the temple; he had an empty sack over his shoulder. ‘Is he in?’ he asked once they were out of earshot of the exterior guards.

‘Yes,’ Vespasian replied. ‘It was well done, if somewhat theatrical towards the end. We’ll see you later, Felix.’

‘Good. I’ll be in the boat below your terrace at the fifth hour of the night; the breastplate will be with me. I shall now procure the final two items that we need.’

‘That, my dear, was not theatre,’ Flavia informed him as Felix disappeared off into the fading light towards the geese enclosure. ‘That was done so that when those two men review the incident in their minds they will only see me. They won’t notice the fact that Ziri could never have been given orders by Magnus and then got out of the doors from where he was standing in the time between me fainting and Magnus saying that he’d gone, after you had so foolishly drawn attention to his absence.’

‘They would never notice that.’

‘They certainly won’t now, because I’ve made sure of it.’

Vespasian was not going to argue; she had shown spirit and they could not have achieved that part of the break-in without her. ‘And I’m sure that they will treasure the memory. Now, my dear, when we get back you should get your maids to finish packing and get them on board the ship as, with luck, we will be sailing at first light.’

‘I’ve already done that; I’m so excited about coming back to Rome with you.’

Vespasian looked at her and smiled. ‘I’m looking forward to it too, my dear.’

The night sky was aglow with flames as they approached the palace complex; the cries and screams of conflict could be heard rising from the Jewish Quarter beyond.

‘It seems to be getting worse,’ Hortensius called back as a gang of Greeks dragged a screaming Jew towards them. ‘I think that you should get out of the chairs and walk now, senator.’

‘Very well,’ Vespasian agreed, signalling his and Flavia’s bearers to stop.

‘Why must we walk?’ Flavia asked Magnus as he helped her down.

‘Because it will be easier to defend you if we’re attacked. We can’t have you getting hurt, can we?’ His estimation of her had greatly increased after her performance earlier that evening.

As they pressed on for the last few hundred paces to the palace, passing anarchic groups running to and from the fighting, Vespasian was unsurprised to see the streets bare of legionaries; Flaccus was evidently playing brinkmanship with the lives of the Jews and he was determined to win and bring them to heel.

Finally approaching the gates the street became quieter, the mob being wary of the heavy guard of legionaries in full battle order posted outside.

Hortensius saluted their centurion. ‘Optio Hortensius escorting Senator Titus Flavius Vespasianus.’

‘Ah, senator,’ the centurion said, ‘there’s a man here been waiting to see you this last half-hour, says his name is Nathanial — he swam along the coast from the Jewish Quarter.’ He pulled a bruised and bleeding man forward. ‘We didn’t believe that he knew you at first,’ he added by way of explanation for the man’s looks.

‘Senator, you must help,’ the man said, stepping forward into the torchlight.

Vespasian peered at him and recognised the man whose brother had been murdered on the Canopic Way a few days before. ‘What do you want, Nathanial?’

‘You said that you would bring my brother’s killers to justice because you owed a favour to the Alabarch. As you know, they were spared so you still need to repay that favour.’

‘What of it?’

‘The Alabarch and his sons are besieged in a temple not far from here; they have a few men with them but they can’t last much longer. That preacher has allied his followers with the Greeks. The Alabarch sent me here, just before the building was completely surrounded, to ask for your help; will you come?’

Magnus raised his eyebrows and looked at Vespasian. ‘Well?’

‘Well, I owe him and I’d hate the thought of Paulus making his sport with him and his sons; we’ll go. And besides, we may get the chance to finish off that odious little fanatic.’

‘If we’re going, you ain’t going like that; a toga never kept Caesar alive in Pompey’s Theatre.’

‘You’re right, we should get properly armed. Hortensius, wait here with this man and have your men sharpen their blades, we won’t be long.’

Hortensius snapped a salute.

‘You can’t take legionaries into the Jewish Quarter, senator,’ the centurion protested.

‘Why not?’

‘Because it would be going against orders; the prefect has forbidden it.’

‘I’m sure he has, but has he forbidden senators from going in?’

The centurion looked nonplussed.

‘I’m going, centurion, and if Hortensius and his men don’t come with me then he will be breaking the prefect’s direct order to him to accompany me everywhere I go in Alexandria.’

The sound of fighting grew nearer as Vespasian, now shielded and wearing his bronze cuirass, led Hortensius and his men at a quick jog through wafting smoke into the Jewish Quarter with Magnus and Nathanial at his side. Heat from the fires all around had already caused him to break out into a sweat and his scalp prickled beneath the felt liner under his plain legionary helmet. Marcus Antonius’ sword slapped against his right thigh and tension flooded through his body as he contemplated using it in anger for the first time in the city where it had taken the life of its first master.

The presence of a unit of armed legionaries probing into what had hitherto been an authority-free zone caused the groups of pillaging Greeks in their path to drop the larger items of their spoils, looted from houses before they were torched, and run for the safety of side alleys. The occasional rock hurled at the soldiers as they passed clattered harmlessly off their shields but told of hostile intent.

‘Two more blocks and then we turn left towards the sea,’ Nathanial informed Vespasian through gritted teeth as he struggled for breath in the fume-filled air. ‘The temple is at the end of that street.’

Mutilated corpses, body parts and debris were strewn around in an abundance that made the riot in Cyrene seem like a mere misunderstanding between neighbours: easily patched up and soon forgotten about.

‘I don’t know about you, sir, but I’m starting to think that just four contuburnia ain’t really enough to take on the entire Greek population,’ Magnus observed as another rock crashed into his shield. ‘I’d like to hear a lot more hobnailed boots tramping behind me.’

‘It’s pointless worrying about it because it’s all we have,’ Vespasian replied testily. ‘We just have to hope that Rome’s authority will prevail and we can order their release.’

Magnus scoffed but said nothing.

They quickly reached the end of the second block and turned left into a wide avenue; Vespasian faltered. The street was littered with corpses, some smouldering, illuminated by fires in the houses on either side; the smell of burned flesh hung heavy in the air, which was filled with rasping wails of agony emanating from within the mass of a huge mob fifty paces ahead. Beyond them Vespasian could see a Jewish temple being consumed by fire.

Nathanial groaned. ‘We’re too late, they’re flaying the prisoners alive.’

Vespasian brought his small unit to a halt. ‘Hortensius, have the men form a solid square, facing out on each side.’

‘We’re not going to charge into that lot, are we?’ Magnus asked disbelievingly, taking his place on Vespasian’s right shoulder as the legionaries quickly formed up.

‘Not if they know what’s good for them. Draw gladii; advance at the walk!’

With some men walking backwards and some sideways like crabs, the small square eased forward keeping shields tight together, the razor-sharp blades of their swords protruding between them flashing orange in the fire’s glow.

The screaming from within the mob kept up but gradually awareness of the Romans’ presence filtered through, and by the time the square was twenty paces from them hundreds of faces were turned their way.

‘Halt!’ Vespasian ordered.

The square stopped with a stamp of hobnails on stone.

The clamour of the mob died down, leaving only the anguished cries of the tormented men within it.

‘Who commands here?’ Vespasian shouted.

There was a brief pause before a group of four men pushed their way forward.

‘What do you want, Roman?’ their leader asked, a tall muscular man with short black hair and a full beard; he held a club with a long nail punched through its thick end.

‘I want to avoid having to kill any of you. What’s your name?’

‘Isodorus; but that is no secret, Flaccus already knows me.’

‘And Flaccus has given you permission to kill and burn as you please?’

Isodorus smiled coldly. ‘The prefect has made us no promises, but neither has he moved to stop us trying to rid this city of the canker within it that refuses to acknowledge great Caesar’s divinity and yet wants equal status with us, his law-abiding subjects.’

‘That is quite evident; but I am not Flaccus, nor am I under his authority. I was sent to this province by the Emperor and it’s to the Emperor that I will report when I return to Rome. So you have two choices, Isodorus: come and kill me and see how many of your people we cut down with our swords before you overcome us with your sticks and eating-knives, or hand over the prisoners that you took from that temple before we come and get them.’

‘You’d never make it.’

Vespasian hardened his eyes. ‘Try me, Isodorus; we’ll easily kill ten of your rabble for every legionary, that’s over three hundred and you’ll be the first.’ He looked around the crowd. ‘Which of you brave shopkeepers, tavern owners and thieves are willing to be one of the three hundred to die with Isodorus in order that you can keep your prisoners?’ He pointed his sword at a fat, balding man with blood on his hands and tunic. ‘You, perhaps?’ The man slunk back into the crowd. ‘What about you?’ he shouted, pointing to the fat man’s neighbour who also moved back. ‘It seems like you have a problem, Isodorus, your brave townsfolk are keener to live than they are to hang onto your prisoners so that you can rip the skin off their bodies. Your decision, Isodorus; now!’

The Greek looked around at his ragtag mob of poorly armed townsfolk and, realising that they would not have the stomach to face the well-drilled blades of the legionaries, stepped aside.

‘Very wise,’ Vespasian sneered. ‘Square! Forward at the walk.’

The legionaries moved on again at a slow deliberate pace so that those not walking forwards could keep formation, hunched behind their continuous wall of shields. The mob parted for them, pulling well back, out of reach of the blades bristling between every shield ready to kill or maim.

‘I don’t fancy our chances if they suddenly sprout a communal set of balls,’ Magnus muttered as they neared the middle of the mob.

The cries of anguish from the prisoners within had subsided and there was an unnatural quiet broken only by the steady steps of the soldiers.

Suddenly a scene of disgusting carnage appeared before them: hanging naked from a sturdy wooden frame, suspended by the wrists so that their toes just reached the ground, were three men and a woman. Their heads slumped onto their chests, which heaved with the effort of breathing and the pain of their hideous wounds. They were in various stages of being flayed. The man nearest seemed to be the luckiest; just one strip of skin, a hand’s breadth wide, had been stripped from his back to hang limply from his waist as if it were the end of a blood-soaked belt. The others had not been so fortunate; skin hung from their waists in abundance, flapping gently, like ghastly skirts, as their bodies writhed. In the middle of the frame staring with disbelieving eyes, first at the Romans and then back to the victims, was a group of male prisoners awaiting their turns under the knife; in their midst Vespasian saw Alexander squatting with his arm around his youngest son, Marcus.

‘Surround this area!’ Vespasian ordered.

The square dispersed as the legionaries formed a circle around the frame. The mob made no attempt to interfere and, in fact, shrank back from their erstwhile victims, looking on sullenly, as if the Romans’ arrival had broken the spell of their hatred and they now felt shame at their actions.

‘I did not think that Nathanial would get through,’ Alexander said, urgently pointing to the least hurt man. ‘Cut him down, quick.’

With one sweep of Vespasian’s blade the man’s bonds were cut and he slumped into Alexander’s arms. ‘Oh my son, my son,’ Alexander wept, ‘what have they done to you?’ He sank to his knees, taking the man’s head in his lap, and Vespasian saw that it was not a man but a youth: Tiberius, Alexander’s eldest son; he was moaning quietly.

‘He’ll be all right, sir,’ Magnus said, ‘I’ve seen this before in Germania when we rescued some mates from the locals. Them that has just a bit torn off them, like him, will live.’ He looked at the other two men and the woman, all mostly raw lumps of meat. ‘The others, though, not a hope; we should finish them now and then get the fuck out of here.’

‘Very well, but I will do it,’ Alexander said. ‘Marcus, help your brother.’ He eased Tiberius’ head into his brother’s lap and stood. ‘Give me your sword, Vespasian, my friend.’

‘You must be quick,’ Vespasian told him as he handed over the weapon.

Alexander nodded and approached the unconscious woman; the skin from her chest was missing and only one breast remained. He whispered into her unhearing ear before thrusting the blade through her yielding flesh up into her heart; a soft breath escaped her.

‘Philo,’ he said to an old grey-beard in his sixties, ‘you and I will carry her.’

‘We haven’t got time to take the bodies with us,’ Vespasian said.

Alexander glared at him. ‘She was my wife, I will not leave her here; my brother and I will bear her.’

The two men were despatched with similar swiftness and their bodies taken up by the remaining prisoners.

‘He was here, you know,’ Alexander said as he returned the sword, ‘it was him and his followers who urged the people into such cruelty.’

‘Paulus? I know. But why? He’s a Jew.’

‘Not any more, he’s not. He follows his own religion, remember, which hates us Jews.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He and his followers slipped away as you arrived.’

‘Animals they were,’ Philo spat, ‘they whipped us with lashes like common Egyptian peasants from the fields; they didn’t give us the dignity of the rod as befits our rank. The men wielding the lashes were the lowest class of Greek; it was a disgrace.’

Vespasian looked at him with a disbelieving frown and then turned to Hortensius. ‘Optio, form a hollow square, two deep, facing forward; we march out of here like Romans, not scuttle out like this murderous rabble.’

Within moments the legionaries had formed up with Alexander and his compatriots in the middle. Nathanial helped Marcus with his brother who had now regained sufficient consciousness to realise that he was in great pain.

Vespasian gave the order to advance and they moved forward with swords drawn at a quick march.

‘We’d better be getting a move on,’ Magnus said as they turned right out of the avenue, ‘Felix is going to be in position soon.’

‘He’ll have to wait,’ Vespasian replied, ‘I’ll not be seen running away from an area that is theoretically under Roman law.’

Magnus shrugged and glanced over his shoulder. ‘They don’t seem to be following us, I suppose they’ve gone to find some other poor bastards to undress.’

‘They may have, but some other bastard seems to have different ideas,’ Vespasian muttered as, in the flickering flame-light, four hundred paces ahead, scores of shadowy figures started to pour out of side streets and form a deep line blocking the road. Judging by the flashes of reflections from their midst they were armed with more than clubs and knives.

‘I’ll venture that you could put a name to that particular bastard,’ Magnus commented as he took in the threat.

Vespasian smiled grimly. ‘I think I can, the odious, bow-legged little cunt.’

Fifty paces away from the opposing force, Vespasian brought the legionaries to a halt. Leaving the safety of the square he walked forward. ‘In the name of the Emperor, let us through and none of you will be harmed,’ he shouted so that all could hear.

‘We acknowledge no one higher than God and his son our Lord Yeshua, our saviour, the Christus; in his name we demand that you hand over the leaders in this city of the race that put him to death,’ a recognisable voice shouted back; Paulus stepped forward through a whiff of smoke.

‘You are in no position to make demands, Paulus, get out of our way.’

The use of his name shocked the man and he peered forward.

‘I’ll remind you, Paulus: in Cyrene my knife should have slipped, it would have saved many lives.’

‘You! Well, that is convenient; I shall have the pleasure of personal revenge as well as doing the Lord’s work. Hand them over, Vespasian, or we’ll come and get them; we’ll surround your pitiful little band and tear you apart. Remember that this time you’re not dealing with timid shopkeepers; these men are all armed and prepared to die doing God’s work in the sure knowledge they will go straight to heaven because they have had their sins taken from them by Yeshua Christus.’

‘I have no idea what you’re ranting about, but if this heaven is a place where fanatics like you go then I want nothing to do with it.’ Vespasian spun on his heel and yelled, ‘Form a wedge!’

Vespasian took his place at the wedge’s tip with Magnus behind his right shoulder and Hortensius on his left. The legionaries fanned out behind with the rescued Jews in their midst.

‘He hasn’t got any more pleasant since we last saw him, has he?’ Magnus observed, testing his helmet strap. ‘It’ll be interesting to see if his men really will die for this god.’

‘I’ve a nasty feeling that they’ll all be vying to be the first,’ Vespasian replied. Anger burned within him at the thought that Paulus had gulled his followers into thinking that they could throw away their lives and expect some sort of reward. Alexander had been right: it was a very dangerous and unworldly religion. ‘Hortensius, are the men ready?’

‘Yes, senator.’

‘Advance!’

Vespasian led off the wedge at a jog heading directly for Paulus; he quickly retreated into the body of his followers, who shifted uneasily at the sight of a solid formation, now only twenty paces away, bearing down on them.

‘He doesn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry to get to his heaven,’ Magnus puffed.

Vespasian’s eyes narrowed behind his shield. He felt the perfect balance of the sword in his hand and desired one thing: to kill Paulus.

With ten paces to go Vespasian accelerated into a run; the legionaries behind him responded, keeping the formation solid. Paulus’ followers stood, but not firmly, wavering as the V-shaped mass of shields and blades crashed towards them. With a sudden shriek a young man leapt forward and grabbed the top rim of Vespasian’s shield with his left hand. Vespasian slammed the shield boss into his midriff and butted his helmet down onto the whitened knuckles, lacerating the skin and crunching the bones. A clinical jab from Hortensius sent the man down with a spurt of blood; but his example was enough and, as the wedge smashed into the faltering line, the sight of their comrade’s blood galvanised Paulus’ followers into reckless action. They hurled themselves with manic screeches and cries at the fast-moving wedge, cutting their swords haphazardly down onto shield rims and cracking their ribs on shield bosses punched towards them. The flanks of the line started to move round in an attempt to engulf the Romans.

Vespasian tore through the first and second ranks, holding his shield firm in front of him, the muscles in his left arm bulging with the effort. He worked his blade, as if it were an extension of his own arm, stabbing it forward into the soft belly of a middle-aged man, then, with a sharp twist, withdrawing it, bringing it back up in an arc of blood to parry, with a spray of sparks, a cut from his right while slamming his hobnails onto his victim’s kneecap, shattering the joint. Breathing heavily he kicked the screaming man aside, as Magnus severed the arm of the assailant to his right, and pressed on into the third rank; behind him the ever broadening wedge forced their opponents back in an increasingly tightening scrum. Swords flashed from between the shields into this press of unprotected human flesh on both sides of the formation, slitting open bellies with a welter of slimy, grey offal and the noisome stench of internal gases and waste.

As the rearmost legionaries hit the disordered and shaken line with a communal, grunting exhalation of breath, Vespasian forced his arms forward then out and exploded through the third rank; his shield boss slammed into the ribs of a man to his left and his sword pommel cracked into the mouth of the last man between him and the palace. The man’s front teeth splintered, his jaw dislocated and he crumpled back screaming, his face contorted with pain in the glow of a burning house; the back of his head struck the paved road and a violent shudder ran down through the length of his body; his cry ceased. With the mechanical reaction of years of drill a legionary forced his sword tip into the stricken man’s throat as he straddled him.

They were through.

Vespasian slowed his pace to allow the men behind him to keep in contact as the thickest end of the wedge punched and cut its way through the tangle of bodies, some dead, some alive, with a desperate urgency to avoid being taken in the rear by the two flanks now swirling in towards them. Their task became easier as screams of the maimed and the broken took the fight out of Paulus’ followers closest to the bloodshed and they began to back off, pushing into one another in their desire to keep their bodies whole. The line split and the wedge emerged intact, painted with blood. Vespasian carried on at a jog for another fifty paces before glancing over his shoulder. Seeing that they were not being followed, he brought them to a halt. The legionaries gasped for breath after the intense exertion in what had been less than a hundred or so heartbeats but had felt like ten times that amount.

‘Hortensius, have the men form a column,’ Vespasian ordered. He looked back to see a score or more of bodies littering the ground where the wedge had cut a swathe through the line; the cries of the wounded still rang out and the survivors stood looking forlornly at their stricken fellows. In among the carnage a diminutive bow-legged figure moved about, comforting the injured; he was completely unharmed.

Vespasian spat, then turned and ordered the column forward towards the palace complex just five hundred paces away.

At the gates to the Royal Harbour Vespasian halted the column and turned to Hortensius. ‘Optio, have two contuburnia escort these Jews to my ship in the harbour; they should be safe enough there until morning.’

Hortensius looked unsure. ‘But senator…’

‘Just do it! I’ll be responsible to the prefect.’

Hortensius ran back down the column.

A few moments later Alexander and his compatriots came past with their escort.

‘I owe you my life, Vespasian,’ the Alabarch said, ‘and those of my sons and brother; I will never forget that.’

‘I’m sorry that we came too late for your wife,’ Vespasian replied, looking at the bloody corpse draped between Alexander and Philo. ‘Go quickly now, these men will take you to my ship, I’ll meet you there in the morning.’

‘We need to bury our dead,’ Philo insisted.

‘No, you need to be safe and you need to get Tiberius’ wound seen to.’

‘But our law says-’

‘Come, brother, forget about your precious law,’ Alexander interrupted, ‘if we follow that now then we’ll have more bodies to bury. We’ll see you in the morning, Vespasian.’ He led the Jews off bearing their grisly burdens.

‘We’d better get a move on, sir,’ Magnus reminded Vespasian.

‘Yes, you’re right,’ Vespasian sighed, feeling immensely fatigued. He led the remainder of the column through the gates and into the Royal Harbour; its quays were empty except for the occasional scuttling rat in the torchlight.

They had almost reached the far end when the gates to the palace swung open and Flaccus appeared in full uniform surrounded by the legate and tribunes of the XXII Deiotariana.

‘Just what the fuck have you been up to, senator?’ he bellowed, his face almost purple with rage.

‘What you should have been doing yourself instead of conspiring with religious maniacs: saving the lives of decent people.’

‘And how many Roman lives did that cost?’

‘None; now get out of my way.’ He pushed past the prefect, almost throwing him off-balance.

‘You’re confined to your suite, senator, until I decide what to do about you,’ Flaccus shouted after him. ‘All the guards will have orders not to let you out.’

‘Shit!’ Magnus spat. ‘Where does that leave us trying to get to the ship in the morning?’

‘We’ll have to take our bags with us tonight and go straight from the mausoleum.’

‘What about Flavia?’

‘Flavia’s in for a shock.’