Sword of Rome

XVIII

Of all the glories of Rome, Valerius had long ago decided the Temple of Apollo was the most perfect. When Augustus dreamed of having a shrine on the Palatine to rival the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline he insisted on a construction on a similar scale. The result was a multi-columned masterpiece of creamy Etrurian marble flanked by an avenue of pillars and surrounded by a hundred statues depicting the fifty daughters of Danaus and their unfortunate husbands. In front of the temple stood an enormous statue of the god, the only one in Rome which rivalled the great colossus in Nero’s Golden House. On the roof a pair of gilded chariots of the sun were drawn by eight golden steeds. A magnificent arch, dedicated by the temple’s founder to his father, formed the gateway, and martial scenes carved from ivory and plated with precious metals decorated the double doors.

Through this gate Servius Galba Caesar Augustus made his way eighteen days before the kalends of Februarius to preside over the traditional sacrifice and hear the auguries for the coming year. He took his place at the top of the steps overlooking the altar, where he was welcomed by Umbricius Scaurus, the high priest and haruspex. On his right stood Piso, his recently appointed heir, who Valerius had discovered was a pleasant, if not particularly bright young man with little interest in life beyond increasing his fortune and restoring his family’s reputation. To the left Galba’s fellow consul, Titus Vinius, and Cornelius Laco, prefect of the Praetorian Guard, looked uncomfortable alongside the Emperor’s most devoted and loyal servant Marcus Salvius Otho. Valerius, by special invitation of the Emperor, was part of the entourage waiting among the columns for the sacrifice to begin. Otho had greeted him with a dry smile and now he chatted amiably with Laco, who patently struggled to match his pleasantries.

The blast of horns announced the arrival of the sacrifice, a fine white bull led into the shrine by the victimarius, a bare-chested young man who had probably brought up the animal from birth. This familiarity hopefully ensured the bull would stay calm throughout the ritual, for any sign of nervousness from man or beast would be taken by Umbricius as a poor omen. In honour of the day, the animal’s coat had been brushed to an ivory sheen, its horns gilded and its back draped with embroidered cloth of gold and scarlet. Galba’s eyes never left the bull. Valerius noticed that Otho’s gaze never left the Emperor. As it was coaxed towards the altar, the sacrifice let out an enormous sputtering fart that made Umbricius frown and the handler’s eyes widen. The young man recovered enough to speak quietly in the bull’s ear and by some hidden pressure on the neck persuaded it to kneel. Aided by the haruspex, Galba made his way down the steps to sprinkle the ritual dust on the animal’s head and back. As he completed his task a second muscular youth appeared, armed with a large axe which he swiftly brought down on the bull’s forehead. The blow landed with the sound of a thunder clap. For a heartbeat the animal appeared more surprised than stunned, then its eyes rolled back in its head and it collapsed on its side. Before it could recover a knife was drawn quickly across its throat. The Emperor stepped back, careful not to allow his toga to be stained as blood spurted from the pink-lipped wound to be collected in a bronze bowl by the victimarius. Then the sacrifice’s body was opened from breastbone to tail and Umbricius stooped low as the steaming entrails flooded out on to the tiles. He flicked at the yards of blue-veined intestine with the lituus, his curved wand of office, until he found the gall bladder and the heart. As the seconds passed, Valerius realized he was holding his breath. The priest began muttering to himself. Galba stepped closer to hear what Umbricius was saying, and the blood drained from his face.

‘The omens are bad.’ The high priest’s voice echoed round the temple precinct, drawing a shudder from all who heard him — all except one. ‘The gall bladder is black and the heart is swollen. The sacrifice is declared null.’ He drew breath and every man there expected him to order forward the next bull. Instead, his eyes fixed on Marcus Salvius Otho. ‘There is an enemy at the heart of the Empire.’ Galba flinched at the words and a murmur of disbelief punctuated by shouts of ‘No’ ran through the assembly, but the sardonic smile Otho had worn throughout the ceremony remained in place. ‘Foul plots pollute the very air that surrounds us.’

For a moment Valerius believed Galba would use the priest’s words as an excuse to have Otho arrested and dragged off to the carcer. Icelus and Laco had spent the last two days urging him to do just that. Now the gods had confirmed their suspicions. Someone — it must have been Icelus, because Laco had neither the energy nor the wit — had set this up. If ever there was a moment to act, it was now. But the aged Emperor just looked from Umbricius to the bloody mess at his feet and back again as if he wasn’t aware what was happening. Without the support of the governor of Lusitania he would never have had the nerve to make the great gamble that had brought him the Empire. Otho had been with him every step of the way and for all his faults he was a patrician of the noblest Roman stock. Galba trusted Vinius and Laco to do his bidding, but Otho’s backing had given him added legitimacy. He was so blinded by the need to be perceived as strong and just that it probably didn’t occur to him that Otho might believe he had been betrayed. All that mattered was that Servius Sulpicius Galba had done what was right. Eventually, he found his voice.

‘Continue with the sacrifice.’

A second bull was brought forward and the ceremony resumed. From his place by the pillars Valerius saw a small olive-skinned man approach Otho and recognized the patrician’s freedman, Onomastus. The former slave did most of the talking and Otho nodded gravely. When they’d finished their discussion Otho approached Laco in a way that was almost submissive, bowing to the Praetorian prefect and shaking hands before drifting to the side of the temple and making his way to the gate.

Valerius pushed his way towards Laco. ‘I see Marcus Salvius Otho has left. Is something troubling him?’

Laco glared at him. ‘If there was, I’m sure you would know better than I. Some foolishness about a new house and meeting the builders. A new slight to the Emperor that I will be sure to report. The man never did have any manners.’

Valerius thanked him equally tersely and considered what he’d been told. If Otho had bought a new house it was the first he’d heard of it, and given his precarious financial position it seemed an unlikely tale. On the other hand, it could be something perfectly innocent that Otho didn’t want to air in public. Yet every instinct told him something wasn’t right. Careful not to be noticed, he slipped away from the temple to the guardhouse at the top of the Clivus Palatinus where he had arranged to meet Serpentius. He found the Spaniard sitting in the shade of a cypress tree talking to Juva, the big Nubian from the naval militia. His quarry was about to be swallowed by the crowd on the Via Sacra; there was no time for pleasantries. ‘I want you to follow Otho. I need to know who he meets and where he goes.’

Serpentius was on his way before Valerius had finished speaking. Juva started after him, then called out as Valerius turned to go back up the hill. ‘There is something you should know. The militia has been summoned to the Praetorian barracks. Someone came this morning with an order releasing us from arrest.’

Juva disappeared after the Spaniard, leaving Valerius with another puzzle. Galba had rescinded his order to send the sailors and marines directly back to their base at Misenum and agreed to reconsider their case. But why would he order them to the Praetorian barracks, where a single word could reignite the violence of the Milvian Bridge? The only way he would find out was by asking Vinius or Laco, and that would have to wait until after the ceremony.

He started back towards the Temple of Jupiter with a growing feeling that his world was about to fall apart.