Empire r-2, page 22
part #2 of Rome Series
“Why was I not awakened sooner?” he shouted. “I told Hilarion to wake me at once if the fire grew worse.”
“They say it happened very quickly, father. The fire seemed to spread everywhere all at once-”
“We must leave immediately, and pray we’re not too late!”
The trunk with the wax effigies and other essential valuables, packed and loaded onto carts earlier in the day, were wheeled into the street by his strongest slaves. His three young daughters were roused by their mother. By the time they were all ready to leave, everyone was in a near panic.
Titus summoned the slaves and gave them instructions. They were all to come with the family, each carrying something of value, except for two of the youngest and strongest bodyguards. “You two will stay here as long as possible. If the flames fail to reach this street, it will be your job to protect the house against looters. If the flames do come, and if vigiles are here to fight it, you will help them save this house.”
“But, Master,” said one of the slaves, “what if the house catches fire, and there’s no one to help, and we have no choice but to flee?”
Titus realized that both slaves were hardly more than overgrown boys, ill-equipped to make such a decision. “Hilarion will stay with you. He’ll decide if you’re to leave or stay. Do you understand? Hilarion has authority to give you orders while I’m gone.”
Titus looked at Hilarion and felt an unaccustomed twinge of some unpleasant emotion. Was it guilt? Before he could think about it, Hilarion stepped forward and took his master’s hand.
“Thank you, Master. You honour me with your trust.”
Titus nodded but found it difficult to look the slave in the eye. He gathered the household and set out.
The route Titus intended to take was blocked, and they were forced to double back and seek another. The dark streets, filled with terrified people, were lit only by a dull vermilion glow from the sky. Amid the chaotic crush of bodies, Titus overheard an outrageous statement. A man nearby said, “It was set by the emperor, you know! It was Nero’s own agents who started the fire, and then kept starting more fires, all over the city!”
Titus grabbed the man by the arm. “That’s a filthy lie!”
“It’s the truth,” said the man. “I saw it happen with my own eyes. Uniformed men in leather caps demolished the wall of a granary, using some sort of battering ram – a good stone wall that would never have caught fire – and then they deliberately set fire to the contents. I know arson when I see it!”
“What you saw were the vigiles, you fool, setting fire to a warehouse full of highly flammable grain before the greater fire could reach it and cause the grain dust to explode. Tearing down walls and setting small fires is a part of the vigiles’ work-”
“Setting fires to stop a fire? How stupid do you think I am?” shouted the man. “This fire was set by Nero’s men. I’ve seen the evidence, and so have plenty of others. As for the vigiles you talk about, they’re doing nothing to stop the fire. They’ve joined in the looting.”
There was no time to argue. Titus roughly shoved the man aside and pressed on.
The streets were like something from a nightmare, littered with rubble and overturned carts. Abandoned children huddled in corners and wept.
Confused elders wandered aimlessly, looking lost. There were also a great many dead bodies blocking the way. Some had died from inhaling smoke, perhaps, for their bodies were unmarked. Others had died from burns, and others appeared to have been trampled by the crowd.
Finally, Titus and his household reached the nearest bridge across the Tiber. The area in front of the bridge that funnelled into the narrow roadway was jammed with people, animals, and carts. It would take a long time to cross. Some people, in desperation, were swimming across the river instead. At last Titus and his household set foot on the bridge, with the crowd pushing them forward. He counted heads. By some miracle, they had all managed to stay in a group, even the oldest and weakest of the slaves.
But not everyone in his family was accounted for.
He called to his son, “Lucius, you know the way to the villa. You can lead the others there, can’t you?”
“Of course I know the way, father. But what are you talking about? You’ll lead us there.”
Titus sighed. “No. I have to go back.”
Chrysanthe heard him and spun around. “Don’t be ridiculous, husband! What could you possibly have forgotten that’s worth going back for?”
“I’ll join you later tonight, or perhaps in the morning. Don’t worry about me. The gods will look after me.”
Titus stopped in his tracks. The crowd surged past him, carrying his household onto the bridge and quickly out of sight.
It was a struggle to move against the current. He was jostled and poked and cursed at, and several times he was almost knocked down. At last he cleared the thickest part of the crowd and was able to move more freely.
He made his way to the Forum. Here the flames were haphazard, with some buildings alight and others as yet unscathed. Had the holy hearthfire, which must never go out, been transferred to a sacred vessel by the Vestals and taken to safety, as in the days when the Gauls invaded the city? How strange, to worry about a fire going out in the middle of an inferno!
Above the Forum, the whole Palatine appeared to be aflame. The Auguratorium, the ancient Hut of Romulus, the temples, the houses of the rich, the imperial residence – was everything destroyed? The catastrophe was beyond comprehension.
He pressed on and reached the Subura. There were large areas here where the flames had not yet reached. What a conflagration that would make, if all these towering tenements, built so closely together, should catch fire! He tried to remember the streets that would take him to Kaeso’s latest residence, but found himself lost in the darkness and the unfamiliar maze of alleys. What a fool’s mission he had undertaken! What mad impulse had driven him back into the city to look for his brother? What were the chances he could possibly find Kaeso amid so much confusion?
Titus rounded a corner and came upon a large area where a tenement had recently been demolished. In the open space, a small group of people had gathered and were watching a burning building nearby. In the middle of the group were Kaeso and Artemisia, holding hands.
While all the other people around were in frantic motion, Kaeso and his friends stood perfectly still. With their faces turned towards the fire, they seemed to be in a kind of trance. Some stood in silence with linked hands. Others clapped or sang or shouted prayers to their god. Some seemed to be weeping with joy.
“The end has come! The end has finally come! Praise God!” cried one of the women, raising her hands.
“This is judgement day! Roma has been judged and found wanting!” cried a man in a tattered tunic with a long white beard. “Fools call on their false gods to save Roma, but I say God has cursed Roma! God has damned Roma! Praise God and all his works! And of all his works, this is the mightiest, to smite this wicked city and destroy it!”
Some passersby overheard the man’s ranting and were outraged. They shook their fists, shouted curses, and threw stones at the Christians, then hurried on.
Titus strode into the gathering. He walked up to Kaeso. His brother had a blissful expression, lit by the flames. He did not notice Titus at first. Finally he lowered his eyes and looked at his brother in surprise.
“Titus! Why are you here?” Kaeso looked perplexed, then smiled. “Have you come to join us at last?”
“I came to see that you were alright, Kaeso.”
Kaeso grinned and nodded. “Words can’t describe my joy!”
“At what? Seeing the city of our ancestors burned to the ground?”
“This is the end of the world, Titus. The day we’ve been waiting for, longing for.”
“Don’t be absurd! Come with me, before it’s too late.”
“‘Too late’? Those words have no meaning now. This is the end of all things, the end of time itself. Praise God!”
Suddenly the burning building collapsed. The Christians let out a collective sigh of ecstasy at the awesome sight, but as showers of cinders and bits of flaming debris swept towards them, they retreated in confusion. Even Kaeso gave a start and staggered back from the fiery blast. The golden amulet at his breast glittered bright red in the firelight, like a flaming cross.
Without thinking, Titus reached out, grabbed the fascinum, and gave it a hard yank. The twine necklace snapped. Titus turned and ran back the way he had come, clutching the talisman in his fist, desperate to return to the bridge and be reunited with his family.
Let Kaeso perish in the flames, if that was his desire. Titus would not allow the fascinum of his ancestors to be lost in the conflagration.
For days the fires continued to rage.
From his country estate on the far side of the Tiber, Titus could see the distant glow of the flames at night. During the day he could see great columns of smoke.
Eventually the glow grew dimmer and the smoke diminished. Had the fires been extinguished?
The news he received from neighbours and passersby was confusing and contradictory. The fires had been contained but continued to burn in isolated areas; the fires had spread all the way across the Field of Mars to the Tiber, consuming the whole city, so that nothing was left to burn; the fires had been put out several times, but someone kept setting more fires. It was impossible to know what to believe.
Was his house still standing? If the house was lost, Hilarion and the two slaves should have come to join him, but they had not. Was the house destroyed, then, and were all three slaves dead?
At last Titus decided to venture back to the city. Lucius wanted to come with him. Feeling anxious and uncertain about what he might find, Titus was glad to have his son for company. They took bodyguards with them. Who knew what degree of order prevailed in the city?
As they neared the Tiber, the smell of smoke grew stronger. That was not a good sign. But no vast clouds of smoke loomed over the city. There was very little traffic on the road, and they crossed the bridge with almost no other people in sight. It was as if Roma had been completely abandoned. But this was a temporary illusion. The fire had not reached the waterfront, leaving the wharves and warehouses intact, and here and there they saw sailors and dockworkers going about their business. Nor had the fire consumed the Capitoline Hill. Above them, the great temple precinct, including the most ancient and sacred Temple of Jupiter, appeared to be unscathed.
Titus had intended to head directly to the house, but Lucius suggested they scale the Capitoline first; from its summit they could see virtually the entire city and ascertain the state of things. Titus acquiesced, in part because he dreaded finding his house in ruins and was willing to postpone the discovery a little longer.
Long ago, when he first came to Roma, Titus had stood on the Capitoline and gazed out over the city, marveling at the view. Now he stood with his son in the same spot and was aghast at the extent of the damage. To be sure, while small fires still burned in a few scattered locations, in most places the flames had been extinguished. And the extent of the damage was not as great as he had feared. The worst of the devastation was on the Aventine and the Palatine and in the low area between the Palatine and the Esquiline. Much of the Forum was undamaged, the Field of Mars had largely escaped the ravages of the fire, and only a few areas of the Subura had been destroyed. Looking towards the Aventine, he could not tell whether his house still stood or not. Some parts of the neighbourhood looked blackened and charred but others appeared unscathed.
When Titus had first stood on this spot to take in the view, Kaeso had been beside him. Where was his brother now? Titus touched the fascinum at his breast and whispered a prayer to Jupiter, greatest and most powerful of gods, that his brother was still alive, and – since the world had not ended, as Kaeso had so joyfully predicted – that he had seen the foolishness of his beliefs and was ready to repent of his atheism and return to the worship of the gods.
They descended from the Capitoline and headed to the house. As they drew nearer, they saw that some houses had been burned and others had not; the caprice of the fire followed no discernible pattern. They rounded a corner, and Titus saw the house of his nearest neighbour. The place was a pile of smouldering rubble. His heart leaped to his throat. He could hardly breathe. He took a few more steps, and his own home came into view.
The house still stood. The wall adjacent to his neighbour had been scorched and blackened, but there was no other sign of damage.
Lucius cried out with joy and ran ahead. He reached the entrance, hesitated for a moment, then disappeared. Were the doors standing open? Surely Hilarion had the sense to keep them shut and bolted. Titus quickened his pace. Before he reached the house, Lucius reappeared. The boy looked stunned.
Titus reached the entrance and saw the cause of his son’s distress. The doors had been smashed and ripped from their hinges. In the vestibule lay two mangled bodies. By their tunics, Titus recognized the two young bodyguards he had left to protect the house.
He walked slowly through the house, from room to room, speechless.
His home had been ransacked. Every portable object of value left behind when the family had fled had been taken – vases, lamps, rugs, even some of the larger pieces of furniture. Gone was the antique chair in which Cato the Younger had once sat.
What the thieves could not take they had destroyed. The marble statue of Venus in his garden had been overturned and broken into pieces – an act of wanton desecration. Floor mosaics had been shattered, as if beaten with a hammer. Wall paintings had been smeared with excrement. In the room where Titus slept, the bed he shared with Chrysanthe had been destroyed, the wooden frame broken and the bedding ripped apart.
It was as if the rampant destructiveness of the fire had infected the looters with an insane desire to cause as much damage as possible. Or was this the envy of the poor for the rich, allowed by chaos to manifest itself unchecked? Titus was appalled at the hatefulness of those who had done such a thing to his home. He had never realized that he lived among such people. He thought of the angry mob that had gathered outside the Senate House when the fate of Pedanius’s slaves was decided. Were those the sort of people who had done this? Perhaps men like Gaius Cassius Longinus were right to be so suspicious and disdainful of the Roman rabble.
Titus entered the slave quarters. These small rooms, furnished with simple pallets for sleeping, were largely unmolested; there was little of value in them to be stolen or damaged. From the next room he heard a faint scuffling sound. It occurred to him that the thieves or some other vagrants might have taken refuge in this part of the house. He was about to call for the bodyguards to join him when a familiar face peered around the corner.
It was Hilarion.
The young slave looked at first fearful, then relieved, then ashamed. He ran to Titus and dropped to his knees.
“Forgive me, Master! The day after you left, men broke into the house. We had no way to stop them. There were too many. They killed the bodyguards. They would have killed me, too, if I hadn’t managed to hide myself. Please, Master, don’t punish me!”
“Hilarion! Of course I won’t punish you. But why didn’t you come to the country estate and bring me the news?”
“You told me to stay here, Master. And it was a good thing I did, because that night the neighbour’s house caught fire. I ran and found some vigiles, and they managed to stop the flames from spreading to this house. There was always the chance the fire might come back, so I couldn’t leave. Oh, Master, I’ve been so frightened here, all alone, especially at night. There’s been so much violence – people killed, boys and women raped, horrible crimes!”
Titus pulled the slave to his feet. “You did very well, Hilarion. Thank the gods you’re still alive!”
They managed to find a bit of food in the pantry. Titus sat with Lucius and Hilarion in the garden. The sight of the broken Venus made him lose his appetite.
Titus stood. “I’m going for a walk. Alone.”
“But, father, surely you should take one of the bodyguards with you,” said Lucius.
“No, they’ll stay here with you and Hilarion. I am a Roman senator, a patrician, and a blood relation of the Divine Augustus. I will not be so intimidated that I cannot take a walk around my city without armed men to protect me!” Titus strode to the vestibule and left the house.
He wandered through the city, awed by the scale of the destruction. In once-familiar areas he became hopelessly lost; streets had been filled with rubble and landmarks had vanished. On a slope of the Esquiline he came upon a troop of vigiles working to put out one of the remaining fires. The vigiles were covered with mud and soot and looked utterly exhausted, yet still they laboured. What a foul slander, that anyone should have accused such men of arson and looting!
As twilight began to fall, there was a terrible beauty in the way the blanket of clouds reflected the sombre glow of the still-smouldering city, as if the sky were a vast, mottled bruise above the wounded earth. Roma was like a beautiful woman who had been terribly scarred. She was still recognizable, however damaged, and still beloved. Titus would never abandon her.
Above him on the Esquiline a slender tower rose like a finger pointing to the sky. The tower was located in the Gardens of Maecenas, one of the imperial properties where Nero sometimes resided; the gardens appeared to have escaped the devastation. It was the hour of twilight, and all was still. From the tower, Titus heard the music of a lyre and a man singing. The voice was thin and reedy, but strangely poignant.
The song was about the burning of Troy – Troy, most glorious of the ancient cities, more beautiful than Memphis or Tyre, which the Greeks had conquered by deceit and burned to the ground; Troy, from which the warrior Aeneas had fled to Italy and founded the Roman race. Troy had burned; now Roma burned. The song seemed to come from a half-forgotten dream. The melody, slowly strummed upon the lyre, cast an eerie spell.
