First Among Citizens
1558
AUC
Other than the vines neatly arranged on Latium’s
low hills, the ground was parched by the July sun. The traffic on the Appian
way was slowly getting heavier. Titus Laelius Rutilus was on horseback while
the dozen soldiers escorting him walked. The rest of the legion was back in
Egypt, in the hands of Rutilus’ second-in-command, Dentatus. It had taken them
two weeks to travel from Brundisium, and the soldiers’ packs were heavy – their
tiredness showed, and there was no point in ordering them to pick up their
speed. Rutilus had picked these men to escort him because they deserved to see
Italy again. Their century had been ambushed outside Memphis. Their friends had
been butchered before their eyes. Only these dozen escaped with their lives.
Towards the end of the afternoon, they passed the
Temple of Hercules, and the long line of tall, colourful tombs along the road
began. Several miles later, they finally saw the seven hills. There was a queue
to get through the Porta Appia, but Rutilus was if anything glad for the delay.
He knew he ought to be excited to see the eternal city again, but he was
apprehensive about making his case. It had to be carefully worded, something,
as a military man, he cannot easily do. It was going to be a big risk.
On the other side of the walls, he was bombarded
by the noise and smell of a million people. He dismissed his escort, and wished
them happy times with their families, before carrying on into the depths of the
city by himself. He passed by the Palatine hill, where Romulus and Remus had
been found by the wolf, and glimpsed the grandeur of the Forum from up the Via
Sacra. The roads were rivers of excrement, and the stench was quickly becoming
unbearable. Even his horse was becoming restless, and seemed scared by the
sheer number of people, all of them talking and shouting to one another – the
haggling merchants, the flashy whores, the pickpocketing children, the gambling
soldiers, the gossiping wives.
Eventually they left the busy thoroughfares and
climbed the Esquiline. Rutilus had a house on the slopes of the ancient hill.
It was small by aristocratic standards – Rutilus felt it would be a betrayal of
the Roman tradition of austerity to own a mansion given he was away from the
city most of the year – but it was much larger than your typical Roman’s
apartment atop a rickety insula. He admired the view: the cramped labyrinth of
the Subura down one side of the hill and the gigantic Flavian Amphitheatre down
the other. He tied up the horse and entered the atrium.
“Decebalus!”
A tall, lanky man scampered from the back of the
villa.
“Master! Welcome home!”
“Looks like you’ve kept the place spick and
span. Well done. Any intruders?”
“Not one sir”
“Do you know if the Emperor’s in town?”
“I heard he was due to arrive from Capri this
evening”
“Okay, I’ll have some pork and cheese, then go
to bed”
“Yes sir, I’ll prepare your meal now”
Rutilus went to the triclinium and lounged on
one of the couches, waiting for his dinner, idly scratching at his beard.
However within minutes he had fallen asleep. The next thing he knew he was in
his bed, the sun peeking through his west-facing window, with a vague
recollection of a dream where he was devouring an enormous feast on the roof of
one of the Emperor’s palaces. Had the Emperor been shouting at him to get down?
Had he just carried on eating?
He found Decebalus in the atrium, thanked him
for carrying him to bed and asked if that pork and cheese was still around. The
slave said he’d put it in the larder, and moments later Rutilus was eating the
best meal he’d had in weeks.
Not long after, he climbed the hill and reached
the baths of Diocletian, at the summit of the Viminal. He soaked himself in the
warm, dirty water for an hour, wallowing in the feeling of the exertions of
travel, as well as all the dust, being washed away. When he got out he asked
one of the attending slaves to shave off his beard. The young man removed most
of the hair with scissors, then fetched a copper blade to finish the job.
Rutilus had considered keeping his beard, to underline the fact that he had
just returned from a military campaign. But if there was anyone you shouldn’t
look like a barbarian in front of, it was the Emperor.
By the time he had returned home, Decebalus had
finished cleaning his armour. Rutilus donned his uniform and walked down the
hill into the Forum. The centre of the city was as busy as he expected, but
occasionally there would be a colourfully-dressed man running across the Forum
who caught Rutilus’ eye. Only when one of these men nearly ran into him and
Rutilus saw that he was not of Italian origin, that Rutilus realised they were
the priests of foreign cults. They wanted to spend as little time as possible on
the streets, because if they did anything that might be construed as worship in
public, they would be breaking the law.
Rutilus walked past the Temple of Peace, and
looked through the archway to see the garden with its beautifully clear ponds
and the row of statues leading up to the temple itself. Originally built to
celebrate the recapture of Jerusalem, it had been commandeered by the
Christians about a century ago. Accordingly the outer walls had numerous fish
and chi-rhos painted on them in red and yellow.
Rutilus went out the other side of the Forum and
skirted around the edge of the Palatine, eventually coming to the staircase of
Caco, where he climbed the hill. On either side were the mansions of senators
and civil servants. Every few meters there were two Praetorians facing each
other across the road. The Praetorian Guard had been abolished when Constantine
the Great became suspicious of their motives, but they had been resurrected by
Emperor Purpureo I, the current emperor’s father.
To his left Rutilus could see the grand temple
of Cybele, or at least half of it. Because she was an Anatolian mother goddess,
Cybele had been officially declared a non-Roman deity, and as such her temples
could only be of a certain size. A pile of rubble, where the magnificent dome
had once stood, served as a reminder of the partial demolition. The priests
could sell that land and with that money improve what space they had left, but
evidently they believed things would change. It had been three years since
Emperor Purpureo II had instituted his far-reaching religious reforms. Three
very long years for Rutilus.
He reached a gateway at the top of the
hill, manned by some soldiers and an official.
“My name is Titus Laelius Rutilus, commander of
the eighth legion. I returned yesterday from the Egyptian campaign, and I would
like the opportunity to report to the emperor, if it so pleases him”
“Certainly, General. I am not wholly surprised
to see you here today,” said the official, whose voice was unusually high,
“I’ll go and see when the emperor will be available to see you. In the
meantime, please come and sit”
Rutilus followed him through the gateway into
the courtyard. The official motioned to a stone bench before scuttling into the
imposing Palace of Domitian. Opposite Rutilus was the temple of Apollo Filius
Iuppitus, built by Augustus on the spot where lightning had struck one night.
Rutilus had noticed this trend in his travels throughout the Empire: more and
more temples were putting ‘Filius Iuppitus’ or ‘Filia Iuppitus’ or ‘Coniugis
Iuppitus’ after the names of their chosen god. When he was a young soldier
stationed in Gaul he had even seen a temple dedicated to Abnoba Filia Iuppitus.
Rutilus wasn’t a particularly religious man – only the occasional offering to
Mars or his equivalent for the province he was serving in – but it seemed
strange to him. It was almost as if the god was only important insofar as he or
she was related to Jupiter, as if the god wasn’t really important at all.
Rutilus idly watched slaves doing errands and
the slow stream of people entering and exiting the temple until he saw two men
arguing on the steps of the holy place. Slowly but surely they were raising
their voices. They both had purple stripes on their togas – senators. Once they
were shouting at each other and Rutilus was sure one was going to hit the
other, they broke off and went their separate ways. One of them, a tall thin
man with a neat strip of grey hair from one ear to the other, spotted Rutilus
and made his way towards him. Rutilus braced himself for an argument.
“Excuse me, are you Rutilus?” asked the man
“I am”
“Ah, pleased to meet you. I had heard you had returned
to the city. I am Spurius Asinius Licinus. Presumably you’re here to talk to
the emperor. How fares the campaign in Egypt?”
Rutilus sighed, “There’s no end in sight. If
anything, the situation’s become worse since I first arrived. For every rebel
we kill, two more are converted to the cause”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” said Licinus, “I’ve
read reports from Britannia, Lusitania, Thrace and Mauretania which say almost
exactly the same thing”
“Egypt’s cults are old. They were old when Romulus
was suckling the wolf’s teats. They’ve survived for millennia, we can’t
demolish those foundations in the blink of an eye”
“Don’t say that in front of the emperor.
Frankly, he wants my head for suggesting in the Senate that we consider other
options. I’m glad I saw you today, because I was hoping I could have a little
chat with you. Perhaps this evening?”
Rutilus thought for a moment, “How about the
Forum, at sunset?”
“Actually, what I want to talk to you about
requires some privacy. I would invite you to my home, but it’s only a stone’s
throw away from the Palace. Where do you live?”
Rutilus felt uneasy. What did he want to talk
about?
“The Esquiline. Near the baths of Trajan”
“That will do. Good luck with the emperor”
The senator walked away, and before Rutilus could
wonder whether meeting him that night was the right thing to do the official
reappeared.
“I’m happy to say that the emperor would like to
hear your report now”
He suddenly felt nauseous. This was a man who
had faced German beserkers, but if the emperor decided to kill him, there was
nothing he could do to defend himself. He had hoped that he’d have some more
time to prepare, but he dutifully followed the official into the Palace
complex. Inside were wide corridors with marble columns and frescoes on almost
every wall. They went through gardens filled with statues of gods and ancient
heroes. Soldiers stood to attention on every corner, and servants hurried to
and fro, apparently still unpacking what the emperor had brought back with him
from Capri. There was quiet, a reverential silence, giving the Palace the air
of a temple. This was broken by the sound of laughter. A beautiful woman came
around the corner, whom Rutilus recognised as the emperor’s wife. He and the
official moved out of her way and bowed their heads. She paid them no attention
and walked past them, giggling to herself. She had a red glass cup half-full of
wine in her hand and Rutilus noticed the unmistakable bump of pregnancy. When
she turned another corner, they carried on their way.
They went up a grand staircase where there were
cracks in the marble, and then up another where the stone had clearly recently
been polished. This led to the roof, and Rutilus had to shield his eyes from
the sun. There was a stone structure – a staircase that led to nowhere? At its
base was the emperor, who smiled when he saw Rutilus. The General walked over
to him, bent down on one knee and looked at the floor.
“Your Highness”
“Get up, Rutilus”
The emperor was a few years younger than
Rutilus, and had dirty blonde hair. His eyes seemed permanently glazed over,
and never looked you in the eye – rather, he focused on a spot just over your
shoulder.
“Tell me what you think of our new throne room”
Rutilus looked around: there was a spectacular
view of the city and the surrounding countryside. You could see the Tiber wind
its way from the mountains, around the edge of the city and towards Ostia and
the sea. The myriad whitewashed buildings of the city sparkled in the summer
sun. Rutilus now realised that the stone structure was a staircase leading to a
high throne, facing north, looking towards the Forum.
“Breathtaking, Your Highness”
“I’m tired of holding audiences indoors. It
feels too ... chthonic. I’m a son of Jupiter, I should at least be able to see
the heavens! So, tell me about Egypt. Have these zealots admitted defeat yet?”
“No, Your Highness, the rebellions continue”
“Ah, that’s disappointing”
“So far there have been one thousand, eight
hundred and seventy two casualties in the eighth legion”
“But is morale still high?”
Rutilus paused to pick his words, “They remain
steadfastly loyal to you, Your Highness”
The emperor laughed, “Splendid! I can always
count on the loyalty of my armies – the tools of Jupiter and his offspring,
always willing to sacrifice themselves for a higher cause. Not like the
self-interested rabble, or worse, those scheming senators. One day in Capri, a
few weeks back, I realised that they simply rely on the appeal to tradition to justify their existence.
Perhaps one day I’ll abolish the Senate. It’s not like any of them have any
religious qualifications. Imagine that, a government unsullied by trivial
rhetoricians, a new, sacred form of government”
Rutilus, not knowing if he was being asked his
opinion or if the emperor was merely thinking out loud, said nothing.
“I had another idea in Capri,” continued the
emperor, “about Athens. My sister’s name is Minerva, not Athena. It doesn’t
matter what the Greeks think she’s
called, it’s an insult to one of Jupiter’s daughters. It’s time that city’s
name is changed”
“Your Highness, I feel obligated to tell you, as
one of your loyal instruments, that in Egypt there is a rumour that you are
planning to completely ban all religion that has been declared non-Roman. This
rumour has taken hold of much of the population there, and I suspect the same
is true in other provinces, maybe even Rome as well. It is this rumour that is
driving the rebellions, and if Your Highness would like the conflict to come to
an end, then I would advise a public declaration that you do not intend to ban
any religion. That might not stop every rebellion, but it would sap the morale
of your enemies”
The emperor looked at the spot over Rutilus’
shoulder as though he had just tried to convince him that everyone had twelve
fingers. He was puzzled by his servant’s lack of understanding. Rutilus didn’t
move a muscle, to try and look certain of his opinion.
“The Empire was forged”, said the emperor
slowly, like he was explaining something to a child, “for the glory of Jupiter.
But how can it glorify Him when people within its borders worship strange Asian
or Celtic gods? And it makes me feel ill that some people pretend to worship
Him, by adding His name to the name of their false god. My father is furious
with the Empire. If we don’t sort things out, He will bring it to its knees.
Eventually we must prohibit any worship that isn’t of Jupiter or his family, or
else all the centuries of hard work and bloodshed will have been for nothing”
Rutilus hesitantly bowed his head. How can you
reason with someone who doesn’t know the meaning of the word?
“Yes, Your Highness. I understand”
The emperor put a hand on his shoulder, and
looked at his forehead.
“I am Jupiter’s favourite son. I can do this.
Trust me”
“I do, Your Highness”
“Good. Now go home, relax and await my orders.
In the meantime, enjoy the show”
“The show?”
The emperor chuckled, turning to face the view
of the city, “You’ll see”
At the bottom of the stairs Rutilus found the
official waiting for him. He accompanied him out of the Palace and off the
Palatine hill. Walking through the Forum towards home, Rutilus saw a crowd
gathering at the bottom of the ceremonial entrance to the Palace. Everyone’s
attention was on an orator, no, an announcer standing on a block of stone.
Rutilus pushed forward, but couldn’t hear him over the excited and anxious
gossip that had risen up.
“All forms of Christianity non-Roman? But Jesus
was the son of Jove!”
“They’ll have to knock down at least half the
temple of Peace”
“For heaven’s sake! Purpureo’s going to ban
everything except the worship of himself!”
Rutilus walked away, he had heard madness trying
to justify itself already that day. He found a wine vendor on the edge of the
Forum, and downed a large cup. He despaired – for Rome and for himself. I
should have been braver, he thought, I should have told him he was wrong,
instead of letting myself be humiliated like that; even if I had been exiled or
executed, at least I would have given him an inkling of his lunacy. Rutilus
asked for a refill.
***
As the city began to grow dark, Rutilus stood at
the far end of his atrium wearing a toga. He still had a headache from the wine
earlier, and still felt tired despite a mid-afternoon nap. Decebalus arrived at
the doorway, accompanied by a figure whose face was obscured by a black shroud.
“Senator Licinus, welcome to my home. Did my
slave find you okay?”
“Yes, I wasn’t waiting outside the Baths for
long,” said the senator, taking off the shroud, “apologies for the mystery, but
it’s as much for your safety as it is for mine. It’s a risk to allow a man with
my reputation into your home”
“Don’t worry, I’ve taken higher risks before.
Let’s eat”
“Will your wife be joining us?” Licinus asked as
they walked into the triclinium
“I never married. I joined the army before I got
the chance”
“Oh, that surprises me”
The triclinium had one simple fresco of a man
sacrificing a bird at an altar with a boy at his side.
“Your son?” asked Licinus
“Actually, my father and myself”
Decebalus placed plates of chicken, fish and
olives on the table in the middle of the room, then stood to attention by the
wall. Licinus looked around awkwardly until Rutilus nodded to Decebalus to
leave.
“The Empire is on the verge of collapse,” said
Licinus, “Everyone knows it, the soldiers, the plebs, the slaves. Everyone in
the Senate knows it, even if some think that we should play along until it’s
too late. Everyone knows except for the divine Purpureo II. It will only take
one province to gain independence, and then we’ll be facing revolts everywhere.
The emperor thinks his reforms are demonstrating Rome’s strength, but we look
weaker by the day. Did anything come from your audience today?”
“He told me that if we didn’t ban all non-Roman
religion, Jupiter would throw lightning bolts from the sky. And apparently he’s
Jupiter’s favourite son”
“More favored than Apollo or Bacchus? Well,
well, lucky us. I had hoped that if he heard some sense from a soldier – you
know how much he thinks the legions love him – then maybe he would at least
slow down his reforms. But I’m not exactly surprised you didn’t change his
mind. It can’t be done”
“You might be interested to know that he’s
considering abolishing the Senate”
Licinus’ eyes suddenly became wild.
“Fucking hell! That bastard! All forms of
Christianity officially non-Roman, and now this! He’s crossed the line, we’ve
got to get rid of him”
“Calm down, calm down,” said Rutilus, “how on
earth are we supposed to get rid of him?”
“First of all, we need to get the Praetorian
Guard on side”
Licinus was not joking. Rutilus had never
followed politics, but he had heard of Licinus before: well-liked in the
Senate, but his stubbornness occasionally got him into trouble. He had only met
him today, yet already he was openly discussing overthrowing the emperor. Why
me, thought Rutilus.
“I’ll go and talk to the Praetorian Prefect
tomorrow night,” Licinus continued, “and I’ll take a delegation of senators
with me. Ones who are highly-regarded, and who share our feelings. You should
come too. A fellow soldier, and one who has first-hand experience of what’s
going on in the provinces, might persuade him. And he might be one of your
admirers, you have your fair share of them in this city after the battle of Abydos.
And I’ve heard stories of your exploits in Noricum”
“I know what you’re doing,” said Rutilus, slowly
getting up from his couch, “I won’t do it”
“What?” asked Licinus
“I said I won’t do it. I won’t become the
emperor. I’m not going to kill a man so that I can take his place, even if he
is insane. That’s not the kind of man I am, my father taught me to always act
honourably. I just want to do what’s best for Rome, but I’m not becoming
emperor!”
“Oh, sit down,” said Licinus, “I don’t want you
to become emperor”
Rutilus sat back down, suddenly red with
embarrassment, and ate some olives.
“I don’t want anyone to become emperor,” said
Licinus, “in the time since Augustus, Rome hasn’t expanded or flourished. It’s
gone from catastrophe to catastrophe. This is not the first time Rome’s
teetered on the brink. We’ve been exceptionally lucky to make through the last
eight centuries. If the emperor’s not mad, he’s as thick as a post. If the
emperor’s not stupid, he’s got an ego the size of a mountain. Once in a while
we get an emperor who’s mad, stupid and
arrogant. Being emperor should be the greatest responsibility in the world.
Instead it’s become merely a prize men are willing to kill thousands for. Are
you old enough to remember Purpureo I’s takeover?”
Rutilus nodded.
“It’s time to end the cycle,” said Licinus, “I
know we’re still officially a Republic, but there can’t be a single person out
there who actually believes it. Back before the Caesars, we had systems and
laws that were just and rational. A perfect synthesis of democracy, aristocracy
and monarchy. The Consuls didn’t abuse their power – how could they with
one-year terms? Duty and self-sacrifice meant so much more then. The whole of
government was directed towards what was best for Rome. It was thanks to the
Republic that we have the Empire at all. We could bring it back, Rutilus”
“No more Purpureos,” said Rutilus quietly, “Rome
could achieve so much more”
“Exactly”
“And you say there are other senators who agree
with you?”
“There certainly are. And they’ll be all the
more convinced once I tell them what you’ve told me tonight”
“Tell me who they are”
Licinus ran through the senators who would
support them as they finished their meal. Later, when they were in the atrium
and Licinus was donning his black shroud, they heard an odd rumbling sound
outside. At the doorway, they could see a bright ring of people carrying
torches slowly circling the Palatine. Rutilus could see at least a dozen people
carrying the enormous golden chi-rho that was usually in the Temple of Peace.
“They’ve surrounded the emperor’s home. And
mine,” said Licinus, “maybe I should stay at a friend’s house tonight”
“Christians are pacifists. They wouldn’t hurt
you”
Licinus looked at Rutilus, “With your
experience, I would have thought you understood mob mentality. I suppose I
should brave it. The fewer questions my wife asks, the better. Thank you for
the meal. I’ll contact you tomorrow”
Rutilus watched the senator disappear into the
night, then watched the outraged procession circle the Palace for a while
before turning in.
***
In the morning Rutilus walked down towards the
crowded mass of insulae of the Subura. The one closest to the base of the
Esquiline had been built long before Rutilus had been born. It was obvious that
a new set of apartments had been built on the top every once in a while as each
floor was a different shade of dirty red or weathered grey. Despite the cement
and wooden buttresses, Rutilus had the impression that it could crumble apart
any day. On one side of its ground floor was a tavern, and on the other a
bakery owned by the Greek Euphorion.
“Old man, where are you?” Rutilus shouted from
the counter on the street
Euphorion emerged from the back. He had grey
curly hair, a wiry goatee and an almost perfectly round stomach.
“Ah, you rascal, what are you doing back here?”
asked the baker with a smile, “Where’ve you been this time? The East?”
“Egypt”
“Up their own arses, the Egyptians, they’re
always up their own arses”
“How’s the wife?” asked Rutilus
“Bugging me to get another slave. Protus,” he
jabbed his thumb towards the diminutive African carrying a basket behind him,
“isn’t enough for her. Apparently,” he looked over his shoulder and raised his
voice, “his penis is too small!”
“Were you part of that parade last night?”
“Certainly was. Our infinitely wise emperor has
given us a week to demolish half of the Temple of Peace. If we don’t do it,
he’ll send in the army and a bunch of slaves with hammers. But we won’t let
that happen. We won’t”
“Be careful, Euphorion. Purpureo may not be in
the mood to tolerate peaceful resistance”
“It may not be entirely peaceful”, said
Euphorion quietly
“Really?” said Rutilus
“Christians have been violent before. When the
idea of non-violence is threatened with extinction, it can be necessary to be
violent in order to preserve it”
“I’m not sure that makes sense, old man. Besides,
if that happens, there’s no way you’ll be able to win. There will be a
slaughter”
Euphorion shrugged, “It won’t be the first time
this city’s seen chaos, eh?”
Rutilus looked away and nodded. Many years ago,
when he was a boy, he worked for a farm just outside the city. One day, when
the sun was setting and he was preparing to go home, he heard the screams of
women coming from within the walls. There were plumes of smoke slowly growing
into black towers that touched the sky. When he reached the city gates, all the
guards were strewn on the ground, which had become muddy with their blood. He
ran through the Subura, the streets strangely deserted, wails of anguish
emanating from dark corners and from behind locked doors. When he reached the base
of the Esquiline, he saw that the hill was consumed by flame. He collapsed onto
his knees in the middle of the street and watched his neighbourhood burn. There
was no way he could even climb the hill to find his family without risking
torturous death. Unable to fathom what was happening, young Rutilus wept as a
troop of soldiers came running in formation from the hill. A man appeared from
nowhere, a slim Euphorion, picked up the boy and ran into the nearest building.
The pair hid in the bakery for the whole night, kept awake by the smell of
smoke and the shouts of men outside. In the morning, they discovered that they
had a new emperor, Purpureo the first.
Rutilus snapped back into the present, “Can I
have two leavened loaves, Euphorion. Also, do you know where I could buy a
black shroud?”
***
That afternoon, Rutilus received a message on a
piece of parchment delivered by a slave:
“Requies
Militum, tonight. L.”
He knew that tavern. It wasn’t far from the
Praetorian Camp, the fort on the north side of city walls. Presumably they had
arranged to meet there to make the Prefect more at ease. Also it would be far
away from the inevitable commotion that the Palatine and the Forum would see
again tonight.
From a window Rutilus watched the city grow
dark, and before long he heard the chants of the Christians and the bright ring
circling the Palace slowly emerged from the night. He left the house and headed
north. Near the Baths of Trajan he ducked into an alleyway, made sure no-one
else was there, donned his shroud, then continued on his way.
When he entered the Requies Militum, he was
struck by how empty it was. Maybe every soldier was posted outside the Palace.
The only patron seemed to be a middle-aged woman with a lot of makeup on
lounging on a bench near the door.
“Looking for something tonight?” she asked
tiredly
“No thanks”
“Alright” she said, before returning to her cup
of wine
Three hooded figures were sat at a small table
without any candles, as far as they could be from the fireplace. Rutilus joined
them.
“Glad you could make it” said Licinus quietly
Next to Licinus was a short, plump man. Rutilus
couldn’t see his face, but was sure it was Cicurinus. According to Licinus, he
had such a command of language that he had never lost a debate in the Senate,
and as such had plenty of followers. And apparently his poetry was pretty good
too. On the other side was a tall man with broad shoulders, presumably Naso. A
man of few words, he had avoided the traps that usually bring down less
reserved politicians. He knew how to make friends in the cut-throat world of
politics, and had built up a strong network of allies.
A dark-looking soldier walked in, wearing his
armour and with his helmet under his arm. He strode over to the owner of the
tavern, who was sat fanning himself with his hand, and talked to him in hushed
tones. Rutilus noticed a purple armband – it was Vespillo, the Praetorian
Prefect. The tavern owner got up, and the Prefect looked at the four figures
sitting in the dark and gestured to them to follow. They were led to the back,
where the owner opened a hatch revealing a ladder to the basement. As they went
down, Rutilus double-checked that his sword was in its sheath. The room was
full of large amphora and cobwebs. Vespillo slid a lit torch into the notch in
the wall.
“So, when three of our most popular senators and
one of our most esteemed generals ask to see me in private, I can’t really
ignore it. I dread to ask, but what is it you want, gentlemen?”
“Purpureo has to go” said Licinus
Vespillo sighed, “Ah, of course. And who are you
proposing to replace him?”
“The people will decide that, like they did in
the Republic,” said Licinus, “there will be no more emperors”
“Imagine that, an idealistic emperor overthrown
by idealistic conspirators,” said Vespillo, “I don’t want to make enemies of
you gentlemen – at least, not while you still have some influence – so I’ll
pretend this meeting never took place, but I’m afraid you’ll have to try
without the Praetorian Guard. I can trace my lineage back to one of the original
Praetorians, one of my forefathers. He served under Domitian – declared him
emperor, then later on assassinated him. The Praetorians have been given a
second chance, we need to be better than we were before. I’m not going to risk
the Guard being abolished again. We can’t afford to feed our reputation for
treachery. I’m sure you understand. Goodnight, gentlemen”
Licinus grabbed his arm, “Vespillo, he wants to
abolish the Senate! We’ve been a part of Rome since the very beginning!”
“Aha! I see,” said Vespillo, “so you’ve come to
me because you’re scared for your own skins”
“No, it’s not as simple as that,” said
Cicurinus, who had a round face and untidy hair, “we know that you and your men
have sworn loyalty to the emperor, and we all agree that it is very noble of
you to be so steadfast. However, without the People, the emperor is nothing.
Ultimately, no matter how many threats he makes or how large his armies are,
the people of this city allow him to
rule. Emperor or no emperor, the consent of the People is the foundation of
power. We merely want a system that reflects that fact. And perhaps it would be
wise for you to make your oaths on more solid ground”
“If you do not act,” said Rutilus, “you and your
men will be slaughtering citizens by the end of the week. They will feel that
they have no choice but to fight you, and the city will be turned upside down.
I’ve seen it before Vespillo, the structure of the world as they see it is
under threat, they will not simply give up after being beaten down. Either the
emperor dies, or very many of your men will die. And even if by some miracle
you manage to pacify the Christians here in Rome, there’s still the provinces.
Half the empire is already on fire, imagine the chaos when news of what’s
happening here spreads. I lost far too many of my men in Egypt, I wish there
was some way I could have prevented those tragedies. The opportunity to do just
that, for your men, is what we’re giving you tonight”
There was a pause as Vespillo considered the
arguments.
“I see your points. And you don’t need to study
Plato and Aristotle to know that madmen aren’t fit to rule. But I’m still not
convinced”
Licinus and Cicurinus looked at Naso, who was
completely bald and had an angular chin. The tall man reached into his tunic
and conjured a heavy-looking bag.
“Five hundred solidi”
“To divide between your men and yourself as you
see fit”, added Cicurinus
Naso opened the bag and the Prefect gazed at the
gold coins. When he reached for it, Naso stuffed it back into his tunic.
“So, gentlemen,” said Vespillo, “when would be a
good day for you?”
***
Instead of circling the Palatine as they had
done in the previous nights, the mob congregated in the Forum. They gathered
around the Arch of Titus, wedged between the Temple of Venus and the House of
the Vestal Virgins, because that was where the ceremonial road to the top of
the Palace began. A little way up, three senators and a general watched the
crowd. Guarding them at the bottom of the hill were only a dozen soldiers, who
appeared to be from the eighth legion. The crowd stared back at the dignitaries,
intrigued but restless. Chanting slogans degenerated into conversations about
what might be happening. The men carrying the gigantic golden chi-rho rested it
on the ground and leant it against the Arch of Titus.
One of the Praetorians came running from the
Palace and whispered something in Rutilus’ ear. He turned and walked quickly up
the hill. At the top he was met by Vespillo.
“I had hoped that you would want to do the
honours, Rutilus. As I said before, I’m concerned about our reputation, and it
would be very helpful if someone who wasn’t a Praetorian actually did the deed”
Did he really think that historians might ignore
his role in tonight’s affair, thought Rutilus.
“Okay, I’ll do it. You’ve been treacherous
enough for one night”
“Thank you. Follow me”
As they entered the Palace, Rutilus wondered
whether one of Vespillo’s ancestors was indeed one of the original Praetorians,
or whether it was much more likely that he was talking out of his arse just to
make sure that he got something out of this regime change. Rutilus had no idea
where those five hundred solidi came from. Maybe it was safer not to know.
Regardless, they couldn’t do this without the cynical Prefect.
They walked along dark corridors and through
gardens where servants had huddled together, uncertain of their fate. They
passed a kitchen with a carcass hanging from a hook, then entered the servants’
quarters. Vespillo stopped and gestured to a plain wooden door guarded by two soldiers,
with what sounded like a wounded animal inside. Rutilus went in. It was a
cramped room, made more so by the several Praetorians standing around the
edges. There was no window, and the only furniture was a simple bed and a
stool, upon which sat the emperor’s wife, looking faintly bemused by the
situation. Purpureo was sprawled out on the floor wailing, his tears marking
the stone. At first Rutilus assumed that this was because he realised his life
was about to end, that he wasn’t immortal, but maybe it was the shock of
betrayal. For all his vices, at least he wasn’t paranoid.
“Don’t worry,” said Rutilus, “if Jupiter comes
to smite us, I’ll make sure to tell him you tried your best”
The emperor sat up and wrapped his arms around
his wife’s legs.
“You’ll never kill her!”
“I’m going to give you the chance to leave with
some dignity. I suggest you take it”
Rutilus unsheathed a dagger from his belt, leant
down and slid it across the floor. Purpureo stared at it, wiping the tears from
his cheeks. He stayed perfectly still. Suddenly he grabbed it and plunged the
dagger into his wife’s chest, who shrieked and fell over backwards. The emperor
stood up, took a deep breath and firmly drew the dagger across his neck before
collapsing onto the floor. Husband and wife twitched and gurgled as their blood
slowly pooled in the middle of the room. After a minute there was silence.
“Go find some slaves to take away the bodies”,
said Vespillo to one of his men
Rutilus walked briskly out of the Palace and
down the ceremonial road. When he neared the bottom of the hill, he saw Licinus
looking at him expectantly. Rutilus nodded.
“Citizens of Rome!” Licinus called out as
Rutilus stood alongside him, “The tyrant Purpureo, his wife and his unborn
child are dead!”
A ferocious cheer erupted from the crowd. When
the jubilation died down a little, Licinus continued.
“You and everyone else in our glorious Empire
now has the freedom to worship whoever they want. Never again shall rulers
dictate to you how to revere the Heavens, or lie to you about their divinity.
And there will be no more emperors, no more tyrants! A just government is an
accountable government. The People need the power to check their leaders. That
is why tonight I am ecstatic to announce the birth of the Second Republic! Your
gallant general Titus Laelius Rutilus and I shall be interim Consuls, but in a
month’s time a new Comitia Tributa will assemble and the people of Rome shall
elect their Consuls. Tonight, Rome is yours again!”
Excitement rippled through the city as the
Romans realised their newfound strength. It had been centuries since any elections,
and for many the concept was completely alien. But now that elections were due,
no-one could wait.
The conspirators gathered on the roof of the
Palace, next to Purpureo’s vacant throne, drinking wine and watching the
festivities in the city below. Maybe, just maybe, thought Rutilus, a new
chapter in the history of Rome has begun.
