Historia Alium - Chapter 3

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.