Rome 4: The Art of War (11 page)

Pantera smiled a little, bowed, even paid her a compliment. ‘My lady, I knew you must be exceptional for your general to have loved you so long, but he did not tell me you had the sharpest mind in Rome. I came expecting to spend the entire evening discussing that which you have just laid out so clearly: you cannot safely leave Rome, but none the less your safety is my first priority. Whatever else happens, it matters most to the general that his family remains unharmed. Perhaps, now, we can discuss how that may be done?’

She saved his life with her quickness, didn’t she? That may not be a good thing, with all that came afterwards, but I don’t think she would have done it differently, even if she had known.

At the time, she
said simply, ‘It is best, I believe, to speak as we find. If you are to be our protector, it might be constructive if the general’s son were to be privy to the conversation.’

And so, after all that, there was nothing to be done but to call for Domitian, and let Pantera learn how different was the second of Vespasian’s sons from his brother.

Rome, 3 August
AD
69

DOMITIAN. WHAT CAN
one say of him, who is son to me in all but name and blood?

I am offering no insult, I think, if I tell you that Domitian was not in a sociable frame of mind on the evening Jocasta and Pantera came to my home with their so-clever illusion.

If one were to be truthful, it would be more accurate to say he was never in a sociable frame of mind, but within the confines of our family this rarely posed undue embarrassment. I was happy to leave him to his solitary games of dice, right hand against left, to his collection of insects pinned to a board, to his early sleep and late rise and the occasional day when he could go from dawn to dusk without once noticing my existence.

The day in question was one of those. I knew it already, but if I had not I would have read it in the brittle smile fixed on Matthias’ face as he held back the blue curtain that screened Domitian’s private chamber from the atrium. I indulged myself in
a moment’s silent cursing, and then, as I must, forced a smile.

‘Domitian, welcome. These people have come from your father. They have news.’

My eyes signalled him a warning. The boy – he is eighteen and I really must start thinking of him as a man, but he has the round-faced, smooth-skinned look of one who has barely begun to shave and his voice is still light, like the touch of soft rain, and it’s hard to think of him as anything but a child – the boy chose once again to ignore me.

He was gazing at Jocasta, which was a surprisingly normal response. You’ve met her, so you know how striking she is. Any man would favour her with a second glance. Domitian, being … Domitian, stared straight at her for an uncomfortably long time, and then said, ‘You can’t have been near my father. Titus would have kept you.’

There was a moment’s scandalized silence. If he would only smile as he said these things, but no, he thought it and so he said it and there was no humour anywhere in it. I shut my eyes; a coward’s way out, I admit, but there are times when the solitude of darkness is one’s only respite. I looked again only at the sound of Jocasta’s flute-like laugh.

She said, ‘You flatter me, lord, but it is true; I have not been with your father. My business kept me in Rome. Pantera, whom you see here, is the one who has journeyed by fast ship from Judaea.’

Lord
. Nobody except Matthias had ever spoken thus to Domitian. Flushing, he bowed. ‘Madam, you honour me. Will you come and take wine? I see you are not yet served.’

It was stiff. It was awkward – a series of phrases stolen from other mouths and stitched together without any true understanding of their import – but it was said, and it was real and it took a great effort for me to keep my hands by my sides that I might not clasp his face and kiss his brow in my
joy. Both would have dismantled all the good just made.

Matthias didn’t need my nod to go and fetch the wine; he backed away, bowing, and I followed Domitian back through into the garden area where the late, rich sun gilded everything in tones of amber.

We stood amid the citrus and lilacs in silence until the wine was served; it wasn’t expensive, but it was white and sweet and had been cooled in the well so that beads of water formed on the outside of my best glass beakers.

Domitian studied Pantera and Jocasta, each in turn; there was nothing subtle about his inspection. At its end, he said, ‘So the rumours are true? My father is mounting civil war against Vitellius and Lucius?’

I hope I didn’t show my relief at that. He may be strange, but one could never call Domitian stupid. I had always suspected that, in his strange, solitary way, he was brighter than his brother; it was just that he spoke too little for us to be sure.

I saw surmise and surprise flicker across Pantera’s face, gone before they took hold, replaced by a kind of interest. ‘Yes.’ He matched Domitian for the baldness of his speech. ‘They have asked me to keep you safe; you and the lady and your uncle Sabinus.’

Domitian sneered. ‘My uncle Sabinus, who is calling my father an idiot, a reprobate and a fool? My uncle Sabinus who has sworn to shed his own blood in defence of Vitellius’ claim to the throne? Does he want you to keep him safe? And if he does, can you do that and still foment revolt?’

There was another pause; this time, I believe Pantera was fighting not to smile.

‘As to the first: does your uncle wish to be kept safe? I have yet to ask him. To the second: can we keep him safe while fomenting revolt? We can try. We are not without resource.’

‘Even though
your name was in the lead lottery on the Capitoline two days ago? Geminus drew it.’

And that surprised us all.

Pantera’s eyes flicked to me. ‘I hadn’t heard.’ He made it sound like a statement when it was really a question.

Truthfully, I said, ‘I hadn’t either, but Domitian goes abroad in the evenings and listens to the slave-talk that I hear less than I used to. Slaves know everything.’ Of Domitian, I asked, ‘What did you hear?’

‘That Pantera, the leopard who saved Rome from the fire, is the target of Lucius’ ire. That Geminus, who knows him, was made to draw his name in the lottery. That he is to be taken alive, not killed like all the others.’ Domitian’s smile bore a satisfied edge. ‘They think they have kept this a secret, but the man who cut the lead tablets with the names on is lover to Aponolius, who is also lover to Demetra who can be paid in small coin for small facts, particularly if she thinks them unimportant. So’ – this to Pantera – ‘what will you do?’

Pantera shrugged. ‘First and most easily, I can change my appearance. Given half a day’s work, my own mother wouldn’t know me. Once changed, with my lord’s permission, I can be hired as servant to the lady Caenis, that I might not arouse suspicion. As you have said, nobody notices the slaves—’

His head snapped up. From somewhere outside came the sound of a songbird; a high, trilling whistle. It sounded almost normal, but nobody in the room believed it so.

‘Guards.’ I crossed swiftly to the rear door. ‘That’s the warning the street boys give. You must go. Lucius has not yet dared to touch me, but if the Guards find you here he will have no scruples. There’s a way out from the rear door, a slaves’ route, that takes you into the ghetto. You will go under my protection.’

Pantera glanced a question. I said, ‘We slaves protect our own. Even
those who are no longer strictly slaves. If you go straight for a hundred paces and then go left beneath the two houses that meet above the road, you can—’

‘I’ll take them.’

In the short time my attention had been turned the other way, Domitian had donned his good, dark cloak. He was standing by the door, ready to go out.

‘I know the routes as well as anyone. I’ll do this. For my father. Trust me.’

I’m ashamed to say that I
didn’t
trust him. Nor, I am certain, did my guests. They exchanged a brief, wordless conversation at the end of which Jocasta, mellow-voiced and lovely, said, ‘May I suggest that my lord takes me alone and permits the spy Pantera to go out of the front door to lead the Guards away? If they have seen him enter, they need to see him being sent away or your aunt’s life and liberty will be forever endangered.’

Domitian gave a credible impression of a grown man whose opinion was frequently sought on matters of imminent danger. Gravely, he said, ‘That is wise. I will keep you safe and escort you home. Pantera should go out now, and when he is free once more he can come to the Street of the Lame Dog which runs behind the inn where the acrobats meet. Ask one of the boys for the Fly-catcher. He’ll let me know where you are.’

The Fly-catcher? I had no idea they called him that. I wanted to ask more, but there was no time; Pantera had agreed and was making preparations. The lady Jocasta was standing tight-lipped and silent. She gave Pantera a glittering smile, full of meanings I could not discern, and then followed Domitian out of the small rear door used by the servants, which led out into the slum that sprawls across the lower reaches of the Quirinal and Palatine hills.

Pantera watched them leave, then said, ‘How long have we got before
the Guards are here? I assume the whistles give detail within the warning, or do we just know they are on their way?’

I didn’t ask how he knew; for this, too, there was no time. ‘At first whistle, they were coming down the Quirinal hill from the barracks behind. Each new whistle brings them a street closer. They are, if I have heard correctly, five streets away, up the hill. If they run, they will be here in the time it takes to lace your sandals.’

‘They’re running. I can hear them.’ He was standing by my new front door with his ear pressed to the wood. With one hand, he was sliding back the bolts at top and bottom of the door. With the other, he was loosening a knife I had not seen he carried strapped to his forearm.

Turning, he threw me a grin that reminded me so much of Vespasian that it hurt.

‘Throw me out,’ he said. ‘Be theatrical. I have talked my way in with news of the general and it is clear I have never been near him; and in any case, you agree with Sabinus that Vespasian is a fool. I was offending your honour, abusing your servants, threatening to steal your wine and your silver. Make it loud and make it real. Can you do that?’

‘Tonight,’ I said, ‘I can do anything.’

‘Good.’ He hurled back the door. ‘
Now!
’

Rome, 3 August
AD
69

‘
THERE! THE CENTURION
… Pantera … whoever he is. The widow’s throwing him out! See? On the other side of the acrobats. Get him!’

The gods were smiling, it seemed. Lucius had sent word that the spy, Pantera, had come to Rome disguised as a centurion and had just been seen to enter the house of the oak leaves on the widows’ row. Sadly, that was the limit of his information. He hadn’t been able to give any suggestion as to how long our target might remain inside or where he might go when he left.

I nearly broke my fingers throwing on my sword belt, gathering my team, setting them to run down the road, but even so I feared we were going to arrive to an empty house and spend the next few days chasing shadows.

Running, I prayed to Jupiter Best and Greatest, and, miraculously, my prayer was answered, for as I turned the corner I saw Pantera himself being summarily ejected from the house with the
oak leaves by a small, dark-haired woman with a voice like a harpy.

I skidded to a halt and signalled the men to spread out into the crowd. I had Juvens with me, plus Artocus and Saturninus, two solidly reliable men of the IVth Macedonica, whom, with Lucius’ agreement, I had commandeered for the duration of our hunt. We had all fought together in the recent past; we knew each other’s signals and likely movements as well as we knew the marching patterns of our morning parades.

Within two paces, each of us had slowed to a walk and were threading through the men, women and children who filled the street.

Juvens was nearest the door: Juvens, the least predictable of our team, who treated this entire undertaking as if it were a new and exciting adventure, which, as I frequently said, only showed how utterly he had failed to grasp the situation.

I was in command of this unit, though, not him, and so I pushed slowly through the heaving, sweating mass of humanity, and peered through a tangle of acrobatic limbs, and saw that Pantera was now out on the street.

I sound as if I was sure it was him, when in truth I hoped it was, which is different. It might have been Pantera, but then again it might not; I had no idea how accurate was Lucius’ information, and in my experience, if you pay good coin for something as intangible as a sighting of a stranger few people can recognize, there will be a great many such sightings for exactly as long as it takes you to come up with some valid system of verification.

Lucius was far from gullible, but he did have an air of hurried desperation about him and desperate men often listen closest to those who tell them what they want to hear.

The man who might have been Pantera fell forward, shoved by the woman in the house. As the door slammed behind him, he
tucked neatly, rolled forward and came up on his feet, like one of the acrobats.

He looked furtive, but not theatrically so, if you get my drift. He had a quick look round in case anyone had seen him doing something that wasn’t the usual act of a drunken man, but when he found that the crowd was apparently still absorbed with the show he spat out a mouthful of dust, brushed himself clean and sauntered off down the street towards the Inn of the Crossed Spears.

I got a decent look at him then and became more hopeful we’d got the right man. Certainly he had the right build and height and his hair was the colour of old leaves, just as I remembered it. It had been burnished a little by the summer’s sun, but then if he’d been in Judaea that made sense.