Rome: The Emperor's Spy: Rome 1 (58 page)

‘And you? Where will you go?’

Ajax looked at Hannah and then back at Pantera. Seneca, who thought the night had taught him how to read the smallest nuanced changes of Ajax’s moods, read nothing at all.

He said, ‘A merchant ship rides at anchor at Ostia, on the mouth of the Tiber, ready to sail for Hibernia, via Gaul. It has been there since the last month’s end, waiting for word. My uncle is on it. He will wait until the next new moon and then leave.’

‘How on earth did he know to come here?’ Seneca asked.

Ajax’s eyes never left Hannah’s face. ‘My sister had a dream. Amongst my people, she is accorded the greatest of her generation. She said that my brother and I would sail on it together, back to our family.’

Pantera blinked in surprise. ‘And did your sister see more than you two on this ship?’

‘Others were with us. It’s hard to say exactly who. Dreams are rarely explicit; the interpretation is everything.’

‘Like prophecies,’ Pantera said.

‘Exactly like them.’ Ajax’s pale hawk’s eyes were unusually bright.

Seneca thought his head might break under the tension. Tentatively, he said, ‘If I might make a suggestion? The best tide from Ostia is the second hour after noon. The distance from here to there is eleven miles. There is therefore a limited time in which to reach the ship. I believe Pantera alone has the best chance of wresting Math from Nero’s grasp. Ajax can’t risk being seen and moreover he has to get some sleep – don’t argue, you’re only standing now out of pride – before he travels that far. He could perhaps stay here a while with Hannah while I find horses that might take them to the port. Pantera, you can join them there with Math if it is possible. If not, send a message with the necessary information so that the ship might sail.’

‘I can’t leave without Math,’ Ajax said simply.

‘And we can’t leave without Hypatia and Shimon,’ Hannah said. ‘Will you be able to wrest them from Nero too?’

‘If he has them,’ Pantera said, ‘I will certainly try.’

There was a heartbeat of silence, in which Pantera dared meet Hannah’s gaze. Whatever passed between them was private. What was not remotely private was the fact of its passing.

Colouring slightly, Pantera raised his hand to Ajax in the kind of salute Seneca had seen from the older warriors of Britain, brought as captives to Rome. ‘I leave her in your care. We’ll meet you at Ostia with Math and whoever else we can bring.’

M
ath thought the dark-haired woman was Hannah when Libo and his men carried her bodily under the archway into Nero’s private garden. Her face was bright with new bruises, half hidden by hair so full of ash that it looked white, with only streaks of black.

Then she raised her head, and the eyes that met his were not Hannah’s, nor was the hard, angry smile. He could breathe again.

He was breaking his fast with the emperor in the hedged area away from the rest of the morning’s havoc. There were no singing birds here, but wild roses twined over the arch and all around flowers opened to the growing dawn.

Math had not washed on waking, but nor had Nero; he smelled of smoke and grit and a night’s work. He kept his hand on Math’s knee as they ate, and only removed it when Libo ushered in the woman who was not Hannah. The big watchman treated her with respect bordering on fear; Math didn’t think it was he who had beaten her before she was brought here.

After her, other men brought Shimon, who had been beaten far more badly. And then they dragged in someone else, small, wiry, dark-haired, his face purpled by bruises.

Math shot to his feet. ‘That’s Mergus! Pantera took him up on to the Aventine to rescue …’

He tailed to silence. The woman who wasn’t Hannah put a finger to her lips. Math was trying to work out who she could be when a centurion of the Watch marched under the rose arch and stamped to a salute in front of the dining table.

Nero ignored him, pointedly. His gaze was on Mergus and it was not kind. Opening his hand, he showed a fat, sweat-marked ring on his palm. Gold greeted the morning, and a blue cabochon sapphire with stars at its heart. Apollo played his lyre at the sides.

To Mergus, in the stilted voice he had always used to address Akakios, he said, ‘You have used this, our token, against our officer. We might say you have abused our token.’

‘Lord, such was not my intention.’ Wisely, Mergus dropped to both knees. ‘Pantera, our new prefect, gave me the ring and with it your authority. Such was my understanding. His best concern was that the woman and man who had given their services to Juno should be restored to safety and dignity. I was ordered to do whatever that took, up to and including the arrest of Centurion Appollonius.’ Mergus gave the faintest of nods in the direction of the man who had just marched in.

‘He outranks you,’ Nero said.

‘And yet he was lighting fires on the Aventine hill, lord. I have witnesses who will attest to that. He was following his tribune’s orders even after that man had died by his own hand. In doing so, he forfeited his position.’

Nero’s flat eyes swivelled round. ‘Is this true?’

‘Lord.’ The centurion named Appollonius did not kneel, but bowed stiffly. ‘I had information that a Hebrew had ordered the fires to be lit. I was further informed that this Hebrew and his Egyptian whore had evicted the true keeper of Juno’s geese and appropriated her dwelling. I went there and found this man, Shimon of Galilee, known also as Shimon the zealot, long an enemy of Rome. I found also this Hypatia, his whore. She cursed my men in the name of Isis when they arrested her. I am satisfied she is Egyptian.’

Hypatia. That was the name. A friend of Hannah’s. And the centurion was afraid to look at her directly. And he hadn’t denied lighting the fires. Math noticed that. He hoped Nero had too.

The woman had certainly noticed. Under the light of the pitch-pine torches, her caustic gaze would have shrivelled the centurion had he dared to catch her eye.

Math, who did dare, studied the bruises on her wrists and one vivid weal on the side of her face. She saw him looking and shrugged one shoulder, wryly. Math nodded back the same dry appraisal of the lunacy of adults; a secret between them.

Everyone else was watching Nero, whose word could kill them speedily or slowly, or not at all.

He crooked a finger at the guards. ‘Bring the woman. We would question her.’

‘Lord.’ Appollonius extended a warning hand. ‘She is dangerous.’

‘Then we look to you to keep us safe.’ Nero’s smile was thin as a snake’s. ‘She does not appear to us dangerous.’ Three men of the Watch brought her forward. ‘Who are you?’

She stood straight and tall and beautiful. ‘I am a Sibyl, lord. Keeper of the flame of Isis.’

A Sibyl!
The word hissed around the garden with no one giving it voice. Math thought his own eyes might start from his head from shock.

‘A Sibyl?’ Nero spoke what everyone else dared not. ‘One of those who wrote the prophecy?’

‘Lord, I ordered that the prophecy be copied, nothing more. The words were spoken a hundred generations ago and circulated widely at that time. We released them again now in such a way that those who cared most for Rome might have an opportunity to prevent the conflagration and all that it prefaced. Our intent was honourable.’ Her voice was the perfect chime of a cymbal at dawn, but Math caught the fine edge of a tremor in her hands and her shoulders.

‘You could have come directly to us with the information.’

‘No, lord. Akakios prevented it. We had to use subtlety to find who else was a traitor.’ Her eyes strayed to Appollonius. He flushed a deep, unfetching crimson.

‘Nevertheless …’ Nero tapped his lips. ‘The conflagration was not prevented. We hold you responsible for this fire and will exert our justice. You will be taken from here and—’

‘
No!
’ Shimon stepped forward – and collapsed on to the hard earth as three watchmen clubbed him to the ground.

Math turned away.

‘Leave him!’ Nero snapped his fingers. ‘Let the Hebrew rise.’

With noticeably less enthusiasm, the men who had knocked Shimon down levered him up. His nose bled messily down his chin. Fresh bruises purpled both arms. He stood erect, held by his own pride, and made no effort to clean himself.

Math sat with his teeth clamped on his lower lip. Nero had no legal training, but believed himself to be the ultimate arbiter of Rome’s justice, and a competent counsel. He believed himself to be a god, too, on exactly the same basis: he was emperor and his word was law.

He stood now, with one hand on his hip, after the manner of the courts. ‘You are Shimon of Galilee, also known as Shimon the zealot?’

‘I am.’

Math winced, and stared straight ahead. Everyone else was gazing at Shimon in varying degrees of disbelief, waiting for him to say what he had not. Clearly, he hadn’t misspoken. Even in Coriallum, it was known that the Hebrews were particularly difficult in this regard.

Nero alone seemed untouched. Amiably, he said, ‘Did you know of the Sibylline prophecy before this night?’

‘I did.’

Again, the aching, painful gap.

‘He is your
lord
! You will name him as such.’ The centurion, Appollonius, cracked the back of his hand across Shimon’s face, sending strings of bloody mucus across Nero’s toga.

Math was beginning to hate that man. Nero, he thought, was not impressed either. Nor, it seemed, was someone else, newly come to the garden. A crisp, cold voice rang out through the silence.

‘Lord, why is this man still at liberty to assault your loyal subjects when he has spent the night burning your city?’

Three watchmen drew their blades and spun, then stood down. Their prefect stood at his ease under the rose arch with the glare of the rising sun behind casting him in living gold.

‘
Pantera!
’

Math ran past all the others. It might have been forbidden, it probably
was
forbidden, but some joys cannot be contained, some relief is impossible to hide.

He threw himself into the man’s arms and Pantera, a newly shining Pantera, lifted him high and hugged him and set him down lightly at his side. He did not send him back to Nero.

‘Lord, Appollonius has impeached himself by his actions of the night. He and his troop lit fires, not only on the Aventine, but in the suburra and around the forum. I have men aplenty who will testify in your name that this is true. I will personally testify that Shimon of Galilee was working to help prevent the fire, not to light it. And he saved my life in the fight with Akakios.’

A miracle had happened in the night, clearly, because Pantera was restored to himself again and sharply awake, which gave him an advantage over everyone else in the garden. He spoke with an authority that brooked no denial.

Nero looked a moment at the ring that lay on his palm, flecked now by Shimon’s blood. He crooked a finger. ‘You will approach us.’

At the dining couch, Pantera sank down on both knees with an elegance that stole Math’s breath.

Clasping Pantera’s head in both hands, Nero gripped a great fistful of hair on either side of his face, twisting it until Math saw the skin blanch where it took root. Pantera’s lips made a thin, hard line.

‘You are our prefect, the saviour of Rome.’ True grief roughened the emperor’s voice. ‘We have lost four precincts, but could have lost ten more – and would have done without you.’

‘My lord is kind.’ Pantera raised a brow; it was all he could move. He said, ‘Last night I had the honour to serve my emperor and did so with all my heart. This morning, as was agreed, I resign my post.’

‘Then we shall give it to Centurion Appollonius.’

A child’s threat. Pantera smiled. ‘My lord is too astute to do such a thing. He can smell treachery when it comes near him.’

Nero nodded. Appollonius jerked and was still. With so small a gesture, he had lost and everyone knew it. Nobody knew yet who might win.

‘Who then?’ Nero asked. ‘Who is fit to take your place?’ His hands were still knotted in Pantera’s hair.

Pantera pursed his lips. ‘Mergus is well placed. He excelled himself during the night and ill deserves the treatment he has had since dawn. To grant him the prefecture would undo the hurt he has suffered. But he is perhaps better a free agent, not weighed down with the duties of rank. And he is a centurion. It would be better to elevate a tribune. Annaeus of the sixth proved his loyalty many times over in the past hours and, as I said last night, he is a capable man. Either would suit.’

‘Which?’ The emperor’s hands tightened again. His knuckles grew white.

As much as a man can do who is held to kneeling by hands tearing at the roots of his hair, Pantera gave it thought. To those watching, it seemed that, without turning his head, he cast his eyes over the two men he had named. Exhausted and filthy, each came to parade attention.

‘I would choose Gaius Annaeus, tribune of the sixth cohort, as my successor to the post of prefect of the Urban Guard,’ he said.

With his words, it was so. Nero’s assent was a formality, haphazardly given.

‘Lord, the Centurion Apollonius …?’ Libo sought out three of the Watch with his eyes. With swift and subtle movements, they blocked the rose arch. Had Appollonius intended to leave, he had lost his opportunity.

Answering a glance from Nero, Pantera murmured, ‘As my lord knows, he was the son of a consul. He should be given the opportunity to fall on his sword as did his tribune. Mercy and compassion strengthen the giver as much as the receiver.’

Nero had already lost interest. His gaze had returned to Shimon and rested there, hotly.

Pantera still knelt at the emperor’s feet, his head still held in the rigid grip. Carefully, not looking at Shimon, he said, ‘My lord, parting is a grief, but it cannot be delayed for ever.’

‘Do not leave us!’ Early sunlight shimmered on trembling tears.

‘Lord, I have done all I can. As you said, the fire is less than it might have been. It may smoulder a while before the water tanks can be repaired and supplies restored, but no further precincts will be lost. A great many lives have been saved and my lord can rebuild a new Rome, with greater care for fire, and be known for a thousand years as the one who did so.’