David Wishart - Nero

But what would they remember, the Romans of a hundred years' time, when all of us were dead? That the Emperor Nero had rebuilt the city, much of it at his own expense? Or that he played the lyre and sang while the old Rome burned below him? You, my readers, know the answer as well as I do. And so will your children, and your children's children.

Lucius's tragedy was that he couldn't even ask himself the question.

We thought, on the sixth day, that it was all over. In the Third, Tenth and Eleventh Districts there was nothing left to burn, and where the alleys gave way on the slopes of the hills to stone-built houses and more open ground the fire had burned itself out or been brought under control. Then reports came in of a fresh outbreak to the north, in the Seventh District, the largely residential region beyond the Servian Wall. From there the fire spread westward into the Flaminian Racetrack District. It burned for three more days, not stopping until it reached the river. By the morning of 28 July, when everything was finally over, half the city was a blackened cinder and half its population homeless or dead.

I don't know when the rumours started, or who started them; no one had had any time for gossip up to then. I heard them first from Bassus, who was staying with me temporarily: being consul, instead of going off to his villa in the Alban Hills while the damage to his own house was being repaired, the poor fellow was stuck in Rome (or what was left of it)organising the clearing-up operation.

It had taken my bath slaves the whole day, plus two pounds of pumice and a gallon of rosewater, to stop me looking and smelling like a lump of charcoal. When I came into the solar for a pre-dinner drink to complete the transformation Bassus was inspecting the fluorspar wine dipper I'd just bought.

'Nice,' he said.

'So it ought to be, for three hundred thousand.' I reclined. The slave busied himself with the cups and strainer.

'Jupiter!' He set the thing down carefully on its napkin. 'That's the price of a better-than-decent slave!'

You have to make allowances: Bassus was from Patavium, and his family were farmers.

'The emperor paid a million for his,' I said.

'Then he's got more money than sense. And so have you.'

He meant it. I laughed. 'Not at all, my dear. There's a difference. Mine's worth every penny. They saw poor Nero coming.'

'I'd rather have the slave, in any case. Still' — he sipped his wine — 'I suppose it's a matter of priorities.'

'Indeed. Have you seen him recently? The emperor?'

'We'd an interview this morning, Frugi and I.' The senior consul was back in Rome. He'd arrived shortly after Lucius, but since his own house was on the Caelian and under threat from the fire we hadn't seen much of him. 'A remarkably productive interview, really. Nero came up with a lot of good ideas.'

'You sound surprised.' The slave had gone. I filled my own cup.

'Well, it's just…' He frowned. 'You were there that night at Maecenas Tower. You saw him yourself. You know what I mean.'

'I know exactly what you mean, my dear. Very dramatic, of course, but just a little ill-advised under the circumstances.'

'Ill-advised be damned. It was stupid.' He hesitated. 'You know the emperor's being blamed for starting the fire himself?'

'What?' I almost dropped the wine dipper, but caught myself in time and replaced it carefully.

'The Maecenas Tower story's gone the rounds. People are saying he burned the city just for the sake of the performance.'

'That's nonsense. It's worse than nonsense; it's absolute stupidity.'

'I didn't say I believed it.' Bassus was looking uncomfortable. 'I said that was what people are saying.'

'What people?'

'The ordinary citizens. Even a few of the better classes.'

'But Lucius was in Antium when the fire started. Everyone knows that.'

'They say he arranged things before he left. And there are reports of gangs stopping firemen from doing their job, claiming they were acting under the emperor's orders.'

'I had trouble with a few of those myself. They were looters, trying it on.' I hadn't thought twice about it at the time, with so much else to do. 'Bassus, believe me, Nero just isn't capable of something like this. And what reason could he possibly have?' Bassus shook his head, but he didn't look convinced. I was seriously worried. The mob was one thing — the average Roman citizen with a third-floor tenement room will blame anyone for anything at the drop of a corn-dole ticket — but reasonable men like Bassus were another matter. 'That business at the tower was just a piece of silliness. You know how the emperor is. Where art's concerned he just doesn't think.'

'Did he mention his new palace to you?'

The sudden change of direction took me by surprise. 'He said something about it, yes.'

'What exactly?'

I was cautious. 'Nothing much. Only that he wanted it to be impressive.'

Bassus laughed. 'It's to be impressive, all right. It'll take in everything from the Palatine to Maecenas Gardens.'

'I'm sorry, my dear, but that's nonsense. Something that big would stretch half way across the city. It'd mean demolishing — ' I stopped, suddenly cold. No demolition was necessary; there was nothing between the Palatine and the Esquiline to demolish. Not now. 'He's serious?'

'He had it all worked out. What it would look like. The decoration. Even some idea of the cost. As if he'd been planning it for months.'

I said nothing. I simply could not believe that Lucius would be so cold-blooded. Performing his Sack of Troy with Rome burning around him, yes, that was in character. But to start a fire that would kill thousands just to clear space for his own building plans — no, not even Lucius was that much of an egotist. Besides, he'd said himself that he'd just had the palace redecorated, and money aside he would never have done that if he'd known it wouldn't last the year out. Never.

'There's another thing.' Bassus was staring into his cup. 'The second fire, in the Broad Street District. You know where that started?'

'Tell me.'

'North west of the Sanquatis Gate. On an estate owned by Ofonius Tigellinus.'

I set my wine cup down. It was still more than half full, and I'd almost forgotten I was holding it.

'Coincidence, my dear,’ I said. ‘Any fire has to start somewhere. And Tigellinus was out of Rome at the time.'

'As the emperor was ten days ago?' Bassus came as close to a sneer as he was capable of. 'How very convenient. Besides, the fire wasn't reported until it was well out of control.'

'Was there anyone on the estate to report it?'

'The house was staffed, yes. And it isn't that big. One of Tiggy's more modest properties.' Bassus set his own cup down. 'Titus, don't get me wrong. I said I didn't necessarily believe the emperor was involved, and I meant it. In any event what you and I think isn't important. People are blaming him, and even if they don't all claim he started the fire they're accusing him of keeping it going for his own purposes. And they've got evidence to back them.' I'd forgotten that Bassus was a lawyer, and a good one. 'Whatever the truth of the matter, Nero has a case to answer.'

'Even although the whole thing was an accident?' I was stubborn. 'You were in charge. You know the situation better than anyone. Could he have done more to help than he did?'

'Perhaps not, but — '

'Or been more concerned? Genuinely concerned? Forget the histrionics on the tower roof, they meant nothing, not in his terms, anyway. Believe me, Nero may be guilty of a lot of things but burning Rome isn't one of them.'

He sighed. 'Well, you may be right. He's not in my court anyway, and never likely to be. But if I were the emperor, guilty or innocent, I'd be very worried indeed, because he can't ignore public opinion and accident or not people are looking for a scapegoat. If he wants to slide out of this one with his credibility intact he'd better come up with one soon.'