Steven Saylor - A murder on the Appian way

As if to punctuate that sentiment, a smouldering pocket of flame down in the Porcian Basilica suddenly flared up. The fire must have eaten through to a cache of lamp oil and ignited it. The concussion reached the Palatine a moment later, like the muffled boom of a drumbeat. By the glare of the towering flames I saw the tiny figures of startled firefighters scattering. A cheer went up from the feasting Clodians. The snakelike line of bucket-carriers altered course to douse the new flare-up, which spat back at them with steam and tongues of flame. In the gathering darkness the struggle between the fire and those who fought it began to take on fantastical shapes.

"So it's no surprise," I went on, "if Milo should, have killed Clodius. The only thing less surprising would have been if Clodius had killed Milo."

Diana nodded thoughtfully.

A little while later Bethesda called up from the garden. It was nearly time for dinner. Diana went down to help her mother. She seemed satisfied with the answers I had given her, though I was quite aware that I had not answered her most important questions.

Are we in danger, Papa?

Is something awful about to happen?

The fiery explosion down in the Forum seemed to have ignited a fresh burst of excitement among the Clodians. They finished their feast. Speakers mounted the Rostra again. Chants echoed up from the mob.

A strange ceremony began. Men marched in single file up to the smouldering ruins of the Senate House, then descended the blackened steps holding fiery torches aloft. After a while I realized what was happening: they were lighting their torches from the same purifying fire that had consumed Clodius's remains. Out of piety and devotion, they would take it home with them, to add to their own hearth fires. Or so I thought, until I saw that the mob had another use in mind for the sacred fire.

From the steps of the Senate House the torchbearers headed towards the Palatine. It was easy to follow their progress; they moved like creeping rivers of flame between the temples and across the paved squares. They returned by the ways they had come, some heading up the Ramp, others disappearing from my sight around the edge of the hill, heading for the paths that would take them up the western flank of the Palatine. The torchlight in that direction made such a glow that over on Cicero's roof I could see the figures of Cicero and Tiro in silhouette, their backs turned towards me as they put their heads together.

Those who ascended the Ramp turned west, away from my house, and ran in the direction of Cicero's house. I held my breath. I saw Cicero's silhouette stiffen. But the torchbearers ran on. Following the street, making a circumference of the crest of the hill, they would meet up with the rest of the mob at some point on the farther side.

Who had a house in that vicinity?

Milo.

With the same cleansing fire that had turned the bloody remains of Clodius to ash, the mob intended to burn down Milo's house, and Milo with it, if he had dared to return to the city.

Diana called to me from below. "Papa! Mother says it's time to eat."

"Yes, Diana. In a moment."

Milo's house was far away, measuring by a stone's throw; not far at all, measuring by the speed of flames riding a cold breeze to jump from roof to roof If the mob set fire to Milo's house, the blaze could easily spread all over the Palatine…

The safest course might be to take the family to Eco's house over on the Esquiline. But what would happen then if my house did catch fire? Who would fight the flames? And what reason was there to think that we could cross the Subura and reach Eco's house in safety on such a night, with such a mob on the loose?

"Papa, are you coming down? Do you see something?"

A few stragglers came running up the Ramp. Their torches crackled in the air like flapping pennants as they took the sharp turn towards Cicero's house and beyond.

"I'm coming," I said. I took a last look in the direction of Milo's house. I seemed to hear sounds of conflict — clattering, shouting — but the echoes were confused and distant.

"Papa?"

I turned and stepped onto the top rung of the ladder.

It was a sombre meal. I tasted nothing. Afterwards, when Diana and Bethesda had retired for the night, I stole up to the roof again. I looked in the direction of Milo's house but saw no sign of flames. Still, when I was ready to come down, I called for Belbo to take my place. We took turns through the night, one fitfully dozing beneath a mound of blankets on a couch in the garden, one up on the roof watching the skyline for any telltale orange glow. But when it finally came, the glow was in the opposite direction. The sun came up, and my house still stood.

I went up to the roof to have a final look. In the cold, hazy morning air, the Forum was like a smeared painting. I could hardly make out any details at all. But when I took a deep breath I caught the scent of burned wood and baked stone, the smell of what had once been the Senate House, which had become the crematorium of the rabble's fallen champion.

"Driven off with arrows," said Eco, stretching his arms over his head and yawning; he had slept as poorly as I had. The haze had lifted. The sun was shining in the garden. We sat on folding chairs across from the statue of Minerva, soaking up the tenuous midday warmth.

"That's the word in the street, anyway," he continued. "The Clodians didn't anticipate so much resistance. They expected to find Milo's house more or less deserted, I suppose. They figured they could break in, kill a few slaves, loot the place, then burn it to the ground. Instead, they were met by a troop of archers posted on the roof. Expert marksmen, apparently. The battle didn't last long. A few casualties, and the Clodians turned and ran."

"I should think they'd have had enough by that point, anyway — burning the Senate House, stuffing themselves sick, listening to all those speeches. You'd think they'd have been ready to call it a day."

"You'd think so. But then, so the rumour goes, after they were repulsed from Milo's house, the mob left the Palatine, ran through the Subura and outside the city walls to the necropolis."

"The city of the dead? At night? I should think they'd have been as frightened of lemures as of arrows."

"They stayed clear of the sepulchres and burial pits. They headed for the sacred grove of Libitina."

"Goddess of the dead." — Eco nodded. "They broke into her temple."

"In the middle of the night? But why? Surely the duty of registering Clodius among the dead fells to his family, not to the mob. And they can't have been looking to rent requisites for the funeral — they'd

already done the job of cremating Clodius, without paying much heed to religious niceties."

"It had nothing to do with that, Papa. For some reason, it's in the Temple of Libitina that the fasces are kept when there are no consuls. You know, those bundles of sticks with an axe projecting, carried by the consuls at ceremonies and processions."

"Their badges of office."

"Exactly. With no consuls in office, the fasces have to be stored somewhere, and apparently the official place is the Temple of Libitina. So the mob breaks into the temple, seizes the fasces, and then runs back into the city to seek out the men running for consul against Milo."

"Publius Hypsaeus and Quintus Scipio,"

"Yes. Both supported by Clodius, of course. The mob goes straight to Scipio's house and shouts for him to come out and claim the fasces."

"Forgo the election entirely? Become consul by appointment of the mob?"

"That must have been the idea. But Scipio wouldn't show his face."

"Probably scared out of his wits, like everybody else in Rome last night."

"Then the same thing at the house of Hypsaeus. Shouts of acclamation, but the candidate kept his door shut. Then somebody in the mob got the idea to offer the fasces to Pompey."