Douglas Jackson - Enemy of Rome

Domitia had kept to her room since the altercation between Valerius and Domitianus, but the sense of anticipation among the guards and servants told her something was going on. The feeling had grown throughout the morning and now a murmur of sound brought her to the doorway just as the two guards appeared. They announced that she was to join Sabinus and that she should put on her cloak. Her first instinct was to tell them she would not be ordered around without an explanation, but their cold expressions told her she’d be wasting her time. She chose her warmest cloak — the blue one — and accompanied them to where Domitianus waited by the entrance.

‘I hope you have an explanation for disturbing me, sir,’ she said coldly.

To her surprise he greeted the question with none of his usual condescension. ‘My uncle Sabinus is about to make history, and since you have always valued it I thought you might like to attend.’

He led her through the crowd of senators and the supporters and clients who had accompanied them to where Sabinus paced nervously, forced to wait for the urban cohort that was to escort him. They took their place among the politicians closest to the prefect. By now it was late afternoon and Domitia saw the skies were clear, as if autumn had ordered winter to take a step back for a day. She noted the uneasiness of the men around her and wondered how many of them were willing participants in the Prefect of Rome’s plans. Eventually, the sound of marching feet heralded the arrival of the cohort. The tribune in charge assigned a century to escort the leading group of Sabinus and his reluctant political supporters. The rest would bring up the rear. Every man carried a sword, spear and shield and Domitia shivered as her nose caught a distinctive scent she had only experienced once before. The mixed odours of sweat, fear and something indefinable that was the smell of a man anticipating battle. The sight of the soldiers sent a murmur through the politicians and their supporters, but it faded as Sabinus led them out of the villa gates into the road. Their route took them down towards the Subura and in the streets around the Porticus Liviae traders, workmen and their customers gaped in astonishment at the silent, grim-faced soldiers advancing with such purposeful strides. Faces began appearing in the windows of the apartment blocks lining the streets and neighbours shouted questions to each other above Domitia’s head. A cry went up when someone recognized the politicians in the midst of the soldiers.

‘It’s Sabinus. And look, there’s old Metellus.’

‘Are they being arrested?’ The big-breasted woman hanging out of a second-storey window sounded pleased at the prospect.

‘Fat chance,’ an elderly man on the other side of the street chortled. ‘Lean out a bit further, Liv, and I’ll give you a squeeze.’

The woman disappeared with a suggestion that was at best anatomically unsound. On the street below a tanner appeared from an alley. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked the owner of the next door bakery.

‘It looks like they’re taking over,’ the baker frowned.

‘Where’s the Emperor?’

The baker didn’t reply, but he began to hurriedly gather up his stock.

Sabinus marched onwards looking neither left nor right. Soon they were on the Argiletum and news of their coming must have preceded them because every door was closed. The only signs of life were the heads peering fearfully out of upstairs windows. As the procession passed in the shadow of the Temple of Mars Ultor, the head of the column seemed to stutter. Domitia frowned as she heard the unmistakable sounds of fighting: cries and screams and the clatter of iron on iron. Domitianus tightened his grip on her arm and dragged her towards his uncle.

‘What’s happening?’ he demanded. Sabinus could only shake his head wordlessly. He pointed to the gap between the Senate house and the Basilica Paulli where the advance guard Domitianus had sent to secure the Forum could be seen bending over a dozen prone bodies. Blood flowed red over the dark paving between the rostra at either end of the Forum.

‘This shouldn’t have happened,’ Domitianus hissed. Domitia looked at Sabinus and wondered that a human being could be so pale and still live. A soldier’s daughter, her heart quailed at the implications of what she was seeing. She heard worried murmuring amongst the politicians in the procession behind, but her attention was drawn to the urban cohort centurion who ran up to report to Sabinus.

‘A few of these Praetorian traitors tried to stop us, but the Forum has been secured as commanded. What are your orders, prefect?’ A shout of warning rang out and the officer turned sharply in time to see one of the prone men leap to his feet and run off in the direction of the House of the Vestals. ‘Get that man,’ the centurion roared.

Too late. As they watched, the wounded Praetorian disappeared among the temples leaving only his shouts echoing between the marble columns. ‘Murder! Betrayal! The traitors have risen.’

‘Your orders?’ the centurion repeated, but Sabinus seemed to have been struck dumb. Meanwhile, most of the senators and patricians had slipped quietly away at the sight of the spilled blood and the terrible consequences it heralded. Domitianus hurried after them, attempting to persuade them to stay, but none would even look at him. In desperation he dragged at Saturninus’s arm, but the senator shrugged him away.

‘We came here to witness a peaceful handover of power.’ The politician’s voice was edged with fear and heavy with disgust. He waved a despairing hand at the bleeding bodies lying on the black tiles. ‘We wanted nothing to do with this.’

‘Stay with us,’ Domitianus urged. ‘We can still win. My father’s legions will be here in a day, two at most. Vitellius won’t dare act against us.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Saturninus said. ‘But this will bring the entire Praetorian Guard down on you. I see nothing here but blood and death.’

‘He’s right. That bastard will be off squealing to his Praetorian mates at the palace,’ the tribune in charge of the escort cohort said. ‘We can’t hold the entire Forum against them until Primus’s legions get here.’

‘Then find somewhere we can hold,’ Domitianus insisted. As he spoke his eyes were drawn to the looming bulk to his right.

‘This man says he is known to you.’

Valerius looked up to see Serpentius struggling like a chained animal between two big Praetorians. In the packed anteroom Vitellius’s waiting aides backed away from the snarling figure in the doorway, appalled at the savagery written in every line of the Spaniard’s face.

‘These idiots have had me in the guardroom for an hour,’ the former gladiator raged. ‘They wouldn’t listen.’

‘Free him,’ Valerius ordered, ‘and return to your posts.’

He offered Serpentius a cup of wine, but the Spaniard shook his head. ‘We’ve no time for that,’ he rasped. ‘You have to come now. Sabinus and the urban cohorts have seized the Capitoline. They’ve left a dozen dead Praetorians in the Forum and now the Guards’ mates are on the way with blood in their eyes.’ Something in his voice changed and Valerius felt a terrible foreboding. ‘Domitianus is there. He’s taken the lady Domitia with him.’

The room seemed to disappear for a moment until the iron grip of Serpentius’s fingers on Valerius’s arm returned him to reality. ‘No time for that, my friend,’ the Spaniard said. ‘We must go. Now.’

‘The Emperor …’

‘He’ll hear soon enough.’ Serpentius was already on the move. ‘But only the gods know what he can do about it. This city is like a scorpion stinging itself to death. It’s as if people think the only way to avoid a repeat of what happened at Cremona is for Primus to be welcomed to a city in ashes with the streets already filled with bodies.’