M. Scott: Rome: The Emperor's spy

‘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.’

‘But Akakios did not plot alone! He had succour and support amongst the Hebrews. In Gaul, you told us so, and again in our garden at Antium.’ Nero was scarlet with anguish. Foam gathered at the corners of his mouth. His hands, holding Pantera’s hair, were shaking.

‘I may have misspoken.’

‘You did not! This man, Shimon, is guilty.’ Made rash by grief, Nero flung out his arm, pointing at Shimon. ‘Guards! Take this man. We name him the source of the fire.’

‘Lord-’ With no apparent difficulty, Pantera was standing. Mergus had not moved and the only other watchman left, unwilling to act alone, flushed scarlet, but held his ground. Ignoring them both, giving all his attention to the man-child in front of him, Pantera said, ‘Shimon did not light the fire, excellency. I will swear that on anything you wish.’