Douglas Jackson - Defender of Rome

‘Lord our God, cleanse this unworthy woman of her sins and take her into your house, in keeping with your Covenant. Write your law upon her heart, place your almighty spirit within her and take her immortal soul into your keeping.’

When Poppaea emerged from beneath the fall her robe clung to her body revealing every curve and shadow, but Valerius only had eyes for the man who stood beside her. Was it a trick of the light? No, he had seen enough injury to be certain. In the centre of the priest’s palm was the puckered scar of an old wound. He turned to his father, but Lucius’s gaze had never left Poppaea. Valerius touched the old man on the shoulder. ‘Did you see…?’ But when he turned back to the pool the figure in the white robe had vanished.

Poppaea’s handmaidens quickly covered her in a white sheet and Petrus placed his palm upon her forehead, saying: ‘You are reborn now. In the name of Jesus Christus, I name you Maria. God is within you, you are his temple, go in peace.’

When Poppaea walked from the pool, she seemed taller, and her eyes shone with the wonder of what she had just experienced. Even with her hair plastered against her skull she radiated an inner beauty that transcended anything she had possessed before. She walked within feet of Valerius, but gave no hint of recognition. Valerius studied the men and women around him, looking for the man in the white robe. They included the lawyer from the baptism chamber in Rome and his plump wife, who stared unwaveringly towards the waterfall. Valerius felt the ground shudder beneath his feet but none of them appeared to notice it.

Lucius tugged at his sleeve, his eyes bright with rapture. ‘You saw it?’ he demanded. ‘She was reborn. God’s spirit came in a shaft of light and entered her. Do you understand what it means? Olivia can be saved, but only if we place her soul in God’s keeping.’ The grip on his arm tightened. ‘Will you join me, Valerius, and accompany her as she makes the journey towards salvation?’

‘Did you see him?’ Valerius demanded.

‘Petrus?’

‘No. The man with the wounds in his hands.’

His father opened his mouth, but before he could reply, a shout rang out from the hillside above.

‘Riders! Riders from the north!’

The walls of the villa shone like a beacon in the moonlight as Decimus Torquatus urged his mount along the metalled road with Rodan at his side and twenty dust-stained Batavian cavalry at his back. It had been a long day and promised to be a longer night. The information had taken more time to extract than he would have believed, but his anger was somewhat assuaged by the outcome of the interrogation. If he had calculated correctly, Poppaea should still be here with her parasitic friends and he would sweep them up like songbirds in a net, her treason plain for all to see in her association with the bandits she had succoured. In a perfect world, he would be accompanied by more troops, but the century of Praetorian infantry marching behind wouldn’t reach the villa until after dawn. He consoled himself that a force of twenty veteran cavalry was more than enough to cow a few religious fanatics. A man of little emotion, he was surprised by the flare of pleasure with which he anticipated their meeting. She would go on her knees to plead for his forgiveness. Perhaps she might even be persuaded to offer up a little more?

The thought brought a smile and he kicked the horse into a gallop. The only thing sweeter would be the moment when he presented her to Nero and forced her to confess her guilt.

‘Quickly, get Olivia into the house,’ Valerius shouted to his father, but Lucius stared back at him as if he was mad. The Christians waiting beside the pool milled around like chickens who have scented a fox but have nowhere to hide. Marcus, Serpentius and Heracles appeared at a run.

‘The house!’ Valerius snapped. He took one end of his sister’s bed and signalled Marcus to pick up the other. At last, at Petrus’s urging, the Christians began to move towards the villa. It was the only way. He couldn’t get them out before the cavalrymen arrived, but he might be able to protect them in the great warren of intersecting rooms that made up Poppaea’s villa. With luck, they would somehow find a way to escape.

He felt a hand pluck at his arm. ‘Olivia,’ Lucius cried. ‘We must wait. She must be baptized.’

‘Do you want to see her burn, Father?’ Valerius shrugged off the clutching fingers. ‘Because she will if we stay here. Don’t you understand? Torquatus wants Poppaea, but the only way he can prove her guilt is to take you as well and make you denounce her in front of the Emperor.’

Lucius recoiled as if he had been struck. ‘We would sooner die than betray our faith.’

Serpentius, running past them with a child in each arm, laughed. ‘It’s easy to be brave before you feel the heat of the fire, old man.’

By now they were at the far end of the pool, where a doorway led to a corridor connecting the pool complex to the main villa. Valerius led the way at the run. He found himself in a room with a large fishpond at its centre. Next door was the lararium where the family performed their daily homage to the household gods, and beyond it a room lined with the terracotta death masks of Poppaea’s ancestors. Finally he reached a wide hall with stairs leading to the upper floor. Close by was a short passage to the villa’s main entrance. He hesitated, tempted to take his chances in the open. But he couldn’t leave without Poppaea and it might be too late in any case. He made his decision.

‘Take Olivia upstairs.’ He handed his end of the burden to Heracles. ‘And get the rest of these sheep up there.’ Petrus bridled at the insult, but Valerius ignored the old man.

‘What about you?’ Marcus demanded.

‘I’ll fetch the Empress. If I don’t get back hold on as long as you can. I doubt they’ll dare to burn the place, but if they do you’ll have to get the Christians out any way you can.’

Marcus nodded. ‘Depend on it.’

Valerius turned to go, but a strong hand gripped his shoulder. ‘I will go with you,’ Petrus said.

He brushed the Judaean aside. ‘Your place is here with your flock. Get them to make themselves useful. Remember our bargain and stay alive.’

Petrus didn’t argue and Serpentius herded the Judaean and the other Christians up the stairs. Marcus and Heracles followed with Olivia and carried her into a nearby room where her father took his place by her. Two of the Christians offered to help and Marcus set them to collecting beds and couches to barricade the stairway and anything heavy that could be used as a weapon. The others held their wives and children and stared dumbly at the walls, like cattle waiting for the slaughter.

Marcus studied the stairway. It was perhaps four paces wide and quite steep. Anyone who attacked up it was going to have to be quick and brave, but that suited the veteran gladiator well enough. The faster and braver they were, the quicker they’d die. But he understood that he couldn’t defend the stairhead for ever. He called to Serpentius. ‘I need to know what’s up here. Check out every room and every potential way off this floor. Four of us can hold the stair as long as we can hold a sword, but only if they don’t get behind us.’

‘What if they have archers?’ The Spaniard identified the flaw in Marcus’s reasoning. A single bowman would pick the defenders off from the stairwell with all the ease of a child plucking peaches in an orchard.

Marcus spat against bad luck and pointed to the Christians. ‘Tell those bastards to pray that they don’t,’ he growled. ‘One way or the other we’re going to find out tonight if their nailed god is any fucking use.’