Douglas Jackson: Defender of Rome

Serpentius set off along the balcony. Marcus heard a soft cough and turned to find the two Christians carrying a padded couch about six feet long and of heavy construction. ‘Good,’ he rasped. ‘Put it here,’ he indicated the top of the stairway, ‘with the feet outwards where they’ll make life awkward for anybody trying to get close. But we need more. Couches, chairs, beds, cupboards. Get those other sheep to help you.’ He grinned to give the men confidence. ‘We’ll make them fight for every inch of stairway and by the time they get up here they’ll be begging us to kill them.’ But not yet, he thought. He needed to leave the stair open until Valerius returned with Poppaea.

But where was he?

Valerius slipped silently along endless lamplit corridors. At every turn he expected to meet a slave or servant, but it was evident Poppaea had found some scheme to empty the house while Petrus and his Christians were here. He passed through the family shrine and the lararium back to the indoor pond and paused to get his bearings. Where were Poppaea’s private apartments? Not near the pool, certainly, or he would have come across them already. So they had to be on the ocean side of the villa. He turned right towards an opening on the far side of the room. And stopped in his tracks.

The fish in the pond were dancing.

It was the only word for it. Hundreds of the tiny, rainbow-coloured creatures leapt and flipped, walking on their tails and somersaulting across the surface of the water. Below them hundreds more jerked erratically and swam elaborate patterns as if waiting their turn to escape. Natural curiosity made him hesitate, but he didn’t have time to be distracted by the antics of a few fish. As he neared the rear of the villa the sound of a soft voice alerted him. In a luxuriously appointed room with broad windows overlooking the sea, Poppaea, Empress of Rome, knelt before a painting of the Christian symbol Valerius had seen on the wall of the baptism chamber.

Poppaea had changed from the simple white baptismal dress into a heavy robe of imperial purple and her long chestnut hair was tied neatly in place. She looked up in confusion. A week earlier she would have felt nothing but relief to have the reassuring figure of Valerius by her side, but now she had a more powerful protector.

‘What do you mean by entering my private apartments?’ she demanded. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I don’t have time to explain. Torquatus is coming.’

She lifted her chin and the dark eyes flashed. ‘Then let him come. I have no fear of Torquatus.’

Valerius couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Why are you people so eager to die? Isn’t it possible your God is giving you a chance to live? Come with me and I may be able to save you. Stay here and you give Torquatus everything he wants.’

She shot him a venomous glance and he started for the door. ‘Wait,’ she ordered. He bit back a comment as she gathered up the painting and placed it face down below a couch. Better that she should have burned the evidence of her new loyalty, but there was no time. At least she was prepared to follow him.

‘Which is the quickest way to the stairs?’

He followed her as she made her way unerringly through one corridor after another, one room after another. As they walked she questioned Valerius. ‘How did Torquatus know to come to the villa?’

Valerius guessed that Fabia had betrayed him, but he saw no profit in paying her back in the same coin. ‘At the moment, lady, that is less important than the fact that he is here. Perhaps you can ask him when you meet, although I’m sure he has many more important questions for you.’

‘Do not play games with me,’ she snapped. ‘Would he be content with me alone?’

Valerius shook his head. ‘Even if he was satisfied with you today, he would come for the rest of us tomorrow or the day after. We would never be safe. And when he has you, he will use you to get to others. Nero will slaughter the Judaeans in Rome and your new religion will wither away.’

‘The faith will go on,’ she said with certainty. ‘Jesus did not suffer and die on the cross for nothing.’

‘Then let us hope it isn’t put to the test.’

Serpentius returned from his reconnaissance. ‘Nothing to worry about up here. There’s a big room at the back with a balcony that looks out towards the sea. A couple of sitting rooms and a couple of small rooms for guests. The rest is servants’ quarters.’ He held up a thick gold chain. ‘A man could get rich by mistake in a place like this.’

Marcus shook his head, but he didn’t order the Spaniard to replace the jewellery. If you were about to go to war with the Praetorian Guard what was the point of worrying about a necklace? ‘This balcony. How high is it? Can they climb to it?’

Serpentius pushed the chain inside his tunic. ‘Not without a ladder.’

‘Plenty of ladders on an estate, lad. You!’ He pointed to the Roman lawyer who was sitting huddled beside his wife. ‘Get out to the back and shout if you see any movement below the balcony.’ The Christian hesitated. ‘Now!’ Marcus roared, and the man scurried off, leaving his wife whimpering. ‘Mars’ arse, what have we got ourselves into,’ the gladiator muttered.

The two foragers returned with another couch, their fourth, this time laden with a pile of marble and bronze busts. Marcus picked up a head that was instantly recognizable as Nero: pouting lips and a weak chin that even the sculptor couldn’t hide. ‘Nice to know he’s good for something. A few more wouldn’t go amiss.’

The younger of the two men stepped forward. ‘I am Isaac,’ he said. ‘I can fight.’

Marcus looked him up and down, taking in the athlete’s physique, and nodded. ‘Good.’ He handed the man Nero’s head. ‘When they come, give them this with my compliments.’

They were interrupted by the sound of hooves clattering into the courtyard.

At last Valerius recognized the stairway. He gestured to Poppaea to go ahead, but in the same instant a crash shook the walls and the front door smashed in as the first Praetorians burst into the house.

‘Get back,’ he whispered, ushering her behind him. ‘We need to find another way.’

‘Where?’ she demanded.

‘First we need to get out of the house-’

‘You!’

Valerius looked up to find Rodan standing next to a cavalryman in the doorway a dozen yards away with a triumphant grin on his burn-scarred face. He waited for the moment when the Praetorian would recognize Poppaea, but Rodan’s expression didn’t change and he realized the Empress must be hidden by the angle of the wall.

‘Make for the sea,’ he whispered. ‘I will join you there if I can. Go.’ He felt her hesitate. ‘Please go, lady.’

With relief, he heard a soft shuffle fading into the distance and he turned his attention back to his enemy.

Three more cavalrymen had joined Rodan, all wearing armour over their black tunics. Rodan carried the short legionary gladius, but the other men were armed with the big spatha cavalry swords Valerius had seen used to such good effect in Britain. The spatha could be fearsome when wielded from horseback and the weight of the sword cleaved helmet and skull, but it was cumbersome if the user was out of the saddle. Their armour and weapons made them slower, which was to his advantage, but more difficult to kill, which was definitely not. Valerius had no doubt he had to kill these men. The only way any of them were going to get out of this alive was if he defeated Rodan and Torquatus.

If Rodan had been alone he would have taken his chances and rushed the Praetorian. But five opponents called for a more cautious approach. He had to hold them long enough to give Poppaea time to escape. He’d worry about what came next later, if there was a later.