Douglas Jackson: Saviour of Rome

A bulky figure in the uniform of a senior Roman officer stepped from the shadows accompanied by two soldiers. Serpentius could hear others pouring into the room behind him, but he didn’t resist as rough hands gripped his arms.

‘You are under arrest for the murder of a consular official and treason against the state.’

Rome

This was worse than the hour before battle. Gaius Valerius Verrens clenched his left fist to keep his hand from shaking as he waited for his bride to appear. A lavish cloth pavilion had been created for the ceremony at the villa his sister Olivia shared with the father of her child on the family estate at Fidenae. His own neighbouring villa, on land Valerius had been granted by the Emperor Vespasian for his heroics during the campaign to take Jerusalem, lay unfinished despite the efforts of dozens of tradesmen he’d hired to complete the work in time for the ceremony. He looked up to the unblemished eggshell blue of a perfect summer sky. The movement must have been accompanied by a soft groan, because the man behind him laughed.

‘Patience,’ counselled Titus Flavius Vespasian, resplendent in his consular robes. The son of the Emperor and heir to the purple would be one of ten guests to witness the wedding rites. ‘Anyone would think you were waiting to climb a siege ladder with the arrows whistling round your ears.’

‘Perhaps I’d rather be?’ Valerius answered wryly.

‘Don’t be a fool, Valerius,’ Titus hissed. ‘Thank Fortuna for the day you met Tabitha.’ The words were accompanied by a smile, but a certain edge to his voice told Valerius he had picked at an old wound. Clearly he’d reminded his friend of his former lover Berenice of Cilicia – Queen Berenice. The Emperor had insisted Titus relinquish the beautiful Cilician ruler as part of the agreement to make him heir. Berenice, acutely attuned to the ways of great courts, had taken the decision with dignity, but it had left Titus scarred, and the quarrel with his father was still fresh in his memory.

‘I …’ Before he could apologize, Valerius’s attention was drawn by the gasps of the servants and slaves who craned their necks from every vantage point.

He followed their gaze as a slim, veiled figure took her place on the villa steps with his sister at her side. A princess of the Syrian state of Emesa, Tabitha had been on a clandestine mission for Queen Berenice when Valerius saved her from a band of Judaean assassins. Together they’d fought their way into Jerusalem as Titus’s soldiers took their bloody revenge for the long and frustrating siege of the city. They’d also become lovers, and when Valerius returned to Rome it only seemed natural Tabitha should accompany him.

She should have been dressed by her mother, but since that lady had died years before, the task was undertaken by Olivia. The tunica recta Tabitha had worn the previous night was fastened in place with a band of silken wool tied in the Knot of Hercules that only her new husband was privileged to unpick. Tabitha’s long dark hair had been divided into six strands and plaited with bright ribbons. Over it was placed the flame-coloured veil, the flammeum , that masked her beauty and identified her as a bride. Valerius sensed Tabitha’s eyes on him through the thin cloth of the veil and he shivered in anticipation. A fine fat sheep with brightly coloured ribbons tied in its wool was led, bleating piteously, to an adjacent part of the precinct where the priest waited. They watched as the victimarius cut its throat and opened it so the priest could study the entrails. A worried murmur went up from the slaves as he consulted the glistening coils and steaming organs for what seemed an inordinately long time. Valerius caught Olivia’s eye and saw a hint of amusement on her lips. She knew her brother well enough to be sure he’d arranged the proper outcome.

The priest rose from his inspection shaking his head in amazement at what he’d discovered. ‘I have never seen such an auspicious day,’ he announced to an enormous cheer. ‘The name Verrens will live long in the annals of the Empire.’

Valerius felt a nudge and Titus whispered, ‘Nicely done, brother, I couldn’t have arranged it better myself. By the way, my father asks you to attend an audience. Noon in three days.’

Valerius stiffened. It could be anything. Vespasian had let it be known he valued his opinion, but in Valerius’s experience any visit to the Palatine, where the Emperor had taken up residence in preference to Nero’s more ostentatious Golden House, contained an element of risk.

But he couldn’t think about that now. This was the moment. He took a deep breath and tried to swallow, but his throat was as dry as a Parthian salt pan. He should be blissfully happy; instead his mind was a turmoil of contradictions. Apart from occasional fleeting relationships he’d been alone for so long he wasn’t quite certain how to feel. What kind of husband would he make? Oh, he knew the ideal of the Roman husband. Stern and unyielding, the master of his house and all who dwelt in it. By marrying him, Tabitha became his property, to be taken or discarded at will. But he didn’t feel like that. Most Roman men married for position, or power or wealth, not love. But Valerius and Tabitha’s love had been forged in the heat of the Syrian desert and the flames of the Great Temple of Jerusalem. Just the sight of her made his heart swell to fill his chest. He felt sure it was a real love. A lasting love. And Tabitha was not the usual subservient Roman bride. She was a princess of Emesa. A follower of the Judaean faith who had agreed to accept her husband’s because her children would grow up, not just as Roman citizens, but of the patrician class.

Lupergos, Olivia’s partner, had decorated the pavilion as a woodland bower with tree branches, blossoms and colourful tapestries. Now Olivia led Tabitha to Valerius’s left side and he felt slim fingers entwine with his. There was a current fashion for longer ceremonies with various innovations, but together they’d decided they would marry in the old style, in a way Valerius’s father would have approved. They spoke only the traditional words, and Valerius felt his heart thunder in his ears as Tabitha’s nervous, husky voice whispered: ‘ Quando tu Gaius, ego Gaia .’ In as much as you are Gaius I am Gaia.

Valerius lifted the veil of the flammeum and for the first time that day looked into the enormous, sapphire blue eyes that had captivated him since the first moment they’d met.

‘I love you,’ he whispered. She smiled and her honeyed flesh seemed to glow, but a small tear rolled down her cheek. He lifted his fingers to brush it away, but before he could reach it Olivia took them both by the hand and led them to a fleece-covered stool to make the sacrifice to Jupiter. The traditional spelt cake tasted like ashes in Valerius’s mouth and suddenly all he wanted was for the ceremony to be over. To be alone with Tabitha.

But first they must endure the feast, a lavish affair because it was expected and Valerius was now a rich man. The cellars of the Great Temple of Jerusalem had proved to be filled with gold, and even a Judaean merchant’s most innovative hiding place was no proof against a legionary with the scent of treasure in his nostrils and a crowbar in his hand. The line of wagons carrying plunder from the city had stretched to the far horizon. Thanks to Titus, Valerius’s service merited a senior tribune’s share, enough, and more, to allow him to take his seat in the Senate. Vespasian’s gift of half the neighbouring estate that had previously belonged to the philosopher Seneca doubled the family holdings. Only two years earlier Valerius had been a penniless exile wandering in the desert. Now he sat at a table set with gold, an Imperial favourite and a valued counsellor with the resources to live a life of ease if he chose.