Empire - Saylor Steven (книги без сокращений TXT) 📗

“He almost certainly is,” said Epaphroditus. “I wouldn’t put much store by the scribe’s story. Disguised as a priest of Isis, indeed! It’s rather far-fetched.”

“Not as far-fetched as an emperor of Roma setting fire to the Temple of Jupiter,” said Epictetus.

To that his master had no answer.

“Vitellius must regret that decision now,” said Lucius. “What’s that line from Seneca? ‘Such a deed, once done, can never be called back.’”

Epaphroditus nodded. “Yesterday he sent the Vestal virgins out to meet the approaching army, to plead for peace. They came back empty-handed. Then he assembled the senators, made a tearful speech, and offered the sword of the Divine Julius to them, one by one, to show his willingness to abdicate. No one would accept it.”

“Not one of them had the courage to take that sword and put an end to Vitellius!” said Epictetus bitterly.

“Like the rest of us, the senators are waiting to see how the thing plays out,” said Epaphroditus. “The last of Vitellius’s troops have defected. He may have some supporters left, but they’re hardly better than street gangs. Vespasian’s men crossed the Milvian Bridge this morning. The advance guard must be in the city already.”

“Today is the holiday of Saturnalia,” said Lucius, “but instead of slaves and masters changing places and everyone getting stinking drunk, we have a conquering army and the lowest rabble in Roma in a competition to ransack the city. Look over there, at the shopping arcade on the far side of the Forum. You can see dead bodies in the street.”

“And a woman being raped on a rooftop,” whispered Epictetus.

“And over there, towards the Subura, some sort of street battle is going on. People are watching from the tenement windows. They’re actually cheering, as if they were spectators at a gladiator show.”

“Probably gambling on the outcome,” said Epictetus.

The view from the balcony was like a scene from a nightmare. The more they watched, the more violence and bloodshed they saw. Chaos seemed to have spread everywhere. Lucius leaned over the parapet and saw with alarm that a group of armed soldiers was directly below them.

“We should leave the Golden House,” he said. “Anyone found here will be subject to retribution from Vespasian’s troops.”

“We’ll hardly be safer in the streets,” said Epaphroditus.

“We’ll take a cue from Domitian and disguise ourselves.”

“As priests of Isis?” Epaphroditus raised an eyebrow.

“We’ll put on common tunics, to make ourselves less conspicuous.”

“I fled the Golden House once before in such a disguise, with Nero. That day had a bad ending.”

“What choice do we have? It’s madness to stay here. We’ll make our way to my family’s house on the Palatine. It’s not far. Hilarion will have barricaded the door, but we’ll find some way to get in.”

Finding tunics to wear was not difficult. Finding a way to leave the Golden House proved more challenging. Vespasian’s men seemed to have converged on all the Palatine entrances at once. From every hallway that led south, east, or west they heard shouts and sounds of fighting.

They turned and headed north, taking one flight of stairs after another, heading for the courtyard of the Colossus. If they left by the main entrance, they would almost certainly be seen when they descended the broad steps to the Forum, but Lucius hoped that amid such grand spaces three men in simple tunics might escape notice. He touched the fascinum at this throat, then tucked it inside his tunic to hide the gleam of gold.

They reached the courtyard. With the Colossus of Nero looming over them, they hurried along the covered portico to the grand vestibule. They rounded a corner, only to discover that soldiers had already arrived at the entrance.

The soldiers glanced at them but took little notice. They were busy trying to break down a small door just inside the main entrance.

“That leads to the doorkeeper’s quarters,” said Epaphroditus. “What do they want in there?”

“It’s been barricaded from the inside,” shouted one of the soldiers, reporting to a superior officer. “But my men will break down the door any moment.”

The hinges gave way. The door was pulled outwards and thrown into the vestibule. Pieces of furniture – a couch, a mattress, a chair – had been stacked against it. These were pulled out into the vestibule as well. The way was clear.

The first soldier through the doorway was met by a huge dog. The snarling Molossian mastiff leaped onto the man’s chest, knocked him to the ground, and sank its fangs into his throat.

Blood was suddenly everywhere. Some of the soldiers slipped on it. The dog’s victim, unable to scream with his throat torn open, made a strange hissing sound. The growling mastiff refused to release him even when one of the soldiers poked a sword at its ribs. The officer pushed the men aside, raised his fist, and struck the dog’s head with the pommel of his sword, killing it with a single blow. The soldier on the ground was already dead.

The soldiers rushed into the doorkeeper’s quarters. A few moments later they brought out a man dressed as an imperial slave. The man was very tall and immensely fat. His hair was filthy and he had not shaved for several days, but Lucius recognized Vitellius at once.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” asked the officer.

Epictetus began to step forward. Epaphroditus pulled him back.

“I’m the doorkeeper,” said Vitellius, trying to pull free from the soldiers who gripped his fleshy arms. The motion caused a jingling noise. The officer ripped open Vitellius’s tunic. Underneath his protruding belly, an equally protruding girdle was cinched around his hips. The officer poked at it with his sword. The girdle burst open and golden coins poured out.

Some of the soldiers fell to their knees, scrambling for the coins.

The officer laughed. “Grovel for those coins if you want to, men, but I think we have something far more valuable here. This is the emperor Vitellius.”

“No! That’s not true!” Vitellius was drenched with sweat. He quivered from head to foot. He presented such a pathetic sight that the officer was suddenly doubtful.

Lucius stepped forward. Epaphroditus moved to stop him, but Lucius shook him off.

“This is Vitellius,” he said.

“Who are you, and how would you know?” said the officer.

“I’m Lucius Pinarius, the son of Senator Titus Pinarius, but that doesn’t matter. This craven mass of flesh is Aulus Vitellius and I can prove it.”

“How?”

“There’s something strapped to his leg.”

“So there is. Men, undo those wrappings. I suppose you can tell me what we’ll find, Lucius Pinarius?”

“Vitellius’s most precious possession, a relic he stole from the Shrine of Mars. Something he has no right to. Something he would never willingly be parted from.”

“It’s a sword, sir,” announced one of the men. “But not a regular sword. The blade’s covered with gold!”

“The sword of the Divine Julius!” The awestruck officer took the blade from the soldier. “So you are Vitellius. Deny it again and I’ll slice open your throat.” He pressed the edge of the sword against Vitellius’s neck.

Vitellius looked at the blade cross-eyed. “I have a secret,” he said. “A secret I can only reveal to Vespasian! Do you understand?”

“Oh, I think we understand,” said the officer. “Tie his arms behind his back. I’ll put the noose around his neck myself.”

The torn tunic clung to Vitellius’s flesh but the girdle had fallen away, so that only the folds of fat hanging from his belly shielded his genitals from view. The men laughed at his jiggling nakedness and the way he limped as they pulled him down the steps towards the Forum. The officer, elated by his catch, paid no more attention to Lucius or his companions.

Lucius felt that he had done enough and seen enough, but Epictetus would not be denied the chance to see what happened next. Lucius and Epaphroditus followed the lame slave, who followed the soldiers pulling Vitellius down the Sacred Way.