Empire (29 page)

A hot wind blew down the length of the Circus Maximus, stinging Titus’s eyes and filling his mouth with the taste of ash. He wiped his hand across his face and saw that his fingers were black with soot.

Titus had seen enough and was ready to leave, but Lucius pointed to a distant group of vigiles who could be seen at work on the Aventine. A small group of spectators inside the circus had gathered, leaning over the upper parapet of the viewing stands to watch them.

“Father, let’s go see!”

“We should head back. Your mother will be worried—”

“But others are watching. It must be safe. Please?”

In truth, Titus was curious himself to see the vigiles at work. They walked along the upper parapet until they reached the crowd and could go no farther. It was just as well; this was as close to the flames at the end of the circus as Titus cared to go. Leaning over the parapet, they had a clear view of the vigiles below.

Flames had just been sighted on the roof of a building of three stories just across the street from the circus. The vigiles were using all their tools to fight the fire before it could claim the building. A portable pump with a tank of water had been rolled as close as possible. While two of the men aimed the huge metal nozzle, four others worked the seesaw pump that sent a jet of water streaming all the way to the roof of the building. More vigiles, calling on citizens to help them, had formed a bucket brigade to continuously replenish the tank with water from a neighborhood fountain.

Farther away, another group of vigiles was attempting to demolish a building already lost to the flames. A ballista of the sort the legions used to hurl missiles—essentially a huge crossbow with a hand-cranked ratchet to set the tension—was used to launch three-pronged iron hooks attached to chains. Aimed with uncanny precision, one hook after another landed inside a window frame and caught fast. When five of the hooks were in place, the vigiles formed teams, seized the chains, and heaved in unison. The burned-out wall gave way and collapsed with a shower of sparks. The vigiles dropped the chains, took up picks and axes, and ran to break up the fallen debris.

“What they’re doing must be incredibly dangerous!” said Lucius. “But look there, farther up the hill. Aren’t they actually setting a fire?”

With their prefect barking orders at them, some of the vigiles took up firebrands, lit them from the smoldering embers of the demolished building, and set fire to a long, narrow, one-story building at the periphery of the conflagration.

“I think that must be what’s called a fire break,” said Titus. “If they can destroy that building quickly, you see, the gap they’ll create may put an end to the fire’s progress, as least in that direction.”

Lucius nodded, fascinated by both the fire and the techniques used to combat it. “Could I join the vigiles someday?”

Titus laughed, and quickly looked around, thankful that no one in the crowd seemed to have overheard. Tradition and the law said that Lucius was almost a man, but he still had some boyish ideas about the world. “The vigiles are all slaves and freedmen, Lucius. Such labor is not for freeborn men, not even those of the lowest social rank.”

“But who commands them? Like that fellow there, shouting orders?”

“Men of the equestrian class are eligible to serve as prefects of the vigiles. But no patrician would ever stoop to such a prefecture. If you’re looking for adventure, for a young man of your social rank there’s always a military career—”

“But soldiers don’t put out fires. They burn down cities on purpose.”

Titus pursed his lips. “Yes, sometimes fire is a weapon used by the legions. But I’m sure the troops are trained to put out flames, as well, when the enemy uses fire against us.” He thought of an example. “When your many-times-great-uncle the Divine Julius was trapped with his army in Cleopatra’s palace at Alexandria, the Egyptians tried to burn him out. They set fire to a warehouse attached to the Great Library. I imagine Caesar’s men were responsible for putting out that fire before it spread out of control.”

Lucius nodded thoughtfully. He gazed at the vigiles below. “Just a group of slaves and freedmen, then. Still, one has to admire their bravery and their skill.”

Not long after noon, the wind abruptly ceased. The cinder-filled smoke rose straight into the air, like a vast column. Thanks to the calm air and the hard work of the vigiles, the fires appeared to be under control, at least on the Aventine.

Titus decided not to leave the city. Before he went to bed, he instructed Hilarion and several other slaves to keep watch through the night and to wake him at once if the need arose.

That night he and Chrysanthe made love, something they had not done in a long time. Perhaps it was the air of crisis that aroused him, and her as
well, for she seemed to enjoy herself immensely. Certainly the act relieved a great deal of tension and helped Titus fall asleep.

He had a strange dream. He was taking an augury on the Palatine, but there were no spectators; the whole city was empty. He was watching for birds when suddenly, one by one, every cloud in the sky burst into flame, like tufts of white fleece set afire. The flaming clouds began to loose raindrops of fire on the city, setting everything alight.

That was when Chrysanthe and Lucius woke him. Titus bolted upright, drenched with sweat. He found it hard to breathe, and his throat was sore. The air was thick with smoke.

“Father, come to the garden. Look at the sky!”

He followed his wife and son, wondering if he was still dreaming, for in the middle of the night the starless sky was aglow with a dull red illumination. Titus climbed the ladder to the roof, with Lucius following him. From his rooftop, he witnessed a horrific sight: the entire Circus Maximus was in flames. The long valley between the Aventine and the Palatine was a lake of fire. Indeed, below a certain level, the entire city appeared to be a sea of flames, with the hills rising like islands from the conflagration. Even on the hilltops, here and there he saw spots of flame or the glow of orange embers amid the charred remains of areas already burned. The imperial complex on the Palatine was almost entirely engulfed.

“Why was I not awakened sooner?” he shouted. “I told Hilarion to wake me at once if the fire grew worse.”

“They say it happened very quickly, father. The fire seemed to spread everywhere all at once—”

“We must leave immediately, and pray we’re not too late!”

The trunk with the wax effigies and other essential valuables, packed and loaded onto carts earlier in the day, were wheeled into the street by his strongest slaves. His three young daughters were roused by their mother. By the time they were all ready to leave, everyone was in a near panic.

Titus summoned the slaves and gave them instructions. They were all to come with the family, each carrying something of value, except for two of the youngest and strongest bodyguards. “You two will stay here as long as possible. If the flames fail to reach this street, it will be your job to protect the house against looters. If the flames do come, and if vigiles are here to fight it, you will help them save this house.”

“But, Master,” said one of the slaves, “what if the house catches fire, and there’s no one to help, and we have no choice but to flee?”

Titus realized that both slaves were hardly more than overgrown boys, ill-equipped to make such a decision. “Hilarion will stay with you. He’ll decide if you’re to leave or stay. Do you understand? Hilarion has authority to give you orders while I’m gone.”

Titus looked at Hilarion and felt an unaccustomed twinge of some unpleasant emotion. Was it guilt? Before he could think about it, Hilarion stepped forward and took his master’s hand.

“Thank you, Master. You honor me with your trust.”

Titus nodded but found it difficult to look the slave in the eye. He gathered the household and set out.

The route Titus intended to take was blocked, and they were forced to double back and seek another. The dark streets, filled with terrified people, were lit only by a dull vermilion glow from the sky. Amid the chaotic crush of bodies, Titus overheard an outrageous statement. A man nearby said, “It was set by the emperor, you know! It was Nero’s own agents who started the fire, and then kept starting more fires, all over the city!”

Titus grabbed the man by the arm. “That’s a filthy lie!”

“It’s the truth,” said the man. “I saw it happen with my own eyes. Uniformed men in leather caps demolished the wall of a granary, using some sort of battering ram—a good stone wall that would never have caught fire—and then they deliberately set fire to the contents. I know arson when I see it!”

“What you saw were the vigiles, you fool, setting fire to a warehouse full of highly flammable grain before the greater fire could reach it and cause the grain dust to explode. Tearing down walls and setting small fires is a part of the vigiles’ work—”

“Setting fires to stop a fire? How stupid do you think I am?” shouted the man. “This fire was set by Nero’s men. I’ve seen the evidence, and so have plenty of others. As for the vigiles you talk about, they’re doing nothing to stop the fire. They’ve joined in the looting.”

There was no time to argue. Titus roughly shoved the man aside and pressed on.

The streets were like something from a nightmare, littered with rubble and overturned carts. Abandoned children huddled in corners and wept.
Confused elders wandered aimlessly, looking lost. There were also a great many dead bodies blocking the way. Some had died from inhaling smoke, perhaps, for their bodies were unmarked. Others had died from burns, and others appeared to have been trampled by the crowd.

Finally, Titus and his household reached the nearest bridge across the Tiber. The area in front of the bridge that funneled into the narrow roadway was jammed with people, animals, and carts. It would take a long time to cross. Some people, in desperation, were swimming across the river instead. At last Titus and his household set foot on the bridge, with the crowd pushing them forward. He counted heads. By some miracle, they had all managed to stay in a group, even the oldest and weakest of the slaves.

But not everyone in his family was accounted for.

He called to his son, “Lucius, you know the way to the villa. You can lead the others there, can’t you?”

“Of course I know the way, father. But what are you talking about? You’ll lead us there.”

Titus sighed. “No. I have to go back.”

Chrysanthe heard him and spun around. “Don’t be ridiculous, husband! What could you possibly have forgotten that’s worth going back for?”

“I’ll join you later tonight, or perhaps in the morning. Don’t worry about me. The gods will look after me.”

Titus stopped in his tracks. The crowd surged past him, carrying his household onto the bridge and quickly out of sight.

It was a struggle to move against the current. He was jostled and poked and cursed at, and several times he was almost knocked down. At last he cleared the thickest part of the crowd and was able to move more freely.

He made his way to the Forum. Here the flames were haphazard, with some buildings alight and others as yet unscathed. Had the holy hearthfire, which must never go out, been transferred to a sacred vessel by the Vestals and taken to safety, as in the days when the Gauls invaded the city? How strange, to worry about a fire going out in the middle of an inferno!

Above the Forum, the whole Palatine appeared to be aflame. The Auguratorium, the ancient Hut of Romulus, the temples, the houses of the rich, the imperial residence—was everything destroyed? The catastrophe was beyond comprehension.

He pressed on and reached the Subura. There were large areas here where the flames had not yet reached. What a conflagration that would make, if all these towering tenements, built so closely together, should catch fire! He tried to remember the streets that would take him to Kaeso’s latest residence, but found himself lost in the darkness and the unfamiliar maze of alleys. What a fool’s mission he had undertaken! What mad impulse had driven him back into the city to look for his brother? What were the chances he could possibly find Kaeso amid so much confusion?

Titus rounded a corner and came upon a large area where a tenement had recently been demolished. In the open space, a small group of people had gathered and were watching a burning building nearby. In the middle of the group were Kaeso and Artemisia, holding hands.

While all the other people around were in frantic motion, Kaeso and his friends stood perfectly still. With their faces turned toward the fire, they seemed to be in a kind of trance. Some stood in silence with linked hands. Others clapped or sang or shouted prayers to their god. Some seemed to be weeping with joy.

“The end has come! The end has finally come! Praise God!” cried one of the women, raising her hands.

“This is judgment day! Roma has been judged and found wanting!” cried a man in a tattered tunic with a long white beard. “Fools call on their false gods to save Roma, but I say God has cursed Roma! God has damned Roma! Praise God and all his works! And of all his works, this is the mightiest, to smite this wicked city and destroy it!”