Dark Omens (22 page)

‘If you are ready, citizen? I will escort you to your shop.’ And together we set off into the night.

T
he walk back to my workshop took much longer than I thought it would. Away from the docks, where an inn was brightly lit, and the prostitutes were lurking under every arch, I had expected that the streets would be deserted by this time. Unless people were invited somewhere else to dine, as I had been, or had a night-time funeral to attend, most respectable townsfolk are usually in bed an hour after sunset at any time of year, and certainly at home with all the shutters up – especially in winter when the nights are cold.

But tonight there was a different feel about the town – a background murmur like a thousand far-off bees – and as we picked our way along the snow-piled streets, I began to hear an individual shout or two. More alarmingly, a fiery glow was visible against the evening sky – and it came from the forum, by the look of it.

Of course, fire is not uncommon in a big town like this: some careless soul who overturns a lamp, or uses a taper to find something on the floor and accidentally sets the bed alight. (I had a fire in my own workshop once, which half-destroyed the roof and – despite the efforts of the fire watch to which I paid my dues, who brought buckets from the river and tried to put it out – I’ve never been able to live in the upstairs rooms again.)

A night fire is always a public spectacle, of course – people will always leave their homes to watch, if not to help – but this evening it seemed to be rather more than that. Every hot-soup stall or wine shop we came to had lighted links outside, and was clearly doing a brisk and noisy trade, and there were flickering torches visible down every street we passed, with cloaked figures hurrying towards the centre of the town – despite the fact that it was getting very cold and the pavements were already treacherous. It was obvious that something unusual was afoot.

Moreover, the red glow which was visible above the roofs was now beginning to flicker with leaping yellow flame. I began to wonder if a wagon had caught fire: such vehicles, which are not permitted in the day, come rumbling into Glevum for an hour at dusk to make deliveries, and the air is often loud with the rumbling of wheels and the curses of the drivers as their carts get stuck in ruts. A cartload of logs might create a blaze like that. But the recent snow and the condition of the roads had put a temporary stop to most wheeled trade into town and there was scarcely a vehicle to be seen tonight – only an old peasant with a donkey cart, at the corner of a narrow alleyway, shovelling up a frozen midden heap to take back and spread to fertilize whatever crops remained.

He looked up as I passed him, glancing with envy at the splendid slave, and then realized that his little vehicle – which he had positioned to hold the torch that he was working by – had blocked the pavement and was standing in our path.

He straightened up and sighed. ‘Want to come down this way, do you? Let me move the cart.’ He tugged at the reluctant animal. It moved a pace or two. ‘There you are. I think there’s room to pass. Going to join that rumpus in the town, I suppose? Well, if you think it’s worth it, then good luck to you!’ He stamped his hide-bound feet impatiently as if to keep them warm, obviously waiting to move the cart again.

‘Some sort of fire? It seems a nasty one.’ I paused in the act of edging through the space that he had cleared, a narrow strip of pavement flanked by dirty piles of snow. ‘Looks as if it’s coming from the forum square. Do you know what’s alight? I suppose it isn’t the basilica?’

He gave a dreadful smile that showed, even by torchlight, his yellow, jagged teeth. ‘Not unless some idiot’s set fire to that as well. Though it wouldn’t be surprising, if this mob gets out of hand. That’s a triumphal bonfire they’ve lit. There’s been cavorting in the forum for an hour or more – ever since the military legate got here, shortly before dusk, to announce the news he’d just delivered to the garrison.’

‘News?’

‘If you can call it that. The latest bulletin from Rome, at any rate. All properly signed and sealed on an official scroll, this time.’

‘What’s happened? The Emperor Commodus isn’t dead at all?’ That would explain the people on the streets and the lighting of a celebratory fire: people would be very anxious to be seen demonstrating loyal joy, especially those who had most loudly cheered the news of his demise. Paid spies would be taking note of everything.

But my aged informant shook his grizzled head. He had a piece of ancient sack tied round it as a hood, but it seemed to offer no protection to his ears and allowed his straggling grey locks to show. ‘Oh, he is dead all right – his body was dragged around the city on the hook – and this new man Pertinax was installed instead. That’s what all the celebrations are about.’

‘I see!’ I said. ‘I’m very pleased myself, but I’m surprised that the people have taken to the streets – especially at night when the weather is so bad – just because their former Governor has been appointed Emperor.’

He laughed. ‘It isn’t that so much. Of course they’re calling him the Great and Merciful – he rescued the hook-torn body from the crowd, as soon as his own accession was agreed, and insisted it was given proper burial. Or so the legate says. And he’s declared an extra holiday next moon. But most of all, he’s rescinded all the stupid edicts people hate so much. He’s formally declared that Rome is Rome again, and not Commodiana, as it was supposed to be: the months have all reverted to their proper names, and aren’t called after the Emperor’s honorifics any longer, so no one can be flogged for forgetting which is which. That’s what caused the real excitement here – people came rushing out on to the street, the instant that they heard, cheering Pertinax and pulling down all the statues of Commodus they could find. And the town watch hasn’t stopped them – the crowd has done the same in Rome, apparently, and no one has been condemned to punishment, by order of the Great and Merciful.’

I glanced toward the distant flames, which were leaping higher now. ‘How do you know all this?’

He shrugged his bony shoulders under the shrouding sack. ‘Oh, I was in the forum when the message came – I’d brought in a few turnips, and I was selling those before I came out here to take away the pile. But I’ve got a farm to see to and a wife to keep. I’m not risking prison by setting fire to things and causing a disturbance in the street. I don’t see that it matters at this stage anyway, whether they dragged Commodus behind a hook or not – and the new fellow may be Great and Merciful, but I don’t know what difference he’s going to make to me. I’ll still be doing this same stinking job until the day I drop. But Hail Caesar anyway – I’d better say that, I suppose, or with my luck you’ll turn out to be a spy. And good luck with your bonfire – I hope the gods approve.’

He spat on his chapped fingers – which were all that protruded from the rags wrapped round his hands – urged the donkey back into its former place, and turned to his unlovely task again. At least with the snow, I thought, his makeshift fertilizer would not smell so much.

I said to Adonisius, who’d been listening to all this, ‘We’ll go through the forum, then, and see what’s happening. It’s as good a route as any to the other side of town. My workshop lies outside the northern walls, of course, and the gate is now doubtless shut again till dawn – we’ll have to find a sentry to open up for us.’

He bowed and murmured, ‘As you command, of course,’ but I could see from the glitter of excitement in his eyes that he was as curious as I was to see the spectacle. Indeed, as we continued on towards the centre of the town, I noticed that he’d visibly increased his pace – which meant that I was obliged to quicken mine, since he was the one who held the torch which lit our way.

In fact, when we got there, the crush was such that we could not get into the forum square at all, but standing in one of the narrow entry roads it was possible to glimpse, over the heads of others, what was happening within. The fire we had seen far off across the roofs was raging fiercely in the centre of the square, and it was clear that no wagon had ever been involved. The crowd had made a huge impromptu bonfire of anything flammable that came to hand – dried reeds, old clothes and broken furniture – and were throwing on to it anything connected with the previous Emperor: wooden statues, painted images, and even coins and marble busts, though obviously the latter were never going to burn.

Anything connected with Commodus was at risk. I saw the wooden sign-board for a wine shop, which had borne his name, passed from hand to hand across the heads of spectators towards the fire, and when at last it was pitched into the flames the crowd gave a communal whoop of victory.

Another roar from nearer the basilica drew my attention to an amazing scene. A group of people, several of them clearly quite respectable, were clustered round the huge bronze statue of the hated Emperor – dressed in his favourite garb as Hercules – which for years had overlooked the steps. They had succeeded in throwing thick ropes around its neck and knees and were now attempting to topple the whole image from its plinth. As soon as others realized what was happening, dozens more came rushing forward to join in, and soon there were half-a-hundred of them, hauling on the lines, to the accompaniment of a rhythmic chanting from the spectators: ‘Down with him, down with him, may he eat the dust!’

As I watched the statue wobbled, swayed a long moment and began to tilt. This was greeted with loud cheers. Then all at once it came crashing to the ground with a deafening thud and a force that shattered it, making the very earth beneath us shudder with the shock. Several people were very nearly crushed, and I saw one limp and lifeless-looking body being dragged away, but any grief was drowned by joyful cheers and shouts. The crowd was jubilant, and when the head came off the statue and bounced into the fire, the triumph of the onlookers was almost deafening.

A dozen amphorae appeared from somewhere in a trice, and immediately broached; and brimming wine jugs passed exultantly from hand to hand. People started dancing and a ragged song broke out.

Men joined in as they rolled the broken statue to the fire – but behind them matters took a darkly different turn. Where some had tried to scatter as the statue fell, others had been pushed against the wall, and a lot of shouting and shoving was going on, even as the statue was thrown into the blaze and a cheer was rising from around the fire. That part of the forum seemed oblivious to what was happening elsewhere.

One spectator looked up and, realizing that folk were being hurt, tried to shout a warning, but far from his neighbours taking heed of this, he was immediately spat upon and pushed quite savagely. ‘Those who aren’t rejoicing with us are enemies of the Emperor!’ someone cried.

The mood was becoming ugly and rather dangerous. I turned to speak to Adonisius, but he’d been pressed against a neighbouring archway by the crush. I tried to signal to him that perhaps we should depart, but there was no escape. People were still surging forward to get a better view and it simply wasn’t possible to withstand the flow. Having left the shelter of the wall myself, to look around for him, I found myself shuffling forward without intending to, forced to move my feet to keep myself from falling down and being trampled on. And all the time I was being separated from my attendant slave.

I was out into the forum now, though there was less room than ever. Beside the bonfire a more general skirmish had begun, fuelled by the wine perhaps. A few people were still cheering as the statue glowed, but more and more were joining the melee – and I was being firmly propelled towards it from behind. I looked around for Adonisius but he was far behind, still pressed against the pillar with his torch aloft. He saw me and signalled, but there was nothing he could do.

I peered around for some way to escape the pressing throng, but there seemed to be nowhere safe to stand. The public buildings were all locked and barred – as one would expect at night – and the market area was one heaving, shouting, surging mass. Even the steps to the basilica were thronged with cheering men. There was only one place where the crowd had not encroached and that was the temple, slightly to my left – though even the lower steps of that were crammed with spectators. However, at the top the sacred flame could still be seen, flickering in tranquil darkness at the entrance to the shrine, and there was no evidence of disturbance there – obviously no one wanted to offend the gods.

I tried to work my way towards it, weaving and shuffling sideways when I could – though I received a bruising on my back and ribs as a result. But I persisted and after what seemed like half an hour (but was probably much less) I did succeed in reaching the bottom of the temple steps. Getting up them was another matter, as I soon found out. The mass above me – though they were not actually joining in the now-general brawl themselves (perhaps out of some sense of deference to the shrine) – were still intent on what was happening and not at all disposed to move and let me through. One man – in a tradesman’s cloak and tunic – even hissed at me ‘Commodus-lover!’ when I tried to pass, and people turned and jeered.

Someone spat and I was roughly jostled from behind. ‘Must be a sympathizer, probably a spy. Otherwise he wouldn’t be trying to go the other way.’ I began to wonder if I was going to be attacked.

‘I have business at the temple!’ I called out, as loudly as I could. I meant to sound masterful, but my voice came out as a squeak, and it was doubtful anyway that anyone would hear – there was so much uproar from the crowd that I could barely hear myself. And it made no difference – people around me were still clearly hostile and the same hissing tradesman, encouraged by the mood, began suggesting loudly what might be done with me – ‘Put him with his favourite Emperor and let him roast awhile’ – and the cry was taken up by several of the crowd, who blocked my way.

I braced myself for people laying violent hands on me – and sure enough a pair of strong arms came from somewhere at my back, pinioned my own arms and seized firm hold of me. I tried to wriggle round to see who my assailant was, wondering what an appeal to Marcus’s name would do, but there was no chance of either of those things. The grasp that held me was stronger than a vice, and when it picked me up so that my feet were flailing air, I could offer no resistance; I just dangled like a doll.