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 labour 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 star-less 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 honour 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 funnelled 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.