Juvens himself was on foot and helmetless, his flame-yellow hair visible across half the city. He looked dirty and tired and elated.
Nobody was proud of what had happened to Sabinus, but equally everyone was clear that the taking of the Capitol had been a tactical and strategic masterstroke and Juvens had organized it virtually single-handed. He basked in the glory, and his men — our men — basked with him.
It was noon. The Vestals had been back in the city for over an hour. Antonius’ army was armed and ready and keen for blood.
‘Where are they?’ I asked.
Juvens nodded over my shoulder. ‘Just across the bridge. They can see us; we can see them. The Blues can’t cross the bridge yet: we’re too many for them, but I’d bet my pension that they’ll try a flanking move on one or other side. We have horn signals set in case they do.’ He caught my eye and grinned. ‘We didn’t ask for this, but, Hades, I’m glad it’s come.’
‘You’re not alone.’ It wasn’t just that our men were ready; the whole population had turned out for this.
All about, men, women and children sat in family groups on the balconies and rooftops, on the tenements and cottages and villas that clustered up to the river’s edge. They were dressed in their multicoloured festival best, eating apples and dates and drinking wine, even the children. A small girl saw me looking and threw up her hand.
‘Io Saturnalia!’
Her high, lark’s voice carried over the street to the far side and was picked up by other children, and then their parents, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends; last, by our men.
‘ Io Saturnalia! ’
‘Roman fighting Roman. We’re better entertainment than the circus, and in the right colours, too.’ I fiddled with my green scarf, tucking in the loose ends. ‘Where do you want me?’
‘Wherever you’d like to be. We’ll live or die where we stand. Nowhere is safer, or less safe, than anywhere else.’
‘Then I’ll stay with you, if you don’t mind.’
I wasn’t as well dressed as the men. My belt was plain leather, but that was all I needed; I had my gladius and someone handed me a helmet. It slid over my head, cool about my ears, and I felt whole again, almost.
Chapter 73
Rome, 20 December AD 69
Caenis
You will know as much about our trip north across the river as I do: it was you who gave the order that we be taken across, was it not?
I didn’t know you then, behind your mask. It was only today, remembering, that I realized where I had seen you before. Your voice, of course, is instantly recognizable, although it has taken me until now to realize that it was you who spoke to the priests and told them to take us. I had heard of Hypatia of Alexandria, of course, but I had never met you.
Does Pantera know you were in Rome? I thought not. And I suppose we shall never know if he would have acted differently if he had believed he had your support. Perhaps it is better this way; we knew, in the end, the lengths to which he would go to get what he wanted. The gods work to their own design, but we are grateful to yours for her care of us, never think otherwise.
So, as you will have seen, we walked sedately across the river as part of the column of Anubis-priests and our disguise could not have been more complete.
We paid for our safety; the dog’s-head masks stank of glue and sweat and paint. It was as hot inside as the steam room had ever been at the baths.
I couldn’t see except in a line straight ahead, and even then sweat filled my eyes and blurred the road ahead. I carried a basket that clunked with every stride and felt as if it were filled with apples made of solid gold; I was never allowed to look inside.
Walking blindly, I followed the vermilion robes ahead, the high white ears of Jocasta’s mask. She floated the way the Vestals had floated. I stumbled in her wake, but did not dare veer aside: I had no idea why she had done what she had done, but she had, in effect, taken custody of Domitian and I dared not let her out of my sight for fear of what she might do.
We passed through the lines of Vitellius’ men, across the bridge — it echoed hollowly under my feet and we had to break step, as the legions do, not to cause it to collapse — and then through the lines of Antonius Primus’ men on the far side. They were in high spirits, and desperate to fight, but we were priests of a god respected by both sides in this war, and no soldier was keen to incur divine anger in the hours before battle.
Guards stepped aside to let us pass and I saw the shimmer of iron, smelled the leather, felt the tense, dry-mouthed waiting.
We left the infantry behind, passed through the horse lines and then the cooks’ lines, and finally turned off the road down a small dirt track that led, several tight turns later, to a temple built in the Alexandrian style, of white stone, with narrow, fluted columns and white-painted double doors that looked thick enough to withstand a year’s violent siege.
Inside, we were divested of the hateful masks, shed our robes and stood around feeling awkward while the priests set about hiding their treasures in hollowed spaces under the floor pavings.
I saw statues of the goddess carved in the likeness of a young woman, images of Anubis, of Osiris, of the warrior goddess Sekhmet, depicted in her guise as a lioness. Not all were solid gold, some were crystal, ivory, ebony and marble; all were exquisite.
The interior of the temple was high-roofed and airy, hung about with silk banners in the same midnight blue and vermilion as our robes.
The priests didn’t speak to us much. We had been offered sanctuary out of expediency, but now we were here, they didn’t know what to say to us or we to them. We were offered a place to sit on white marble benches opposite the carved marble altar and did so, primly, not speaking. What does one say in the presence of a foreign god? I thought that Jocasta was more at ease than any of us, but even she was quiet.
I heard the trumpets sound the advance at the bridge and knew the fighting had started. I twisted round in my seat, trying to see out of the door. It was closed, but opened as I looked, so that I heard the first shouts of command, the first roar of battle, the clash of weapons, and death.
And then I saw who had stepped in through the open door, and it was not a priest.
Trabo saw him too. He erupted off the bench beside me, blade already slicing forward for the exposed neck. The intruder took a fast, fluid step to the back, to the side, out and round, and was behind him. ‘Not me,’ Felix said, quietly. ‘I truly don’t think you want to try to hurt me.’
There was a moment’s shocked silence, then Jocasta said, ‘That’s true. We are your friends. Why would we hurt you? Trabo, if you please?’
Trabo was Jocasta’s in soul and sinew; however unhappy, he didn’t have the power to turn her down. He stepped away, half-formed oaths muddying the air about him.
Felix didn’t move, but the look on his face was one Pantera could have modelled, just as the swift, clean disengage had been. Evidently, this boy was his master’s apprentice.
‘Did Pantera send you?’ Jocasta asked.
‘Vitellius sent me. I am sworn to find Domitian and make him safe.’
‘Safe?’ I gave a hoarse laugh. ‘Vitellius wants to take him into custody so he can use him to keep the throne.’
‘Still, he said he wanted him kept safe and I said I would.’ The boy smiled, angelically. ‘I didn’t say I’d take him back. He forgot to ask me that.’
His uneven gaze roamed the benches, alighting briefly on each of our faces. He frowned. ‘Borros isn’t with you?’
‘Borros is with Pantera,’ Jocasta said. ‘Did you not see him as you came through the forum? He was just behind us.’