vaults. At the far end sat a colossal statue of Constantine. There were still traces of gold leaf on the upper parts. But even bare and white, it was an impressive sight. The head alone was bigger than most houses. To the right and left of the hall, staircases led to warrens of offices and smaller public rooms. On each side, about fifty feet up, were long galleries giving an overall view of the hall.
As we entered, the prefect sat before the statue of Constantine. A small man with a dark beard and a white robe fringed with purple, he was hearing a law case. Beside him on stands were icons of the emperor and empress. Slightly away from these, though at the same height, was an icon of the pope. In front of him, their clients in cowed silence, two lawyers were arguing at interminable length about some defective building works.
As we sat unobtrusively by one of the smaller statues, I gathered that the plaintiff had engaged the defendants to repair a drain. But as nobody in Rome nowadays knew anything about the correct gradient for water, there had been a flood and the plaintiff’s house had been undermined. Now the lawyers were making the most of the work put their way. Listening to their slow, turgid delivery, I was unable to work out if they were being paid by the word uttered or by the time needed to utter their words.
Otherwise, the hall was empty. It had plainly been built with crowds in mind. The prefect would once have sat among a vast concourse of litigants and petitioners, all jostling and shouting for his attention. Now he sat almost alone. There hadn’t even been beggars outside. The sunbeams moved slowly across the dusty, tiled floor, and the lawyers droned on.
I coughed. The sound echoed round the empty hall. The prefect looked up from his doze, saw us and stood.
‘This is a case of gross negligence,’ he said in the very correct Latin of someone who has learnt it as a foreign language. The exarch had recently taken to appointing Greek officials to the post, there being so few Romans willing or competent to discharge the remaining duties.
‘I give judgement for the plaintiff. I will settle the damages in my written judgement, which you will receive on the Ides of next month. You can pay the appropriate clerking fee as you leave. You are all dismissed.’
With that, he was walking quickly over to us, his legal business forgotten. One of the litigants cried out in a thick German accent that he hadn’t received justice. He had used the best engineers available, and could show the receipts. He would be taking his case to the Lateran, where justice went on the merits of the case, not the size of the bribe. The prefect ignored this.
‘Welcome to Rome,’ he said warmly, reaching out a hand to Maximin. ‘I’ve heard so much about your adventures on the road, and am eager to hear all about it at first hand.’
He took us into his private office at the far left end of the hall. A lavishly marbled room with high windows, this was piled high with books and documents mainly covered in dust. He sat at his desk, we before him. A slave appeared with a pitcher of wine. Three generous servings were made. He drained his in a single gulp and reached out his cup for another. Maximin did the same, then gave a brief and expurgated account of all we had done since that morning outside Populonium. ‘But for you and your forethought in sending out guards,’ he concluded, ‘we should certainly now be dead men. We give all thanks to you,’ he paused, ‘and, of course, to the divine prudence of the emperor, whose benevolence shines upon us all.’
He raised his cup suggestively. The slave leaned forward again.
The prefect smiled. He probably didn’t receive much flattery, and anything was welcome.
‘I was given information of something odd happening outside Populonium,’ he said, ‘and sent a force to investigate. I did give orders that any armed barbarians were to be arrested and brought back to Rome. Here, they could be tried according to the divine justice of the emperor. I was thinking of something lingering for them – something perhaps with boiling oil. Or we still have the two lions. Rex and Regina would have liked some good barbarian flesh – so much tastier than the local trash I must generally feed them.’
He shrugged. ‘But something seems to have gone wrong with the transmission of orders. There was a fight, but no prisoners were taken. Getting any orders obeyed is a constant trouble now His Holiness has taken over most payments. A pity. The people would have appreciated a good show…
‘Now,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘I understand you relieved those barbarians of a large sum in gold.’
I looked up sharply. How could the prefect have known that? I thought of those shifty Syrians at the bank. So much for Maximin’s lecture on the confidentiality of bankers. I only hoped he was right about their honesty.
He continued with a smile: ‘You have nothing to fear on that account. I’ve had no complaints about stolen money. There are no claimants about to demand an enquiry of restitution. You may, of course, make some voluntary gift to my men. If you send it to me, I will ensure it reaches the proper hands. However,’ he paused, ‘I believe there were other objects taken from the barbarians – objects recovered, that is, that may have identifiable owners.’
Maximin broke in: ‘God made us His humble instruments in the recovery of a most holy relic. This, of course, is a matter for His Holiness. I shall see him tomorrow and give the relic directly into his own hands.’
‘Not tomorrow, you won’t,’ the prefect said. ‘Boniface erupted all over a while back in a rash of bleeding sores. Since the relics didn’t work in his case, the doctors have sent him off to Naples for the volcanic mud baths. I doubt he will be back before next month. As the highest civil power in Rome, I will take delivery of the relic. It is intended for the consecration of the new Church of St Mary – that is, for the consecration of the old temple of the demons Jupiter, Venus and Mars.’
He crossed himself, and continued: ‘I have full authority to take possession of all stolen goods that may be recovered.’
‘With respect,’ said Maximin, ‘this is a matter for Holy Mother Church. I have an appointment at the Lateran tomorrow, and will hand the holy relic back into the hands of those whose lawful property it is.’
It was obvious that, whatever fancy title he might have, the prefect had no authority in practice to compel anything. He dipped his finger in wine and traced a circle in the dust that covered his desk. ‘Very well,’ he said at length, in a flat and only slightly disappointed voice. ‘If that is how you want to play, so be it.’
He paused again, then asked: ‘What brings you and your young friend to Rome?’
Maximin explained our mission to gather books for Canterbury, passing me off as a convert of the utmost piety. The prefect shot me a brief but penetrating glance, as if looking for any trace of piety. I looked humbly down, hoping he had seen other than an educated brigand.
‘I think a month from today should be sufficient for your purposes,’ he said. ‘I doubt you will have any trouble gathering all the books you could ever want in this place. I don’t even think the owners will insist on your making copies to take away. And it would be a shame to deprive the furthermost Britons of two such holy and effective missionaries of the Faith.
‘I will have your residence permits sent over to your lodgings tomorrow or the day after. Please note they will not entitle you to receive anything from the papal dole.’
With that, the prefect rose, our audience at an end. As he rose, he knocked over his cup, spilling red wine over a heap of papers. He scowled and brushed them all onto the floor, shattering the cup, and sat heavily down again with his back to us.
12
Our business over, Maximin and I continued deeper into the Forum. This had once been the civil and religious centre of Rome. But times now were altered, and its buildings were no longer in use. Some had fallen down. Most had been locked shut. We passed by the Julian Basilica – big, though far smaller than the place we had just visited. Its great doors were secured with bars and a rusted padlock. As ever, its marble facing had been mostly stripped. The bronze statues that had once been crowded outside were evidenced only by their plinths. I think it was the Vandals who had stripped all the bronze they could carry in their leisurely sack of about a hundred and fifty years before.
It was the same for the Temple of Concord and even the Senate House – this hadn’t been used for generations. The Temple of Vesta we’d already seen. This was an elegant little building – the old temples, by the way, were generally built smaller than churches, which follow the basilica pattern. The reason is that temples were never meant to hold large numbers of worshippers, but housed the cult statues, the main worship taking place in the open. The Temple of Vesta had been broken open, and was in use as a cow shed. Other buildings had fallen
