False God of Rome

‘You mean he didn’t prevent it rather than engineer it?’

‘No, he caused it, I’m certain.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

‘I saw who organised the charade in the arena and I recognised him from the riots in Cyrenaica, he’s a trouble-maker.’

‘Paulus? I know, but that doesn’t mean that Flaccus was using him; in fact, I had his word that he would try and arrest him.’

‘And you believed him?’

‘Why not? It was in return for some useful information about Herod and it was also in his interest to do so.’

‘Then ask yourself this: if he had meant to arrest Paulus, then why didn’t he do it yesterday in the Gymnasium? You saw him, I saw him, Flaccus saw him and yet he sent no one after him; Paulus didn’t even run away, he walked.’

The realisation hit Vespasian like a sling-shot: she was right. ‘Flaccus sat through Alexander’s speech with a smile on his face because he knew what was coming next; he’d set it up. He knew what the result would be: the Jews would be provoked into a full-scale riot. So he’s not going to stop the violence until the Jews almost beg him to, and then he can get them to agree to anything; just as he’d planned. And I gave him the means by telling him just how divisive Paulus was.’

Flavia raised her eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t blame yourself, my dear, Flaccus already knew. You see, that wasn’t the first time I’d seen Paulus in Alexandria. He was at the palace the evening I met you again; I saw him leave as I arrived.’

Recollecting that Flaccus had hurried off to a meeting after his first interview with him, Vespasian groaned. ‘He’s been using Paulus all along as another way to stir up discontent among the Jews; he never had any intention of arresting him. He’s managed to get himself everything he wanted: an official ceremony where the people of the province witness the Emperor’s emissary, Herod, hand over his mandate, at which he’s so completely humiliated that he leaves without his grain — which Flaccus will now, no doubt, claim as his own — and leaving the Jews so incensed by the insult that they riot, stupidly putting themselves in a position that only Flaccus can rescue them from on condition that they agree to his terms.’

‘He is a clever man,’ Magnus commented appreciatively as they arrived at the Soma, ‘but I reckon that you shouldn’t dwell on it, sir; let’s just do what we came here to do and get the fuck out of it and leave this shithole to rot.’

Vespasian sighed as Hortensius brought their bodyguard to a halt at the Soma’s gates, resigning himself to the fact that any attempt at redressing the humiliation that he felt at being so played by Flaccus would have to wait for another time, and besides, he had the consolation of taking Flavia from him. He took her hand to help her down from her chair. ‘Are you happy about the timing, my dear?’

‘Perfectly, Vespasian.’

‘Good. Hortensius, wait for us here, we won’t be long; the lady wishes to see the great Alexander.’

The sun had now almost reached the horizon and Alexander’s Temple was filled with a rich amber light giving it a feeling of restful peace, a far cry from the violence being meted out just a couple of miles away. Vespasian and Magnus watched from beneath the great equestrian statue as the priest led Flavia past the guard and down the steps to the burial chamber; Ziri waited close to its entrance as was expected of a slave attending his mistress. Vespasian had declined the priest’s offer of a second visit to the chamber on the plausible grounds that Augustus had only visited it once, but in reality because it was vital that Flavia should appear at the top of the steps alone for the few moments that it took the priest to complete his cleansing ritual.

As Flavia’s head disappeared below the floor level Vespasian turned to Magnus. ‘You go and stand directly opposite the top of the steps. When Flavia comes back up she’ll turn and walk towards me; as soon as you see the priest coming up, rub your nose and I’ll give her the signal to faint.’

‘Right you are, sir; let’s hope that Ziri doesn’t eat all the bread meant for the geese while he’s waiting down there,’ Magnus said with a wry smile and then walked around the temple to take up his position.

Vespasian glanced over at Ziri who nodded back and tapped the satchel slung over his shoulder. Satisfied that the little Marmarides was ready, Vespasian studied the full-bearded guard. He was dressed in the uniform of an argyraspides, the elite, veteran phalangites who had formed the backbone of Alexander’s infantry: a crested, bronze Thracian-style helmet, a brown, hardened-leather cuirass over a plain white chiton, bronze greaves and a small, round, silver-plated shield — from which the unit took its name — emblazoned with the sixteen-pointed star of Macedon inlaid in bronze. He was armed with a short stabbing sword slung on a baldric over his right shoulder to hang on his left and, held upright, the fearsome sixteen-foot pike that, wielded two-handed, had swept away all armies before it, until it had come up against the Roman pilum. He and his four colleagues, two guarding the temple door and two at the Soma gate, were the only soldiers still allowed by Rome to wear the uniform in deference to Alexander. Vespasian prayed to Mars Victorious that this ceremonial guard would not show the same rigid discipline that had enabled his forebears to conquer the largest Empire ever seen and would leave his post to help a stricken lady.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably in reality less than half the time that Vespasian had spent in the burial chamber a few days earlier, Flavia reappeared. As she reached the top of the steps she paused next to the guard, and swayed slightly on her feet; giving out a little moan as if overawed by what she had just seen, she put her hand on the guard’s heavily muscled forearm to steady herself. He looked down at her, concerned. Vespasian smiled inwardly: she knew how to handle men, the touch had created a small bond between them. She smiled apologetically at the guard, patted his arm, turned towards Vespasian and began to walk slowly and unsteadily towards him. Vespasian kept his eyes on Magnus. After Flavia had gone four paces Magnus’ hand came up to his nose. Vespasian looked at Flavia and nodded; with a weak cry she crumpled to the floor. The guard spun round and immediately dropped his pike with a clatter and leapt to aid the woman who had touched him so gently as the priest appeared at the top of the steps; he looked to see the cause of the commotion and hurried to help his erstwhile charge.

‘Flavia!’ Vespasian cried, running forward as the guard knelt down to lift her head from the cold marble floor.

‘What happened?’ the priest asked, looking anxiously over the guard’s shoulder.

‘I don’t know,’ Vespasian replied, concern written all over his face. He looked up to see Magnus approaching; Ziri had disappeared. ‘Magnus, send Ziri to get the chairs ready.’

‘He’s already gone, sir.’

‘Good, help me lift her.’

‘It’s all right,’ Flavia whispered, fluttering open her eyes, ‘I’ll be fine in a moment, I was just a bit overcome, that’s all.’ She eased herself up with the guard’s supportive arm around her shoulders.

‘I’ve seen this happen before,’ the priest said solemnly, ‘people get overawed just looking down through the tunnel at Alexander’s face.’

‘Being so close to him in the chamber was completely overwhelming, especially for a woman,’ Flavia said sweetly, ‘I would advise you not to let women down there into the presence of such a powerful man.’

The priest nodded sagely. ‘You might be right, lady; I shall form a committee of priests to review our policy on allowing women so close.’

‘You are most kind,’ Flavia said with sincerity, getting to her feet with the guard’s help. ‘I feel much better now; Alexander’s latent vigour has washed right through me. Vespasian, shall we go? I have an urgent need to feel a man’s arms around me.’

‘We shall, Flavia,’ Vespasian replied, hoping that would be the limit to her melodrama.

Flavia took his arm and looked at the guard with doe-eyes. ‘Thank you, my strong Guard of Alexander.’

The man’s mouth broke into a wide grin beneath his bush of a beard; Vespasian tugged Flavia forward with a fixed smile on his face. ‘Come, my dear.’

‘I shall pray to Alexander for your wellbeing,’ the priest called after them as they passed through the doors.

Felix was waiting for them at the bottom of the steps eyeing the small enclosure filled with geese next to the temple; he had an empty sack over his shoulder. ‘Is he in?’ he asked once they were out of earshot of the exterior guards.