and children trapped by fallen masonry or walls of fire. And although there would be tales of men helping others to escape and beating back pockets of flames, there would also be reports of shadowy figures moving through the city, throwing burning brands into hitherto untouched buildings.
By morning light a pall of heavy smoke hung over many of the southern regions of Rome and the fire was advancing up the Aventine Hill toward wealthy homes and temples. Then the winds shifted ominously and started to drive the fire in the north to the southern slopes of the Palatine and Caelian Hills. The city was doomed.
From the highest balcony of his villa on the Via Appia, Balbilus looked north to the billowing clouds of smoke. Vibius joined him, sooty from his exertions, and was offered a goblet of wine to slake his thirst.
‘It’s too close for comfort,’ Balbilus growled.
‘The wind is turning southerly,’ Vibius said.
‘I can predict the movement of the heavens, but not the wind,’ the swarthy astrologer said. ‘I would rather not lose my house.’
‘I think mine has already gone,’ Vibius said without a trace of emotion.
‘Your family can come here. All the Lemures families who are in peril can come. Put the word out.’
A Praetorian cavalry contingent arrived at Antium as the sun was setting. The city had a new port which Nero had built but the Praetorians trusted their horses more than boats. Nero had turned Antium into a protected enclave settled by Praetorian veterans and retired centurions. He had rebuilt the seaside palace of Augustus to his liking and included a raised columned complex that extended for two thousand meters along the seafront. For his amusement he had built numerous gardens, temples, pools and most importantly, a theater where he could practice his art.
When the cavalry arrived to inform him about the fire in Rome Tigellinus received the report impassively but refused to let the messenger, who was carrying a personal dispatch from the Prefect of Rome, see the Emperor. Nero was in the wings preparing to take the stage for an evening competition. Dressed in an unbelted, Greek-style tunic he mingled with his competitors, all local lads who knew with certainty that Nero would be the judges’ favorite. When it was his turn he took to the stage of the half-moon theater and peered out at an audience of toadies – retired soldiers, senators in his entourage, local Antium magistrates and a cohort of his special troops, the German bodyguard. Though Antium was a good distance from Rome, there was a faint smell of ash in the air and the news of the fire was beginning to take hold. The audience whispered and fidgeted and if not for the royal performance they would have sought out the messengers for more information.
Nero lifted his lyre and began to sweetly sing a song, The Sack of Ilium, about the destruction of Troy by the Greeks during the Trojan War. He would win the competition, of course, but no one seemed pleased to be entertained about a great city being laid waste by fire.
In the slums of the Esquiline Hill stray embers settled onto roofs and balconies and were stamped out by vigilant citizens and slaves before they caught hold. Peter the Apostle was there on one of his pastoral missions as Bishop of Rome. He was a weary but persistent traveller, enduring the months-long mule-train journeys to Jerusalem and Rome from his home in Antioch in Greece where he also served as bishop. Rome had been a tough assignment. His disciples were converting as many slaves and freedmen as they could but the citizens were hostile to the Christian cult, as they called it. But Peter had a small flock and, like lambs, they needed the guidance of a shepherd’s staff from time to time.
Cornelius the tanner had become a priest of the new church and his house was one of their common prayer and meeting points. Peter stood by one of the tenement’s windows in a room packed with devotees. A glowing ember floated by and Peter watched it for a moment before turning back to the papyrus in his hand. He had recently written an epistle to his faithful followers and he wanted them to hear it come from his own lips. ‘So, dear brothers and sisters, work hard to prove that you really are among those whom God has called and chosen. Do these things, and you will never fall away. Then God will give you a grand entrance into the eternal Kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Therefore, I will always remind you about these things – even though you already know them and are standing firm in the truth that you have been taught. And it is only right that I should keep on reminding you as long as I live. For our Lord Jesus Christ has shown me that I must soon leave this earthly life, so I will work hard to make sure you always remember these things after I am gone. For we were not making up clever stories when we told you about the powerful coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. We saw His majestic splendor with our own eyes when He received honor and glory from God the Father. The voice from the majestic glory of God said to Him, ‘This is my dearly loved Son, who brings me great joy.’ We ourselves heard that voice from heaven when we were with Him on the holy mountain. Because of that experience, we have even greater confidence in the message proclaimed by the prophets. You must pay close attention to what they wrote, for their words are like a lamp shining in a dark place – until the Day dawns, and Christ the Morning Star shines in your hearts.’
When Peter was done, Cornelius drew him aside to a corner by the cooking stove. ‘Fine words,’ he said.
‘They are from my heart,’ Peter answered.
‘You spoke of leaving your earthly life.’
Peter seemed resolute. Another ember blew past the window. ‘It will happen soon. Rome is being consumed by the fires of hell and I fear Nero will be looking to place the blame.’
‘They’ll look to us, but some say it’s the Lemures.’
‘Superstitions, surely,’ Peter said.
Cornelius whispered, ‘I know a man who swears he saw a charred body in the rubble of the Circus Maximus. It had a tail.’
Peter arched an eyebrow. ‘If true, then evil may indeed be among us.’
‘You should leave Rome,’ Cornelius insisted. ‘Let’s have you returned to Antioch.’
‘No,’ Peter said, ‘I will stay. It was meant to be. Christ suffered for me and now it is my turn to suffer for Him. You know, Cornelius, what they don’t understand is that killing us only makes us more powerful. Come, friend, let’s try to help our brethren. And if there’s evil about, let us confront it.’
*
Tigellinus held the messenger at bay until the morning. He knew Nero was in a revelatory mood and wouldn’t have appreciated the interruption of matters of empire. Besides, Nero had known about the fire before it happened, hadn’t he? Still, the Prefect of Rome’s message had to be delivered and when the Emperor was gently awakened by his private secretary, Epaphroditus, an attentive Greek Lemures, he was informed that a contingent of Praetorians had arrived from Rome bearing important news.
After an hour of bathing and perfuming, Nero received the soldiers in his grand reception room, attended by Tigellinus, Epaphroditus, and his devoted assassin, Acinetus. The letter he was handed was stark. The Circus Maximus was destroyed. The southern regions of the city were ablaze. The fire was uncontrollable.
‘And what am I to do?’ Nero asked rhetorically. ‘Am I to carry a bucket? Surely this is a matter for Prefect Sabinus to deal with. That’s his job! My job is to sing tonight in competition. There is said to be a Thracian with an excellent voice who will be my rival. I cannot disappoint my audience.’
‘Shall I deliver a written reply to Prefect Sabinus?’ the Praetorian commander asked.
‘Tigellinus can pen something if he likes,’ Nero said. ‘By the way, is there any danger to the Esquiline Hill?’
The soldier replied he didn’t believe so and Nero dismissed the cohort with an imperial wave.
Nero called for some watered wine. ‘It seems you’ve done a good job of it, Tigellinus.’
‘Rome took many a day to build but it can be destroyed in a very few,’ Tigellinus said with a smile.
‘Remember,’ Nero said irritably, ‘I’m as interested in destruction as you, but I just completed the Domus Transitoria and I fancy living there until the Domus Aurea is built on reclaimed land.’
The Domus Transitoria was a long, colonnaded palace that ran from the Palatine all the way to the Gardens of Maecenas, occupying much of the Esquiline Hill in Regio III. But building the Domus Aurea was his ultimate goal, a palace so grand and audacious it would eclipse all buildings in Rome. He had personally approved the plans and drawings. It would sit on 200 acres of burnt-out land at the foot of the Palatine Hill. The entrance hall would be high enough to accommodate a 40-meter statue of himself, a true Colossus of Rome. This entrance hall, three stories high, which Nero dubbed the Millaria, would run for two kilometers along the Forum valley through the fire-ravaged Carinae and Suburba districts. There would be an enormous pool, a veritable sea in the middle of Rome which he would use for lavish pageants.
‘I am confident that the land you need for the Domus Aurea is already consumed,’ Tigellinus said. ‘If the winds are favorable, the Domus Transitoria should be safe. I too am worried about my shops at the Basilica
