Commodus Read online

‘The emperor wishes you brought to the palace.’

  The emperor? The emperor, in the midst of all this chaos, had thought to preserve my mother?

  ‘How do we escape?’ Mother asked, staring at the water all around.

  ‘Here.’

  Four of the men were now skittering carefully across the tiles carrying a plank towards us. I realised then where they had come from. The far wall of the baths was being renovated. We’d heard the workmen at their task for several days, their scaffolding enclosing one end of the complex as they hammered and shouted and sang. The men of the cohort had climbed the scaffolding and brought a plank across the roof. I had not realised how close we were to the bathhouse until I saw them slide the timber out and slip it into place across the narrow street. It only just reached. One heavy shake would likely send it and anything on it down into the roiling waters below, but somehow the dangers seemed unimportant. The plank represented unexpected hope amid disaster.

  ‘Come across. We’ll anchor it as best we can from this end, but come slowly and carefully and hold tight as you go.’

  ‘My daughter goes first,’ Mother said with an air of command.

  ‘All right. Come on.’

  Mother gestured for me to cross. Heart pounding, skin prickling with nerves at the danger all around, I slid slowly down the roof towards the plank and grabbed tight to the tiles as I neared the edge. I rose to my feet and clambered onto the end of the shaky board. I began to cross.

  ‘Hands and knees, girl,’ the soldier bellowed. ‘Hands and knees.’

  Though I was fairly sure I could cross safely enough on foot, I did as I was told and dropped to my knees, crawling slowly along the plank. It wobbled and bowed precariously even under my negligible weight. If I can identify three moments that are responsible for my lifelong fear of water, they are looking out of my window at the Tiber rushing towards me, fearing Mother pulled down into the depths, and staring at the boiling currents below that plank. I was shaking like a leaf as I reached the far end and was lifted bodily to safety by muscular, hairy, tattooed arms. The men of the urban cohorts held me safe as Mother took her turn. She gathered up the huge pile of garments and placed them on the plank, least important at the bottom, and began to edge them forward.

  ‘Leave the clothes!’ the Guard officer shouted in disbelief.

  ‘These are the emperor’s tunics. Only he can give that command.’

  And so, my mother edged slowly forward across the plank, nudging the pile carefully ahead of her with each shuffling movement. When she lost control for a moment and the top tunic of deep aquamarine and silver thread fluttered down into the water, her cry of anguish was akin to any of the screams of loss that night. Indeed, she fought so hard to regain control of the pile of clothes that she almost fell herself.

  A few heartbeats later she was across. With the staunch support of the men of the cohort, we crossed the roof and began to clamber down the scaffolding ladders. One of the soldiers tried to take my mother’s burden, but she would not relinquish her precious clothing even to him and hugged it jealously to her all the way across and down that nerve-wracking escape. I had never felt more grateful than when we stood on the solid ground of the Palatine slope, not far above the level of the floodwaters. Following Mother’s example and earning us both black looks of disapproval from the soldiers all the way up the steps of the Scalae Caci, I prayed to God on high for the safety and peace of the city and its inhabitants.

  We were led past the temples of the Great Mother, of Victory, of Apollo Palatinus, and into the sprawling complex of the imperial palace. As we passed each of those three great pagan shrines, Mother made the sign of the cross and gave them a wide berth, as though their idolatry could somehow infect her. For my part, I was always more than a little fascinated with the gods of our fellow Romans and the ways they kept. They seemed to me, for all their oddness, exotic and enticing. I could never have said as much to Mother, mind, or I would have spent my life in penance.

  Finally, we were shown into the palace itself and escorted by the eight men of the urban cohorts past pairs of Praetorian guardsmen and through corridors of rich marble and bright paint, lorded over by busts of great men both past and present. Busts that I reached out and brushed my fingers across the base of whenever Mother’s eyes were not upon me. I suppose for most plebs it would have been a thing of astonishment to see such gilded luxury. I, of course, had been in the palace as often as any senator or general, attending to the apparel-based needs of the emperor, yet I still felt awed by the imperial grandeur. At the end of one corridor, my trailing fingers found an unstable plinth, and the bust of some ancient dignitary rocked gently. Mother said nothing. She did not need to. Her glare carried more warning than any words and I kept my arms by my sides from then on.

  Eventually we reached a wide chamber painted with images of fantastic creatures and trompe l’œil that made it appear as though we were standing in some grand park overlooking a lake of swans. We were motioned to silence as we entered, and instantly I understood why.

  The two emperors stood over a desk spread with a map of the city, accompanied by men in togas and men in armour. Two senior officers, almost certainly the Praetorian prefect and the commander of the urban cohorts, several men of high public office, even a priest.

  The great Marcus Aurelius, successor of Divine Antoninus and Emperor of Rome now for over a year, was involved in deep, muttered debate with one of the politicians, while my mother’s master, the co-emperor and adoptive brother of Aurelius, was busily haranguing the Praetorian prefect.

  ‘I want him found and brought here to answer to me, personally,’ Lucius Verus snapped.

  Aurelius turned, drawn from his low conversation by the shout, his intelligent grey eyes filled with worry.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Statius Priscus,’ Verus replied. ‘That fool.’

  Aurelius nodded his understanding and turned back to his own conversation, leaving Lucius Verus to snap at the officer. ‘It is Priscus’ responsibility to monitor the river and waterworks and to be aware of any issues. A good curator alvei Tiberis should know everything, right down to how many fish there are in the river. He should certainly damn well know when there’s a flood coming that’s big enough to drown a city!’

  ‘Majesty, we have checked the curator’s house and the major-domo says he is at his villa on the slope of Mount Lepinus near Norba.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Apparently there was some drainage issue he needed to attend to.’

  The emperor’s face passed through a number of expressions before settling into a deep, purpling anger.

  ‘Have him sent for with all haste and we shall see how humorous he thinks the irony of attending to his estate’s drainage while the city slowly drowns in his absence. Hot irons might await.’

  The emperor Aurelius, never a man to miss a thing, cast a warning glance at his brother. Verus subsided under that wise gaze. ‘Send for him,’ the elder brother amended, ‘but when the crisis is over. For now, we need to concentrate all our efforts on making sure the dry regions remain secure. The waters could rise still, and whole regions remain at risk. Have every man available barricading the streets –’ he reached over the map and jabbed repeatedly with his finger ‘– here, here, here and here.’

  Lucius Verus turned, his temper cooled, and his gaze fell upon us, standing unobtrusive and quiet in the corner of the room. ‘Marcia? Good, they found you in time. I hear horror stories of what is happening in the Velabrum. No matter how many times we institute building codes, landlords cut corners and the result is invariably disaster. At least you are not hurt, nor your charming daughter.’

  Mother bowed respectfully, which proved to be difficult with an armful of folded clothes. Verus realised then what she was holding.

  ‘Jove above and all his bolts of thunder, tell me you did not risk life and limb to bring me my tuni
cs?’

  My mother had the grace to look a little sheepish, but Verus chuckled with genuine fondness. His hair and beard gleamed gold in the lamplight and his face creased naturally into a smile. ‘Marcia, you are a marvel.’ He gestured to the officer beside us. ‘Libo, I want these ladies taken care of.’ He winked at my mother before addressing the officer once more. ‘I go to war with Parthia within the month, and it does not do for an emperor to face the King of Kings in drab apparel.’ He chuckled again. ‘Quarter them with the boys for now, until we can settle more permanent arrangements.’

  And that was our dismissal. We were escorted from the imperial presence, but even that brief moment had given me an insight into the world of the emperors. These were no Neronian fools or Tiberian tyrants. These men were the best of Romanitas, leading their people and caring for the city as the patres patriae – the fathers of Rome. Despite everything we had endured and witnessed that night, I left sure that Rome was in good hands.

  I lost track of our route through the palace. We had been many times before to attend upon Verus, but often in the same areas: either the public halls or his private apartments. The part of the palace to which we were now led, with windows that looked out upon the great Circus Maximus, was reserved for the imperial family and important guests and relations. Somewhere along the line, the soldiers passed us off to a palace functionary who escorted us the rest of the way, full of his own self-importance and without thought to ask my mother whether he could help her with her burden as the soldiers had done.

  Our journey’s end turned out to be a room painted with exotic wildlife, lit low with oil lamps. Two babes lay in beds that cost more than our entire household. Both were blond, with curly hair, and both, despite the lateness of the hour, were awake. One was crying while the other examined the cot’s headboard with an air of fascination. I know now that they were both less than a year old at the time. A nurse with a ruddy complexion and the figure of a well-fed matron was busy trying to settle the crying child.

  ‘This,’ announced our escort, ‘is Hestia. She will take care of you for now. When I have had rooms made ready, I will send for you.’

  I could see my mother’s eyes narrow at being spoken to in this manner by a slave, no matter how powerful that slave might think he was. Hestia turned to us and I liked her immediately. Her face radiated sympathy and friendliness. She opened her mouth to speak but, as she did so, another door swung open without warning and a woman entered. I recognised the empress Faustina. Hers was a face I had seen in the palace from time to time, though I had never been personally involved with her. She was tall and elegant, even as heavily pregnant as she clearly was now. She carried her unborn child with her arms beneath the bump supporting some of the weight, and her face reflected her discomfort. My mother said later that she thought that, after bearing twelve children, the empress should be more at ease than she was.

  ‘Hestia, would you kindly keep the boys quiet?’ the empress snapped. ‘I find it difficult enough drifting to sleep in perfect quiet, let alone with Lucius howling like that.’

  ‘That is Titus, Majesty,’ Hestia said with a smile.

  ‘Whichever,’ snorted the empress, ‘kindly keep him from howling like some monster from Aenean legend.’ She turned and noticed us for the first time. ‘You, you’re Verus’ woman, yes?’ Mother bowed her confirmation. ‘Good,’ the empress added. ‘Your girl looks quiet and sensible. Let her look after them.’

  And with that, the empress Faustina spun and departed, the door clunking shut behind her.

  ‘Don’t mind her,’ Hestia said indulgently once the empress was out of earshot. ‘She’s actually very nice, but this pregnancy tests her and makes her waspish.’

  Mother smiled and put down her pile of garments. ‘These are the empress’ twins?’ she asked, peering at the two boys.

  ‘They are,’ nodded Hestia, and my eyes widened at the realisation. I was in the presence of the twin sons of Marcus Aurelius, heirs to the empire. Titus Aurelius Fulvus and Lucius Aurelius Commodus. Titus Fulvus, then, was the one wailing and noisy, while Lucius Commodus was the one playing with the carving. Presumably both boys had been calmly asleep earlier, but the noise outside was loud even from here as the city panicked and died, ravaged by Father Tiber.

  I took a hesitant step towards the beds, glancing across at the nurse, but I had no need to fear. I had been commanded by the empress, after all. Hestia gave me a nod and a flash of her smile, and I crossed to the beds. As I reached the foot and stood between them, the strangest thing happened. Both children turned to look at me and the hair at the nape of my neck rose, my skin turning to gooseflesh. Fulvus stopped crying in an instant and peered at me as though inspecting the very soul of which I was made. Commodus looked deep into my eyes, gave a strange little giggle, and then wet himself.

  Hestia laughed. ‘They like you. I rarely see them so calm, even with the empress. Particularly with the empress,’ she corrected conspiratorially, with a sly glance flicked at the door.

  I smiled and brushed off the strange encounter, but something in my soul seemed to have clicked into place.

  I was in the house of the emperors, and there I would stay.

  II

  INTELLIGENCE AND PRECOCIOUSNESS

  Rome, ad 164

  I turned seven in the autumn of the year of the consuls Macrinus and Celsus, with no fuss, and a tunic of fine green cotton and a grey braided belt made by my mother for a gift, which complemented my dark hair and olive skin. It had been common for the emperor, or more likely one of his lackeys, to give Mother and I gifts on our birthdays, being his freedwomen, but the glorious Lucius Verus was no longer in Rome to do so.

  The emperor had gone east with the legions to deal with that ageless enemy, Parthia, and his absence left us without a patron, at risk from the less scrupulous powers of the court. In the month the jovial and attentive Verus had stayed in Rome following that dreadful flood, I had been introduced to his ice-white, haughty betrothed, Lucilla, the cold and humourless daughter of Marcus Aurelius and so now niece and wife-to-be at once to Verus, and had found her to be unfriendly, ambitious, and as bitter as an artichoke. I would say it was because she did not like Christians, which clearly she did not, but since her snobbery and snide attitude seemed to be aimed at the world as a whole I did not feel particularly victimised. All I knew was that the prospect of acquiring the empress Lucilla as a mistress was not an encouraging one. When Verus took her east with him, we were not the only figures in the court to heave a sigh of relief. He left her partway, at Ephesus, safely out of reach of the war but close enough for marriage when she reached the appropriate age in a few short months. Despite her absence, the loss of our patron left a bitter taste.

  The senior emperor, Marcus Aurelius, remained in Rome, where he became embroiled in a legal dispute over the will of his aunt Vibia Matidia. He argued his case as ably as any of the great advocates, yet it was taking its toll on the great man in private, making him look weary and wan as he trod the halls of the Palatine.

  My life had changed utterly following the flood. At the behest of the emperor, Mother and I had been given apartments in the palace close to those of the imperial family and, despite Verus’ absence, my mother received many lucrative commissions from other members of the imperial family, including the emperor himself. And while Mother worked her magic, I was enrolled with tutors. It was a little strange for me, since I was essentially dropped into the imperial children’s educational path at their level, which, bearing in mind the difference in our ages – the twins were now three and I was seven – felt like a waste of time. Looking back, it was, in truth, far from unusual. The two emperors had, after all, been educated together, their age gap sufficient that Aurelius had been a man in the eyes of Rome while Verus still bore the bulla of childhood. The lessons were basic at first. Wooden blocks bearing letters to assemble words, brightly painted abacuses. Simple learning. The t
utors seemed to feel that my sex made me somehow lesser than the boys and, as such, that I would work well at their level. I will admit to having no command of letters until I began at the palace, but I understood numbers, and knew a great deal for my age. I was bright, and a quick learner. So, might I add, were Fulvus and Commodus, though they were given to bouts of foolishness, especially Commodus.

  Their intelligence, and mine, was made evident when the tutor, who had been assigned for a full four months to teach us basic numeracy, reported to the emperor after just two that we had learned his entire syllabus. This was despite the fact that almost any time the man bent over my work with his back turned to them, Commodus would nudge Fulvus and the pair would disappear into the next room to hide or wrestle. I longed to join them, and might have been welcome, but it had been made abundantly clear to me by Mother that my place was to be deferential and behave myself, for I was only the daughter of a freedwoman, after all. So, every time they disappeared and the tutor turned back to address his class, he would find only me sitting there, looking forlorn and, naturally, a little guilty.

  The boys would be chided for their impish behaviour, but all that did was encourage them to do it more often. Little planning appeared to be involved in their games, each seeming almost instinctively to know what the other twin was thinking.

  Despite their close sibling bond, though, I had quickly come to see the differences between them. Fulvus was slightly less robust than his brother, with a perpetual look of faraway thoughtfulness and an insatiable desire to investigate and learn things. When he was not being taught basic counting – Lord, but I was bored with counting to ten, I had been counting to a hundred for years – Fulvus would find something that interested him and take it apart to see what was inside. Commodus was every bit as bright, but he was not so applied. He seemed bored by his lessons, despite natural ability, preferring to be moving and laughing, always active and testing himself physically.