False God of Rome

CHAPTER VIII

‘What in the name of Mars are they doing?’ Vespasian asked Magnus in alarm as a group of seemingly demented women came rushing towards them, across the Forum Boarium, beating themselves with branches.

‘Nothing in Mars’ name, sir,’ Magnus replied, restraining Ziri who had dropped the hand-cart containing their belongings and Capella’s chest in order to defend them from the oncoming screaming women. ‘They’re slaves and they do that in Juno’s name. It’s the Caprotinia; all the female slaves in the city get the day off and run around hitting themselves with fig-tree branches.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘No one’s really quite sure.’ Magnus helped a very confused Ziri pick up the hand-cart as the women rushed past. ‘I’ve heard that it was something to do with a woman prisoner in the Gallic camp during their invasion of Italia. She gave a signal from a fig tree for our lads to storm out of the city and take the hairy buggers by surprise. Anyway, who gives a fuck why they do it, the important thing is that they do and it’s always a great night; by the time they’ve finished running about beating themselves they’re extremely excited and very amenable, if you take my meaning?’

‘I’m sure I do,’ Vespasian said, wondering if Caenis was out whipping herself up into a frenzy and found himself quite interested by the idea.

Another band of women, some of them baring their breasts, came howling into the Forum, scattering passers-by who laughed good-naturedly at their antics.

Magnus licked his lips appreciatively. ‘We’re back just in time; not only do we get very enthusiastic, half-naked women, but we also get a nice few days at the circus to recover from any excesses that we might have indulged in, as the Caprotinia falls during the eight days of the Apollo Games. I love July.’

‘I can imagine,’ Vespasian agreed, unhappy to be reminded that it was already over halfway through the year and he was only now arriving back in Rome.

His disappointment at the disappearance of Flavia Domitilla had been compounded by his enforced extended stay in Cyrenaica; he had then been obliged to wait until June for his replacement, a sour-faced young man, who had evidently felt the posting far beneath him and had shown little desire to arrive promptly in the province. Once he had eventually been relieved, unseasonal gales had delayed his return for another two frustrating market intervals.

Apart from a longing to see Caenis again and to forget about Flavia in her arms, his main reason for wanting to get back to Rome as soon as possible had been to hand over Capella’s chest — minus the gold and the bankers’ draft — to Antonia. Narcissus would soon become concerned enough by its non-arrival to instigate an investigation, which would in all likelihood lead to Vespasian, and he did not like the idea of being waylaid and relieved of his newfound wealth by hired thugs in the pay of Claudius’ ambitious freedman.

Passing out of the Forum Boarium with the huge facade of the Circus Maximus to their right they turned left onto Vicus Tuscus, heading to the Forum Romanum. Ziri’s face, already slack-jawed with amazement since entering the city, became a picture of disbelief as he looked up at the monumental House of Augustus with its high marble walls, dominating the summit of the Palatine.

Magnus clapped his slave on the shoulder. ‘A bit different to the arse-end of a camel, eh, Ziri?’

‘Fucking right, master; I never fucking seen such a fucking thing, fucked if I has.’

Vespasian frowned. ‘You’ve got to stop him from swearing all the time, Magnus; it’ll get him into trouble.’

‘He’s all right; you should be impressed by how quickly he picked up Latin.’

‘Yes, I am; the trouble is that he’s picked up your sort of Latin.’

‘Who are you to talk with your country-bumpkin Sabine burr, if you don’t mind me saying, sir? At least he sounds like a Roman.’

‘Yes, I sound like a Roman, sir,’ Ziri said with pride, ‘I no sound like a cunt.’

‘Ziri!’ Magnus snapped, clouting him around the ear.

‘Sorry, master.’

Having made their slow way through the festival crowds up the Quirinal Hill they eventually arrived at the familiar door of Vespasian’s uncle, Senator Gaius Vespasius Pollo. Magnus knocked and, after a brief delay, it was opened by a young and very attractive dark-skinned youth.

‘My uncle’s broadening his tastes, it would seem,’ Vespasian observed to Magnus once he had given the lad instructions to show Ziri around to the slaves’ entrance with their belongings, Magnus having first relieved him of Capella’s chest.

‘Change pleases,’ Magnus quoted as they walked through the vestibule and into the atrium.

‘Dear boy,’ boomed Gaius, walking out of his study, ‘and Magnus, my friend! I heard someone at the door and was praying that it would be you; I’ve been worried sick for the last few days.’ He came waddling at great speed across the mosaic floor, the ample flesh on his plump body wobbling frantically under his tunic. He enveloped Vespasian in a smothering embrace while planting a moist, rubbery kiss on his cheeks. ‘When I heard of the foul weather out at sea I was worried that you may have shared the fate of the first grain fleet of the season heading from Egypt.’ He grasped Magnus’ forearm and gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder.

‘What happened to it, Uncle?’ Vespasian asked, putting his hand to his face, as if in concern, in order to surreptitiously wipe off the excess saliva from each cheek.

‘Only two out of the thirty transports made it through, the rest were shipwrecked off Kithria; that’s why I was so concerned for you two. The humorists are saying that the only reason the storms stopped is because Neptune’s now too busy baking bread. Sabinus is having a terrible time of it: he’s the aedile in charge of the grain supply in the city and the granaries are getting low and the mob are getting angry. Thankfully, for Sabinus and the Senate, most of their anger is directed towards Tiberius for staying on Capreae and — as they see it — deserting them. But come and sit down.’ Gaius led Vespasian through the atrium towards the peristylium. ‘Aenor, bring wine, and take Magnus to the kitchen for some refreshments,’ he called to the young, blond-haired, blue-eyed German slave boy who had been hovering in the background, waiting to be of service, while his master greeted his guests. ‘And cakes, we must have honeyed cakes.’

‘It would seem, my dear boy, that you’re in a tricky position,’ Gaius mused, looking at the contents of Capella’s chest. ‘Your instinct to take it to Antonia for her to decide what to do about it is correct, but that could also be seen as an act of treason.’

‘What do you mean, Uncle? I’m not aiding Narcissus; he’s the one who’s committing treason by buying up land for Claudius in Egypt without the Emperor’s permission.’

‘No, you’re not aiding him, I grant you that; but neither are you exposing him as a traitor, and if you cash his bankers’ draft that could be seen as a bribe. Since the restarting of the treason trials that might be considered to be a little foolhardy.’

Vespasian went to protest but Gaius held up his hand. ‘Hear me out, dear boy. You must remember that you are no longer a mere thin-stripe military tribune or a lowly member of the vigintiviri; you are now a senator. Your duty is to the Senate and to the Emperor, not to Antonia, who is purely a private citizen and a female one at that. Yes, she is very powerful in her own way but she is not the government or even an official part of the State.’ Gaius paused to take a sip of his wine and reach for the last remaining cake.

The air in the courtyard garden was pleasingly cool and the wine delicate and refreshing; had his uncle not just given him cause for concern Vespasian might have found himself relaxing for the first time since Capella’s chest had come into his possession.

‘You’re recommending that I take the chest to the Senate or directly to the Emperor then, Uncle?’

‘I didn’t say that, I was just pointing out where your duty lies. Your obligation, however, is an entirely different matter and that’s why you’re in a tricky situation. If you were to go to the Senate with this thing, Antonia would never forgive you for putting her son, however much she dislikes him, in danger; she considers that to be her prerogative.’

‘And then I’d have her, as well as Narcissus, as an enemy,’ Vespasian groaned. He put down his cup and held his head in his hands, cursing the day that he met Flavia and his arrogance that had led him into this situation. ‘I could take it directly to one of the Consuls in private,’ he suggested after a few moments’ thought.

‘Good thinking but it won’t work with the Suffect Consuls that we have this half of the year. Decimus Valerius Asiaticus is Antonia’s man, he used to look after her interests in Narbonese Gaul. He owes everything to her, not least his being the first Consul of Gallic origin. Antonia would hear of it within the hour. His junior, Aulus Gabinius Secundus, is a talentless, vicious man who would use the information to cause as much trouble as he could for everyone involved. I’m afraid that I can see only one course of action for you to take and that is to steer the middle ground.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You can’t do your duty to the Senate until it next meets in three days’ time, after the close of the festival of Apollo, so in the meantime I suggest that you fulfil your obligation to Antonia. Show her the land deeds and explain the predicament that you find yourself in, emphasising of course that your loyalty to her was the reason why you brought it to her first, and ask her if you should take it to the Senate. You never know, she might surprise you.’

‘What if she doesn’t?’

‘Then, my dear boy, at least you would have some sort of defence if the worst should come to the worst; you could truthfully say in court that Antonia told you not to take it to the Senate.’

‘But how could I prove that?’

‘Ask Antonia for a formal meeting; then you’ll get a copy of the minutes.’

‘But she could still deny it.’

‘Not if you take a witness. Unfortunately I won’t do and nor would Sabinus; a court won’t believe that we’re not just supporting your case through family loyalty.’

‘Who, then?’

‘I would have thought that that’s quite obvious: your old comrade from the Fourth Scythica, Corbulo. I know that he’s in Rome at the moment as he’s trying to get elected as a praetor for next year; he’s desperate to come above Sabinus in the poll. His father told me a long time ago that he feels that his family is obliged to us for you saving his son’s life in Thracia; I’ll call in the favour immediately.’

‘I can’t say that I’m too happy to be doing this, Vespasian,’ Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo told Vespasian as they approached Antonia’s house on the Palatine. ‘Especially if you won’t tell me what it’s about.’ He pointed over his shoulder vaguely at Magnus who was flanked by two of his crossroads brothers, Marius and Sextus; Ziri brought up the rear. ‘I can only assume that it’s something to do with what’s in the chest that your man’s carrying.’

‘That’ll be Magnus, Corbulo,’ Magnus said lightly, ‘remember? You sat in my shit and I sat in yours in that cart all the way across Thracia, nine years ago, after we’d been captured by some very nasty tribesmen.’

Corbulo wrinkled his nose at the memory of the journey and subsequent near escape from the Thracians, but refused to acknowledge that he could recollect the name of someone so beneath him after such a long time.

‘Pompous arsehole,’ Magnus muttered, but not entirely to himself.

Corbulo held his chin in the air disdaining to hear the comment. Vespasian shot Magnus a withering look over his shoulder; Magnus shrugged and smiled innocently.

‘Believe me, Corbulo, it’s best if you don’t know what it’s about unless you have to,’ Vespasian said, trying to get back onto the subject. ‘You’re right that it’s to do with what’s in the chest. I plan to show the contents to the Lady Antonia and then we’ll discuss what to do about them in your presence. That way you won’t be put in any danger because you won’t know what we’re talking about; I just need you to witness what she asks me to do about it so that you could back me up in court if it came to it.’

Corbulo looked down his long nose at him. ‘You’re way out of your league, Vespasian. However, I’ll do this to repay the debt that my father insists that I owe you, but that’s it — the slate is clean afterwards.’

‘Let us both pray that there is an afterwards,’ Vespasian muttered as they approached the tall, single-storey villa that belonged to the most formidable woman in Rome.

Vespasian mounted the steps as the sun slipped behind the Aventine Hill throwing Rome into shadow. He rapped on the door; the viewing slot snapped back and two eyes appeared. ‘Titus Flavius Vespasianus and Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo request an interview with the Lady Antonia.’

The slot closed and the door opened immediately; the doorman let Vespasian and Corbulo into the vestibule, leaving Magnus, Ziri and the brothers outside with the chest. As they walked through into the imposing and exquisitely furnished atrium a familiar voice came from across its vast length.

‘Masters Vespasian and Corbulo, how good to see you again,’ Pallas, Antonia’s Greek steward, said in his faultless Latin. ‘I trust that the natives of Creta and Cyrenaica weren’t too tiresome.’

‘They were as belligerent as one would expect, Pallas; and it’s very good to see you again too,’ Vespasian replied with a smile.

Corbulo grunted his acknowledgement.

‘You are too kind, masters; I am honoured that you should be pleased to see me, a mere freedman.’

‘There’s nothing mere about…freedman, did you say?’

Pallas pulled his right hand from behind his back and placed a pileus, the conical felt cap that marked a freedman, on his head. ‘Indeed, sir. My mistress was good enough to give me my freedom soon after you left for your province; I am now Marcus Antonius Pallas, a freed citizen of Rome.’

‘My congratulations, Pallas.’ Vespasian proffered his forearm to the Greek for the first time in their acquaintance.

Pallas clasped it in a firm grip. ‘Thank you, Vespasian. I will always remember with gratitude the respect, far beyond that due to my servile rank, that you, your brother and uncle have showed me in the past.’

Corbulo muttered a perfunctory felicitation to which Pallas responded with a slight inclination of his head.

‘Now, gentlemen, I will see if the Lady Antonia is able to receive you.’

‘We would like a formal meeting, if that would be convenient, Pallas?’ Vespasian requested, somewhat nervously. ‘What I have to discuss with her is of a very delicate nature for all concerned. Magnus and some of his brothers are outside with an item that I must bring to the Lady’s attention.’

Pallas raised an eyebrow but otherwise his face remained neutral. ‘I see.’ He clapped his hands twice. ‘Felix!’

A Greek appeared from the far end of the room and walked with self-assured poise towards them. Vespasian looked at him curiously; apart from a deep suntan he was the exact image of Pallas when he had first met him nine years previously.

‘Felix, there are some men outside, see them round to the stable yard and get them some refreshment. They should wait there until they are summoned.’

‘Yes, Pallas,’ Felix replied, heading to the front door.

‘Follow me, gentlemen.’ Pallas walked off towards Antonia’s formal reception room.

‘Is he your brother, Pallas?’ Vespasian enquired.

‘I cannot deny it.’

‘How long has he been in Antonia’s household?’

‘He arrived here just recently, but the Lady Antonia has owned him for most of his life. He was the steward of her household in Egypt and she’s brought him here to take over my position, once I’ve trained him up in the etiquette of Rome.’

‘What are you going to be doing, then?’

‘I’m afraid that that’s between the Lady and me, Vespasian,’ Pallas said as they entered the beautiful high-ceilinged reception room, littered with expensive but tasteful furniture and sculptures from all over the Empire. He gestured to Vespasian and Corbulo to sit. ‘Wait here, gentlemen, I will send you some wine while I relay your request to my Lady.’

Night had fallen and the room was now ablaze with scores of oil lamps; their fumes hung in the air veiling the ceiling, depriving it of their light.

Vespasian and Corbulo had waited for more than an hour, the wine jug and two cups on the low table between them stood empty. However, the time had passed reasonably quickly as Corbulo brought him up to date with the machinations of the various factions in Rome, slanted, of course, from his own conservative, aristocratic perspective.

‘I find the presence of that oily little New Man, Poppaeus Sabinus, back in Rome an affront to my honour,’ Corbulo was saying. ‘It was bad enough that Antonia wouldn’t let me implicate him in Sejanus’ plot and thereby have my revenge on him for trying to get me killed in Thracia…’

‘And get me killed as well, Corbulo,’ Vespasian reminded him.

‘Yes, indeed, and you, but now he’s back here it’s intolerable; he seems to be working with Macro, bringing charges against anyone to whom he bears a grudge, even if they’re from families of the highest order. There have been over twenty of them. Pomponius Labeo was arraigned just after you left last year on a charge of maladministration of his province during the three years that he took over Moesia from Poppaeus.’

‘The slippery little shit.’

‘Indeed. Now you can say what you like about Pomponius’ personal habits but I found him to be an honourable man and a decent legate of the Fourth Scythica.’

‘So what happened with his case?’

‘You mean you don’t know?’

‘I only just got back to Rome today, I don’t know any of the news, other than what you’ve just been telling me while we’ve been waiting.’

‘Ah yes, of course.’ Corbulo paused and drew breath. ‘Well then, I’m sorry to have to tell you,’ he carried on with a look as close to concern on his rigid face as he could muster, ‘that Poppaeus hounded him and his wife Paxaea to suicide last year.’

Vespasian was visibly shocked. ‘The little bastard. How? Why? The charge against him was just maladministration, that doesn’t carry a death sentence.’

‘It was at first but then Poppaeus discovered that Pomponius had been speculating in grain. He told Macro who informed the Emperor and Tiberius took up the charge himself; he doesn’t take kindly to grain speculators. After that Pomponius had no choice but to take his life in order to ensure that his property wasn’t confiscated. As to why, that’s easy: because of Pomponius reporting to the Senate that Poppaeus allowed his army to acclaim him “imperator” and did nothing to stop them. Poppaeus has been living in fear of Tiberius’ vengeance ever since, which, unfortunately, has never been forthcoming.’

‘Quite the reverse, in fact — he was reinstated as Governor of both Moesia and Macedonia in my last year in Thracia.’

‘Quite so, quite so, but that was at Sejanus’ suggestion; he kept Poppaeus safe from Tiberius while he was still alive, but since his downfall no one can understand why Poppaeus led such a charmed life — until he returned to Rome in the summer of last year…’

‘When it turned out that he was working with Macro,’ Vespasian said, finishing Corbulo’s sentence.

‘Oh, you heard?’

‘Yes, you just told me.’

‘So I did.’

‘Gentlemen, I am so sorry to have kept you waiting.’ Antonia appeared in the doorway causing them both to jump to their feet.

‘Domina,’ they said in unison, bowing their heads.

‘I hope that I haven’t inconvenienced you?’

‘Not at all, domina,’ Vespasian replied as she walked towards them with Pallas following, ‘it is I that am inconveniencing you.’

‘With a rather strange request from somebody whom I consider to be a friend.’

‘I’m sorry to ask this, domina, but I hope that you will understand when I explain what brings me here.’

Antonia stopped in front of him, her piercing green eyes bored into his; he felt the potential menace that lurked behind them and quailed. The nervous look on his face caused her to raise her eyebrows and then smile. ‘The land deeds of the properties that Narcissus has been buying up in Egypt on behalf of my son, Claudius?’

Vespasian’s mouth dropped open.

‘And you are worried that not reporting this act of treason to the proper authorities would be construed as treason on your own part?’

Vespasian nodded.

‘And so you brought my dear friend Corbulo as a witness of the most unimpeachable character and requested a formal meeting so that you could keep a copy of the minutes?’

‘Yes, domina,’ Vespasian managed to mumble. ‘How did you know?’

‘It’s what I would have done, had I been in your position.’

‘I mean, how did you know about the land deeds?’

‘Because since I discovered that there may be more to my idiot son than meets the eye I’ve made it my business to know everything that goes on in his household. How I know is something that I may divulge later.’ She turned to Pallas. ‘Is the Consul here yet, Pallas?’

‘Yes, domina, he and dinner await you in your private room.’

‘Excellent. Have Magnus bring the chest there. Gentlemen, we should eat.’ Antonia turned and walked towards the door.

Glancing at Corbulo, who shook his head slowly and tutted, Vespasian followed her, feeling totally out of control of the situation.

‘Decimus Valerius Asiaticus, may I present Titus Flavius Vespasianus; Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo I believe you already know,’ Antonia said as they entered her private domain where the Senior Consul for the final six months of the year stood waiting, admiring the intricately glazed bay window that dominated the room.

Asiaticus turned and nodded a brief greeting to Vespasian and Corbulo before addressing Antonia. ‘Lady Antonia, may I ask what is so urgent that I am summoned from my dining table?’

‘Consul, I do apologise; I hope that my cook has created some dishes that will make up for your spoilt supper. Gentlemen, shall we recline? Consul, please take the couch to my right; the two younger gentlemen to my left.’ She settled onto the middle one of the three couches set around the low walnut-wood table, leaving the men in no doubt that it was an order, not an invitation.

Pallas clapped his hands and three slave girls, each carrying a pair of slippers, appeared from the serving room next door; they took the men’s togas and swapped their sandals for the slippers and then retreated as two more went around the diners washing their hands and spreading napkins out on the couches before them.

Vespasian hoped that he had managed to hide his disappointment at Caenis not being present to attend to her mistress.

Once they were all settled with full cups of wine and the gustatio had been set out on the table Antonia dismissed the slaves and Pallas took up his customary position by the door.

Antonia spooned a small portion of anchovies onto her plate. ‘Gentlemen, we shall fend for ourselves without anyone to wait upon us. Consul, I owe you an explanation.’ She paused to make sure that the three men were following her lead and helping themselves. ‘When Vespasian arrived here late this afternoon asking for a formal meeting and bringing the esteemed Corbulo along as a witness I made an educated guess as to what it was concerning. Pallas, ask Magnus to bring in the chest.’ The steward stuck his head around the door to pass on the order to an underling outside as Antonia continued. ‘I immediately understood his fears and so sent for you.’

Vespasian now realised the cause of the long wait.

The door opened and Magnus entered with Capella’s chest.

‘Put it on the table, Magnus, and then go and find some supper for you and your companions.’

Magnus mumbled something incomprehensible and left the room, leaving the four diners staring at the chest.

‘Vespasian, I know that this is not a formal meeting — that would be impossible to grant in the circumstances — but as you are now reporting your discovery to the Senior Consul as well as myself I believe that it should cover you from any charge of treason.’

‘Yes, domina,’ Vespasian replied, in awe, as ever, of Antonia’s ability to read his mind.

‘Treason, Lady?’ Asiaticus was alarmed.

‘Yes, Consul, treason,’ Antonia confirmed, taking a sip of her wine. ‘Treason committed by my useless and idiotic son whom you, for some reason that eludes me, consider to be a friend. But no matter. Vespasian, open the chest.’

Vespasian got to his feet and slid the keys from around his neck and, placing them into the locks, lifted the lid.

Asiaticus and Corbulo both strained their necks to see what was inside.

‘Those, Consul,’ Antonia said without bothering to look, ‘are the deeds to seven very large grain-producing estates in Egypt. They were purchased secretly, over the last three years, on behalf of Claudius by an agent of his freedman, Narcissus.’

‘But that’s…’

‘Treason, Consul, I know. No one, not even I, may buy property on that scale in Egypt without the permission of my brother-in-law, the Emperor.’

Asiaticus looked at her aghast and drained his cup; his appetite had disappeared in an instant. ‘But what do you intend to do about it, Lady?’

‘That, Consul, is what you are here to discuss. Pallas, would you pour some more wine for my guests? Meanwhile, Vespasian can tell the Consul how he came into possession of this thing.’

When he had finished his short account of the events, Antonia gave Vespasian an appraising look, nodded her head and ordered the next course to be served. He had not left out any of the details concerning either Capella or Flavia — apart from his personal motives — as he had realised that Antonia already knew the story, though how, he could not guess.

Once the slaves had left them with two roast suckling kids in a honey and cumin sauce, Antonia turned to Asiaticus. ‘So the question is: why has Narcissus gone to all that trouble to get the deeds to Rome when he could quite happily have kept them in a secure underground safe in any of his patron’s new properties in Egypt?’ She asked in a manner that suggested to Vespasian that she already knew the answer.

‘It does seem a lot of effort to go to, not to mention the risk of them being discovered by Tiberius’ agents or even lost.’

‘Which they were.’

‘Yes indeed, Lady, which they were. I can only assume that they are worth more to Claudius here than they would be in Egypt, but why, I don’t know.’

‘Nor did I, until recently.’ She paused to carve off a few slices of tender meat from one of the kids and waited for her guests to do the same. Finally content that everyone around the table had sufficient and were at least picking at the succulent dish, she continued. ‘You may not be aware, Consul, that my grandson Gaius Caligula is conducting an affair with Macro’s wife, Ennia?’

The look on Asiaticus’ face confirmed his ignorance. ‘But I thought that he was getting married in Antium; the Emperor will be arriving there for the ceremony at the close of the festival of Apollo.’

‘That’s true, but my Gaius is a very busy little boy and, despite his coming wedding, has found the time to become infatuated with this harlot. It started when Macro moved her to Capraea last year; a strange thing to do, to say the least, unless he was deliberately pandering her to Gaius. I couldn’t understand what Macro stood to gain by this so I watched and waited, saying nothing to Gaius about it in my letters as he’s become increasingly dismissive of my advice and now tends to take the opposite course of action to that which I recommend. I was rewarded for my patience a couple of months ago when I received this. Pallas, if you please?’

Pallas walked over to the desk at the far end of the room and retrieved a scroll that he handed to his mistress.

‘This was sent to me by Clemens, the captain of Gaius’ guard. His loyalty to my grandson is matched by his distrust of Macro. It is a copy of a document, signed by Gaius, in which he swears to make Ennia empress when he inherits the Purple. In return for Macro’s loss and also as a reward for ensuring that he does become emperor he promises to make him prefect of Egypt.’

Corbulo could not contain his outrage. ‘He’s sold his wife to gain a position of power! That’s unthinkable.’

‘No, Corbulo, that is modern day politics,’ Antonia responded, ‘wouldn’t you agree, Consul?’

‘Indeed I would. It seems that our Praetorian prefect has learnt from his predecessor’s mistakes.’

Vespasian smiled; he suddenly understood the beauty of Macro’s strategy. ‘He knows that he can never become emperor, as attempting to do that cost Sejanus his life, so he’s going for a smaller prize.’

‘Smaller yes,’ Antonia agreed, ‘but in terms of wealth and power, huge; enough for him to use as a stepping-stone for what I believe to be his ultimate ambition: to imitate my father, Marcus Antonius, and divide the Empire in two by seizing the eastern provinces.’

There was a stunned silence; all thought of eating had now evaporated as Antonia’s three guests contemplated how this could be achieved and what consequences it would have for the stability of the world as they knew it.

‘I believe that some more wine would be in order at this point, Pallas,’ Antonia requested.

With their cups refilled Antonia continued her analysis to her spellbound audience.

‘Let us assume for a moment that Gaius does give Macro what he wants and it is not an idle assumption; my little Gaius may have many faults but lack of generosity is not one of them, he desires to be loved and is naive enough to think that he can buy that love. Macro would then be in control of the wealthiest province in the Empire, a province that is defended by two legions and is, to all intents and purposes, a peninsula. An army cannot cross the desert to its west, as you now well know, Vespasian; the southern border is the edge of the Empire and to the north and east is sea. So other than a highly risky seaborne invasion the only way to attack Egypt is from the northeast, through Judaea and the collection of petty kingdoms and tetrarchies that surround it, using the only other four legions in the region, based in Syria. So to secure Egypt, Macro would only have to ensure that the Syrian legions were busy elsewhere; which he did last month with a move of far-thinking political dexterity.’

Asiaticus’ eyes widened. ‘The Parthian embassy,’ he said slowly, ‘brilliant.’

‘Yes, it was admirable,’ Antonia agreed, visibly pleased that the Consul had the political acumen to keep up with her reasoning.

‘But they were a group of rebel nobles who wanted to replace King Artabanus on the Parthian throne with Phraates who was hostage here in Rome,’ Corbulo said. ‘What are they to do with Egypt or Macro?’

Vespasian vaguely recollected Magnus mentioning something about rebel Parthians on his arrival in Cyrenaica.

‘Everything,’ Antonia answered, ‘if you look at the timing and who organised the embassy.’

‘Herod Agrippa,’ Vespasian stated, his memory clearing. He rewarded himself with a gulp of wine.

Antonia looked at him quizzically, wondering how he knew. ‘Correct. Herod’s been trying to persuade Tiberius for ages to reinstate Judaea as a client kingdom with him on the throne but Tiberius has always denied him. Macro must have offered Herod what he wanted in return for him using his considerable influence with the disaffected nobles in Parthia to persuade them that now was the time for a change of king. Herod’s friend Phraates is the only survivor of the ancient Arsacid dynasty and therefore the rightful heir to the Parthian throne; he would have been only too happy to be of service.’

Asiaticus grinned. ‘That is elegant. Tiberius went for it because since Artabanus put his son Arsaces on the throne of Armenia, the balance of power in the East has shifted towards Parthia.’

‘Exactly, Consul; I know that Tiberius has made Phraates promise to return Armenia to Rome’s sphere of influence in return for his throne. Tiberius thinks that he has done a good deal for Roman diplomacy and so sends Lucius Vitellius, the new Governor of Syria, off to Parthia with his legions for a war that will last at least two, perhaps even three, years; longer than Tiberius is expected to live. Once Macro and Herod had put the Parthian embassy in motion all they had to do was sit back and watch Tiberius fall for it.’

Comprehension spread over Corbulo’s face. ‘Ah, I see, Macro’s expecting Tiberius to die, either naturally or with a little help, before the war is concluded; he’ll then make sure Caligula becomes emperor and will be rewarded with Egypt. With the Syrian legions busy he’ll be able to create a buffer state by uniting Judaea with Galilee, Iudemaea, and all the other smaller Jewish tetrarchies with Herod as the King of a Greater Judaea.’

Antonia nodded. ‘And Herod is already preparing the ground for that. On his way back to Rome last year he stopped off in Alexandria where his wife persuaded the Alabarch to lend them a lot of money, which Herod, rather than repaying his debts to me, has used to buy grain secretly from Claudius and Narcissus.’

‘But that would have come to the attention of imperial agents, however secret the deal, and he would have been prosecuted,’ Asiaticus pointed out correctly.

‘Only if the grain had been diverted from Rome itself; but it wasn’t. The estates that he bought it off had all fulfilled their quota to Rome; Herod bought grain destined for lesser provinces.’

‘That explains why we had a severe shortage in Cyrenaica,’ Vespasian observed, ‘it was one of the causes of the Jewish unrest there.’

‘I doubt that Herod cares about the Jews of Cyrenaica, he wanted that grain stockpiled ready to take with him to help him secure his new kingdom. An independent, united Jewish state would have a huge amount of manpower to call upon to form a considerable army, which would need to be fed. Herod will be a very powerful man, powerful enough perhaps to prevent Gaius sending an army through Judaea to invade Egypt.’

‘And Caligula will be powerless to do anything else about Macro because he would hold a large percentage of Rome’s grain supply in his hands, and would threaten to withhold it.’

‘Precisely,’ Antonia agreed. ‘But before he can secure Egypt, Macro needs money and a lot of it to buy the loyalty of legions and the auxiliary cohorts stationed there. Money is the one thing that he’s short of.’

‘So that’s why he’s recently allied himself with Poppaeus,’ Vespasian said, refilling his cup. ‘His family’s silver mines in Hispania would surely provide enough if they managed to finance the Thracian rebellion.’

‘More than enough,’ Antonia agreed while signalling to Pallas to refill her cup. ‘And in return for Macro giving him a free hand in Rome to prosecute the many enemies he’s made during his career, Poppaeus has agreed to lend him the money that he needs to become a wealthy landowner in Egypt by…?’

‘Buying Claudius’ estates,’ all three men said simultaneously.

‘The produce of which has just shot up in value due to the destruction of the last grain fleet.’

‘But then surely the price of the estates has gone up?’ Vespasian pointed out, pleased to be on a subject that he really understood: money.

‘Indeed, but that’s good for all four parties. Poppaeus will be delighted because Macro will have to borrow more money, so he’ll make a fortune on the extra interest. Macro will immediately have a huge income from his new purchases with which to buy the loyalty that he needs. He doesn’t care how much he pays now because it’s not his money and once he’s secured Egypt he’ll be able to pay off the loan with the millions that he’ll be receiving in taxes. Claudius will make even more of a profit on the investment he’s already put out; and Herod is happy because he’s not only already bought a massive amount of grain off Claudius but he’s also been buying more since he’s been in Rome with money borrowed from Poppaeus; part of which he can now sell at an inflated price to ease his cash-flow problems.’

‘What a happy cabal they must be,’ Asiaticus commented ruefully.

‘There are two things that I don’t understand, domina,’ Vespasian said.

‘I hope that I can answer them, although I only put it all together at the beginning of this year after I’d found out about Narcissus trying to get the deeds to Rome and Herod’s grain purchases.’

‘Yes, how did you know about that, Lady?’ Asiaticus cut in.

Antonia smiled benignly. ‘I suppose it won’t do any harm telling you now. Once I’d found out about Claudius’ and Narcissus’ interest in Egypt I had my steward in Alexandria, Felix, look into it for me; it wasn’t long before he found out what they were doing. Since then he has been monitoring their land purchases. When Felix found out that Claudius had sold some of his harvest to Herod and then Narcissus’ agent had taken the deeds of seven of the estates to Siwa, he realised that something very strange was going on and so immediately took ship to report it personally to me rather than risk a letter falling into the wrong hands.’

‘But then how did you know that I had them, domina?’

‘I didn’t for sure until today. All I knew was that you met a man called Capella in Siwa who subsequently died, leaving you a chest. I couldn’t be sure what it contained because my agent couldn’t hear your final conversation with Capella; you’d ordered him to go and form up the column.’

‘Corvinus!’ Vespasian exclaimed in surprise. ‘He was spying on me?’

‘Not spying on you personally, Vespasian, he just works for me. Much like you, he has an obligation to me. When he heard Capella tell you, in Siwa, that the contents of his chest belonged to someone near the top of the imperial tree he thought that it would be of interest to me, so he wrote to me upon his return to Barca. He comes from a very ambitious family and is anxious to do well in Rome’s service; his letter was most informative about the reasons that you went chasing off into the desert.’

Vespasian reddened, and wondered if there was anything that Antonia did not know.

‘But don’t worry,’ Antonia said with a smile, ‘it was fortuitous that you did, whatever your real motives. Now what were your questions?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said, shaking his head and trying to get back his train of thought. ‘I don’t understand why Claudius is selling Macro all his estates when they will give him the means to wrest control of Egypt from the Empire that he may one day control.’

‘Now that puzzled me for a while until I realised the simple truth: he doesn’t know Macro’s plans, nor does Narcissus; they might not even know that Macro is the purchaser. The deal has been brokered by Poppaeus, who, as we know, is close to Claudius. All Claudius and Narcissus want is to pay off the huge loan that they took to buy the estates in the first place; but they’re not selling all the estates, they bought twice as many. The profit they make from selling these seven will ensure that they own the others outright.’

‘And I suppose there are no prizes for guessing who lent them the money in the first place,’ Vespasian said with a wry smile.

‘That’s the beauty of it; Claudius gives the deeds to Poppaeus, he wipes out Claudius’ debt and simply transfers it and the deeds onto Macro. No money changes hands and there is no record of the transaction and the three parties never meet.’

‘So what’s in it for Poppaeus apart from making money from all sides? It’s not as if he needs any more.’

‘This took me the longest to work out,’ Antonia admitted, ‘then it came to me in a flash. What has Poppaeus to gain by Macro taking Egypt and holding Rome to ransom? Nothing, unless he’s part of it. Think about it: Macro is safe from attack from the west because of the desert, the Syrian legions are tied up in Parthia and Armenia and a sea assault is a very risky option; how would you attack Egypt in those circumstances?’

‘That’s easy,’ Corbulo said, ‘I’d march with six legions, along the Via Egnatia through Macedonia and Thracia, cross over to Asia and then all the way down the coast, overwhelming Herod on my way.’

‘Exactly. But who is the Governor of Moesia, Macedonia and Achaea? Poppaeus. All he need do is withdraw his two legions and his ten auxiliary cohorts from the Danubius, cross the Hellespont and hold it against any army that comes. The eastern provinces would be completely in Macro’s and Poppaeus’ hands. The lower Danubius would be undefended and the northern tribes would take full advantage of that and swarm into Moesia, which would probably encourage the Thracians into another uprising. So any army that was sent east would have to deal with that before it could even think about trying to cross into Asia; that could take a couple of years. Anyway, where are these legions going to come from? The Rhenus frontier and leave Gaul open to the Germans? The upper Danubius and risk losing Pannonia? Or perhaps Hispania or Illyria where it’s only their presence that keep the local tribes in order? Since Varus managed to lose three legions in the Teutoburg forest there are only twenty-five left in the Empire.’

‘What about Lucius Vitellius?’ Asiaticus asked.

‘He would have a nasty choice once he’d concluded the Parthian war: either fight a civil war on two fronts, Poppaeus to the north and Herod and Macro in the south, and with the new King of Parthia — who would have much to gain by a divided and weakened Roman Empire — to his rear; not a pleasant prospect, as I’m sure you would all agree. So he would probably take the only other option and that is to declare his loyalty to the new regime and carry on guarding the eastern frontier.’

‘Or commit suicide,’ Corbulo suggested.

‘It comes to the same thing: the legions won’t want to fight. They’ve been stationed out there for so long it’s now their home, what do they care who’s in command?’

‘We have to prevent this at all costs, Lady,’ Asiaticus said as the truth of the matter sank in.

‘We will,’ Antonia affirmed, ‘but I think for all our sakes we should not discuss what to do until we have had a pause to collect our thoughts; I for one need to leave the room for comfort’s sake.’