False God of Rome

CHAPTER XIII

‘How long is it going to take to rebuild?’ Vespasian asked Sabinus as they watched a work-gang of public slaves unload a delivery of bricks in front of the fire-blackened ruins of Sabinus’ house on the Aventine Hill. All around them scores of other gangs were working among the charred ruins of the Aventine, resurrecting the once beautiful and prosperous hill overlooking the Circus Maximus. Heavy cloud and an incessant drizzle added a depressing sombreness to the scene of devastation; hardly a building remained untouched by the fire that had ripped through the area six months before, adding a sour note to Sabinus’ year as a praetor. His denunciation of Herod Agrippa had resulted in the Jewish king being chained to the wall in a damp cell and Sabinus coming top of the poll in the election — beating Corbulo, much to his chagrin — and therefore eligible for the governorship of a senatorial province.

‘It should be about three months, according to the foreman, but with almost every house on the Aventine being rebuilt he can’t say for certain. It depends on the availability of building materials and slaves and also upon whether you, as the aedile in charge of roads, manage to do your job properly and keep the streets clear. Either way, now that the sea-lanes are opening up again, I’ve got to leave for my province in a few days so you’ll have to oversee the work for me.’

‘At least you don’t have to worry about money, the Emperor’s seen to that.’

Sabinus grimaced. ‘Two hundred million sesterces might sound a lot, and there’s no denying that it was very generous of Tiberius now that it’s finally arrived, but that’s not going to cover the cost of every building on the hill. I’m going to have to find some money from somewhere if the house is going to be rebuilt to the standard that it was originally; Clementina won’t accept anything less.’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘If only I hadn’t bought it and just rented it, then it wouldn’t be my problem.’

Vespasian glanced at his brother and judged that now was not the best of times to bring up the fact that he had advised Sabinus not to take the loan from Paetus with which he had bought the house.

Sabinus caught his look. ‘I suppose you want to say “I told you so”, you little shit. Well, you were right: if I’d lived within my means I wouldn’t be in this trouble now. From now on, no more loans.’

‘Have you paid it back yet?’

Sabinus looked embarrassed. ‘No, I keep on meaning to then something happens like a new child, or this.’

‘Well, you should; you promised to pay it back within two years.’

‘Have you kept your promise to Paetus to keep an eye on his son, Lucius, for him?’ Sabinus retorted.

It was Vespasian’s turn to look embarrassed. ‘No, I haven’t. I must take more interest in him.’

‘He must be seventeen now, starting out in life. We both seem to be at fault, brother, as far as Paetus is concerned, so don’t lecture me. I’ll pay it as soon as I’ve got the money.’

‘And I’ll look in on young Lucius. Anyway, you made some money as a praetor last year and should make a lot more from your province; Bithynia’s very wealthy, it’s not the worst place to be the Governor.’

‘It’s not the best either; but you’re right, this time next year I’ll be comfortable enough.’

‘Sir! Sir!’

Vespasian and Sabinus turned to see Magnus running up the hill towards them.

‘Have you heard the news?’ Magnus puffed, pushing past a couple of slaves carrying a heavy wooden beam. ‘It’s all over the city.’

‘Well, unless it’s that my brother has temporarily lifted the ban on delivery carts in the city during the day for building materials for the Aventine,’ Sabinus replied, ‘it hasn’t reached this burned-out quarter.’

‘Your brother-in-law, Clemens, arrived an hour ago with a message from Capreae: Tiberius is dead.’

‘Dead? When?’ Vespasian asked.

‘Yesterday. The Forums are all full of people demanding that his body is brought back to Rome so that it can be chucked into the Tiber.’

‘Did he name Claudius as his successor?’

‘The will hasn’t been read yet, but apparently Caligula has the imperial ring on his hand and has proclaimed himself emperor. He’s sent Macro to address the Senate and read Tiberius’ will; according to Clemens he’s a couple of hours behind him.’

Vespasian looked in alarm at his brother. ‘Shit! Antonia isn’t going to like that; we’d better go and present ourselves to her and see what she plans to do.’

‘She can’t do anything. If Caligula has the imperial ring and Macro throws the Praetorian Guard’s support behind him, he’s the Emperor and that’s that. The best thing that we can do at the moment is to look out for ourselves and get to the Senate so that we don’t stand out as being the only two senators not present to acclaim Caligula emperor.’

Clemens was standing at the foot of the Senate House steps as Vespasian, Sabinus and Magnus arrived. Scores of senators were arriving from all directions, pushing their way through the delirious mob, each as keen as the two brothers to have their loyalty to the new regime noted.

‘I was hoping to find you here,’ Clemens said, greeting the brothers with a grasp of their forearms and a nod to Magnus before leading them away from the crowd. His pinched, narrow face seemed more pasty than usual.

‘You look worried, Clemens,’ Sabinus observed.

‘Of course I’m worried; everyone in their right mind should be worried. The Empire has just been stolen by a lunatic.’

‘What do you mean “stolen”?’

‘Caligula murdered Tiberius with Macro’s help; they suffocated him, I’m sure of it. When I saw the body shortly after they came out of Tiberius’ room to announce his death his face was discoloured and his tongue was swollen and sticking out of his mouth. Admittedly he was on death’s door anyway but he had just changed his will.’

‘In favour of whom? Claudius?’

‘How would I know? It hasn’t been read yet. All I know is Tiberius called me into his room and ordered me to send for his secretary to bring his will. Once the changes had been made the secretary came out with it and Macro seized it and read it with Caligula. Then they went into Tiberius’ room and the next thing we knew Tiberius was dead, Caligula had his ring and the German Bodyguard were hailing him as Caesar. The secretary accused Macro and Caligula of murder so Caligula’s first order as emperor was to have the man’s tongue cut out and have him crucified.’

Sabinus shrugged. ‘So Caligula’s emperor; it was always going to happen if Tiberius let him survive, whatever Antonia may have tried to do about it. At least we know him and can claim an acquaintance, even if it was some time ago. It could work out quite well for us; and for you too, Clemens — you are the tribune of his personal guard, after all.’

‘If he was sane then perhaps you’d be right; but he’s not. Neither of you have seen him during the last six years but I’ve been with him all the time on that mad island. I’ve watched him become as sexually depraved as Tiberius but with the stamina that the old man didn’t possess. He’s never satisfied, no matter how many people he’s fucked or who he’s been fucked by. Tiberius encouraged him — I heard him joke that he was nursing a viper in Rome’s bosom — by showing him how unbridled power can be used for limitless self-gratification, and Caligula has learnt well. But there was always one thing that restrained him and that was the knowledge that he was ultimately Tiberius’ slave and could be executed on a whim as he’d seen happen to others so many times before; so there was never a better slave. Now with Tiberius gone he’s the master and I promise you there will never be a worse master.’

‘Then we’ll just have to make sure that the master doesn’t notice us,’ Vespasian said. From what he knew of Caligula he feared Clemens was right.

‘It’s too late for that; he’s looking forward to seeing you. He said to tell you that although he hasn’t seen you for six years he still considers you both to be his friends and that now he’s emperor and free to come back to Rome he’s looking forward to the fun — as he put it — that he promised you would have together.’

‘I’m not sure that I like Caligula’s idea of fun, having witnessed it,’ Sabinus commented, ‘it seems to involve his sisters.’

‘It doesn’t always just involve his sisters; I’m more worried by the fact that he seems determined that it’ll also involve my sister. I’ve already sent my wife, Julia, back to my estate at Pisaurum with the children to keep her from him. He’s been telling me for the last few months that he can’t bear the thought that someone as beautiful as Clementina should be deprived of the chance to sample his not inconsiderable manhood; and I’m her brother!’

Sabinus looked understandably concerned. ‘I had better get her and the children out of Rome; I’ll leave for Bithynia first thing tomorrow before Caligula arrives.’

‘Leave now, my friend; if you go into the Senate your presence will be registered and Caligula will know that you left without waiting to greet him. I’ll tell him that you left a couple of days ago before you heard the news; there is a chance that he’ll believe that, now that the port of Brundisium has reopened again.’

Sabinus took his arm in a firm grip. ‘That’s good of you, Clemens.’

‘Stay out there as long as possible, start a war or something. Caligula will only get worse, believe me.’

‘I do.’ Sabinus turned to Vespasian. ‘If I don’t see Uncle Gaius at the house say goodbye for me and thank him for his hospitality over the last six months since the fire.’

‘I will and I’ll send on everything that you need, Sabinus,’ Vespasian said. ‘Just go.’

‘I’ll have four of my lads escort you to Brundisium,’ Magnus offered, ‘they’ll be at the house in an hour.’

‘Thank you, Magnus, and you too, brother,’ Sabinus said, turning quickly to go, ‘and good luck with our friend.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Vespasian called to Sabinus’ retreating back.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Clemens agreed, ‘so long as you bugger Caligula whenever he orders, like I have to; I’m worn out by it sometimes.’

‘What? You, Clemens? You’re joking.’

‘Unfortunately I’m not and I can tell you that it’s one of the least unpleasant duties that I’m forced to perform. But your problem is that Clementina isn’t the only woman who Caligula’s determined to bed; now that he’s emperor I’m sure that he won’t feel the need to take any notice of Antonia’s injunction against having Caenis.’

The mob outside, in the Forum Romanum, was in full cry, celebrating the despised old Emperor’s death and the accession of their new hope, Caligula; but there was near silence in the packed Senate House as Quintus Naevius Cordus Sutorius Macro entered, in military uniform, holding a scroll-case. He was flanked, outrageously, by four armed Praetorian Guardsmen also in uniform rather than wearing their customary togas, worn when on duty within the city. The looks on most senators’ faces attested to what they felt about such an overt display of Praetorian power over the increasingly enfeebled Senate.

‘He’s making the point that this time the Guard has chosen the Emperor,’ Gaius whispered to Vespasian over the muttering of their unhappy colleagues, ‘and we have to ratify it or face their swords.’

Gnaeus Acerronius Proculus, the Senior Consul, remained seated on his curule chair as the small party clattered up the centre of the House. ‘The Senate calls upon Quintus Naevius Cordus Sutorius Macro to brief it on the health of our beloved Emperor, Tiberius. Is the rumour true?’ Proculus called, taking the initiative in an attempt to reassert senatorial authority.

‘Of course it’s true, as you well know, Consul,’ Macro growled, ‘and I’m here to tell-’

‘Conscript Fathers,’ Proculus cut in, ‘the Praetorian prefect has brought us the most grievous news: confirmation that our Emperor is dead.’ He began to wail theatrically.

The whole Senate followed his lead; cries of woe and anguish filled the House, drowning out Macro’s attempts to make himself heard until, humiliated, he was forced to wait impotently to be allowed to speak.

Vespasian and Gaius joined in the protestations of grief, wholeheartedly enjoying the look on Macro’s face. ‘I don’t know how wise a move that was,’ Vespasian shouted in Gaius’ ear, ‘but it was well done and most amusing.’

‘In as much as goading a lion is amusing,’ Gaius replied. ‘But if he was trying to wrest some authority back from the Guard to the Senate then it was certainly a good start.’

As the expressions of grief continued a pair of dark eyes locked with Vespasian’s from the other side of the House; with a jolt he realised that Corvinus was back in Rome and had taken his seat in the Senate.

‘I propose a ten-day period of mourning to start from this moment,’ Proculus eventually called out above the din. ‘All trials will be suspended, no sentences will be carried out and all public business, including that of this House, will cease. After that time we will ratify Tiberius’ will and vote Gaius Caesar Germanicus all honours according to his station. The House will divide.’

‘The House will listen to me!’ Macro bellowed.

‘The House will divide, prefect. You wouldn’t want it said that you stopped the House voting a suitable period of mourning for an emperor, would you?’

‘Fuck the period of mourning, Consul, I will be heard. The Emperor Gaius has sent me to give you Tiberius’ will and tell you to nullify it.’

Proculus looked suddenly unsure. ‘But surely it names him as Tiberius’ heir?’

‘It names him as the co-heir along with Tiberius Gemellus; it cannot be left like that, it’s a recipe for civil war.’

‘On what grounds can we change an emperor’s will?’

‘On the grounds that he was mentally incapable when he made it; and if that’s not enough for you, do you hear that?’ Macro gesticulated towards the noise coming through the door; there was now a violent ring to it. ‘That is the sound of the people wanting to be ruled over by one man, not by one man and a boy. My men have been circulating among the crowd telling them the terms of the will and they don’t like it; I can guarantee that none of you will get out of here alive until you change it. And while you’re about it I suggest that you vote the Emperor all the titles and honours that you feel will please him; after that you can vote on what the fuck you like.’ Macro threw the scroll-case at the Senior Consul, turned and marched smartly out with his escort.

Proculus’ shoulders sagged; his attempt to reassert the Senate’s authority as the legitimate power in Rome had come to a humiliating end. He knew that none of his colleagues would risk the wrath of the mob. He got wearily to his feet. ‘I propose that this House nullifies Tiberius’ will and votes Gaius Caesar Germanicus as his sole heir and therefore the only Emperor.’

Tears streamed down Caligula’s face; his voice was high with emotion, straining with grief. ‘In his modesty he refused the title of “Father of the Country”; he refused to be worshipped as a god, preferring instead to take his reward for his selfless service in the love that his people bore him for his just and benign rule.’

‘I can’t help but wonder if he is really talking about Tiberius,’ Gaius muttered to Vespasian out of the corner of his mouth.

‘If he is, it makes a nice change,’ Vespasian replied, ‘that’s almost the first time that he’s mentioned him.’

They had already stood through nearly two hours of Caligula praising his father Germanicus as well as his great-uncle Augustus and thereby reminding the people of Rome of the stock that he came from and securing in their minds his right to be emperor. Now it seemed that he had finally got on to the subject that he was meant to be eulogising, although, judging by the looks on the faces of the other senators standing with them on the steps of Pompey’s Theatre in the Campus Martius, Vespasian could see that his uncle was not the only person having difficulty in trying to equate the new Emperor’s words with the character of his predecessor.

Standing on a high dais, Caligula carried on his emotional eulogy, surrounded by actors wearing the funeral masks of Tiberius’ ancestors. Next to the dais stood the unlit pyre upon which was set the bier that supported the corpse; it had been smuggled into the city under cover of night, partly to protect it from the mob but mainly so that nothing distracted attention from the political aim of the day: that the citizens of Rome accept Caligula as their Emperor.

The Campus Martius was heaving with people come not to hear the palpable nonsense that Caligula was spouting but to see the dazzling young Emperor himself, resplendent in purple laced with gold embroidery and crowned with a wreath of gilded laurels. When he had entered the city earlier that day they had hailed him as their saviour and shouted out affectionate greetings and called him their star, their pet and beloved son of the great Germanicus come to usher in the new golden age of Rome. The phrase had resonated in Vespasian’s mind as he had looked on with a growing sense of dread mixed with a vague hope that perhaps this adulation would spur Caligula on to rule with temperance and prudence, keeping his vices private and his affability public.

After another quarter of an hour of unrestrained drivel about Tiberius’ virtue, sobriety and sense of justice — with a brief foray into the truth by way of praise for his scholarship — Caligula finally drew to a close with a prayer of thanks to the gods for granting Tiberius such longevity, and regret — shared by no one else in the vast crowd — that his time had now come to meet the Ferryman. As his final words died away the pyre was lit and the professional mourners renewed their wailing and rending of garments with a fervour that amused the mob that had only a few days previously been calling for the hated Emperor’s body to be cast without ceremony into the Tiber.

Flames quickly consumed the dry wood, coaxed on by bags of oil within the pyre, sending a heat shimmer and trails of smoke up into the crisp, early spring air. Priests and augurs scanned the sky for bird-signs, hoping to see an eagle do something auspicious that they would interpret, after careful consultation with the young Emperor, in a way that best suited the politics of the transition of power. But none came and nor could they fabricate one, since the event was being witnessed by such a large crowd, all of whom were also searching for omens.

As the bier caught light and the corpse began to sizzle, Caligula descended from the dais and, flanked by the Consuls and praetors and preceded by twelve lictors, made his way towards Pompey’s Theatre, through the crowd who now cheered their new hero with an enthusiasm fuelled by the final consumption of the old Emperor’s body. Caligula basked in their adoration, dispensing largesse and tickets for the funeral games to be held after the mourning period was ended.

‘We’d better go in,’ Gaius muttered, turning to follow the other senators into the theatre to wait to be addressed by their new Emperor.

‘As to the titles and honours that you have voted me, I will allow them all except “Father of the Country”, you can vote me that at a later date; and I shall postpone becoming Senior Consul until June. However, you will vote my grandmother Antonia the title of “Augusta” and my three sisters all the privileges of the Vestal Virgins.’

The senators, already almost hoarse from acclaiming Caligula as he had entered the theatre, cheered their assent to these orders.

‘Do you think that last measure was meant to be ironic, Uncle?’ Vespasian quipped out of the corner of his mouth. Gaius knew better than to smile at the joke.

As Caligula continued his address, Vespasian surreptitiously scanned the faces of the senators; most of them had screwed their faces into sombre expressions of acceptance as they listened to their new Emperor’s demands, unable to find fault with any of them. As his gaze wandered to the end of a line those two dark eyes met his again and he felt the hatred that burned within them.

‘Finally,’ Caligula announced by way of conclusion, ‘I will halt all treason trials; it is unimaginable that anyone would harbour a treasonous thought against an emperor so loved by his people. To this end I will burn all the papers containing evidence against members of this House that Tiberius had collected. I will do this in order that, no matter how strongly I may some day desire to harbour malice against any one of you for voting for my mother’s and my brothers’ deaths, I shall nevertheless be unable to punish him in the courts.’

This brought the loudest cheer of the meeting; the relieved senators felt themselves forgiven for their collusion, by way of opportunistic denunciations of members of Germanicus’ family in an attempt to curry favour with Tiberius and Sejanus as, for separate reasons, the two men had pursued the destruction of so much of Caligula’s family.

Caligula let them applaud his magnanimity for a good while before signalling for quiet and carrying on. ‘But seeing as you have deprived me of a brother to share my consulship in June I shall have to look elsewhere for a colleague, and the most suitable one that I can think of is my uncle, Claudius.’

There was a stunned silence; the thought of Claudius stuttering and drooling his way through all the ancient rituals of the Senate was appalling to all those present.

‘I understand your confusion, Conscript Fathers,’ Caligula sympathised, with a barely concealed look of amusement on his face. ‘Claudius is only an equestrian and not a member of the Senate.’ His eyes hardened. ‘So I shall make him one immediately. The Consuls, praetors, aediles and quaestors may have the privilege of accompanying me to Augustus’ House where I shall take up residence. That will be all.’ He turned and walked quickly towards the exit with the senior magistrates scrambling in an undignified manner to catch up.

As the young Emperor drew close to where Vespasian stood, ready to take his place along with the other magistrates, his dark-rimmed sunken eyes fell on him; with a radiant smile Caligula beckoned him to join him at the head of the procession.

‘My friend,’ Caligula said as Vespasian fell into step next to him, ‘I have been so looking forward to seeing you; what fun we shall have now.’

‘I’m honoured, Princeps,’ Vespasian replied, feeling the disapproving looks of the more senior magistrates upon him.

‘I suppose you are. I shall have to get used to my friends being honoured by my favour.’

Having not seen Caligula close up for almost six years he was surprised to notice that the hair on the top of his head was thinning and wispy; he felt his eyes drawn to it. Caligula caught his look and the cheerful expression on his face disappeared in an instant.

‘That is the last time you stare at my full head of hair,’ he warned coldly. A warm grin suddenly replaced the icy glare. ‘Tonight you dine with me; I’ve invited my grandmother, you can help me deal with her. I believe that she’s going to try and give me advice and tell me what to do. I think that would be most unwise of her; don’t you agree?’

‘If you feel that it would be unwise then I would agree with you, Princeps,’ Vespasian replied guardedly.

‘Oh, stop that Princeps nonsense in private with me, Vespasian, we’re friends. Now walk with me to the Palatine and tell me about the lovely Caenis.’

Vespasian swallowed hard.

‘Over five hundred million denarii, can you believe it?’ Caligula exclaimed as the imperial party reached the top of the Palatine, leaving the cheering masses below. ‘Just lying there in the treasury, doing nothing. The old miser was just sitting on it.’

‘It’s always good to have a reserve,’ Vespasian pointed out, still mightily relieved that Caligula’s attention span was so short that he had tired of the subject of Caenis after no more than a couple of stumbling sentences. ‘He was able to donate all that money for the rebuilding of the Aventine, for example.’

Caligula frowned. ‘Yes, what a waste giving it to people who can well afford to have their houses burned down; I’ll find a way to get it back off them, don’t you worry about that. But just think what I could do with all the rest. We shall have games every day and I shall build, Vespasian, build.’ He pointed to Augustus’ grand house, towards which they were heading, and that of Tiberius next to it. ‘I shall make these two feeble little dwellings into one huge palace fit for an emperor and his sisters, and I shall fill it with the best furniture, art and slaves from all over the Empire. And conquests, Vespasian, I shall make glorious conquests and celebrate Triumphs the like of which have never been seen. The Senate will be envious of my power and glory and will mutter and plot behind my back but will flatter me with titles to my face and I will mock them and humiliate them for their obsequiousness. They will hate me as they did Tiberius, but unlike him, I shall fill the city with the spoils of a hundred nations and fill the circus with thousands of captives to be slaughtered for the pleasure of the people, and they will love me and keep me safe.’

Vespasian glanced at Caligula as they mounted the steps to Augustus’ House and saw that he was wide-eyed with enthusiasm and ambition. It was going to be an expensive time for Rome. What would he do, he wondered, when the money ran out?

‘Gentlemen, thank you for accompanying me home,’ Caligula said, addressing his following from the top of the steps. ‘I shall rest now and gather my strength for the trials ahead of me. You may go.’

The senators vied with each other to be the loudest in shouting ‘Hail Caesar’ while Caligula lifted his right hand with the imperial ring, dazzling in the sun, on the forefinger and held his head back, lapping up the praise. Vespasian joined in with as much of a show of enthusiasm as the rest but with an unease brought about by Caligula’s all too obvious enjoyment of being so hailed and his reluctance to bring it to an end. Was he already mocking the foremost men in Rome by seeing how long they would praise him for? Eventually he lowered his arm, turned smartly on his heel and entered the house. Vespasian stood rooted to the spot, watching Caligula leave, unsure as to whether or not he too had been dismissed or was still expected for dinner.

He was just about to leave when Caligula stuck his head back out of the door. ‘Come on!’ he shouted fiercely. ‘You’re my friend, you stay with me.’

Vespasian ran towards the door wondering what advantage there would be in being the Emperor’s friend; if any.