False God of Rome

CHAPTER XIIII

Vespasian found the scale of the interior of Augustus’ House overwhelming; his family’s whole house at Aquae Cutillae could have fitted into the atrium alone. Far greater in size than those of Antonia or her daughter Livilla, the two largest residences that he had visited on the Palatine, this had been built to overawe visiting dignitaries with the power of the man who had become the first among equals of the Roman ruling class. Yet there was no ostentation about it; it was an architectural study in power, not a bragging showcase of wealth. The columns supporting the high atrium ceiling were of the finest white marble and the intricate mosaics on the floor were beautifully executed scenes from the Aeneid in which the characters seemed almost to move, such was the realism with which they were depicted. However, the furnishings, ornaments and statuary were downplayed; each one a masterpiece in its own right but not gaudy or brash, their workmanship alone attested far better to their value than any extraneous gilding or augmentation with precious stones or lavish fabrics. It was a testament both to the taste and the political acumen of the man who had built it; he had not robbed Rome’s coffers in order to live in outrageous eastern-style luxury while the large percentage of his people scrabbled for their living; he had built it to impress upon those who visited him to seek Rome’s friendship and favour the enormous power of the combined force of all the citizens of Rome. He had built it in Rome’s image: practical, strong, towering and, above all, without pretension.

‘Miserable, isn’t it?’ Caligula complained as Vespasian caught up with him. ‘Augustus had no idea of how to display his wealth; I’ll be making a lot of changes to brighten the whole place up.’

‘I think it’s beautiful, Caligula, I wouldn’t change it at all.’

‘What would you know about beauty,’ Caligula scoffed, ‘you country boy with your Sabine accent? Anyway, you don’t have any say in the matter, I’m the Emperor and you’re just my subject.’

‘Indeed, Princeps.’

‘Gaius, my dearest,’ Antonia said, appearing from the far side of the vast atrium, ‘I have been waiting for you. Come here and let me look at my new Emperor whom I haven’t seen for six years.’

Caligula stopped still. ‘You come here, Grandmother; I do no one’s bidding now, not even yours.’

Antonia approached with a fixed smile on her face and stood before her grandson, taking his face in her hands and gazing up into his sunken eyes. ‘Juno be praised, you look well. I have prayed for this moment for a long time and now it’s finally come; my little Gaius emperor.’

‘I shall reward you for your prayers, Grandmother, although in truth they were unnecessary, I was destined for this. I have already ordered the Senate to vote you the title of “Augusta”.’

‘You are generous, Gaius, to have me so honoured.’ She reached up automatically to ruffle his hair, as she had done so many times when he had been a child in her care, and withdrew her hand instantly as she saw how thin it had become.

‘It’s your constant ruffling that’s to blame,’ Caligula snapped. ‘Have a care, woman, just because I’ve bestowed an honour on you one moment doesn’t mean that I won’t demand your death the next. I can treat people any way I want now.’ He stormed off, leaving Antonia looking concerned at Vespasian.

‘It’s worse than I feared,’ she said quietly, ‘he’ll be the death of us all.’

Caligula roared with uncontrolled, high-pitched laughter. ‘Aren’t they priceless?’ he finally managed to get out. ‘I had them sent from Alexandria four years ago, they cost me a fortune, but they’re worth every denarius.’

Vespasian watched politely the antics of a group of naked dwarf acrobats as they performed what he hoped was their finale. The sixteen males had formed a tapering column, five dwarves high, around and up which four females were climbing, using the erect penises of their fellow performers as hand-holds and foot rests, to an accompaniment of frenzied percussion and ululations from a half-dozen wild-eyed female drummers who were hardly any taller than their instruments.

‘Tiberius used to love them,’ Caligula enthused, ‘especially when they all start rutting. Sometimes they just can’t stop themselves.’

‘I can imagine,’ Vespasian said as enthusiastically as possible, hoping that this evening they would find the necessary control. However, judging by the close attention that the females were giving to each one of their hand-holds he was prepared to be disappointed; as disappointed, in fact, as he had been in Caligula’s behaviour towards Antonia all through dinner. He had not wasted a single opportunity to gainsay her or dismiss her opinions such that it was apparent that he was doing it out of bloody-mindedness rather than because he believed her to be wrong. Antonia had borne the insults with an external appearance of indifference even when, having advised him to keep away from his sisters, he had proceeded to describe, in loving detail, exactly what he intended to do with each one of them once they returned to Rome. Vespasian had tried to steer the difficult path between not annoying his power-drunk Emperor and not appearing to be too sycophantic towards him in Antonia’s eyes, but had erred on the side of caution; a predicament that Antonia had, with a few sympathetic looks while Caligula’s attention had been elsewhere, indicated she fully understood.

Caligula’s juvenile enjoyment of the dwarves’ performance for the past half-hour was proving a cringing embarrassment to both of them because he was so obviously revelling in Antonia’s disgust.

‘Gaius, I’m not sure that this is appropriate entertainment for after-dinner,’ Antonia observed, unable to resist a comment any longer. She was peeling an apple while studiously ignoring the acrobats’ gradual ascent.

‘Oh come on, Grandmother, it’s just a bit of fun. It’s very tame compared to some of the acts that Tiberius had on Capreae.’

‘This is not Capreae, Gaius dear, this is Rome, and certain standards need to be kept.’

‘What standards? The standards of aristocrats? Hanging onto sweaty and bloodied boxers, after they’ve fought one another to a standstill, to get a good, rough going over after your guests have left? Those are your standards and I don’t judge them if that’s what you like. I like my dwarves, they make me laugh and I advise you not to criticise me for it because at least I’m honest about it. In fact, I’m probably the only honest man of senatorial or equestrian birth in this hypocritical, Janus-faced city.’

Antonia placed the half-peeled apple on her plate and got to her feet; the airing of her sexual preferences in front of Vespasian had evidently proved too much for her. ‘I don’t criticise you for it, Gaius, I just prefer not to share it. I’m now tired, as is the prerogative of an old and disappointed woman, so I shall bid you both goodnight. It’s been an interesting evening, thank you.’ She walked briskly away, not looking back.

‘I’ll have Vespasian send his man, Magnus, around to cheer you up, Grandmother,’ Caligula shouted as she left the triclinium. With a triumphant laugh he turned back to Vespasian, who was trying not to show the shock and alarm that he felt at being involved in Caligula’s worst jibe of the evening against his benefactress. ‘I think that’s made it perfectly clear as to where she stands with me, don’t you?’

‘I thought that you handled her expertly,’ Vespasian replied, resorting to full-blown sycophancy now that the restraining presence of Antonia had gone and hating himself for it. ‘And you are right: you are the only honest man in Rome.’

Caligula smiled knowingly at Vespasian. ‘Because I’m the only one who can afford to be. The Senate have lived for so long with Augustus’ conceit that they and the Princeps share power, whereas in reality they slavishly proposed and voted for what they deemed to be his and then Tiberius’ will, in the hopes of gaining favour. They’ve forgotten what honesty is; you might just as well have a flock of sheep sitting in the Curia. Well, I’m going to teach the sheep honesty.’

Vespasian thought about giving an honest reply but decided against it. ‘I’m sure you will be a great teacher.’

‘You’re right, old friend, I will be,’ Caligula affirmed, turning his attention back to the dwarf column where the lead female dwarf had now, quite literally, mounted the top while her fellow climbers worked their hand-holds vigorously.

‘Princeps, I have a favour to ask of you,’ Vespasian said, hoping that the approaching climax — in many ways — of Caligula’s favourite act would put him in the mood for granting requests.

‘Vespasian, my good friend, name it.’

‘I have some family business that needs to be taken care of in Egypt. Would you grant me permission to go?’

‘And lose my companion for four or five months? What would I do without you? Get someone else to do it for you, but not a senator as it’s still not safe; apparently the Phoenix has been reborn but hasn’t yet flown east.’

‘I have to go in person, and besides I couldn’t go until my term as aedile has expired at the end of this year,’ Vespasian pointed out, wondering what the Phoenix flying east had to do with senators travelling to Egypt in safety.

‘Well, we shall see, perhaps I’ll have tired of you by then and the Phoenix will have gone. Callistus!’ Caligula’s short and wiry steward, whom Vespasian recognised from his visit to Misenum, came scurrying in. ‘Once my dwarves have finished, call for Clemens and get us some dirty tunics and hooded cloaks.’ Caligula turned back to watch the inevitable, rather messy, finale. ‘I want to go drinking and whoring in the city. We could get Magnus to show us some interesting places; I want to hear what the common people, the honest people, are saying about me.’

‘It won’t be the best you’ve ever drunk here, Magnus,’ the portly tavern-keeper said, thumping down a full jug of wine onto the grimy, wine-stained table, ‘but neither will it be the worst.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be up to your normal standard of gut-rotter, Balbus,’ Magnus replied with a grin as he filled the chipped cups of his three companions.

‘Who’re yer mates? I don’t think I’ve seen them before; not that I can really see their faces.’

‘Associates from out of the city come to see the new Emperor.’

Balbus kissed his thumbnail. ‘Jupiter hold his hands over our shining star, he’s the new hope of Rome. I saw him today and he looked like a young god.’

‘Perhaps he is,’ Caligula suggested from beneath his hood.

‘He may well be, Augustus was…is. Well, you’re welcome, lads, but we prefer hoods to be down in here, if it’s all the same to you.’

Vespasian and Clemens both pulled back their hoods but Caligula made no attempt to remove his; instead he pulled a gold aureus from his purse and handed it to Balbus. ‘This should see us supplied with wine and women for a while.’

Balbus bit the coin; his eyes lit up as he realised that it was genuine. ‘Anything you want, lads, you can even have me for that and I wouldn’t care that I couldn’t see your faces and the love in your eyes.’

The rumour of gold flew around the large, low-ceilinged tavern fogged with the fumes from a cooking fire behind the amphorae-lined bar; within moments all four of them had a plump, stale-sweat-fragranced whore sitting on their lap while others hovered close by hoping to be next in line should one of the lucky first-arrivals be rejected. All around the dimly lit room there were mutterings and dark looks from men on other tables who had been deprived of their female company as they gravitated across the wine-sticky flagstone floor towards the table with money.

‘I’m not sure that flashing gold in here was a good thing, Gaius,’ Magnus observed, struggling to take a sip of wine amid the enthusiastic attentions of his new companion. They were all under strict instructions to use Caligula’s first name.

Caligula adjusted his position to allow his partner access up his tunic. ‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it, Magnus.’

‘And you’ve certainly got it, my lovely,’ the woman said, working her hand up his leg. ‘And in more ways than one,’ she added in surprise and admiration. ‘Venus help me! Sisters have a feel of this one; I’ve never come across the like of it.’

Caligula sat revelling in the attention that his huge erection was receiving as the women took it in turns to stroke its almost one-foot length and grasp its impressive girth, simpering at its magnitude.

‘That’s worthy of Jupiter himself,’ Vespasian’s whore exclaimed as she took her turn, ‘I can’t even close my fingers around it.’

Vespasian took the opportunity to ease the woman off his lap and look around the room; many of the already angry customers were leaving their seats and gathering in a knot, looking with malicious intent towards their table. ‘I’m not too sure that we’re going to be very welcome here for much longer,’ he muttered to Clemens next to him, nodding his head towards the menace.

Clemens looked around and then leant over to whisper in Caligula’s ear while loosening in its scabbard the gladius concealed under his cloak. Brushing away a collection of groping female hands, Caligula stood up, keeping his hood still covering his head. ‘Balbus,’ he shouted, not bothering to adjust his hitched-up tunic, ‘wine and food for everyone in the tavern.’ He reached into his purse and pulled out another couple of gold coins. ‘We will drink to the health of our new Emperor.’

A ragged cheer went up as a beaming Balbus took the coins and signalled to his slaves, who took amphorae from their holders behind the bar and began filling jugs of wine, which they placed, along with plates of bread and cooked pork, on the counter. All but a hard core of the threatening group made to help themselves, mollified, for the present, by the offer of free victuals and drink.

‘Fill my cup, Magnus,’ Caligula said, stroking the hair of a couple of the cluster of women now kneeling at his feet.

With his cup refilled, Caligula waded through the women before him and addressed the room. ‘The son of Germanicus and descendant of the god Augustus has returned to Rome as emperor! Praise him!’ Caligula downed his wine in one as cries of ‘Caligula! Our shining star!’ filled the room.

Vespasian stood and joined in the acclamation with an outward enthusiasm that concealed his inner anxiety: if Caligula remained beloved of the mob then he would be free to do whatever he pleased, and Vespasian knew only too well what pleased him.

‘You see, my friend,’ Caligula said, turning to him, his eyes, just visible under his hood, burning with pride, ‘honest people love me.’

Caligula’s gold had kept the wine flowing and Vespasian felt bleary. The tavern was now full to bursting as news of free drink filtered through the neighbourhood and scuffles had broken out as petty arguments, fuelled by excessive alcohol, ballooned into matters of great import. Knives had been drawn on a couple of occasions and bloodied victims had been thrown out into the street to fend for themselves as best they could.

Caligula had spent the time drinking steadily but that had not affected his prowess and he had satisfied numerous women as they took it in turns to ride up and down in his lap. His stamina had been impressive and Vespasian, who had allowed himself to be pleasured a couple of times, could but marvel at his ability to keep going.

Clemens had stayed alert, drinking little and refusing women, but Magnus had drunk and whored himself to a snoring heap, head slumped in a plate of cold pork with wine-stained saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth and the contents of an overturned cup dripping into his lap.

‘We should go,’ Caligula announced as another whore pulled herself off him panting deeply, ‘I’m tiring of this place.’

Relieved that the evening was finally over, Vespasian leant over the table and shook Magnus from his slumber.

‘Are we off home, then?’ Magnus asked sleepily, peeling off a slice of pork that had stuck to his cheek and taking a bite.

‘No, I’m just tired of this place,’ Caligula said, ‘take me somewhere else.’

Magnus got wearily to his feet. ‘Somewhere with a little more variety, if you take my meaning?’

‘Variety? Yes, that’s what I need.’ Caligula pushed his way into the crowd.

‘Hey lads, our goldmine’s leaving,’ an unpleasantly drunk, thuggish-looking man slurred, ‘let’s make sure he leaves us his money.’ His two mates jumped at Caligula, grabbing his arms and knocking back his hood while the drunk went for his purse.

With a flash of burnished iron, Clemens whipped out his sword and forced it between the ribs of the assailant nearest to him. With a scream and a violent jerk the man let go of Caligula’s arm and fell to the floor as Clemens pulled his weapon free in a slop of blood. Vespasian and Magnus both drew their knives from the sheaths in the smalls of their backs and pounced towards the other two men, upturning nearby tables with a crash of earthenware. Women screamed and knives flashed in the lamplight around the room as men immediately decided whether to protect their erstwhile benefactor or join the attempted robbery.

Vespasian slammed into the drunk, knocking him to the floor away from Caligula, but still grasping the purse, as Magnus, now suddenly fully awake, wrenched the hair of the third man and sliced his knife across his exposed throat. Blood sprayed over Caligula’s face and cloak as Clemens put a protective arm around him, pulling him back towards the relative safety of a huddle of frightened women clustered around their table, while keeping his sword pointed at the free-for-all knife fight that had erupted in front of them.

Leaping towards the floored drunk, and narrowly missing a hurled earthenware jug spraying wine, Vespasian crunched a hard-sandalled foot between the man’s legs; his body convulsed in a rapid ripple of sheer agony that sent his arms flying up and catapulting the purse across the chaotic room. Vespasian watched its trajectory towards the bar and tried to follow it but became entangled with Magnus grappling with a new opponent intent upon strangling him. All three crashed onto a table, which collapsed to the floor with Vespasian on top. Recovering first, Vespasian grabbed the man’s ear, jerked his head up and pounded it down onto the flagstone, shattering his skull as the tavern door burst open and a new force swarmed in: the club-wielding Vigiles.

Made up mainly of ex-slaves, the night-watch had no cause to be overfond of the citizens of Rome and they set about breaking up the fight with a severity that eclipsed the violence they had come to halt. Without waiting to find out who was in the right or wrong they swept their clubs down indiscriminately onto heads, backs and outstretched arms, cracking bones, breaking teeth and splitting skin. Vespasian and Magnus just had time to pick themselves up off the floor and retreat to the far side of the room where Caligula, covered in blood and now laughing hysterically, was guarded by Clemens. They stood shoulder to shoulder in front of their Emperor and waited, weapons at the ready.

The Vigiles gradually subdued the remaining fights, with the loss of only one of their number, rounding up any miscreants still conscious and pushing them back across the room. Their optio, a stocky, bald man with forearms like mossy tree branches, suddenly noticed Vespasian and his comrades, through his crowd of prisoners, standing in the shadows.

‘And you lot,’ he growled, walking towards them, ‘put down your weapons.’ Then seeing Clemens’ sword he stepped back. Knowing that the carrying of swords within the city was the prerogative of only the Urban Cohorts or the Praetorian Guard and then only when on duty, he made the reasonable assumption that this was a dangerous criminal whom he was faced with.

‘I’d let us go if I were you, optio,’ Clemens warned, keeping between Caligula and the Vigiles commander.

‘Lads, on me,’ he called to his men, ‘these are going to have to go down hard.’

Corralling the disarmed prisoners towards the bar, the Vigiles lined up and faced Vespasian, Magnus and Clemens.

‘You have served your Emperor well, optio,’ Caligula said, pushing past Clemens.

‘What would you know about that, you spindly rat?’

‘Because I am your Emperor, and one more remark like that and you’ll be serving me well in the arena.’ Caligula stepped forward into the light and held his blood-stained head high. There was a brief silence in the room and then a communal gasp as most people recognised the man whom they had crowded into the city to see only that morning; even covered in blood he was unmistakeable.

‘Princeps,’ the optio spluttered, bowing his head, ‘forgive me.’

‘Our star!’ someone shouted.

Others took up the shout and Caligula raised his arms and bathed for a while in their worship, and then pointed to his original attacker, still clutching his groin on the floor. ‘That man’s testicles seem to be troubling him,’ he shouted over the din, ‘relieve him of them, optio.’

The noise stopped as the optio looked down at the injured man and then back at Caligula and realised that he was in earnest. Fearing for his life, having insulted his Emperor, he had no choice. He drew his knife and bent down.

A shrill shriek announced the completion of the deed; Caligula smiled. ‘Thank you, optio, I have forgiven you. You may release everyone else; they love me and will follow me as a flock follows its shepherd, trusting him to do them no harm.’

‘Princeps, this is yours,’ Balbus said, holding out the purse.

‘Keep it, Balbus, but give some coins to the women.’ Caligula moved towards the door, followed by Vespasian, Clemens and Magnus; the crowd parted for them.

‘Thank you, Lord,’ one of the whores cried out, ‘we will remember your generosity and the pleasure you gave us; it was as if being satisfied by a god.’

‘Satisfied by a god?’ Caligula ruminated as they stepped out into the street. ‘Perhaps they were; perhaps I am. After all, the shepherd rules over the sheep not because he’s a superior sheep but because he is a superior being. It follows therefore that if I am the shepherd of the Roman flock sitting in the Senate House, it must be because I too am a superior being.’

Vespasian did not like the way Caligula’s mind was working. ‘That may be logical, Princeps, but remember that to live the shepherd regularly has to eat one of his sheep.’

The look on Caligula’s face as he turned towards him made Vespasian instantly regret his line of argument.

‘Exactly, my friend; the shepherd must remain fed and healthy for the good of his flock, so he chooses the sheep that will best satisfy his hunger.’