False God of Rome

CHAPTER XVII

‘That has to be the tallest building that I’ll ever see,’ Vespasian muttered under his breath as he looked up, his eyes wide with astonishment, at the lighthouse that soared above him to over four hundred feet into the sky. He calculated that if an insula, or apartment block, back in Rome had been that tall it would have almost fifty floors and then wondered what chance Caligula’s proposed bridge had of outstripping it. He gripped the side-rail of the imperial trireme to steady himself as the ship was buffeted again by another large wave repelled by the huge mole that protected the Great Harbour of Alexandria. Fine spray flew on the salt-tanged breeze, dampening his toga and cooling his skin from the sun’s intense heat. The stroke-master’s piped beats slowed and the mainsail was furled; the voyage was nearing its end.

‘That must be the biggest fucking thing in the whole fucking world,’ Ziri said; his proficiency in Latin now matched that of his swearing. ‘I’d say that it would look big even next to the biggest mountain in the middle of the fucking desert.’

‘It must have taken some building,’ Magnus commented beside him.

Vespasian nodded. ‘Seventeen years. It was finished just over three hundred years ago. The first Ptolemy commissioned it and his son completed it. I suppose if you want to be remembered then that’s the way to do it: build something magnificent.’

‘Like Caligula’s bridge?’ Magnus asked with a smile.

‘That’ll just be remembered as a folly. I mean build something that’s of practical use to the people, then they’ll remember your name.’

‘Who built the Circus Maximus?’

Vespasian frowned and thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know.’

‘There you go, you see, it don’t always work.’

Vespasian looked up again at the Pharos of Alexandria, which had been growing in size all day since, while more than fifty miles out to sea, they had first spotted its light — the rays of the sun during the day or a mighty fire at night, both reflected off a huge, polished bronze mirror. It was truly magnificent: set at the eastern tip of the long, thin Island of Pharos it was built on a base, ninety feet high and three hundred and fifty feet square, constructed of granite blocks fused together by molten lead to resist the impact of the sea. The tower itself had three different sections: the first was square and just over half of the whole tower’s height, the next was octagonal, and the topmost part, in which were housed the mirror and fire, circular. The whole edifice was crowned with a giant statue of Poseidon and ornamented by four statues of Triton at each corner of the base. He could not imagine any building ever surpassing it.

‘Stop gawping, Ziri, and go and pack up our stuff,’ Magnus ordered after a few more moments of admiration. ‘We’ll be docking soon.’

‘Yes, master.’ The little Marmarides scuttled off towards their cabin in the stern of the ship.

Vespasian shouted after him: ‘And don’t forget-’

‘No, I won’t forget Sir’s fucking box,’ Ziri shouted back, cutting him off.

Vespasian looked at Magnus. ‘Do I have to put up with that sort of cheek?’

Magnus shrugged. ‘You don’t have to, you could always ask me to keep him away from you, but then, seeing as you didn’t bring a slave of your own, who would look after your needs?’

‘I can see that it’s high time that I invested in my own slaves,’ Vespasian said. Hitherto he had always relied on his parents’ or Gaius’ slaves and it had never occurred to him to purchase his own; even when he had been in Cyrenaica he had been looked after by the official slaves in the Governor’s Residence. ‘The trouble is they’re so expensive to buy and then feed.’

‘Once you’ve cashed that bankers’ draft with Thales you’ll be able to afford plenty; until then stop moaning when I lend you mine for free.’

The ship slipped through the harbour mouth and all thoughts that Vespasian had about the hideous expense of slaves were put to one side. The Great Harbour of Alexandria was built on a scale that matched the Pharos: almost two miles across and a mile and a half deep. To his right was the Heptastadion, a huge mole, seven stadia or one thousand four hundred paces long and two hundred paces wide, that joined the Island of Pharos to the mainland; beyond this, in the commercial port that was almost as vast as the Great Harbour itself, Vespasian could see the massive hulks of the grain fleet docked next to large silos. To his left was the Diabathra, a dog-legged mole, equally as long, that ran from the harbour mouth to the Temple of Artemis next to the Royal Palace of the Ptolemys on the natural shoreline. Between these two mammoth man-made sea defences the waterfront was lined with buildings that rivalled in grandeur even those of Rome. At the waterfront’s central point, on the tip of a small promontory, stood the colonnaded Timonium, built by Marcus Antonius after his defeat at Actium by Augustus. West of this, extending to the Heptastadion, were the jetties and quays of the military port. Here the massed triremes, quadremes and quinqueremes of the Alexandrian fleet bobbed at their moorings, looking clean and pristine after their recent winter refits. The sun glinted off their half-submerged bronze-plated rams and picked out the innumerable tiny figures toiling on their decks. Speckled around the three square miles of the harbour were a plethora of other, smaller craft, with bulging triangular sails and escorts of cawing seagulls, going about their daily routine, whether as lighters, ferries or fishermen, and adding to Vespasian’s impression that he was entering the busiest and grandest port in the world.

Vespasian marvelled at the vision of the man who had caused all this to be built out of nothing: Alexander the Great, whose breastplate he had come to take back to Rome for the Emperor who thought he had surpassed him. Looking at this majestic city, just one of the many that Alexander had founded in the huge Empire that he had conquered, he realised the depths of Caligula’s delusion: the greatest feat to be achieved by man had already been realised. No one would ever surpass Alexander — not even Julius Caesar or Augustus had come close to what he had accomplished in his short life. The best that anyone could hope for now was to be a pale shadow of the man whose legacy, or at least part of it, lay in front of Vespasian, bathing in the hot summer sun where, before Alexander’s coming, there had been only a small fishing village perched on baking sands.

The trireme glided towards the dock; an order was bellowed and the larboard oars were shipped. The starboard oars backed water gently and with a soft thud and much shouting of sailors and dockers the ship’s side came to rest against the thick wooden poles protecting the stone jetty. Lines were made fast, the foresail was furled and the gangplank lowered; the voyage was at an end.

Having confirmed with the triarchus the arrangement that the ship should wait for however long it took to complete the Emperor’s business, Vespasian led Magnus and Ziri down the gangplank towards the port aedile waiting with sixteen legionaries and an optio of the Legio XXII Deiotariana on the jetty. The solid construction seemed to rock under Vespasian’s feet after ten days at sea; he swayed slightly and felt Magnus’ hand support his elbow.

‘Easy, sir; we can’t have a senator falling flat on his back in public like a vestal the moment she’s completed her thirty-year vow.’

‘Yes, thank you for reminding me, Magnus,’ Vespasian replied testily, steadying himself for a few moments before handing his imperial warrant to the aedile. ‘Senator Titus Flavius Vespasianus here on the Emperor’s authority.’

The aedile read the document carefully then glanced up at the imperial banner fluttering on the masthead and raised his eyebrows. ‘That seems to be in order, senator. It’s four years since we’ve had a member of your order here; the previous Emperor banned you on the advice of his astrologer.’ He paused for a wry chuckle. ‘And arriving on one of the Emperor’s personal ships no less; what can I do for you?’

‘I wish to see the prefect immediately on imperial business.’

The aedile nodded and turned to the optio. ‘Hortensius, escort the senator to the Royal Palace and then stay with him for the duration of his visit to provide him with any assistance that he needs.’

Vespasian muttered his thanks while suspecting that he had just been put under military guard.

‘That is completely out of the question,’ Prefect Aulus Avilius Flaccus informed Vespasian, having been apprised of Caligula’s wishes. ‘If the breastplate were to be removed, the whole of the city’s Greek population, which is by far the largest section, would rise up in outrage. They worship Alexander and any sacrilege by us to his mausoleum would be seen as a declaration of war. Caligula’s edict about putting his statue into all temples has already got the Jews up in arms, and I can’t give the Jews a short, sharp shock and deal with the Greeks at the same time.’ His firm-jawed, suntanned face set rigid and his dark eyes stared at Vespasian from underneath silvering brows, defying him to argue. Through the window behind him the expanse of the Great Harbour glistened in the late afternoon light. A gentle sea breeze blew in, cooling the chamber that Cleopatra, Julius Caesar and Marcus Antonius had all held audiences in.

‘But it’s Caligula’s wish.’

‘Then the little shit should wish for something else.’

Vespasian was taken aback by this open insult to the Emperor by one of his Governors. ‘You can’t talk about the Emperor in those terms, especially not in front of a senator.’

‘And who’s going to tell him? You? Well, go ahead, I don’t give a fuck.’

Vespasian drew himself up. ‘As a member of the Senate I outrank you, so I demand that you give me the breastplate.’

‘You may be a senator and I only a mere equestrian but here in Egypt I rule, and I’m telling you that unless the Emperor wants Rome’s grain supply cut off for the rest of the summer while I put down two rebellions, he can ride across his pathetic bridge wearing something else. And you can tell him I said so.’

‘He’ll have you replaced, brought back to Rome and executed.’

‘He was replacing me, with Macro, but when he ordered him to kill himself he decided to reconfirm me in my appointment. I was hoping when I saw you that you were bringing my imperial mandate but that seems to have slipped the Emperor’s mind; but no matter, I’m sure that it will arrive soon. But even if he does change his mind and decides to recall me I won’t be going back to Rome. We may be a thousand miles away but I’ve still heard the stories. Caligula’s mad, he even had his cousin executed for coughing; there’s no way I’m going to set foot in Rome while he’s emperor.’

‘You can’t stay here, surely?’

‘Of course I wouldn’t, the world is a big place and being prefect of Egypt is a very lucrative position; I have the money to go anywhere.’

Vespasian was about to contest the point but then thought better of it and decided to change the subject. ‘I have some personal business to attend to that will take a few days and would appreciate being accommodated during that time.’

Flaccus smiled in a conciliatory manner. ‘In that matter at least I can be of service, senator. I will have a suite of rooms placed at your disposal; you’ll find it very spacious here. I hope that you will dine with me this evening; my wife and I have a few other guests.’

‘Thank you, prefect, I’d be delighted,’ Vespasian replied less than truthfully but disinclined to upset the man who seemed so secure in his province that he could defy an emperor.

‘Is there anything else?’

‘Yes, where can I find Thales the banker and also the Alabarch?’

Flaccus’ face clouded over. ‘Thales is in the Forum every day from dawn and the Alabarch lives next to the Jewish temple by the Canopic Gate, but why do you want to see him?’

Vespasian briefly explained about getting his father’s late freedman Ataphanes’ gold back to his family in Parthia.

‘Well, you can trust him to do that, provided he gets his percentage,’ Flaccus said.’Dishonesty is the one charge I would never level against him; but he’s a wily politician — don’t allow him to use you for his own ends. The Jews have been making a lot of demands recently: full Alexandrian citizenship, the right to live outside the Jewish Quarter and the removal of the Emperor’s statues from their temples to name a few; he’ll get you involved if he can. Now, you’ll have to excuse me as I have someone waiting to see me whom I hope will be a great help in dealing with those Jews.’ Flaccus smiled coldly before walking Vespasian to the door. ‘I shall see you at dinner, senator. If you wish to go out I’ve ordered your escort to accompany you everywhere. They will be waiting for you at the gate; it’s the only way in or out of the palace.’

‘We’re just going to have to break in and steal it, then,’ Magnus said as they sat, drinking chilled wine, on the terrace of Vespasian’s second-floor suite watching the sun go down over the Great Harbour.

‘We can’t do that,’ Vespasian replied appalled.

‘Well, have you got any better ideas? How about going back to Caligula and saying that Flaccus wouldn’t let you take it?’

‘And whose neck’s going to be right in front of him when I do, mine or the prefect’s?’

‘Exactly. So have you got any other ideas?’

Vespasian took a consoling sip of wine. ‘No.’

‘Then we’re left with mine.’

Vespasian got up, walked to the marble balustrade and leant on it, deep in thought; Magnus joined him.

‘If we’re going to do that,’ Vespasian said after a while, ‘we’ll have to make it look like nothing has happened, otherwise the whole Greek population will rise up.’

‘You think that we should get a replica and do a swap?’

‘Exactly; and we’ll need to get in and out of the palace without anyone noticing.’

Magnus looked down at the fifty-foot drop to the water. ‘That’s the quickest way, straight down.’

‘We’ll need a boat.’

‘Well, I wasn’t planning on swimming.’

‘Then we’ll need to get past the guards, into the mausoleum and out again.’

‘We’ll do a recce.’

‘With our escort?’

‘Why not?’

‘Flaccus will find out.’

‘So? We’re just seeing the sights, aren’t we?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘What we will need is someone local who knows what the security arrangements are like inside the mausoleum at night and who can also provide the boat.’

Vespasian thought for a few moments. ‘Felix?’

‘Can we trust him?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Is there anyone else we could trust?’

‘Antonia trusted him.’

Magnus paused and then nodded. ‘We can trust him. How do we find him?’

‘He said that the Alabarch always knows where he is.’

‘So you’ll ask him tomorrow?’

A knock at the door interrupted their planning. They looked into the suite and saw Ziri open it to a very attractive slave girl.

‘Sir,’ Ziri called out to them, ‘she says that she’s here to escort you to dinner.’

‘Very well.’ Vespasian looked at Magnus; he was eyeing the girl. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Do you think that you could find your own way down to the triclinium?’

Vespasian raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m sure I could.’

‘Then I reckon that I’ll be in all evening, if you take my meaning?’

After a few wrong turns Vespasian eventually found his way through the labyrinthine palace to a long, high and wide corridor, lined with statues; at its end there was a doorway from which emanated the sound of animated conversation. Following the voices, he passed by the statues admiring every one; they were life-like representations of each of the Ptolemaic dynasty, both male and female, starting with its founder, Alexander’s general, Ptolemy Soter. Each of the men was dressed in original, full military uniform: helmets, muscled cuirasses, greaves and swords, all of great antiquity, had been buckled onto them. The women wore silken gowns, which fluttered slightly in the breeze, and their heads were adorned with lavish wigs. The stone limbs not covered by clothing had been painted in flesh tones and the faces were finished with realistic detail.

As he neared the end of the line he paused in front of the second to last, Cleopatra VII, and stared at the face that had beguiled first Julius Caesar and then Marcus Antonius. It was not classically beautiful, her nose was long and pronounced and her chin and mouth boyish, yet there was a sensuality in her appearance that he found very attractive; she had obviously been a striking woman.

‘Still staring at women, quaestor? Or should I just say “senator”?’

Vespasian spun round to see a woman silhouetted in the doorway.

‘At least that one isn’t trying to get you to listen to her.’

‘Flavia! What are you doing here?’

Flavia Domitilla walked forward into the light of the corridor. ‘I’ve been here since I escaped from the riots in Cyrene. What about you?’

Vespasian gaped at her, she had not changed, and, judging by the blood rushing around his body, nor had his desire for her; she was still his idea of a proper woman. ‘I’m here on the Emperor’s orders,’ he managed to get out, feeling light-headed as he caught her scent, inflaming him even more.

Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated; she took another step towards him and smiled enticingly. ‘Moving in high circles, are you? How fascinating; you must tell me about it at dinner.’ She took his arm and led him through the door; he followed willingly, enjoying the soft touch of her hand on his skin.

‘Ah, Flavia, you’ve found our senator, how very clever of you. Now we can eat.’ A dumpy little round-faced, smiling woman, in her late forties, with a twinkle in her eye, bustled towards them. ‘Senator Vespasian, I’m Laelia, the prefect’s wife.’

Vespasian gently squeezed her proffered fingers. ‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I apologise if I’m late.’

‘I sent a girl for you, did she not turn up? I’ll have her whipped when I find her.’

‘No, no, please don’t. She did arrive but there was um…there were some matters that needed attending to in my suite so I left her there to deal with them and made my own way.’

‘Well, no matter, you’re here now. Seeing as Flavia found you she wins the prize of reclining next to you. The other women will be so envious.’

‘She’s just doing that to make sure her husband keeps his hands off me,’ Flavia whispered in his ear as they followed Laelia towards the other five guests and Flaccus congregated around the low dining table.

Vespasian shivered involuntarily at the closeness of her mouth to his face, savouring the sweetness of her breath. ‘Does he try that often?’

‘Yes; sometimes I let him succeed.’

‘Why? You could say no.’

‘I’ve been here for over three years now, how else do you think I’ve survived without a man to provide for me?’