False God of Rome

CHAPTER XXII

The docks at Ostia were strangely quiet; gone was the frenetic bustle of activity, to be replaced by a languid indolence that was not at all in keeping with a busy port at the height of the sailing season. Apart from a couple of gangs of dockworkers unloading two small traders, the quays were almost empty with only the occasional food vendor or whore attempting to sell their wares to sporadic, uninterested passers-by. Even the seagulls seemed to have lost motivation, and instead of cawing overhead or diving for scraps they sat in long lines on the warehouse roofs looking down balefully at the inactivity below that brought with it, for them as well as the citizens of Rome, a shortage of food.

‘Do you think that the plague could have broken out again?’ Magnus asked as the trireme came to rest alongside one of the many deserted jetties.

‘They wouldn’t have let us dock if it had,’ the triarchus informed him as the gangplank was lowered.

‘We’ll soon find out what’s happening,’ Vespasian said, watching the anxious-looking port aedile walking briskly towards them accompanied by a scurrying clerk.

‘Is the senator Titus Flavius Vespasianus aboard?’ the aedile called out as he mounted the gangway.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Thank the gods, senator, I am so pleased to see you; now perhaps we can get this madness over with and get back to normal.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The Emperor’s bridge, of course. Trade has come to a standstill and the people are getting hungry; he’s requisitioned every ship that’s arrived in the waters around Italia and sent them down to the Bay of Neapolis. There’re thousands of them down there all chained together and he won’t let them leave until he’s ridden across them and he won’t ride across them until he’s got whatever you’re bringing for him. I hope for everyone’s sake, especially yours, that you have it because he’s getting very impatient. He sends messengers two or three times a day to see if you’ve arrived.’

‘Well, I do have it.’ Vespasian lifted the leather bag in confirmation.

‘It’s as well for you that you do; I’ve orders to have you sent to Rome in chains if you come back empty-handed. As it is, you’re to ride to the Emperor immediately; I have a fast horse waiting for you.’

‘I’m accompanying a lady.’

‘She’ll have to follow behind in a carriage — I’ll organise one. And triarchus, as soon as those two merchantmen are offloaded you’re to sail with them down to the bay to become an integral part of that fucking bridge.’ With that he gave a harassed look, shook his head disbelievingly and quickly disembarked.

‘What was that, my dear?’ Flavia asked, appearing from the cabin.

‘I’m to present myself to the Emperor at once. Magnus and Ziri will accompany you back to my uncle’s house. With luck I’ll already be there when you arrive.’

‘I don’t think that it will have anything to do with luck,’ Magnus observed darkly. ‘It’ll be more to do with an insane man’s whim, if you take my meaning?’

Vespasian scowled at Magnus and then briskly walked down the gangway.

‘He refused to let you have it?’ Caligula was outraged and shook his trident threateningly at Vespasian. Behind him a long line of Rome’s urban poor shuffled incongruously through the grand atrium of Augustus’ House watched over by Praetorian Guards. ‘Why didn’t you just take it?’

‘I did, Divine God of the Sea,’ Vespasian replied, using the form of address that Clemens had recommended on account of the Emperor’s recently stated ambition of usurping Neptune’s place in the Roman pantheon. ‘But I had to break into the mausoleum, steal it and replace it with a replica without it being noticed.’

‘Ooh, that sounds like fun.’ Caligula emerged, with some difficulty, from the impluvium and struggled to walk in the tight skirt of scaly fish skin that adorned his lower body. ‘Was it a jolly caper?’

‘It had its moments.’

‘I should have come too; I could do with some distraction from all the demands made upon me, both by gods and men.’

‘I’m sure that it would have gone much more smoothly had you been with us, Divine God of the Sea.’

‘What?’ Caligula looked momentarily confused and then glanced down at his dripping fish-skirt. ‘Oh yes, of course, it must be confusing for you; I’m no longer in the water so I’m back to being the Divine Gaius. Now show me the breastplate.’

Vespasian reached into his bag.

‘Clemens!’ Caligula screamed, suddenly forcing the points of his trident hard against Vespasian’s chest, piercing his toga.

Vespasian froze as Clemens came pushing through the ragged queue that had come to an abrupt halt at the Emperor’s scream.

‘Is he trying to kill me?’ Caligula blurted out, glaring at Vespasian with his dark-rimmed sunken eyes. A stain of blood surrounded each trident point.

‘No, Divine Gaius,’ Clemens assured him as he took the bag, ‘I checked it for weapons myself; it only contains the breastplate.’

‘Show me!’

Clemens slowly put his hand into the bag; Caligula jerked his trident from Vespasian’s chest to Clemens’ throat. Keeping his chin high and looking down the trident’s shaft at his Emperor, Clemens gradually pulled out the breastplate.

‘You’re right.’ Caligula breathed deeply. ‘It’s just the breastplate; hold this.’ He handed the trident to Clemens, oblivious to the fact that he had just given him the means to murder him, and took the breastplate. He rubbed a hand over it and looked up at Vespasian, smiling wildly. ‘That’s it, my friend, you haven’t tried to cheat me, this really is it, I remember the stain. I remember asking my father why the priests hadn’t been crucified for allowing something to soil Alexander.’ He held it to his chest. ‘How do I look?’

‘Like the great Alexander, only more divine,’ Vespasian replied solemnly, thinking that he looked like a man draped in fish skin wearing a breastplate that did not fit him.

‘Excellent! You will dine with me and my friends tonight. Your brother has finally come back from his province so he’ll be here — as will my horse.’

Vespasian wondered if he had heard correctly. ‘I look forward to seeing them both, Divine Gaius.’

‘Yes, Incitatus will be particularly pleased to see you, he’s so looking forward to pulling me across my bridge in a chariot; we can do that now.’ He looked with genuine pleasure at the breastplate. ‘I must show this to my sisters, if they’re not too busy servicing the poor.’ He turned and, forced to take ridiculously small steps, waddled off.

Vespasian wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘Servicing the poor?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ Clemens replied, examining the trident and considering what to do with it. ‘Since Drusilla died he’s become increasingly suspicious of everyone, especially his other two sisters, so he’s decided to punish them for whatever he imagines that they’ve been plotting by making them fuck every receiver of the grain dole in Rome. In his twisted mind he also thinks that it compensates the people for the shortages caused by his bridge. They’ve been at it for three days now and were up to over two thousand at the last count.’

‘That’ll kill them like it did Drusilla.’

‘More than likely, but then he’s going to kill us all so what difference does it make? It’s got to the stage now that I just don’t care; I stay loyal to him to protect my family for as long as I can.’ Clemens looked at Vespasian with tired eyes. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can stomach it. I’ll see you at dinner.’ Handing the trident to Vespasian, Clemens walked back over to the queue to continue his distasteful task of supervising the mass rape of two of Germanicus’ children.

Vespasian looked at the trident and then at the blood stains on his toga as the urban poor continued to shuffle past. He threw the trident back into the impluvium in disgust and, contemplating the options open to him and his family, turned and made his way, with a heavy heart, towards his uncle’s house.

‘Don’t even think about it, dear boy,’ Gaius warned Vespasian, helping himself to another honey and almond cake, ‘it would be suicide.’

‘Not if we succeed, Uncle,’ Vespasian argued.

A cooling breeze blew through Gaius’ shaded courtyard garden providing some relief from the mid-afternoon heat. The fish pond heaved with lampreys enjoying their daytime feed.

‘Even if you could kill Caligula and manage to avoid being cut down by his extremely loyal German Bodyguards, you would be dead within two days.’

Vespasian threw another fish fillet into the pond. ‘Why?’

‘The next Emperor would see to it, of course. Granted, he would be very grateful to you for leaving the position vacant for him to fill but then he’d have to have you executed because it wouldn’t do for people to see that someone outside the imperial family can assassinate an emperor, however depraved, and live. It would be an invitation for anyone with a grievance to murder him, surely you can see that? And don’t go giving me any naive nonsense about restoring the Republic — the Praetorian Guard would never stand for that; the Emperor is their reason to exist.’

‘But something must be done, Uncle, before it’s too late.’

‘It’s already too late. There are too many people with vested interests in Caligula staying emperor. Only when he completely runs out of money and can’t pay them any more will they begin to look elsewhere; but I doubt that’ll ever happen because when his treasury is empty he’ll just start taking money from the rich.’

‘So what do you recommend?’

‘Two things: firstly, do not deposit that gold that you’ve brought back with you in a bank, because Caligula will hear of it. Keep it hidden here so that when he does start culling the wealthy you won’t be a target. Secondly, humour him, praise him, support him, worship him, laugh at his jokes, do whatever it takes to stay alive and wait for someone else to be foolish enough to try and kill an emperor.’

‘But what if everyone reasons the same way as you? He could remain emperor for years.’

‘Caligula’s bound to offend someone in such a way that their sense of honour will overrule their judgement, and then we just have to pray that they’re successful.’

‘Yes,’ Vespasian agreed gloomily, flicking another fillet into the pond and watching the feeding frenzy. ‘Just imagine what Caligula’s retribution would be like on the guilty and innocent alike if a plot against him failed.’

‘All the more reason to stay in his favour, dear boy. Take Livius Geminius, for example: he swore an oath that at Drusilla’s funeral he saw her spirit ascending into the heavens to commune with the gods. Complete rubbish, of course, but he was handsomely rewarded for it.’

The tinkling of the door bell floating through from the atrium interrupted them.

‘Ah, that’ll be Magnus and Ziri,’ Vespasian said, getting up. ‘They’ve, er…they’ve brought Flavia with them.’

Gaius looked at him quizzically. ‘Flavia? Is she some relation of yours, a cousin or something?’

‘She must be distantly related; but anyway, I intend to marry her.’

Gaius looked suitably pleased. ‘It’s about time you took that step, dear boy.’

‘Exactly; and with my father’s business keeping him away in Aventicum I need you to negotiate the marriage terms.’

‘I’d be delighted. What’s her father’s name and where does he live?’

‘North of Rome in Ferentium. Flavia’s travelling there tomorrow so she could take your letter to him; apparently you know him, his name is Marcus Flavius Liberalis.’

Gaius frowned. ‘I do know him, he was one of the clerks when I was a quaestor in Africa; he was having trouble proving he was a full citizen and not just the possessor of Latin Rights.’

Vespasian shrugged. ‘He’s certainly a full citizen now; he’s done well enough for himself to have been enrolled into the equestrian order recently.’

‘But what about Flavia? She was born before he sorted out his legal status — I remember her as a child.’

‘She claims full citizenship; I wouldn’t be marrying her otherwise.’

‘It would be as well to check, dear boy, you don’t want your offspring to have legal problems.’

‘Vespasian, my dear,’ Flavia said, walking with breathtaking elegance into the garden as if she owned it, ‘this must be your uncle. Won’t you please reintroduce us?’

‘There’s no need, Flavia,’ Gaius said, gently squeezing the fingers of her proffered right hand, ‘even though it was twenty years ago I remember you perfectly as a little girl of six or so. Did you stay in Africa long?’

‘My father left five years ago, but I stayed on; I was attached, shall we say.’

‘Indeed. Your father was having some trouble with his citizenship status while I was there, as I recall.’

Flavia looked blank. ‘If he was, he never told me about it.’

‘No, why should he have? You were only a child; besides it must be all right now, Vespasian tells me that he’s become an equestrian.’

‘Yes, and I hope that he will settle a large dowry on me so that Vespasian and I can enjoy the finer things in life.’

‘I’m sure he will and I’m equally sure that Vespasian will enjoy spending it on luxurious frivolities.’ Gaius raised a surreptitious, plucked eyebrow at his nephew.

Vespasian thought it best not to express his opinion on the subject and contemplated the fertile ground for many a marital disagreement in the future.

Flavia indicated that the men should be seated. ‘Shall we sit down and call for some wine?’

‘By all means,’ Gaius agreed, visibly surprised by Flavia’s virtual assumption of the role of hostess in his domain.

Vespasian helped Flavia to a chair. ‘I’m afraid that I must leave you, I have to dine with the Emperor.’

Flavia’s eyes widened with delight. ‘How exciting; should I come, do you think?’

‘It would be best to stay here, Flavia,’ Gaius assured her, ‘the Emperor’s liable to take fearful liberties with his female guests. You won’t have that problem with me, I can promise you that.’

Vespasian leant down and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back so don’t wait up for me. Where’s Magnus?’

‘Oh, I left him and Ziri to help my maids put my bags into my room.’

‘And he didn’t object?’

‘Why should he? I asked him so nicely.’

Vespasian raised his eyebrows and turned to go to find Magnus, wondering whether his friend had been right about Flavia.

‘All I’m saying, sir,’ Magnus concluded as they reached the summit of the Palatine, ‘is that just because Flavia’s come back with you to Rome that’s not a reason for you to have to go through with the marriage. You’d be mad to — she’ll make your life a misery. Granted she showed good spirit in Alexandria, and yes, she would have formidable sons, but you should have seen her at the port once you’d gone; just because you’d been summoned by the Emperor she started ordering everyone around and shouting at people who weren’t even slaves. She’s using you, which is fair enough, but what are you going to get in return, eh? You can’t even bear the thought of buying and feeding just one slave; how are you going to feel when she demands that you purchase a whole household? You’re going to find yourself having blazing rows about how many hairdressers she has because a woman like that is going to want more than two, as sure as a new recruit wants to go home to his mother.’

‘Two?’

‘More than two.’

Vespasian grimaced, acknowledging that Magnus had a point. He had realised that Flavia was going to be expensive but had only thought in terms of dresses and jewellery and not all the things that accompanied them. One of them — and he felt sure that it would not be her — would have to change if the marriage were to work. But then, he reflected, what other woman would be happy to become his wife knowing that he would have a lifelong mistress? And if he were to find another, would she get his blood racing in the way that Flavia did by his just thinking of her? She was making a sacrifice, Caenis was making a sacrifice, therefore, he reasoned, he could bear to buy a few slaves for the sake of some sort of harmony in his domestic arrangements.

‘No, my mind’s made up, Magnus, I will marry her and try to accommodate her wishes; after all, what’s the worst that could happen?’

‘She could spend all your money and you could be expelled from the Senate,’ Magnus informed him as they reached Augustus’ House. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you here, sir, I sent Ziri straight over to the crossroads, so the brothers know I’m back; they should have a decent party prepared for me when I get there. I’ll be willing to bet that it’ll be a fuck sight more civilised than what you’re going to get in there.’

‘That may well be true,’ Vespasian said softly, looking at a steady stream of senators arriving with nervous-looking wives and wondering whether Magnus might be right on both counts.

Watching his friend disappear back down the hill he had a moment of self-doubt but then, shaking his head and dismissing it, he turned to follow the senators in. As he did so a familiar voice drawled in his ear. ‘I hear that you’ve been lowering yourself to petty theft now.’

‘Piss off, Sabinus,’ Vespasian said, spinning around to face his brother.

‘That seems to be your standard greeting to me these days, brother.’

‘If you started by thanking me for sending your things on to you in Bithynia and supervising the completion of your house then you might have got something more cordial.’

‘Fair enough; thank you.’

‘Where’s Clementina? I hope you’re not bringing her here.’

‘Not a chance. Caligula seems to have forgotten about her, he hasn’t mentioned her once since I got back. I’ve left her at Aquae Cutillae.’

‘She should be safe enough there.’

‘Let’s hope so. Come on, we should go in and see which poor sod the Emperor’s going to publicly cuckold tonight.’

‘So how do you know about me stealing the breastplate?’ Vespasian asked as they began walking towards the palace doors. ‘I only got back today and I gave it straight to Caligula.’

‘Pallas.’

‘Pallas? How did he find out?’

‘Oh, he knows everything now that he lives here in the palace. Caligula ordered Claudius to move in so that he could humiliate him on a daily basis; Pallas is part of his household now so he came too.’

‘And Narcissus?’ Vespasian asked, thinking about the gold in his uncle’s house.

‘Yes, and Narcissus,’ Sabinus confirmed, looking sideways at his brother. ‘Did I detect a note of concern in your voice?’

‘I’d just rather not see him at the moment, that’s all.’

‘Well, you won’t this evening, he’s down at the Bay of Neapolis. Caligula put Claudius in charge of getting all the ships for his bridge but then demanded that he stay in Rome so that he could carry on humiliating him; Claudius handed over the practicalities to Narcissus.’

Vespasian was shocked. ‘A freedman with the power to commandeer ships! That’s outrageous.’

Sabinus grinned. ‘Just imagine how Corbulo feels about it; he’s got to work with him. He’s been charged with building the road across the bridge and getting running water to it.’

‘Running water on a bridge?’

‘Oh, it’s not just a bridge going from one end to the other; it’s got peninsulas attached to it with accommodation furnished in the manner that Caligula feels is suitable for a god: triclinia in which two hundred people could easily recline, atriums with fountains, even a couple of bath houses.’

‘All that in two months!’ Vespasian exclaimed as they entered the atrium with its ragged queue of urban poor.

‘The industry of Rome has worked on nothing else, I’m told.’ Sabinus leant closer to Vespasian and whispered in his ear. ‘It’s a phenomenal waste of money but I’m really looking forward to seeing it.’

‘You’re going to travel down there just to have a look?’

‘You will as well; Caligula’s ordered every senator to escort him down to the bay and witness his triumph.’

The gardens to the rear of Augustus’ House were stepped on two levels, clinging to the edge of the Palatine and overlooking the arched facade of the Circus Maximus. Along the low balustrade of the upper level, dining tables had been arranged in such a way that all those reclining at them would have a good view down to the second level where two stages had been set. Although it was still at least three hours until the late, summer dusk, torches, in tall brass holders, burned beside each stage and all around the gardens’ perimeter as well as at intervals among the tables. Brightly coloured linen canopies littered the lawn of the upper garden under which the Emperor’s dinner guests stood or sat drinking chilled wine and talking in the animated manner of people ill at ease but trying to conceal it.

Vespasian and Sabinus stood at the top of the steps leading down from the house and admired the beauty of the scene before them: the colour, the elegance, the soft evening light.

‘It would be a pleasure to be here if one knew for certain that one would leave alive, would it not, gentlemen?’ a voice behind them commented quietly.

The brothers turned, both smiling at the truth of the statement.

‘Pallas,’ Vespasian said with genuine pleasure, ‘how are you? Sabinus tells me that you live here now.’

Pallas looked grave. ‘I think that you’ve answered your own question, Vespasian: I live here.’

‘It’s as bad as that, is it?’

Pallas pointed down into the garden to where some guests were laughing with evidently feigned hilarity at a man in their midst. He stood with his hands outstretched, except he had no hands, just cauterised blackened stumps; his hands were tied to a piece of rope and hung around his neck along with a sign.

‘The sign says: “I stole from the Emperor”,’ Pallas informed them.

‘And did he?’ Sabinus asked.

‘A small strip of decorative silver had fallen off a couch and he was taking it to the steward to be mended when Caligula saw him with it; life here has become very arbitrary.’

‘Life has always been arbitrary.’

‘Granted, but generally within the parameters of the law; our new god seems to have forgotten about the law. My patron, Claudius, however, loves the law; think about that, gentlemen.’ Pallas patted them both on the shoulder and walked away.

‘Don’t get involved,’ Vespasian warned Sabinus as they descended the steps.

‘I’ve no intention of doing so,’ Sabinus replied, taking two cups of wine from a slave and handing one to his brother, ‘I intend to stay alive. However, it’s comforting to know that we have a good friend close to the only obvious heir to the Purple.’

A fanfare of bucinae blared over the garden and all conversation stopped as everyone looked with sycophantic longing towards the main doors of the house at the top of the steps. A horse trotted out and looked around in a semi-curious equine fashion. From behind it came a shout of ‘Hail Incitatus’.

The dinner guests responded immediately. ‘Hail Incitatus! Hail Incitatus!’

Having never paid homage to a horse before, Vespasian found it a struggle to keep a straight face as he joined in with an enthusiasm fired more by the absurdity of the situation rather than any great respect for the beast being lauded.

The chant quickly turned into ‘Hail Divine Caesar!’ as Caligula, flanked by Clemens and Chaerea, appeared next to his favourite subject, dressed soberly — Vespasian thought, considering some of the costumes that he had seen him wearing — in a purple toga edged in gold and crowned with a golden laurel wreath.

‘This evening,’ Caligula declaimed, ‘we are here to honour not only me but also my good friend, my trusted ally, my comrade, the man who brought the breastplate of Alexander back from Egypt to me: Titus Flavius Vespasianus. Tomorrow at noon we can begin our progress down to the Bay of Neapolis where I shall ride in triumph across my greatest creation. Come forward, Vespasian, and receive my thanks — you shall be a praetor next year.’

Vespasian walked slowly back up the steps to a beaming Caligula, who held his arms open to him. As he reached the penultimate step he was enfolded in a purple embrace and kissed on each cheek to the applause of the people below.

‘Only a man like this,’ Caligula declared, turning Vespasian around to face the audience and putting a hand on each shoulder, ‘could I trust to go to Egypt, the source of so much of Rome’s wealth. No senator has visited it for four years, not since Tiberius’ astrologer, Thrasyllus, warned him of the imminent return of the Phoenix, heralding a great change and made a prophecy about it. Did you see the Phoenix while you were in Alexandria, Vespasian?’

‘No, Divine Gaius,’ Vespasian replied truthfully.

Caligula looked triumphant. ‘Of course not, because it has flown. Last year, three years after its rebirth, it was seen leaving Egypt flying east; Thrasyllus’ prophecy was not fulfilled. You are blessed, my sheep, because the change heralded by the Phoenix is that Rome is ruled by an immortal god; I will rule for another five hundred years until the Phoenix is sighted again. Until then I open Egypt back up to any member of the Senate who has good reason to travel there.’

This was greeted with a loud cheer from the many senators who had dealings with the Emperor’s private province.

‘And now we shall eat; Vespasian shall have the great honour of reclining on my right.’ He moved past Vespasian and began to descend the steps.

‘Divine Gaius,’ Chaerea said in his high-pitched voice, following him down, ‘what is the watchword for the night?’

Caligula stopped and laughed. ‘I love his sweet voice!’ He turned and put his middle finger to Chaerea’s lips, parting them slightly and then wiggling them provocatively. ‘Such a sweet voice deserves a sweet watchword, does it not?’

Sycophantic cries of agreement compounded the Praetorian tribune’s humiliation.

‘In which case the watchword is Venus; the sweetest of gods for the sweetest of men.’

Caligula turned and skipped daintily down the steps to the raucous laughter of his guests. Vespasian saw the anger burning in Chaerea’s eyes but otherwise his face remained impassive. Clemens’ hand went to his sword hilt as he watched his junior colleague control himself. Finally Chaerea saluted and matched stiffly away.

Magnus would not have lost his bet, Vespasian reflected as he tried to swallow a mouthful of perch while watching yet another beheading on one of the stages below. In a strange juxtaposition the other stage contained a group of dancers performing to the soft melody of two flutes.

‘Something for everyone,’ Caligula enthused, feeding an apple to Incitatus whose head nuzzled between him and Vespasian. ‘Art or death, take your pick and enjoy.’

‘P-p-personally I’ll t-t-take death, Divine and Supreme G-G-Gaius,’ Claudius stammered, watching the blood spurt from the severed neck with relish; his arousal was plain for all to see and the pretty, fair-skinned girl reclining next to him had edged as far away from him as good manners would allow. ‘I could never understand the p-p-point of dancing.’

‘That’s because there’s no point in you dancing, cripple,’ Caligula observed, ‘your legs would buckle underneath you.’ He fell about laughing far more uproariously than the observation deserved; his dinner companions had no option but to join in.

‘Your d-divine insight is faultless,’ Claudius said through his own laughter.

‘So let’s prove the point; go and dance with them, Uncle.’

Claudius’ slack-lipped mouth fell open and his bloodshot eyes flicked around the table appealing for help; it was not forthcoming, not even from his pretty companion, who looked away with a faint smile of regret edging her moist, pale lips.

‘Go!’ Caligula hissed with quiet menace; malice played in his eyes.

Realising that he had no choice but to humiliate himself in front of the whole company, Claudius got to his unsteady feet and lurched off down the steps to the lower garden.

‘This will be highly amusing,’ Caligula affirmed. ‘I’ve made him run, skip, jump and crawl but I’ve never made him dance.’ He turned to Claudius’ attractive companion. ‘Can you make him fuck, Messalina, or are you putting that horror off until your wedding night?’

Messalina joined in the communal laughter but the mirth did not reach her cold, dark eyes, which Vespasian felt glare at him as he pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.

Claudius shambled onto the stage and began a series of jerky jigs and pirouettes, waving his arms in an ungainly manner while the confused dancers carried on their graceful routine around him. On the stage next to them four chained lions began to devour the corpse of the decapitated criminal. Behind them the sun sank below the Circus Maximus.

‘Look at him,’ Caligula said through his mirth, ‘if we didn’t happen to have a god in the family he could have become emperor. If that had been the case, then I think that Thrasyllus’ prophecy would have been fulfilled.’

‘What was his prophecy, Divine Gaius?’ Sabinus enquired as down below Claudius collapsed into an undignified heap to the amusement of all present.

‘He prophesied that if a member of the senatorial order witnessed the Phoenix while it was within the boundaries of the Kingdom of Egypt he would go on to be the founder of the next dynasty of emperors.’

Vespasian almost choked on his wine. ‘So if a senator saw it flying over Judaea, for example,’ he asked innocently, ‘it wouldn’t count?’

‘He was very specific; it had to be within Egypt itself, that’s why we refused permission for senators to travel there for so long.’

Vespasian nodded thoughtfully, missing Sabinus’ questioning look.

Caligula leant back to stroke Incitatus and then turned to Clemens. ‘Incitatus says he’s tired and wishes to sleep; like me he’s excited about tomorrow. Clear all the residents out of the houses within a quarter of a mile of his stables and post guards to make sure that no one makes any noise; I want him well rested for the journey.’

‘A sensible precaution, Divine Gaius,’ Clemens said without a hint of irony, getting to his feet.

Caligula followed him. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see Incitatus out; he’ll be greatly offended if I didn’t.’ He kissed the horse on the lips. ‘Isn’t he beautiful? Perhaps I should make him a consul; he would be a fine colleague for me next year, much more suitable than the horse-faced idiot I’ve already chosen.’ With another fond kiss he led his special guest off.

‘What was it about the Phoenix prophecy that made you ask that question?’ Sabinus asked once Caligula was out of earshot.

Vespasian looked at his brother with an amused grin. ‘According to that old charlatan, Thrasyllus, I’ve narrowly missed being the founder of the next imperial dynasty.’

‘You said that you didn’t see the Phoenix.’

‘I didn’t in Alexandria but almost four years ago in Cyrenaica I did; I witnessed its rebirth. But Cyrenaica’s not Egypt so the prophecy can’t apply to me.’

‘It used to be a part of the Egyptian Empire, I remember someone telling me that in Judaea.’

‘A province of Egypt, not a part of the kingdom itself. Even so, I was in Siwa, which is an oasis out on its own in the middle of nowhere.’

Sabinus looked at Vespasian intently. ‘When Alexander conquered Egypt he went to the Oracle of Amun in Siwa, it was a part of the kingdom then. It’s only us who have put it in Cyrenaica for administrative reasons; historically, it has always been a part of Egypt.’

Vespasian’s eyes opened wide and then he shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. ‘No, no. I was taken to the Oracle of Amun after I saw the Phoenix. The Oracle spoke to me and it didn’t tell me that I was going to start an imperial dynasty; it didn’t tell me anything really, it just said that I had come too soon and that next time I should bring a gift to match the sword that Alexander had left there.’

‘What sort of gift?’

‘That’s what I asked, but it’s for you to decide.’

‘Me? Why me?’

‘Because, Sabinus, the Oracle said that a brother will understand and, whether we like it or not, we will always be brothers.’

Caligula’s growing excitement at the prospect of setting off on the progress to the Bay of Neapolis caused him to curtail the dinner shortly after dark, announcing that he wished to spend the rest of the night settling his feud with Neptune so that he would not send a storm to destroy his bridge. The guests departed with obvious relief at being able to leave with their lives, limbs and virtues intact.

Vespasian left Sabinus to make his own way home to the Aventine and, despite the lateness of the hour, set off to make a call that he was dreading but knew he could not put off.

Apart from a couple of crossroads brothers on watch at the corner, Caenis’ street was empty. Vespasian nodded his regards to the lads and walked purposefully to her door.

The huge Nubian answered his knock within moments and he was quickly and silently admitted.

‘I knew you’d come,’ Caenis said gently as he walked into the dimly lit atrium, ‘I’ve been waiting up for you.’ She walked over to him and, looping her arms around his neck, kissed him on the lips.

Vespasian closed his eyes and responded in full, drinking in her intoxicating scent and caressing the curve of her back with his hands. ‘How did you know I was back in Rome?’ he asked as they finally broke off.

She looked up at him with moist eyes and a smile. ‘Occasionally, as you know, to relieve the boredom I go to your uncle’s house; I went there this evening.’

Vespasian sucked in his breath. ‘So you’ve…’

‘Met Flavia? Yes, my love, I have. She’s very beautiful.’

Vespasian swallowed and wondered how that might have gone. ‘I wanted to tell you about her first.’

‘That’s why I knew you’d come tonight. But you don’t need to tell me about her, she’s done that already and in great detail; if you wish to marry her you do so with my blessing.’

‘You will always be first and foremost, my love.’

‘I know that, that’s why I’m happy to let you go; it’s my own private victory over her. I may be second in line when it comes to receiving your attention and can never bear your children, but I will always be first when it comes to your love and I’ll settle for that.’

He held her shoulders and looked down at her, smiling, and then kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘Should I stay?’

‘I’d never forgive you if you didn’t.’