False God of Rome

CHAPTER XXIIII

Vespasian could not contain a gasp of surprise as the head of the column, led by Caligula in his quadriga, crested the western slope of Mount Nuova at the most northerly point of the Bay of Neapolis.

Caligula turned in his chariot and shouted triumphantly at the sea of faces, all with the same expression of astonishment written upon them. ‘What did I tell you, my friends? Is it not truly amazing, the work of a god?’

It was undeniably truly amazing. Below them, stretching from Baiae, just north of the humped Promontory of Misenum, right across to Puteoli, three and a half miles away across the glittering azure water, stretched a double line of ships, chained together side by side, undulating gently on the calm swell of the sea. Across them had been laid a road, straight as the Via Appia, but wider, much wider. However, the bridge was not just a straight line; at intervals along its length single lines of ships curved out like tentacles to end up in peninsulas of round clusters of vessels that had been completely covered over to form solid platforms upon which stood, unbelievably, buildings. Beyond it the Portus Julius, home of the western fleet, stood empty.

Cracking his whip over his team’s withers and shouting a prayer to his own Genius, Caligula accelerated away down the hill; sparks from his iron-shod wheels grating against the stone road flew up behind him. Fired with enthusiasm at the sight of such a magnificent creation, Vespasian and the rest of the younger senators on horseback sped after him, whooping and shouting like juveniles and vying with each other to be the first onto the bridge after their Emperor. The Praetorian cavalry followed close behind them, leaving the infantry and the wagons to make the half-mile journey at their own slow speed.

With Caligula just ahead, Vespasian clattered down the main street of the small fishing port of Baiae with a wide grin on his face. As it opened out onto the harbour the bridge stood ahead of him, fading into the distance. Its true scale only became apparent close to: the road that Corbulo had engineered across it was over thirty paces wide. It was not constructed just out of planks of wood nailed haphazardly over each vessel; it had been laid as if on land because, indeed, it was on land. The deck of each ship had been filled with earth, from the mast to the stern, to the height of the rail. To compensate for the weight, great boulders had been placed in each bow, levelling the vessels, which had been chained together, hull to hull, in two lines. Then, with all the steering oars removed, the lines had been attached stern to stern. The small gaps between the ships had been boarded over with thick planks secured with foot-long nails driven through the decks. The earth had then been pounded down, levelling it to make one three-and-a-half-mile-long smooth, unbroken surface. But as if this were not extraordinary enough, it had been paved with foot-square stones laid a thumb’s breadth apart so that they would not concertina with the undulation on the ships.

Caligula drove his quadriga straight onto his creation and brought it to a halt next to a collection of thirty or so chariots of strange appearance, pulled by pairs of short, sturdy-looking ponies with shaggy coats.

He turned to address his followers. ‘These are replicas of the chariots used by the British tribes, but the ponies are properly trained chariot-ponies imported from Britannia itself. Come, my friends, take a chariot and ride it across the water. When the rumour that we can not only drive their chariots but also ride them over the sea reaches the ears of the savages of Britannia they will fall before me and beg for mercy from your god. Come, my friends, come!’

Vespasian leapt off his horse and joined the headlong rush to get to a chariot, there being more willing drivers than vehicles. Grabbing a set of reins from one of the Celtic-looking slaves in charge of each chariot, he clambered aboard the nearest one. It was a simple design: a rectangular wooden base set on iron-rimmed wheels, two feet in diameter, with a semicircular wicker frame on either side and left open at the front and rear. The ponies were attached to the up-curved central pole by a yoke and controlled by reins running from their bits.

‘Can you drive one of these things?’ Sabinus called, grinning wildly as he leapt onto the chariot next to him.

‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Vespasian shouted back, flicking the reins as the slave jumped in behind him.

‘Kneel, master,’ the slave said as the chariot moved forward, ‘like this. That way the reins are not high.’

Vespasian glanced back to see his companion kneeling low on one knee and immediately copied his position so that the reins flowed along the ponies’ backs. He pulled slightly to the right and the little beasts responded, edging the chariot out into the centre of the road. All around, the other drivers were getting the same lesson from their instructors with varying degrees of success.

Once all the chariots were occupied and in position behind him, Caligula waited no longer and, with his gilded sword raised in the air, set off at a walk towards Puteoli, shimmering in the morning sun and crowned by dun-brown hills climbing up behind it. Those senators who had been unable or unwilling to get a chariot followed on horseback along with the near thousand-strong contingent of Praetorian cavalry. Just under a half-mile further back up the hill the dark mass of the Praetorian infantry, followed by hundreds of carriages, could be seen approaching Baiae.

Vespasian pulled his chariot closer to that of Corbulo. ‘How did you do this, Corbulo? It feels so stable.’

Corbulo glanced over with an expression that looked remarkably close to enjoyment on his normally rigid face. ‘A lot of slaves; I commandeered every healthy male slave within fifty miles. There are more than a few fat merchants who’ve had to go without their massages or a decent fish stew for the last two months.’ He snorted a few times in what Vespasian assumed was a valiant attempt at a laugh.

As they passed the first of the peninsulas, a third of the way across, Caligula increased the pace to a trot. The extra speed meant that Vespasian was more aware of the gentle roll of the bridge as he moved from ship to ship more rapidly and their slight difference in pitch registered quicker. To his right the curve of the causeway leading to the peninsula made a harbour in which were moored leisure boats, too small to be of use in the bridge, but plentiful enough to provide everyone with some aquatic amusement later on.

Behind them the carriages rolled onto the bridge followed by the infantry.

Just over the halfway point, marked by a causeway extending out on either side, Caligula cracked his team into a canter. The exhilaration among the charioteers began to grow as, looking left and right over the wicker sides of their vehicles, they were too low to see the bows of the ships supporting them and could only see water; apart from the masts flicking by they had the sensation that they really were riding over a vast expanse of sea.

A quarter of a mile from the end of the bridge Caligula let his horses loose into an outright gallop; the hardy Celtic ponies followed suit and behind them the cavalry thundered on. The pounding of thousands of hoofs echoed strangely through the hollow hulls of the ships below, amplifying the sound fivefold into a deafening drumming, drowning out the cries and hollers of the charioteers and troopers. Oblivious to all else but the sensation of great speed, the tumult in his ears and the wind in his face blowing his cares from his mind, Vespasian followed Caligula blindly, screaming at the top of his voice.

As the bridge came to an end Caligula did not stop.

On he went; on towards the mass of citizens of Puteoli who had turned out to watch the extravaganza. Brandishing his gilded sword he swept his team into the unbelieving crowd, skittling over and trampling under hoof those too slow to move out of his way. An instant later, unable to pull up short because of the cavalry pressing them from behind, the rest of the chariots hit the fragile wall of unprotected flesh and bone. Screams and wails rent the air, louder even than the drumming of the hoofs still pounding the bridge behind, as the momentum of the stocky ponies, with the weight of their burdens behind them, drove ragged gashes through the throng that only moments earlier had been in a holiday mood.

Vespasian looked in horror as his team ploughed into a family, sending a howling infant flying up into the air as its parents and elder siblings, with shrill curtailed screeches, disappeared beneath his ponies’ hoofs, to reveal another set of faces, petrified with fear, taking their last look at a bewildering world. On either side of him, Sabinus and Corbulo were causing equal carnage, while behind them, the cavalry, also unable to stop suddenly due to the weight of numbers to their rear, fanned out left and right and hurtled into parts of the crowd as yet untouched but trying desperately to escape.

In among the pandemonium of broken limbs and cracked skulls, Vespasian managed to bring his terrified team to a halt; his incredulous slave ran along the pole and jumped down between the necks of the rearing beasts, grabbing their bits and pulling their heads down, stilling them. All along the line a gradual loss of momentum telegraphed itself back through the main body of cavalry still on the bridge and the column slowly came to a halt. The pressure eased on the crowd who were able to stampede towards the bottlenecked streets leading away from the harbour, trampling the weakest underfoot with the abandon of those who just want to live at any cost.

From amidst the tangle of crushed and broken bodies Caligula emerged on foot, leading his team and laughing hysterically. The wheels of his chariot bumped over the dead and the injured, of whom he took no notice. ‘Back to the bridge, my friends; we shall offer a sacrifice to my brother Neptune in thanks for the smooth sea without which this glorious victory would not have been possible.’

Vespasian and Sabinus looked at each other, horror stamped on their faces and shame burning in their hearts. Horror at what they had taken part in and its consequences and shame at being gulled into believing, at first, that it was a magnificent and exciting feat, a prelude to greater things to come, and taking part in it with such fervour.

There was nothing to be said as their slaves, still shaking their heads in disbelief at what they had witnessed, turned their teams, which remained wide-eyed with fright, away from the long pile of mangled bodies and remounted the chariots. All around them on the quayside and back along the bridge the Praetorian cavalry were trying to regroup from the chaotic aftermath of the charge and form into the regimented lines that they so prided themselves on.

Caligula, however, was not interested in military precision; as soon as the Celtic chariots were turned behind him he leapt onto his quadriga and whipped his team forward into the disorganised Praetorians, who had no option but to part and make way for their Emperor. Those still on the quay had little trouble doing so but as Caligula mounted the bridge, pressing his team ever forward, the cavalry struggled to make room for him in the closer confines of the relatively narrow road. Not wishing to be the trooper who delayed the Emperor, each man in his path pulled his mount forcefully to one side, pushing the horse next to him to produce a domino effect that sent whinnying horses and their riders tumbling or jumping off the side of the road and onto the decks of the ships, thankfully, only four feet below. Vespasian and the other charioteers followed Caligula through the shambles until he burst through the rearmost ranks and onto a clear road where he whipped his team into a canter and headed off, straight towards the carriages and infantry.

Vespasian’s ponies were blown as they reached the central point of the bridge where the causeway to the largest peninsula curled off to the south. Caligula had arrived there well before them but at the same time as the carriages, judging by the overturned vehicles still attached to screeching horses both on the road and to the decks on either side. He had abandoned his quadriga and, having unhitched Incitatus, he and his favoured horse were now leading the senators and their wives on foot along the curved, one-vessel-wide causeway at the end of which stood what looked to be a temple, complete with columns and steps on every side. In the harbour formed by the causeway and around the temple platform scores more small boats were moored, but unlike those in the first harbour these were manned and their furled sails were raised or their oars were already set in their rowlocks.

Vespasian, Sabinus and the rest of the charioteers hurriedly dismounted and ran to catch up.

‘Ah, dear boys, I was waiting for you,’ Gaius called out from beneath a parasol held by Aenor; the other boy was doing his best work with a fan to keep his master cool in the growing heat. ‘How was it? It looked spectacular from the other end.’

‘It was murder, pure murder!’ Vespasian spat, gratefully taking a water-skin from Magnus. He took a deep draught and passed it to Sabinus, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘And now we’re to give thanks to Neptune for allowing Caligula to slaughter half the population of Puteoli.’

‘He only slaughtered half?’ Magnus questioned. ‘He must be losing his touch.’

Vespasian scowled at his friend and stalked off down the causeway.

Flanked by eight of his German Bodyguards and Incitatus, Caligula stood in front of the temple, his arms covered in the blood of a bullock. ‘Fearful of my power, my brother Neptune has gratefully accepted the sacrifice so as not to cause me offence,’ he announced to the massed ranks of senators and their wives crowded onto the temple peninsula. The temple itself, Vespasian had noticed, was not a proper building but constructed of canvas cleverly painted as marble, with tree trunks, likewise coloured, as columns. ‘Seeing as he is so evidently terrified of me, we have nothing to fear from him, so before the victory feast we shall all take to the sea. To the boats, my sheep, to the boats!’

Leading his bodyguard he strode to the edge of the platform and jumped down into an eight-oared, flat-bottomed boat of a sleek design; his Germans got in after him and manned the oars.

‘I suppose a little boating before dinner could be convivial,’ Gaius commented as Vespasian, Sabinus and Magnus helped him down into a small sailing skiff crewed by a foul-smelling, weather-beaten old man and his grandson. He made himself comfortable in the bow with Aenor with his parasol and the other boy with his fan in close attendance. The brothers and Magnus settled amidships, while the grandson pushed off and the old man unfurled the triangular leather sail; the boat slipped slowly on the light breeze out into the bay.

As they embarked in various craft, the mood among the senators and their wives, who had not witnessed the slaughter at Puteoli, was jolly as most took Gaius’ view that some pre-dinner boating would indeed be convivial. Before long over a hundred small vessels, under either oars or sail, were bobbing around on the smooth water between the temple and the bridge upon which the Praetorian infantry and cavalry had formed up in long, dark lines. Those who had been unable to find a berth or thought that their constitutions were not up to braving Neptune’s element, strolled along the causeway, admiring the pretty scene and waving to friends who had been luckier or braver than themselves.

Caligula’s boat skitted around, turning left and then right, while he stood in the stern holding the steering oar, whooping madly. As he passed close to the Flavian party, Vespasian noticed him cock his head and look quizzical as if he suddenly did not know where he was. He sat down and looked at his German rowers. ‘Ramming speed!’ he ordered with a shrill shout. The lead oarsman responded immediately and his rhythm was taken up by his heavily muscled fellows. The boat accelerated forward towards a cluster of slow-moving sailing boats.

Unaware of the threat coming towards them the vessels did nothing to alter course. Within moments Caligula’s boat was upon them and its solid wooden prow cracked broadside into the hull of the nearest, overturning the flat-bottomed boat with remarkable ease, spilling its occupants into the sea. Caligula’s boat carried on at speed as with two hands he adjusted his steering oar so that it smashed into the next small craft with the same effect. On he went for another two successful rams as panic spread around him. Suddenly he turned the boat and aimed it back the way he had come.

Passing by his floundering and spluttering victims he took his steering oar from its housing and, two-handed, cracked it down onto their heads, laughing maniacally, as the unfortunates, both male and female, sank unconscious below the surface. ‘My brother Neptune deserves some dinner guests too, give him my regards,’ he shouted after them as his boat ploughed on, still at ramming speed, directly towards the Flavians’ small craft.

For a shocked moment they watched it approach and then all turned to the old man who, judging by the terror in his eyes, had seen it too. With no chance to manoeuvre quickly out of the way due to the light wind the old man sat paralysed, staring at the oncoming threat. It was pointless shouting at him to do something, there was nothing that he could have done; instead they grabbed on to anything solid and prepared for impact.

It came moments later with a shuddering jolt.

Vespasian hit the water as the boat rolled over. He had the presence of mind to dive deeper so as to avoid the thrashing of Caligula’s oar. He counted to thirty before considering it safe and then kicked for the surface. He and Sabinus appeared at almost the same time and quickly looked about. Magnus suddenly bobbed up.

‘Where’s Gaius?’ Vespasian shouted.

All three of them looked around in panic; from behind the capsized boat the old man and his grandson appeared, both swimming strongly. Gaius was not in sight; Vespasian dived. Although neither a strong nor natural swimmer, desperation lent force and co-ordination to his limbs and he swiftly descended, passing the body of Aenor with blood seeping from an oar-wound to his head. The water was clear and he soon saw the bulk of his uncle struggling weakly, his eyes bulging with the pressure of holding his breath, but being dragged down by the weight of his toga. He kicked out for him; Sabinus and Magnus both followed. Grabbing Gaius’ arm he began to haul him up, while Magnus and Sabinus struggled to undrape his toga. As the garment finally came free, Vespasian felt the drag lessen, but at that moment Gaius gave him a look of agony and copious bubbles of air escaped from his nose and mouth; he convulsed as his lungs filled with water.

Between the three of them they managed to propel Gaius to the surface; as they drew explosive breaths Gaius remained still, his lips pale and his eyes closed.

‘Get him ashore quick,’ Vespasian yelled at his companions.

The old man and his grandson came to their aid and with their strong strokes they dragged Gaius the twenty paces or so to the causeway as fast as they could.

There were many willing hands to help lift the heavy body out of the water as behind them Caligula continued to terrorise the pleasure craft.

Once Gaius had been hauled onto the road, Vespasian turned him onto his stomach letting his head loll down over the edge; water seeped from his mouth. ‘Magnus, remember what you said when we were dealing with Poppaeus? You have to wait a while before you get the water out of their lungs because they can come back to life.’

Magnus’ face lit up. ‘You’re right, sir,’ he said, getting astride Gaius’ waist and placing his hands on the back of his ribcage.

Vespasian and Sabinus knelt on either side.

‘Ready?’ Magnus said. ‘Now!’ Six hands squeezed the chest in unison. ‘Now!’ Then again. ‘Now!’ And again.

For half a dozen pumps they carried on until a gush of water erupted from Gaius’ mouth; after another couple of pumps came a second, greater, spurt followed by a choking gasp. A single pump more resulted in a lesser expulsion but the ensuing rasping breath caused Gaius’ eyes to open. With a massive spasm he heaved out the contents of his sea-water-filled stomach and then took a series of congested gasps as the last of the water sprayed from his lungs. Magnus gave him a couple more pumps and then got off him.

After a few moments Gaius was able to breathe quickly and shallowly but with difficulty. He looked back up at Vespasian uncomprehendingly. ‘I drowned, I remember.’

‘Well, you’re alive again now, Uncle. Perhaps Neptune was worried about how much of his dinner he would have to share with you.’

A look of dismay spread over Gaius’ face. ‘My boys?’

Vespasian shook his head slowly then looked out towards the harbour to where, just next to their capsized boat, two small bodies floated, face down, in the sea.

Whether Caligula tired of providing dinner guests for his brother god or whether he became concerned that if he provided many more his victory feast would be sparsely attended was uncertain, but soon after Gaius’ recovery he came ashore and ordered everyone to repair to the huge triclinium erected on a peninsula to the north of the bridge.

He was in a cheerful mood as he and Incitatus walked down the causeway, playfully pushing back into the water the occasional senator trying to clamber out of a boat; but, flanked as he was by his Germans, no one dared touch him. The brooding presence of the Praetorian Guard, still formed up on the bridge, doubly ensured his safety. The Emperor was the only reason they existed, so the rank and file owed him absolute loyalty and any attempt to assassinate him in such an exposed area would be met with swift and calamitous vengeance: the Senate would be completely annihilated. And they knew it; as did Caligula.

In recognition of this fact, Caligula delivered a long speech of congratulations to his loyal troops on their stunning victory over the town of Puteoli and promised them a bounty of a year’s wages when they returned safely to Rome. There was no question of them not ensuring his safety after that.

By mid-afternoon Caligula was leading the Senate down the isthmus to the victory feast. Vespasian and Sabinus walked close behind him with Gaius, still weak from his ordeal and grief but not daring to leave, limping along, supported by Magnus.

‘Ah, Sabinus,’ Caligula called back, pausing to wait for the Flavians to catch up. ‘I think that the time for your surprise is upon us.’

Sabinus kept his face rigid. ‘You honour me, Divine Gaius.’

‘I know. But I need men I can trust for my year of conquest; I can’t do everything myself, you know.’

‘If you say so, Divine Gaius.’

‘I do. I will need the Ninth Hispana for my expedition to Germania next year so I’m getting rid of the timid imbecile who’s currently commanding and appointing you as its legate; you served with it as a tribune, I believe.’

Sabinus looked at his Emperor with a mixture of astonishment and gratitude.

Caligula burst into cold laughter. ‘The relief of being honoured and not abused; I knew that I’d enjoy the look on your face after days of apprehension.’

‘I never doubted you, Divine Gaius. How can I repay you?’

Caligula slapped a hand on Sabinus’ shoulder as they approached the high wooden doors of the triclinium. ‘I didn’t know that until yesterday. Now I believe a way will present itself; perhaps sooner than you think.’

Chaerea was waiting to report to Caligula as the doors were swung open by a couple of slaves.

‘The watchword, Chaerea,’ Caligula said, pushing him aside, ‘is “Eunuch”.’

Vespasian saw the same hatred burn in the Praetorian tribune’s eyes as he passed into the interior but that was soon forgotten as he gazed around and suddenly realised that, although the day had been chaotic and haphazard, run according to Caligula’s whim, this part had been timed to absolute perfection. The chamber was as vast as it was magnificent; constructed in the same fashion as the temple with painted wooden columns supporting the roof, it had a feeling of space and airiness. At its far end were doors leading to further rooms; in front of these, a group of musicians plucked on lyres and blew soaring notes on pipes. All around its marble floor, scores of tables surrounded by couches were set at regular intervals; but what made it so breathtaking was that cut into the ceiling above each table were small square holes, so positioned that only at this exact time of day would the sun shine down and perfectly hit each table, illuminating only them and not the couches that surrounded them.

‘Perfect!’ Caligula cried to Callistus who stood, next to Narcissus, with his head bowed just inside the door. ‘Callistus, you’ve done well; I’m minded to reward you with your freedom.’

Callistus raised his head; his face showed no sign of gratitude at his impending manumission. ‘As you wish, Divine master.’

‘Everything is as I wish.’ Caligula turned to Narcissus. ‘I wish you to see to the comfort of our principal guests, the rest can just recline where they like.’

‘Of course, Divine Gaius,’ the Greek crooned as Caligula brushed past him towards a group of ladies, one holding a baby, waiting by the table of honour at the far end of the room to greet him. They were escorted by Clemens, Claudius and, of all people, Corvinus.

Narcissus caught Vespasian by the arm as he passed and whispered in his ear. ‘Congratulations on acquiring your new wealth. I haven’t told the Emperor yet; we’ll keep it just between the two of us for now, shall we?’ He patted him on the shoulder and went off to supervise the senators flooding in through the doors.

‘What did that oily freedman want?’ Sabinus asked, still visibly glowing with pride at his promotion, as they followed Caligula across the floor.

‘Nothing much; just a veiled threat implying that my life is in his hands should Caligula start running out of money.’

‘A distinct possibility should we have another day like this, dear boy,’ Gaius said weakly.

Vespasian looked at the golden platters piled high with exquisite delicacies that slaves had begun to set on the tables as the senators and their wives began to take their places. ‘Someone has to stop this.’

Gaius slumped down on a couch. ‘I have to admit that if I felt stronger I would do it myself.’

‘Don’t worry, sir,’ Magnus assured him, ‘that feeling will soon pass and your self-preservatory instincts will take over again.’

‘I do hope you’re right, Magnus; somehow I don’t think that I’m nimble enough to wield the assassin’s blade.’

‘Chaerea is,’ Vespasian observed, ‘and with a few more insults like that from Caligula he’ll be ready to. The question is: where will Clemens stand?’ He looked over at the pasty face of the Praetorian prefect and was shocked by the look of devastation on it; next to him Corvinus stood smiling smugly as Caligula approached the group.

‘Agrippina and Julia Livilla,’ Caligula enthused, greeting his sisters with a kiss apiece, ‘I hope that you have learnt your lessons.’

The two women looked none the worse for their recent ordeal.

‘Yes, dear brother,’ Agrippina replied; her sister just nodded. ‘We are all yours again.’

‘Good, my sweet,’ Caligula said, patting the shock of ginger hair sprouting from the head of the baby she held. ‘How is young Lucius Domitius?’

‘He’s strong and wilful.’

‘He’ll need to be strong if I’m forced to banish you to that barren rock where our mother lived out her last days.’ He gently lifted her chin and kissed her mouth. ‘Please don’t make me do that.’ Without waiting for a reply he turned to the woman next to her. ‘Messalina, your brother, Corvinus, has done me a great service. I look forward to welcoming you into my family next month — even if it is to marry this buffoon.’ He looked contemptuously at Claudius, who bowed his head, mumbling his thanks at being noticed.

Messalina smiled, her dark eyes flicked quickly over to Vespasian and held his for an instant while her brother, Corvinus, looked triumphantly at him. Clemens appeared to be struggling to control himself. All around the room the couches were filling up.

Caligula moved on to the fourth and final woman; she was older than the other three and not at all attractive, having the same long face and nose of her half-brother Corbulo.

‘Caesonia Milonia,’ Caligula said, putting his hand on her stomach, ‘how goes your pregnancy?’

‘I carry the child of a god, Divine Gaius, and it thrives.’

‘Of course; but nevertheless I will rest you for now and take my pleasure elsewhere; but first we shall eat.’

Caligula chewed on a swan leg and waved a dismissive hand at the hundreds of senators reclining at the many tables around the room. ‘Look at them all,’ he confided disdainfully to Vespasian and Sabinus on the couch next to him. ‘They all hate me now after what I’ve been doing to them in the last couple of years; but what would they give to be here where you are, next to your Emperor?’

‘You honour us with your favour,’ Vespasian acknowledged, looking at the food on the table in front of him with little appetite.

‘I do; and each one of those sheep is spitting jealous that they aren’t receiving the same treatment. No matter what I do to them they still feign love for me.’

‘It’s not a feigned love, they don’t hate you.’

Caligula looked at Vespasian in amusement. ‘Don’t lie to me, my friend. What do you think I’ve been doing since I became emperor? Ruling justly?’

Vespasian studied Caligula’s face for a moment and was surprised to see his eyes clear and lucid. ‘You have done some great things and next year you will do greater deeds,’ he replied cautiously, trying to put the massacre that day out of his mind.

‘I have; but the greatest thing that I’ve achieved is to hold a mirror up to the Senate so that they can see themselves for what they really are: sycophants and flatterers who know no other way to live. All those years of treason trials when they denounced one another in the hope of gaining favour with Augustus, Tiberius or Sejanus and in the knowledge that if they brought a successful prosecution they would gain the estate of their victim has left them morally bankrupt. It also cost me most of my family and I’m honour bound to avenge them.’

Vespasian and Sabinus looked at each other, both startled that Caligula was confiding in them in a way that had a hint of truth in it.

‘These humiliations have been all about revenge?’ Sabinus asked.

Caligula smiled coldly. ‘Naturally. You see, Vespasian, your brother is not dissembling now; you should try it. Do you think I’m mad?’

The answer stuck in Vespasian’s throat; either way he would condemn himself.

‘Answer! And answer truthfully. Do you think that I’m mad?’

‘Yes, I do, Divine Gaius.’

Caligula burst out laughing but the humour did not reach his eyes. ‘My friend, well done, you are the first person who has told me the truth even though you fear for your life. Of course you think I’m mad, who wouldn’t? And perhaps I am or perhaps I just have no desire for self-control. However, by each seemingly mad act I humiliate the Senate even more; I want to see how low they will stoop and yet still try to flatter me in the hope of favour. As I lay sick, each day they came to my door having offered prayers and sacrifices for my recovery and I knew that they only wanted news of my death. So I decided to make them crawl, make them do what no Roman has ever done: worship a living god. And look at them, they do. But I’m no god; they know that I’m not, and, furthermore, they also know that I know that they know it, and yet we all now maintain the pretence. Even you pretend to my face that I’m a god, don’t you?’

Vespasian swallowed. ‘Yes, Divine Gaius.’

‘Of course you do, you have to preserve yourself. I’m the most powerful man in the world and what is power if you don’t flaunt it? People worship those who hold it out of a desire to be shown favour. It’s deliciously amusing. Do you remember that idiot who offered his life in exchange for mine? He expected reward for such sycophancy but I took him at his word. But then I rewarded with a million sesterces the liar who swore that he saw Drusilla’s spirit rise into the heavens to commune with the gods, so now they don’t know what to do. Sheep! I’ll push them and push them because I can and it pleases and amuses me to do so.’

Vespasian frowned. ‘But one day you’ll push someone too far.’

‘Will I? I don’t think so. If someone did manage to kill me, which would be very difficult, they would themselves die. Who here would do that and lose all his property, thereby making his family destitute? Would you?’

Neither Vespasian nor Sabinus answered.

Caligula sneered and got up. ‘You see, you wouldn’t, would you? You’re both as bad as the rest of them; and I’ll prove it to you.’ He walked over to Corvinus who stood by one of the doors; Clemens was next to him still looking devastated. Music continued to rise from the players nearby. ‘Corvinus, if you please?’

‘A pleasure, Divine Gaius,’ Corvinus said, opening the door and disappearing through it; there was a brief cry before he emerged leading a naked woman roughly by the arm.

‘Clementina!’ Sabinus shouted, leaping up from his couch.

Vespasian slammed a restraining arm across his brother’s chest as he tried to go forward. ‘No!’ he hissed. ‘Caligula’s right, you’ll die and your property would be forfeit; Clementina and the children would be destitute.’

‘Doesn’t that look delicious,’ Caligula said slowly and with palpable relish. ‘Corvinus took it upon himself to fetch her from wherever you’d hidden her, Sabinus, without me even asking him to. Wasn’t that kind of him, Clemens?’

Clemens closed his eyes and breathed deeply, shaking with suppressed fury. Behind the ugly scene the pipes and lyres blended their notes in delicate harmony.

Vespasian held onto Sabinus who still struggled and was now heaving with sobs.

Caligula grabbed Clementina’s wrist. ‘Your husband was only now wondering how he could thank me; how fortunate he is to have found a way so quickly.’ He gave the brothers a malicious, questioning look. ‘Sheep?’

Time seemed to slow; sound became muffled and indistinct as Vespasian suppressed his horror. With his feelings wiped from his face, he held Caligula’s gaze for a moment and knew then that the Emperor had been wrong: he would be killed and his death would be soon; how could it not be so?

But who would stand in his place?

Vespasian turned and stared, his face still impassive, at Claudius, the only direct adult heir of the Julio-Claudian line, twitching and drooling in lust at the sight of Clementina’s body while unconciously cupping Messalina’s breast. He saw Messalina and her brother, Corvinus, both staring at Clemens and then share a brief, satisfied look of ambition. Vespasian understood what Corvinus had knowingly set in motion when he had seized Clementina, the sister of the prefect of the Praetorian Guard, and brought her here for his master to defile — Corvinus knew that Messalina could ultimately benefit, for what choice as emperor was there other than her future husband?

Vespasian looked past Messalina to Caligula’s sister, Agrippina, who was staring with loathing at her while holding her carrot-topped infant — another male heir but far too young. His eyes moved on to Caesonia Milonia, swelling with Caligula’s seed, looking haughtily down her long nose at the other two women, and he knew that the fruit of her belly could not be allowed to survive the Emperor’s death. It would be Claudius, he thought, certain now. He looked back at the malformed man whose erection protruded shamelessly from under his tunic. This would be the best that Caesar’s line could offer. For how long could that be tolerated?

The wavering note of a pipe pierced his consciousness and from that germ the song of the Phoenix filled the silence within his head. Thrasyllus’ prophecy came unbidden behind it and, as his gaze lingered on the heirs of Caesar, Vespasian knew for an instant the question that would one day take him back to the Temple of Amun at Siwa. It disappeared as quickly as it had come as sound flooded back into his ears and time ground back up to its unrelenting pace.

Clementina looked first at her husband and then her brother, her eyes pleading, but they could do nothing as the arbitrator of life and death dragged her out of the dining room.

The door closed; Clementina screamed; Clemens walked over to the brothers and whispered into Sabinus’ ear: ‘Not here, not now, but at a time and place of my choosing, together.’

Sabinus gave the faintest of nods as tears streamed down his face and, for the first time in his life, Vespasian feared for his brother: the man whose sense of honour would be strong enough to overrule his judgement.

And then he began to fear for himself; he knew that when Sabinus next returned to Rome it would be with death in his heart and he, Vespasian, would be forced to make the choice between turning his back on the sacred bonds of blood or aiding his brother in assassinating an emperor.