Masters of Rome

CHAPTER XI

The sea, calm and azure, reflected a myriad of tiny, transient suns off its gentle undulations. Vespasian squinted and pulled his face into an expression even more strained than had become the norm during his last six years under the Eagle of the II Augusta. Above, the cause of each fleeting flash of golden light burnt down from its midday high onto his uncovered, thinning hair with an intensity that had been just a memory to him after so long in northern climes far away from Rome. Feeling the strength of the sun warming his body warmed his heart in equal measure as he watched the warehouses, cranes and tenements surrounding the ship-lined harbour of Ostia, just a mile away on the southern bank of the Tiber mouth, come closer with every shrill-piped pull of the trireme’s one hundred and twenty oars.

The flitting shadows of gulls played on the wooden deck, bleached by sun and salt and worn smooth by sailors’ calloused feet; swooping and soaring above, they serenaded the ship with their mournful cries as they escorted it on its final leg of the sixday voyage from Massalia via Corsica. Vespasian turned his head left, shading his eyes, and tried to focus on the huge construction site a couple of miles north of the Tiber and Ostia; two great curving moles extended into the sea enclosing what would be a spacious harbour at whose centre, on a rectangular man-made island, stood the beginnings of a lighthouse.

The trierarchus, standing next to him, saw the direction of his gaze. ‘Claudius had one of the great ships that Caligula built to transport obelisks from Egypt filled with rocks and concrete and then sunk to provide the foundations for the lighthouse.’

Vespasian whistled softly as he surveyed the thousands of tiny figures slaving away — literally — on the new port and the buildings surrounding it. ‘That is a massive undertaking.’

‘It’s even bigger than what you can see; Claudius has ordered that a canal be cut to the southeast to link the port to the Tiber. That way the river transports won’t have to brave the open sea with the prevailing wind blowing straight up the river mouth as they have to when coming to and from Ostia.’

‘It’ll put Ostia out of business.’

‘I doubt it; Rome is becoming so big that she needs two mouths to feed her.’ Laughing at his wit, the trierarchus began to issue incomprehensible orders of a nautical nature, sending bare-footed sailors scurrying around the deck in preparation for docking.

Vespasian adjusted his toga and walked over to join Magnus, leaning on the larboard rail and admiring the scale of the project. ‘Do you remember when we sailed into Alexandria and saw the Pharos, and I said that’s the way to be remembered: build something that benefits the people?’

‘What of it?’ Magnus asked, not bothering to turn his blind eye to Vespasian.

‘You asked who built the Circus Maximus and when I didn’t know you said, “See, it doesn’t always work.” Well, this time it will work: Claudius will be remembered as the Emperor who built Rome’s great harbour and not the drooling fool who invaded an irrelevant island to fake a victory that will never and can never be complete because the inland tribes have little interest in the benefits of becoming Roman.’

‘You’re wrong, sir; he’ll always be remembered for that and future emperors will curse him for giving them a thorn in their side that they can’t walk away from without losing face and endangering their position. And Claudius has chosen the wrong project to be remembered by: the Pharos is finite; it’s as big as it’s going to be. That port, however, can always be improved upon. I’ll bet whatever you like that the next few emperors, whoever they are, will expand it or just change its name out of spite as they struggle to put down another expensive rebellion in Britannia.’

‘Just to diminish Claudius’ legacy?’ Vespasian considered that for a moment. ‘I suppose so; that’s what I’d do. After four years in Britannia I can see that the money spent holding those parts already pacified and expanding the frontiers until the whole island is under our control is going to be far more than the tax revenue for many years to come. You’re right, Magnus: if Claudius wants to divert attention from his folly then he should have chosen something else, because there is a lot of folly to mask.’

Vespasian fell silent as he contemplated the immensity of the task that he, Sabinus and Plautius had left unfinished in Britannia. Having returned to the Roman sphere of influence, leaving the druids depleted but still in place and Judoc unpunished for his treachery, Vespasian had spent the next month, before the arrival of his replacement, probing into Dumnonii territory in strength, destroying everything that could be destroyed until Arvirargus had seen sense and realised that if he wanted to keep his kingdom and his precious horses then he had to come to an accommodation with Rome. This had cost him far more than it would have done a couple of months earlier: not only did Plautius oblige him to pay a greater annual tribute in tin than might be considered fair but also, at the request of Vespasian and Cogidubnus, he was obliged to ensure that a hundred of Judoc’s followers lived out the rest of their lives mining that tin. Judoc himself was to work in the mines until the time came for him to be transported to Rome to be displayed in Plautius’ Ovation, which the Senate had recently voted him — at Claudius’, or rather Narcissus’, request.

Most gratifyingly for Vespasian had been Plautius’ insistence that Arvirargus clear the remaining druids off Tagell and ensure that it remained unoccupied — apart, of course, from the Lost Dead. Vespasian shivered as he remembered the cold grip of an unseen hand and then the squeezing of his heart as if another hand constricted it; the Lost Dead were welcome to that forsaken spit of land.

The arrival, in November, of Publius Ostorius Scapula, the next Governor of the infant province, along with the new legates, had meant that Vespasian’s work was complete and all that remained for him to do was to brief his replacement, Titus Curtius Ciltus, thoroughly in the geography, people and politics of the II Augusta’s theatre of operations. Finding Ciltus to be a nonentity with a very limited capacity for independent thought and hearing Plautius’ assessment of Scapula as a man who made him seem calm in temper but reckless in action, Vespasian had left Britannia with the feeling that it was a problem never to be solved and he wanted no more part in it. He was put in mind of the legend of Pandora’s box — but without, at the end, Hope flying out of the casket that should never have been opened.

With Caratacus still at large and resentment building as the tax-farmers ploughed their fresh fields, Britannia was far from pacified. Indeed, news had reached him on his way home, during his two-month sojourn at Aventicum to complete the sale of his parents’ estate, that the Iceni, who had hitherto been an independent client-kingdom, ruled by their king Prasutagus, had revolted after Scapula had tried to disarm them. The foolishness of needlessly provoking a peaceful ally into rebellion summed up for Vespasian everything that had been wrong about Rome’s approach to her reluctant province: they had been too tough on their friends and allies in their attempts to keep them subdued and to extract the taxes to pay for the invasion; yet they had failed to crush their enemies because, quite simply, there was not the manpower to fight an aggressive campaign and at the same time police what had already been won.

The multifarious odours of a port in high summer cutting through the salt-tanged sea air and the ship’s smells of musky warmed wood, pitch and hemp rope brought Vespasian back to the present as the trireme entered the harbour mouth with its oars dipping in slow and steady time. He was almost home after his longest ever absence; and, what was more, he had made it in time for Aulus Plautius’ Ovation and then his brother’s inauguration as suffect-consul for the last six months of the year, which was to be on the day after: the calends of July.

As the ship manoeuvred, with much shouting from the trierarchus, in preparation for berthing, Hormus appeared on deck with Vespasian’s travelling luggage, the main bulk of his possessions having been sent overland in the spring.

‘Find a carriage to take us to Rome as soon as we dock, Hormus,’ Vespasian ordered.

With a bow, Hormus went to stand by the gangplank waiting for it to be lowered; down on the quay a crowd of traders and whores had started to gather, eager to sell their wares to voyage-weary sailors.

‘I think I’ll go to my uncle’s house first,’ Vespasian informed Magnus, ‘before going to the palace to see Flavia and the children.’

‘Very wise, sir; he’ll have a good idea of how things stand between the imperial family and yours.’

Vespasian steadied himself on the rail as the trireme nudged the dock. ‘And, more to the point, how I can expect to be received by Rome’s true masters.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about that; Sabinus has been nominated as consul and I’m sure that Claudius didn’t do that without his freedmen’s consent. So I’d imagine that you’re in their favour.’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But what I also need to know is whether Messalina and Corvinus made any objections to Sabinus’ appointment, because if there’s one thing that I must do for sure it’s to find some way of getting Corvinus into my debt. Only once I’ve done that will I stand a chance of getting Flavia and the children out of the palace and into the relative safety of my own home in Rome.’

‘Oh, so you’ve finally got one now, have you?’

Vespasian watched the gangplank being lowered and Hormus make his way down and through the crowd of vendors. ‘I don’t know; I wrote to Gaius from Aventicum asking him to find me something suitable near him on the Quirinal.’

‘And near Caenis.’

‘Well, yes; it would make matters simpler all round.’

‘I wouldn’t describe moving my wife into a house that’s been chosen for its proximity to my mistress as “making matters simpler all round”.’

‘How would you describe it then?’

‘As the complete opposite, and the action of a madman; especially when you consider that your mother is living with your uncle. Are you seriously going to put all the women in your life close enough to each other to fight on a daily basis?’

‘But Caenis and Flavia get on very well.’

‘Whilst you were away they did; but now that you’re back they’re going to be vying with one another for your attention — as will your mother. And when that sort of competition arises whoever’s winning will make the other two deeply jealous; until, that is, they get tired of fighting and realise that you’re the cause of it and they unite against you as their common enemy — which will probably happen on a monthly basis.’

Vespasian’s face became even more strained. ‘I hadn’t thought about it like that; still, it’s too late, it’s done now.’ He tried to lighten his expression. ‘I guess I’ll just have to spend a lot of time concentrating on getting more money out of the estates.’

‘What? And leave the women unsupervised with none of them getting any attention? That really would be the act of the rashest of fools.’

‘And what makes you such an expert on women all of a sudden? You don’t even have one of your own.’

‘It’s because I’m an expert on the subject that I’ve chosen never to get embroiled with one on any basis more permanent than an exchange of coinage and bodily fluids.’

‘Very romantic!’

‘It may not be romantic but it certainly does make matters simpler all round.’

Hormus’ reappearance on the quay walking next to a four-wheeled, two-horse open carriage took Vespasian’s mind off his complicated domestic situation. Having made his farewells to the trierarchus, whom he left muttering about tight-fisted senators having not given him a tip, Vespasian descended the gangplank behind Magnus, who proceeded to clear a path through the sweating traders and sickly-sweet-perfumed whores without any consideration for their ability to remain upright. Hormus followed with the baggage as best he could through the now irate crowd who saw him as an easy target for their indignant wrath; he had a few fresh bruises on his arms and legs before he managed to stow the baggage on the rear of the carriage and take his place perched atop it.

Vespasian leant back in his seat, stretching his legs as the driver whipped his charges into reluctant action, again without any consideration for the ability of those nearby to get out of the way; the carriage did a hundred and eighty degree turn and headed off down the quay bustling with dock-slaves loading and off-loading goods from all corners of the Empire. Upon reaching the end it turned left onto the waterfront, heading towards the arterial road that would take them to the main gate and onto the Via Ostiensis, at the same time as a party preceded by lictors turned the corner coming in the opposite direction.

‘I wonder who that is?’ Vespasian mused, counting the fasces, the bundle of rods tied around an axe that symbolised the magistrates’ power. ‘Eleven lictors — so it’s a proconsul on his way to his province.’

‘Poor sod has probably been sent somewhere terrible,’ Magnus said with a grin, ‘but is so pompous that he thinks it’s an honour.’

‘It is an honour, wherever you get sent to govern.’

Magnus’ eyes widened as the party came nearer and he could make out their features. ‘But this one’s so pompous you could send him to govern Hades and he’d still puff up with pomposity.’

‘Germania Inferior,’ Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo replied in answer to Vespasian’s question. ‘It’s a great honour and a challenge; I was specifically chosen for my military abilities.’ He snorted in contentment and looked down his long nose at Vespasian as they sat under a hastily erected awning on the waterfront, sipping a fine Falernian wine broken out from Corbulo’s extensive baggage.

Vespasian suppressed a smile as he studied his old acquaintance’s haughty, horse-like face; it had seemed middle-aged even when they had first met in Thracia when they had been military tribunes together in the IIII Scythica. Now, over twenty years later, it was as if his age had finally caught up with his appearance. ‘Do you believe that you’ll get much fighting?’

‘Without a doubt; now that our presence on the Rhenus has been weakened by the …’ He dropped his voice and looked conspiratorially at Vespasian. ‘Shall we say “ill-conceived” invasion of Britannia?’

Vespasian inclined his head. ‘Just between us two we could use that term.’

‘Indeed, Vespasian. And also, just between us two, our weakened presence on the Rhenus has caused a few of the tribes across the river to think that they no longer have to pay their annual tribute.’

‘I see; and you’ve been ordered to make them think otherwise?’

‘A great honour, don’t you think?’ He paused for another snort of contentment. ‘Now that the stain on my character left by my wanton half-sister’s lustful cavortings as Caligula’s wife has been removed I’m finally free to carry on my career.’

‘I had heard that there was a price for the removal of that stain.’

‘What? You have good ears. But you’re right: I had to threaten to bring a prosecution.’

‘Against Corvinus?’

‘You are well informed, seeing as it came to nothing.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, last year Pallas asked me to prepare a case against Corvinus, in secret, accusing him of treason during the ill-conceived invasion. This I did despite the fact that I had to work in conjunction with that arrogant young puppy, Lucius Paetus; he would have been the star witness who could attest to Corvinus exceeding his orders in pushing further north of the Tamesis than he should have. Pallas managed to have Paetus come first in the quaestor elections so the little snob was made an Urban quaestor like his father before him, which would have given his testimony added weight.’

‘But he never had to testify.’

‘No, that was the strange thing.’ Corbulo lowered his voice even more and leant towards Vespasian. ‘Now, I try not to take too close an interest in imperial politics and I certainly never gossip about the subject but I’m not unaware of what the Empress is like, having been … well, you know.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know, Corbulo.’

‘Well, sucked into her circle, as it were.’ A repeated harsh bleat, much like a ram in distress, followed by yet another snort indicated to Vespasian, who knew the signs, that Corbulo had essayed humour.

‘You as well, Corbulo, surely not?’

‘No one has any choice in the matter; if the Empress summons you then obviously you have to obey. Then if she demands that you perform certain acts, only a suicidal fool would refuse. But it is very difficult to refuse her anything; such is the power of her allure that most people would find themselves unable to resist her even if their lives were not under threat. My wife was very displeased.’

‘You didn’t tell her, did you?’

‘Of course I did; a Roman senator should share everything with his wife.’

‘I would differ on that.’

‘But then you’re a New Man, Vespasian, and can’t be expected to act with the same code of honour as those of us who come from far older families.’

Vespasian ignored the insult knowing that it was not meant as such but, rather, as a bald statement of fact based on Corbulo’s patrician view of the world. ‘So the Empress is as promiscuous as the rumours would suggest?’

‘Worse than the rumours, believe me, she made me … Well, no matter; suffice it to say that my eyes watered more than once. Anyway, for obvious reasons Claudius’ freedmen are trying to remove her and this court case was to be a step in that direction by disgracing her brother. At the end of last year I finally showed the case to Narcissus, Pallas and Callistus once I’d assembled all the evidence, and both Narcissus and Pallas were very impressed.’

‘But Callistus, in his capacity as secretary to the courts, dismissed it as being too flimsy?’

‘How do you know?’

‘Just a guess, Corbulo.’

‘Well, it was a very good one. That’s exactly what happened; he tore it up and left the room saying that to get rid of this harpy was going to take more than the feeble work of a … Well, I won’t say what he called me as I didn’t deign to acknowledge the little man’s insult. I expected Narcissus and Pallas to be furious with me, although it offends my dignitas to worry about ex-slaves’ feelings, but, on the contrary, they were very pleased and promised to ensure that the Emperor appointed me Governor of Germania Inferior seeing as I was obviously the right choice.’

‘And no one tried to block the appointment?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Now that is interesting.’

‘Is it? Anyway, I’ve told you this in confidence as an old er … er, person that I’ve known for a long time, to illustrate just how precarious patronage is in Rome under Claudius. My advice is to avoid contact with the Empress and Claudius’ freedmen until their feud has been played out one way or another because until then it’ll be very difficult to judge who to cultivate for advancement.’

‘Thanks for the advice, Corbulo; however, I think that you’ve confirmed for me who, happily, has the ascendancy.’ Vespasian drained his cup; Corbulo signalled to a slave attending them to refill it but Vespasian held up his hand, getting to his feet. ‘I should be getting on; I want to be in the city well before nightfall.’

‘Quite so. I’m pleased to have seen you, albeit briefly. I believe your brother is to become suffect-consul next month?’

‘He is.’

‘Astounding, really, isn’t it? Second generation senators becoming consuls; where will it all end?’

‘With pompous arseholes becoming governors,’ Magnus muttered not entirely to himself as he came forward to pick up Vespasian’s folding chair. ‘Silly me, they’ve been doing that for ages.’

Corbulo bristled, rising to his feet, but refused to acknowledge the words of someone so far beneath him. ‘I wish you luck, Vespasian; no doubt you will be nominated as a consul in these strange times.’

Vespasian grinned, taking Corbulo’s proffered arm. ‘I fully intend to be; if only for the look on your face when you have to give way to me in the street.’

Corbulo shook his head in regret. ‘Indebted to freedmen, ordered about by lewd women and surpassed by New Men; I’m thoroughly looking forward to getting back to the certainties of a military camp.’

‘And I’m sure the men will welcome you, knowing how much they love strict discipline.’

Corbulo looked wistful. ‘Yes, at least in the legions decent ancient Roman values still prevail.’

Rome stood before them, her cluttered skyline glowing in the warm evening sun and crowned with a pall of thin, brown haze: the fumes of countless cooking fires, forges, tanneries and bakers’ ovens.

Vespasian stared with greedy eyes at the mistress of the world lying languidly on her seven hills, open to all who wished to enter her and share in her pleasures, her wealth and her power, provided they honour her. ‘Six years is too long to be away.’

Magnus roused himself from the slouched doze into which he had been falling sporadically throughout the twenty-mile journey from Ostia. ‘Mmm? Yes, I suppose so; six years is a long time. However, I’ve only been away for just over two and I’m wondering whether that’s enough, if you take my meaning?’

‘I’m sure that my uncle would have done everything within his power to sort out that misunderstanding over the burnt-out tenements.’

‘I hope so; but it’ll have cost him a few denarii in blood money and bribes so he’ll be wanting a good return on his investment. I reckon that I’m going to be very busy for him.’

‘And I reckon that you’re right; with Sabinus consul this could be a very good few months for the family.’

‘It’s always helpful to have a tame consul.’

Vespasian glanced at the long row of granaries lining the Via Ostiensis, blocking off the view of the Tiber, to his left. ‘And with reports of a good harvest the city should be peaceful and very conducive to business. I intend to make a lot of money.’

The carriage slowed as beggars gathered around it, thrusting their bowls, clutched in filthy fingers or between stumps, towards Vespasian, attracted by the broad purple senatorial stripe on his toga. A couple of lashes of the driver’s whip cleared the path and the carriage moved on towards the Porta Trigemina in the shade of the Aventine, rising up on the other side of the Servian Walls to their right.

Paying off the carriage driver — and almost giving him a tip for fighting off the beggars, but then thinking better of it — Vespasian stepped down and, as wheeled transport was forbidden in the city during daylight hours, walked through the open gates and entered Rome. Magnus followed with his own bag over his shoulder and Hormus brought up the rear, struggling with Vespasian’s baggage whilst jerking his head this way and that, looking with goggle eyes at the multitude of architectural wonders within the city.

A huge roar of an excited crowd from their right, emanating from behind the high frontage of the Circus Maximus, surprised Vespasian and Magnus as they turned a corner into the Forum Boarium, which was awash with chariots, teams of horses and scores of men all bearing one of the four racing faction colours.

‘A race day?’ Magnus questioned. ‘That’s unusual only a few days before the festival of Apollo.’

‘It’s also inconvenient,’ Vespasian observed, looking at the fenced-off forum filled with the bustling activity of teams preparing for the next race or rubbing down sweating horses who had managed to survive the ordeal of the last. ‘How do we get past?’

‘Wait here, sir. There’s bound to be someone here that I know and they can escort us through; no one is going to stop a senator.’ He followed the fence around, looking for an acquaintance from his favoured Green team, leaving Vespasian and a visibly overwhelmed Hormus to wait amongst the crowds of onlookers studying the racehorses.

‘Have you ever seen a chariot race, Hormus?’ Vespasian asked with mild interest.

Hormus looked surprised at being addressed directly in public. ‘Never, master.’

‘Then, during the festival of Apollo at the beginning of July, you should go.’

‘Go, master? Me? How can I?’

‘By walking to the Circus Maximus.’

‘But I’m your slave; I can’t leave your house.’

‘Of course you can — if I say so. We have a relaxed attitude to personal slaves here in Rome: if they aren’t needed by their masters, they’re free to come and go. You can go to the circus, the theatre, the arenas, wherever you like, so long as you have my permission. You must remember, Hormus, that we free our slaves so that they become freedmen who owe us total allegiance; they can be very useful in setting up businesses by proxy and circumventing certain laws that forbid senators from profiting from trade. If you serve me well I will free you one day; but what use will you be to me if you’ve never been outside of the house and have no contacts and know nothing of the city?’

Hormus raised his eyes a fraction, almost meeting his master’s. ‘Do you mean, master, that I will not always be a slave?’

‘Of course you won’t.’

‘But, then how will I live?’

‘We’ll talk about that when the time comes; in the meanwhile when you’re not busy you should get to know the city.’ The corners of Hormus’ mouth twitched and timidity flickered in his eyes; Vespasian felt a twinge of contempt. He subdued it and continued: ‘If you want to be of use to me then you should ignore your fear and do as I suggest.’

‘Yes, master.’ Hormus’ tone was less than convincing.

‘You’ll never guess who I’ve found, sir,’ Magnus announced, shoving through the crowd.

‘I’m sure you’re right, Magnus.’

‘Follow me.’ Magnus headed off towards the Tiber. ‘My mate, Lucius; remember? You saved him from execution in Thracia and then him and a few mates helped us get that disgusting weasel-like priest out of the fortress at Sagadava in Moesia.’

‘I recall the incident but I don’t remember him.’

‘His dad used to be the Greens’ stable-master and Lucius was a stable lad before he joined up.’

‘I remember you getting excited about someone being able to give you decent tips.’

‘Exactly; and fifteen years ago he was able to help me with quite a tricky situation involving a dodgy bookmaker, a monstrous consul and your brother’s inability to get elected as a quaestor. Very helpful he was too. Well, he’s finished his time with the IIII Scythica and he’s back working for the Greens as, er … sort of muscle for the faction-master, if you take my meaning?’

‘I do; very responsible work, I’m sure.’

‘That’s you mocking again. Anyway, he’s meeting us by the gates next to the Aurelian Bridge and he’ll see us through.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it.’

Vespasian did not recollect the face nor did he recognise it when Magnus and Lucius embraced in a joyful reunion under the watchful eye of a contubernium of eight men from an Urban Cohort on duty at the gate.

‘It’s an honour to see you again, sir,’ Lucius said, bowing his head to Vespasian once he had got them through the gate. ‘I will always be beholden to you for my life.’

‘Then I would suggest that you come to my morning salutio each day and greet me as your patron.’

‘I will do that with great pleasure, sir, and I will try to be as useful as possible to you.’

‘You can start by telling me why we’re having a day of racing; there’s no festival today.’

‘But there is now. Claudius is celebrating the Secular Games.’

‘The Secular Games? But they’re meant to be once every hundred years. Augustus only celebrated them just over sixty years ago.’

Lucius shrugged as he led them through the racing activity. ‘Well, we’re having them again at the moment.’

Magnus looked at Vespasian and chuckled. ‘The fool evidently can’t count.’

‘Either that or he’s really working hard to create a legacy. I wonder what my uncle’s got to say about it.’

Vespasian knocked on the familiar door of his uncle’s house on the Quirinal Hill and was unsurprised to see it opened by the most beautiful teenage boy with long flaxen hair and lithe limbs that were barely concealed by the flimsiest of light tunics. ‘Announce me to your master; I’m his nephew, Vespasian.’

The boy scampered off and Vespasian followed him through the vestibule and on into the atrium dominated by a large homoerotic mosaic of a naked Achilles despatching a doe-eyed Hector.

‘Dear boy!’ Senator Gaius Vespasius Pollo boomed, waddling out of his study in a flurry of black-dyed, tonged ringlets and wobbling jowls. ‘Sabinus told me to expect you before his inauguration; I was getting worried that you were not going to make it.’ He enveloped Vespasian in an amply fleshed embrace and planted a moist-lipped kiss on each of his cheeks. ‘It’s in eight days’ time, you know. Have you been to the palace to see Flavia?’

‘Not yet, Uncle; I thought that I’d talk to you first. Where’s my mother?’

A hint of displeasure crossed Gaius’ face. ‘She’s visiting Flavia and the children at the palace, before travelling on up to Aquae Cutillae; she expects to see you there very soon. The owner of one of the neighbouring estates has fallen ill and is not expected to live and she’s concerned as to who will inherit.’

Vespasian shook his head, sighing. ‘Typical of her to worry about the neighbours’ business. I’ll not go up there to pry; I’ll let her get on with it and see her when she’s back in Rome. How is Flavia?’

‘Your mother has been visiting, which means Flavia is in a foul temper. They always have an exchange of views about something — some petty feminine subject, I imagine. Take my advice and don’t go and see her until tomorrow when she will hopefully have got over your mother’s visit.’

‘As bad as that, is it?’

Gaius rolled his eyes and pulled his face into a picture of resigned exasperation and then turned to Magnus and grasped his forearm. ‘What happened to your eye, Magnus?’

‘I left it in Britannia after examining a wicker man too closely.’

‘Well, I hope it won’t affect your usefulness; I’ve been missing your services, my friend, and I’m glad to have you back.’

‘It’s good to be back, senator; but I was wondering if it’s safe to be back, if you take my meaning?’

‘Indeed I do; and the answer is yes.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it. It weren’t too expensive, I hope.’

‘Surprisingly cheap. I managed to persuade your friend, Paetus, in his capacity as an Urban quaestor last year, to delete all mention of the incident from the city’s records. He was very happy to do it without a substantial bribe; which is as well seeing as he is now soon to become family.’

‘I’m grateful, sir.’

‘And I know you’ll show it in the near future.’

‘Indeed. I’ll be off to the Crossroads Brotherhood now to give them the good news. I’ll be back at dawn.’

‘Paetus to become family?’ Vespasian queried as Magnus left.

‘Yes; a few days ago Sabinus offered him his daughter, young Flavia, in marriage. She’s fifteen now, more than old enough. Paetus has accepted and it’s a good match for everybody. We’ve made a connection with the Junii and Paetus gets to marry a sitting consul’s daughter, which will naturally associate him with the office and stand him in good stead in the future. But come, dear boy, let’s take a seat out in the garden and have some refreshment before we go and dine; Valerius Asiaticus has invited me. I’ll send a message and ask if it will be all right to bring you; I’m sure it will be fine, he’s disgustingly rich now. Did you know that he bought the Gardens of Lucullus about five years ago?’

‘Yes, I heard. Narcissus told me when he came north for the invasion.’

‘It’s one thing for a Gaul to become a senator and then be the first of his race to make it to the consulship, but then to own the most beautiful gardens in Rome? It’s been the cause of much jealousy.’ Gaius clapped his hands and an elder boy appeared, more mature but equally as beautiful as the doorkeeper. ‘Ortwin, bring some wine and honeyed cakes.’ For the first time Gaius noticed Hormus standing in the doorway to the vestibule. ‘Who’s that?’

‘That’s Hormus, my body slave.’

Gaius raised a well-plucked eyebrow. ‘So you’ve finally gone to the expense of purchasing your own slave? Well done, dear boy; you’re going to have to get used to expenditure now that you have your own house. I’ll have Ortwin show him where to put your things and find him a bed in the slave quarters for the night before you move into the house I’ve found you tomorrow.’

‘Of course, they had to give Sabinus the consulship,’ Gaius said, licking crumbs from his fingers. ‘He’s forty-two so it would have been difficult not to have rewarded one of the heroes of Britannia with that honour when he has reached the prescribed age; especially as he’s going to be useful to Narcissus, Pallas and Callistus in countering his senior colleague who, incidentally, will be technically too young for the position.’

Vespasian passed the plate of cakes over to his uncle. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Gnaeus Hosidius Geta.’

‘Geta! He’s younger than me by at least a year.’

‘But he’s Messalina’s choice and Claudius will deny her nothing. So Sabinus is going to have a hard time of it fighting Geta and keeping Messalina’s agenda from dominating the Senate’s business. However, if he does that competently he will earn a lot of favour from the three freedmen, which can only benefit us.’

‘Two freedmen, Uncle.’

‘Two? What makes you say that?’

Vespasian recounted the story of Pallas’ ruse to expose Callistus’ true loyalties and how, as far as he could judge from what Corbulo had told him, it seemed to have worked.

‘So Callistus is protecting Corvinus,’ Gaius mumbled through a mouthful of cake, having heard Vespasian’s short tale, ‘now that is strange.’

‘No it’s not; if Callistus really is secretly supporting Messalina against his colleagues then it’s only natural that he should protect her brother from prosecution.’

‘I’d agree if it wasn’t for one fact: Corvinus and Messalina have fallen out.’

‘Over what?’

‘Power, what else? She loves having it and hates to share it, even with her own kin. Yet, as she has no access to the Senate other than by proxy it’s always vitally important to her that at least one of the Consuls is her creature.’

Vespasian’s eyes widened with comprehension. ‘I see: Corvinus is still too young, technically, to become consul and yet he sees his sister favour Geta and have Claudius nominate him well before his time.’

‘Exactly so, dear boy; Messalina didn’t want her dear brother to have the consulship because she was fearful of the influence that he might try and exert over Claudius, which he would use for his own gain and not hers. The way she sees it is that it’s bad enough having Narcissus influencing the Emperor without risking setting a third party to compete for Claudius’ attention.’

‘So Corvinus’ dignitas must be feeling very bruised.’

‘It’s throbbing painfully, dear boy, and not just because of that slight. Messalina has been having an affair with an equestrian called Gaius Silius and has persuaded Claudius to raise him to the Senate, which the old fool, in his capacity as censor, did with pleasure for his darling wife. Now the rumour is that she’s trying to get Claudius to nominate him as suffect-consul next year.’

‘Becoming consul so soon after entering the Senate?’

‘You would have thought it impossible but the precedent was set by Claudius himself, remember; he was only an equestrian before Caligula made him a senator so that he could be his colleague in the consulship. Obviously, he did it as a joke, as well as to show the Senate exactly what he thought of us. This time, however, Claudius will have no idea that the joke’s on him if he honours his wife’s lover.’

‘So Corvinus has been passed over for someone too young to be consul and may be so again by a lover of his sister who this time last year wasn’t even eligible to become consul.’

Gaius’ smile was laden with false sympathy. ‘I know; it’s tragic for Corvinus. He must be so hurt by his sister; but that’s just the way she is: always alienating the people close to her through arrogance and a belief that her power is such that she needs no support. Take Asiaticus, with whom we’re dining later, for example: as you know he was always on very good terms with Claudius, being a favourite of his mother, Antonia — may the gods hold their hands over her shade — as he proved by being so helpful when he was consul by affecting to discover Poppaeus dead in his litter.’

‘I prefer not to be reminded of that, Uncle.’ The murder of Poppaeus that, at the request of Antonia, he and Corbulo had committed with Magnus’ help, twelve years before, was not a memory that Vespasian felt proud of.

‘Of course you don’t but it has to be remembered that killing Poppaeus left Claudius extremely rich. Everyone involved in the act, either directly or indirectly, has benefited in various ways. Pallas and Narcissus are now the two most powerful men in the Empire, Corbulo wasn’t executed for being the half-brother of Caligula’s Empress, you earned Narcissus’ gratitude and with it furthered your career and saved Sabinus’ life, and Asiaticus helped Claudius invest that unexpected windfall and in the process has become fabulously wealthy.’

‘Wealthy enough to purchase the Gardens of Lucullus?’

‘Exactly; and wealthy enough to improve them in a lavish manner. Now, being a good friend of Claudius’ he took care to ingratiate himself with Messalina, promoting her business in the Senate last year when he was consul for the second time and offering her the use of his beautiful gardens whenever she feels like it. But, of course, that’s not enough for her; she wants them for herself now. She tried to make him sell them to her and when he refused she told him that the best that he could hope for now was to give them to her.’

‘That’s a nasty threat.’

‘Yes, very sinister. Asiaticus has declined the offer and has declared that he would rather die than give up his gardens — which, I pray, will not be necessary.’

‘They must be very beautiful to risk so much.’

‘Oh, they are, dear boy; and you’ll see them this evening — Asiaticus is holding his dinner there.’