Masters of Rome

CHAPTER XV

‘Of course I would love to go, Father,’ Titus affirmed, earnestly looking Vespasian directly in the eyes, ‘especially if it’s with you. I’ve seen gladiators fight but I’ve never been to a wild-beast hunt.’

Vespasian smiled at his son and ruffled his hair. ‘This will be very different from watching two armed men fight one another honourably according to rules.’

‘I know, Father; criminals get ripped apart by wild animals and then bestiarii fight the animals afterwards. Britannicus told me, he’s been to quite a few and he says that they’re good fun to watch.’

‘I wouldn’t describe them as good fun, Titus; I’d describe them as a very bloody way of re-enacting man’s struggle against beasts.’

Titus’ earnest expression changed to that of a child in deep thought, processing a new piece of information gathered from an unimpeachable source. ‘But the games are always bloody; especially when the bad people get their heads or limbs chopped off between the fights.’

Vespasian sighed and accepted that there was little he could do to shield his son from the things that he had not witnessed until he had been in his early teens. It was not that he disapproved of the blood-sports of the arena; on the contrary, he enjoyed the spectacle and the skill of gladiatorial competition, the heated excitement of a close finish in a chariot race — even though he still could not bring himself to bet on the outcome — and the sheer nerve it took for a bestiarius to face down a rampant bear or charging lion. However, he considered these to be pleasures for adults and youths, not prepubescent children. The average citizen did not take his seven-year-old boy to the gruesome spectacles in the arena but Claudius did, anxious to keep his son and heir in the public eye. And as the son and heir’s companion, Titus was therefore subject to the rather questionable parenting of his friend’s imperial father, who, it was well known, enjoyed the spilling of blood with an intensity that many considered vulgar.

He knew that he could not talk Titus out of wanting to go as the conversation would certainly be repeated to Britannicus. This would doubtless mean Claudius hearing of it and perhaps taking it as implied criticism, so Vespasian had to accept his son’s desire to attend the games. ‘Very well, you shall come.’

‘Oh, thank you, Father.’

‘And we shall be in the imperial box,’ Flavia purred. ‘The other women will be so jealous.’

Vespasian refrained from comment, unwilling to stoke his lingering anger at his wife in front of the children, and smiled instead at his daughter. ‘And you’ll stay here with your nurse, Domitilla.’

Domitilla twisted a rag doll in her hands and smiled back. ‘Yes, Tata.’

‘Oh, but she must come, Vespasian,’ Flavia insisted, ‘we should be seen as a family.’

‘She will stay here and I won’t discuss the matter any further.’

‘But it would-’

‘You will start doing as you are told without questioning me, Flavia; then we may have a small chance of harmony in the house and you might find me better disposed towards you than I’m currently feeling. Domitilla will stay.’

Flavia caught the steel in her husband’s voice and stilled her tongue.

Vespasian pulled his daughter close and kissed her. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Won’t you be back after the games, Tata?’

‘No.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’ve got to go and say goodbye to a man who has to leave Rome because of me.’

*

A white handkerchief fluttered in the light wind; a quarter of a million pairs of eyes fixed on it and a quarter of a million voices echoed around the Circus Maximus calling for its release. With a shaking hand, Claudius held the handkerchief aloft, displaying it to the masses crammed on the stepped-stone seating along both sides of the circus’s six hundred-pace length. Messalina stood next to him at the front of the imperial box, her head held high and her arms around her two children, Britannicus and Claudia Octavia, bathing in the reflected glory of the husband who had been an object of ridicule and the butt of countless jokes when she had married him. But now the people of Rome loved their Emperor for his gift of the Secular Games, which, for the last ten days, had been celebrated in lavish style. Today would be the climax of the festival and they cheered Claudius with savage ferocity as he dropped the handkerchief and the first of the hundred pitch-soaked prisoners chained to stakes around the track burst into flames.

A team of men wielding torches jogged around the circus igniting the howling victims, one by one, to the roars of approval of all who watched. Black smoke rose in columns from the flames and then, wafted by the breeze, circulated around the crowd, bringing the acrid tang of blazing pitch and burning flesh to the nostrils of delirious spectators as they savoured every writhe and scream of the agonised human torches. Once the last had been fired, and his skin had begun to shrivel and blister, the torch-bearers left the circus through the great gates at the northern end, passing a herd of filthy, condemned prisoners. Whipped onto the sand-covered track, soon to be soaked in their blood, the hapless men — and a few women, there to add spice to the proceedings — looked around with eyes wide with terror at the scene that greeted them. On either side of the spina, the low barrier running down the centre of the track around which chariots sped on race days, the flaming carcasses of the human torches sagged against their chains, life still just evident in a few of them, whilst the onlookers jeered at their suffering. Forced even further out onto the track by the lashes of their drivers the prisoners cried, unheard above the din, to their disparate gods to save them from a fate worse than burning: to be ripped asunder and their flesh consumed before their very eyes by beasts starved to the point of madness, for the delectation of the people of Rome.

With vicious farewell cracks of their whips, the drivers retreated to the gates and the noise began to dull. Bored of the opening act of the spectacle, which was now doing nothing more exciting than spasm occasionally, the crowd eyed the huddled prisoners with interest. There were a lot of them, at least a hundred, and the knowledgeable in the audience — which was most of them — knew what that meant: many beasts. Anticipation settled on the Circus Maximus.

‘I b-b-believe the crowd are pleased, my d-dearest,’ Claudius observed, seating himself on his well-padded chair.

Messalina took her seat next to him. ‘It was an original idea of yours to surprise them by setting fire to those prisoners. I’m sure everyone thought that they were going to be mauled to death. You’re so clever, dear Claudius.’

Claudius twitched and took his wife’s hand. ‘We must keep them entertained if we’re to keep their love.’

Vespasian sat behind the imperial couple, between Lucius Vitellius and Flavia, who could not help but scan the crowd nearest the imperial box to see who was looking at her. Behind them sat a sallow-faced little man with a crooked back, whom Vespasian knew by sight to be a drinking companion and toady of Claudius.

‘The Emperor has a real talent for pleasing spectacles,’ Vitellius commented to Vespasian loud enough for Claudius to overhear.

‘He has a talent for many things, consul,’ Vespasian replied, playing Vitellius’ sycophantic game, ‘justice being one of them, as we saw this morning.’

‘Indeed; allowing Asiaticus the mercy of suicide and keeping his property was the act of a wise and just ruler.’

Vespasian detected a stiffening in Messalina’s posture but then the roar of the crowd turned his attention to the gates through which a dozen carts were being wheeled, each supporting a large wooden box. There was a stirring amongst the prisoners as the guttural roar of bears emanated from the boxes and the huddle began to disperse as the natural human instinct to put as many other people as possible between oneself and the threat took over. Prisoners ran to either side of the spina, sheltering close to the still burning torches in the hope that the flames would protect them.

Ropes, pulled from behind the boxes, opened the doors and the muzzles of twelve snarling bears poked out.

‘That’s split them all up,’ Claudius exclaimed, rubbing his hands together.

The crook-back smacked his lips in anticipation. ‘I do admire the strength of a bear.’

‘Th-th-that, Julius Paelignus, is because you have so little yourself; hunchback.’

Paelignus flinched and Vespasian was amused that the crippled emperor had someone more unfortunate than him to be the butt of his jokes. He wondered idly what unsightly creatures Paelignus consorted with to help him feel better about his deformity.

The bears’ keepers rapped rods on their boxes to encourage the beasts out in the face of the mighty roar of the crowd. One by one they emerged, shaking their huge frames and prowling up and down as a small gate, at the rounded far end of the circus, opened and at least twenty scraggily thin lions swooped onto the sand. The crowd’s din rose to even greater heights as the delicious prospect of the possibility of beast versus human and beast versus beast in the same combat became apparent.

Britannicus clapped his hands in excitement and Titus ran to join his friend to get a better look; together they leant on the box’s wall craning their heads left and right as the beasts fanned out and their victims ran about screaming, knowing there was no place to hide other than in death. Claudius smiled benevolently at the two boys, enjoying their enjoyment, before turning round. ‘What do you say to a wager, Lucius?’

‘With pleasure, Princeps; what’s it to be?’

‘A thousand denarii says that the bears will do for the prisoners and the lions before the bestiarii come in to finish them off.’

‘Caesar, my money is on the lions.’

‘What about you, Vespasian?’

‘Well, Princeps, I’m certainly not going to bet on the prisoners.’

Claudius chortled, spraying spit in abundance. ‘Oh, very good, not going to bet on the prisoners indeed. No, my friend, that would be foolish, you may sit this bet out. I won’t b-b-bother to ask you, Paelignus, you p-p-pauper.’

Paelignus flinched again. ‘If you make me procurator of Cappadocia as you promised then I’ll be able to afford to wager with you again.’

Claudius seemed unconcerned by such an importune demand. ‘We’ll see; until then you can make a note of the bets.’

Relieved at having got out of such a large wager, Vespasian turned his attention back to the track just as the massive jaws of a bear clamped onto a prisoner. Britannicus whooped and jumped in the air as the spilling of the first blood sparked a killing frenzy. Fleet and agile, the lions hunted their slower two-legged prey, twisting and turning in sprays of sand as they ran down and then pounced upon their victims, shredding flesh with their razor claws and blood-dripping teeth. Bears lumbered with rolling shoulders then, suddenly accelerating, bounded on screaming targets, punching them to the ground to dismember them with gore-spattered ferocity as the people of Rome cried out for yet more blood.

Claudius leant forward in his chair, his head jerking this way and that, taking in every gruesome detail of the carnage that now raged along the length of the track on both sides of the spina, shouting with glee at each limb ripped from its socket and laughing uncontrollably at the sight of Niger stumbling with a wild cat on his back and a length of his colon, spilling from a hideous gash in his belly, cradled in his hands. ‘That’ll teach him not to lie about poor Asiaticus,’ he managed to say between bouts of laughter.

‘About poor Asiaticus,’ Messalina said, keeping her eyes fixed on the spectacle. ‘Do you think it was wise to let his family inherit all of his wealth, my dearest?’

‘He was consul twice, sweet girl, which was a feat of some note for a man whose grandfather fought against Caesar. Were I to ruin his family because of a crime that he committed I would lose their loyalty as well as the loyalty of all their clients, which is the entire Allobroges tribe in the northern Narbonensis near Lugdunum. Seeing as the imperial mint is in Lugdunum that might not be considered good politics.’

‘You see, there I go again, questioning your wise judgements without knowing all the facts or taking into consideration the wider political implications; you must think me such a silly girl.’

Claudius squeezed his wife’s thigh and then brushed his hand against her breast as he withdrew it. ‘N-n-never. There’s no reason why you should bother your beautiful head with large matters such as this; it was enough just to be there by my side this morning, supporting me through a very regrettable hearing.’

Messalina licked her lips as a couple of lions started fighting with a bear over the rights to a badly mauled corpse. ‘It was the least that I could do. It’s so sad when an old friend turns out to be treacherous; it must make you wonder whom you can really trust.’

‘I trust you, my dearest girl.’

‘Of course; and you know that I only have your best interests at heart?’

Claudius turned and smiled at his wife with a look of genuine affection as beyond him a screaming woman was eviscerated. ‘I would never doubt that.’

‘Then you won’t mind me giving you some advice?’

‘I t-t-treasure your advice, little bird.’

‘Well, it’s just this, my dearest: I think that you let Asiaticus off too lightly. I completely understand your reasoning about keeping the loyalty of the Allobroges, and you’re so clever to have thought of that, but I think that if his family get to keep all of his property then it doesn’t act as much of a deterrent to other wicked men who might be contemplating treason. They must be deterred if we’re going to keep you safe.’

‘Yes, they must; but I’ve already given my judgement.’

Messalina took her husband’s hand, brought it up to her mouth and let her tongue flick across the tips of his fingers. ‘You’re the Emperor, you can do anything; you can change your mind any time you want to.’

Claudius watched Messalina’s tongue working on his fingers and dabbed away a trail of errant saliva from his chin with the other hand. ‘I can, can’t I?’

‘You can, dearest.’

‘Then I will. What would you suggest?’

‘Take his most prized possession; his family get to keep his fortune but they lose the one thing that he valued above all else.’ Messalina began to suck Claudius’ trembling fingers, one by one.

‘That’s a wonderful idea, little mouse; I’ll take his entire library.’

‘No, husband, there’s something that he prizes more than that.’

‘What?’

‘His gardens.’

‘His gardens; what use are they to me?’

‘Not for you, dearest, nor for me but for our children; it would do them good to have a place just outside the city walls.’ She turned to Flavia. ‘Flavia, I value your opinion above all other than my husband’s; do you think that the Gardens of Lucullus would be a perfect place for children?’

‘I’ve never seen them but if the stories of their beauty are true then they would be a perfect place for young people to learn to appreciate the finer things in life.’ She smiled beneficently at Britannicus and Titus enjoying the sight of a bear being ripped apart by three bloodied lions.

‘You are so right, my dear; children must learn to appreciate beauty.’ She turned her attention back to Claudius’ fingers.

‘Th-th-that settles it,’ Claudius decided, unable to take his eyes from his wife’s mouth, ‘I shall confiscate Asiaticus’ gardens for Britannicus and Octavia.’

‘That is a wonderful idea, dear husband; I know they’ll appreciate them so much and their friends will have the use of them too, of course. Vespasian, you will allow Titus to go there, won’t you?’

Vespasian hid his grudging admiration for the way that Messalina had got just what she wanted from her husband. ‘Of course, domina; it will be an honour for him to go.’

Messalina smiled but her eyes remained cold as they fixed Vespasian with an intensity that could only be described as predatory. ‘And you will accompany him from time to time, I hope; you too should be allowed to sample the pleasures of such a garden and savour the nectar of its fruit.’ She sucked on Claudius’ thumb whilst keeping her attention on Vespasian.

Vespasian decided against mentioning his invitation to Asiaticus’ last supper later that day and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘It would give me great pleasure to do so, domina.’

‘I am very partial to nectar and appreciate the subtle differences between the tastes of the juice from similar fruit.’

Messalina took the thumb from her mouth and licked between Claudius’ forefinger and middle finger; her eyes warmed as they turned to Flavia and her predatory look melted into one of genuine affection. ‘I think no two ever taste exactly the same and that means that every fruit should be sampled. Don’t you agree, Flavia, dear?’

Flavia’s eyes widened with delight as she smiled at the Empress. ‘Oh, I do; you know it too well.’

Messalina dropped her husband’s hand and reached back to squeeze Flavia’s knee. ‘Then it shall give me great pleasure to enjoy the children’s gardens together with you, Flavia — regularly.’

Vespasian tried to clear his mind as he once again passed through the gates of the Gardens of Lucullus with the westering sun on his back. His ears still rang with the relentless cacophony of the day’s spectacle, and bloody images, gathered over five hours of butchery, still played in his head. Once the first group of prisoners had been slaughtered and partially consumed, the bestiarii had entered and, displaying prodigious skill and courage, which Vespasian had greatly admired, despatched the surviving lions and bears with the loss of only three of their number. Claudius had claimed the bet on the grounds that more lions had been killed by bears than the other way around and Vitellius had happily and fawningly conceded to his Emperor.

Enthused by his win, Claudius had then proceeded to bet on every display: how many bestiarii would the bulls gore; whether the giraffes would manage to kill a single wolf; whether the camels would put up a fight or just make people laugh; and how long would a dozen Nubians, armed only with daggers, last against a couple of maddened rhinoceroses — the stars of the show. Vespasian had been left very badly off, having lost every bet he had been forced into by his gambling-minded Emperor; his shows of losing with good grace had become weaker as his purse became lighter. Paelignus’ fawning congratulations each time he announced Claudius’ winnings had irritated Vespasian considerably and he hoped fervently that the nasty little sycophant would not be given the province that would restore his finances.

The games of dice that Claudius insisted upon between the acts had further eaten into Vespasian’s finances: he had no interest in dicing so he was no expert. Claudius had promised him a copy of his new book on the subject to help him before they played together again. Vespasian had thanked him, brimming with conjured enthusiasm at the prospect of reading such a scholarly work on so deserving a pastime. Paelignus had praised Claudius’ expertise at the game, regretfully adding that such expertise had been the cause of his present reduced circumstances.

Eventually, after the demise of three or four hundred wild beasts of many different varieties and almost twice that number of humans, the people of Rome had cheered their Emperor as he left the circus until they were hoarse. No one could dispute that it had been a fitting climax to the games of a lifetime and Claudius’ popularity had soared; no one bothered to question the fraudulent calculation that had enabled him to pull such a massive propaganda coup. The Secular Games, with their long cycle, served as a reminder to the people that Rome would last far longer than anyone’s lifetime, except, perhaps, the deified Julius Caesar and his adopted son the deified Augustus whose blood flowed in Claudius’ veins.

But it was the memory of Messalina’s dark eyes staring at him with such cold desire and then warming as they beheld Flavia that Vespasian found hard to forget as he walked up the fragrant path, curving through each beautifully designed and manicured section of the gardens. He knew that he had to avoid being drawn into her entourage, as Flavia had quite evidently already been; but how intimate the relationship was he did not know, nor did he want to guess. Instead, he allowed the tranquillity of this hillside retreat to soothe away the cares and troubles of his first two days back in Rome.

Putting Flavia’s profligacy and suspect morality to the back of his mind, as well as Messalina’s lasciviousness, Claudius’ gambling, Titus’ friendship with Britannicus and the fact that he still had not properly seen Caenis, Vespasian walked through the apricot orchard enjoying the soft cooing of doves and the dappled sun playing on his cheeks.

‘It needs to be moved at least ten paces further back,’ a voice ordered from beyond the trees.

Vespasian turned a final corner and came out in front of the villa to see Asiaticus standing in front of his funeral pyre with a well-dressed slave whom Vespasian presumed was his steward. Beyond them guests mingled on the terrace.

‘Yes, rebuild it in front of the steps up to the terrace; if it burns here it’ll damage the apricots.’

‘Yes, master,’ the steward replied. There were tears clearly visible in his eyes.

‘And stop crying, Philologos, you’ll make all my guests feel gloomy; this is going to be a happy occasion.’

‘Yes, master.’

‘You of all people should be celebrating as I’ve freed you in my will.’

‘I’m deeply grateful, master,’ Philologos said, bowing and backing away.

‘Good evening, Asiaticus,’ Vespasian ventured. He was slightly nervous as to how he would be received.

‘Ah! My false-accuser, welcome!’ Asiaticus clasped Vespasian’s arm with surprising affability. ‘There is someone here that I want you to talk to.’

‘Of course, Asiaticus. But first I want to assure you that when I enjoyed your hospitality last night I had no idea of what I was going to be pushed into this morning.’

‘I believe you, my friend; and I do not blame Pallas for doing what he did. My fate was sealed the moment that I refused to sell these gardens to Messalina; as she left the room she primed Vitellius to lie about me asking if I could choose the manner of my death as if I had recognised my guilt. Pallas knew she would get me and was just trying to make something positive out of it. I assume that your brother was the real culprit?’

‘He was.’

‘Some honesty at last. So my death will clear him.’

‘You can accept being condemned for a crime that you didn’t commit without rancour?’ Vespasian took a cup of wine from a passing slave and put it to his lips.

‘Yes, because my revenge is assured.’

Vespasian paused, mid-sip.

Asiaticus’ face creased in amusement; he took the cup, downed half its contents and then handed it back. ‘It’s not poisoned; I would consider it the height of bad manners to poison a guest at a dinner party. And anyway, you have nothing to fear from me because you will be an instrument of my revenge.’

Vespasian drained the rest of the wine and looked at his host uneasily as Philologos arrived with half a dozen slaves to begin dismantling the pyre. ‘I suppose that would be the least that I could do after this morning.’

‘This morning has nothing to do with why I’ve chosen you.’ Asiaticus put an arm around Vespasian’s shoulders and led him off towards a man leaning against an apricot tree with his back towards them, looking out over the Campus Martius to the Seven Hills of Rome awash with soft, evening light. ‘These gardens are about everything that is good in Rome,’ Asiaticus said, gesticulating with his free hand. ‘Here there is peace, cultivation — both literal and metaphorical — beauty and a remarkably fine view of the world. However, because they represent all that, they are also a mighty lure to the other forces that prevail in Rome: greed, ambition and a lust for power. Claudius told me this morning that I may keep them to hand on to my heirs; but I’m not stupid, I know that Messalina will persuade him to confiscate them and give them to her, because someone who possesses those last three qualities in such abundance will never be able to resist such beauty.’

‘She already has, Asiaticus, this afternoon at the games.’

‘She was quick,’ Asiaticus commented dryly as they drew close to the figure next to the tree.

‘She has always been good at getting what she wants,’ the man said, keeping his back to them. ‘But this time her greed will be her downfall.’

The man turned and Vespasian failed to hide his surprise as he saw the hated, familiar face with its haughty patrician sneer. ‘Corvinus!’

‘Hello, bumpkin; it seems that we’re to be friends — for a while.’

The guests applauded as the main dish was brought out on six silver platters held high by slaves. Six roast fowl, each with their small heads still attached and propped up so as to give the impression that the birds were roosting; three of them had their magnificent tail plumage reinstated behind them in a resplendent fan, whilst the other three, the duller females, looked less magnificent but equally delicious.

‘The only way that I can take my peacocks with me is to have them in my stomach when I’m cremated,’ Asiaticus announced to the good-humoured reaction of the two dozen senators reclining around three separate tables. ‘Because I’m certainly not leaving them here to be enjoyed by the next owner; whoever she may be.’ This raised a nervous laugh and Vespasian was aware of more than a few eyes glancing at Corvinus, next to him, as a pair of peacocks was placed on each table.

The presence of Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus had been a source of confusion all evening, which neither Corvinus nor Asiaticus had done anything to alleviate. Vespasian had had to assume that only he and his host were party to Corvinus’ treachery towards his sister. However, why his old enemy had had a change of heart remained unclear.

Vespasian reached over and carved a slice off the breast of the male bird; it was perfectly roasted, remaining moist and with a texture that did not strain the jaw. ‘My uncle said that they would taste far better than they sounded,’ he observed to Corvinus, who surprised him with a smile that could not quite be classified as a sneer.

‘That is hardly difficult.’ Corvinus leant closer to Vespasian as the conversation around the tables grew louder with the guests commenting on the rare delicacy. ‘I’ll answer your unspoken question, bumpkin: it’s because I don’t wish to go down with her. She has become so arrogant that she’s getting careless. She believes that Claudius will always swallow her version of events. Even you will have the gumption to realise that in that state of mind she’s about to make a major mistake.’

‘Insulting me is not going to help enlist my aid; I assume that’s what you want.’

‘Force of habit, sorry; and yes, that is what I want although it makes me sick to the core that Fate has chosen you, bumpkin.’

‘My name is Vespasian.’

‘Indeed. Well, Vespasian, despite you leaving me to the slavers out in Cyrenaica-’

‘From whom I rescued you; an act for which I still haven’t received any gratitude.’

Corvinus waved the comment away and placed another morsel of the succulent flesh into his mouth. ‘And despite your and the cuckold’s insolent-’

‘My brother’s name is Sabinus.’

‘Indeed.’ Corvinus chewed as if the taste of the meat was not at all to his liking. ‘Well, despite your and your brother’s insolent interruption of my attempt to steal Claudius’ glory in the invasion of Britannia-’

‘Oh, so you admit that, do you?’

‘Vespasian, it would serve no purpose to deny it to you; I’m trying to be candid.’

‘Candid? If you want to be candid then explain to me why you seized Sabinus’ wife and gave her to Caligula for him to fuck repeatedly!’

The conversation around the table died; Corvinus raised an apologetic hand to his fellow diners. ‘Excuse us, gentlemen, I made a jest in bad taste.’

‘A jest?’ Vespasian hissed as the chatter resumed, fuelled by four slaves bringing a bronze bath out onto the terrace. ‘That was far from being a jest, that was-’

‘Business! As I told you at the time. Although, I do remember it being tinged with a hint of pleasure that she was your sister-in-law; as far as I was concerned that made up for the slavers and we were all square. But giving Clementina to Caligula was a smart move on my part.’

Vespasian grudgingly accepted this statement with a slow nod of his head as he carved another portion of peacock. ‘It forced her brother, Clemens, to assassinate him and paved the way for your sister to become empress. And now you regret that?’

‘It’s not been as advantageous to me as I’d hoped. In a few days’ time Geta and your brother become consuls and yet here I am, overlooked and with no prospect of a lucrative province to govern. One word from her to Claudius would have got me the consulship at any time she liked but no, nothing. In fact, quite the opposite: she’s purposely holding my career back, out of jealousy, I would assume. Claudius has always favoured me so she must have persuaded him not to grant me a consulship.’

‘That’s more likely to be Narcissus’ doing.’

‘No, it’s Messalina’s without a doubt; Narcissus doesn’t have that much influence over Claudius when it comes to family matters. And now she seems determined to pursue her lifestyle to the point of self-destruction; well, her demise won’t herald mine.’ He paused as a group of slaves came out with pitchers and poured their steaming contents into the bath. ‘It would seem that our host is planning to say goodnight soon.’

‘I suppose that it’s the appropriate time seeing that he’s served the most delicious course of the evening.’

Corvinus smothered a smile by gnawing on a thigh bone. ‘So to carry on in this candid spirit; I have not repaid you for what you did in Britannia even though I’ve had ample opportunity to do so with your wife and children living in the palace. That, of course, was what I originally intended when I persuaded Claudius to insist that they move in.’

‘So what made you change your mind?’

‘The pointlessness of it. What would it have got me? A small amount of pleasure but nothing tangible. However, your wife’s growing friendship with Messalina — I wonder, does fawning constitute friendship? Well, that was of far more use to me over the last couple of years as my relationship with my sister cooled. She’s told me some very interesting things about a few of Messalina’s new little habits.’

‘You talk to her?’

‘Occasionally; you know what Flavia’s like: being anxious to impress people of higher status can make a person very garrulous.’

‘What else does she do?’

‘With me? Nothing.’

‘With other people?’

‘Gentlemen,’ Asiaticus called, rising from his couch, ‘I hope that you are enjoying the meal as much as I am.’ A chorus of approval greeted this remark. ‘There will be another three courses, which, although not as exotic as peacock, will nevertheless be delicious. I will watch you enjoy them from the comfort of my bath as my life slips away.’ He raised his arms in the air and his steward pulled his tunic over his head. Removing his loincloth, Asiaticus stepped into the bathtub and lay back with his head on the raised end. He took a cup of wine from a waiting slave and raised it to the assembled company. ‘My one regret is that my death would have been more honourable had it resulted from Tiberius’ cunning or Caligula’s fury rather than from a woman’s treachery and Vitellius’ poison tongue. However, at least I’ve been allowed to choose the manner of my passing. I drink to Rome and better times for you all.’

Everyone present echoed the first part of the toast but ignored the second sentiment, much to Asiaticus’ obvious amusement as he drained his cup. He handed the cup to Philologos who gave him a short dagger in return. Without any pause Asiaticus put the blade to his left wrist and slowly slit it lengthways.

With a gush of blood the artery opened and Asiaticus looked up at his guests and smiled. ‘So my life comes towards its end, my friends. Come and greet me one by one and we’ll say our farewells. Philologos, order the next course to be brought to the tables.’

The steward gave the order with tears streaming down his cheeks as the first of the guests moved forward in the now sombre atmosphere. Vespasian and Corvinus joined the queue and waited in respectful silence as plates of poached perch in a cumin sauce were brought out from the villa.

With his time now at a premium, Asiaticus did not waste it on long goodbyes and as Vespasian bent to kiss him the fading ex-Consul looked at him in earnest and clasped his arm. ‘Do as Corvinus asks, Vespasian; with Messalina’s death mine will be avenged and you will have repaid your debt to me.’

‘I will, Asiaticus, you have my word.’ Vespasian placed a kiss on Asiaticus’ cheek as his arm fell back into the blood-red water. With a final nod to the dying man he joined Corvinus waiting for him to walk back to the table together. ‘I gave him my word, so tell me what you want of me.’

‘I need you to speak to Narcissus for me and organise a meeting. I can’t go directly to him because Messalina’s bound to find out. She has spies everywhere — even here, I expect — so the meeting has to be as if by accident, in a crowd. I would suggest that it take place at Plautius’ Ovation in six days’ time; tell him to look out for me on the steps of the Temple of Jupiter.’

‘Why would my asking him make a difference?’

‘He knows how much we hate each other. That’s why, distasteful as it may be to me, Asiaticus advised me to choose you as my messenger; Narcissus will believe it if it’s you who tells him that I won’t stand in his way nor demand revenge if he gets rid of my sister. In fact, I will help him in any way that I can.’ Corvinus grabbed Vespasian’s shoulder and lowered his voice, looking at him intently. ‘Tell him that I know her future plans for the Empire over the next year and they don’t involve Claudius.’

‘And they involve you?’

‘They do but not in the way that I would have wanted them to and certainly not in a way that makes me feel secure. Therefore I’m prepared to divulge them to Narcissus in return for my life when she falls. But in order to ensure her fall you have to do another thing.’

Vespasian removed Corvinus’ hand as the grip became more intense. ‘Go on.’

‘You must talk to Flavia and get her to confide in you everything that she sees and hears whilst she is with Messalina. With a spy that close to my sister we’ll be able to monitor her plans.’

‘Surely you could do that.’

‘I’m not that close to Messalina any more; she only confides in me when she wants me to do something for her. Flavia, however, is very close to her; closer than is natural, and shares more than I ever did or could.’

Vespasian’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you implying, Corvinus?’

Corvinus shook his head and wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘Let’s just say that a good time to probe a person’s secrets is whilst lying face to face on the same pillow.’

Vespasian’s fist lashed towards Corvinus’ face, crashing into his jaw with a hollow thump. ‘I don’t believe you!’

Taking a step back to soak up the impact, Corvinus shook his head and exhaled with a couple of long puffs before resuming his haughty sneer and looking down his nose at Vespasian. ‘You really do have rustic manners: upsetting a dying man’s last dinner, bumpkin, is vulgar.’ He raised his hands to indicate to the company that the altercation was at an end and then nodded at Asiaticus who managed to give a thin smile. ‘Believe what you like but the fact is that your wife is in the best position in all of Rome to know Messalina’s mind because, as opposed to the rest of her lovers, who are transient whims, Flavia is a regular in her bed. The only other person who shares that honour is Gaius Silius, but I doubt that he’d be a party to Messalina’s plans — he’s merely an insignificant nobody who just happens to be extremely good-looking and well built. So you have to tell your wife to carry on being unfaithful to you; you never know, you might find the thought of it rather titillating once you get used to it. Now, you gave your word to the man whose death you’re partly responsible for — are you going to keep it?’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Then you have even less honour than the little I credited you with before and I’ll have to resort to threatening the wellbeing of your wife and children.’

Vespasian glanced over to the dying Asiaticus and felt himself deflate; he could not go back on his word and Corvinus knew it. He could tell by the expression on his old enemy’s face that Corvinus was enjoying using him to save himself but there was nothing he could do to resist him. ‘I’ll speak to Narcissus and he’ll see you at the Temple of Jupiter.’

‘And you’ll have spoken to Flavia by then?’

Vespasian took a deep breath. ‘Yes.’

Corvinus nodded with grim satisfaction. ‘You’ve made a wise decision, bumpkin; once Messalina’s gone, Flavia and your children will be free to leave the palace and we’ll be square once and for all.’

‘No, Corvinus, we won’t.’

‘You’d be a foolish man not to accept those terms.’

‘And you’d be a foolish man to think that I would.’

‘Have it your own way. Now, out of politeness to Asiaticus, we should recline and finish the meal.’

But eating was the last thing on Vespasian’s mind.