Masters of Rome

CHAPTER XVII

The people of Rome had begun to congregate along the route of the Ovation well before dawn; now, at the commencement of the third hour, the centre of the city swelled with the populace bent on watching the spectacle and benefiting from the largesse that would accompany it. Every street was crammed and every vantage point had been taken along the circular route from the Porta Triumphalis — the gate at the foot of the Quirinal Hill only opened for a Triumph or an Ovation — along the Via Triumphalis, then around the base of the Palatine, in the shadow of the Temple of Apollo, along to the Circus Maximus, back up to the Via Sacra and then into the Forum Romanum.

Vespasian walked with Gaius and Sabinus, amongst the senators as they processed, in the growing heat, from the Curia to assemble in the shadow of the Servian Walls. Here they would greet Aulus Plautius as he returned to Rome to give up his command officially and celebrate a lesser Triumph through the graciousness of his Emperor.

‘Where’s Claudius?’ Vespasian asked Gaius, looking towards the head of the procession, led by the two outgoing Consuls each preceded by their twelve lictors.

‘I’ve no idea, dear boy, but I presume that he’s going to make the day his own. There’s no precedent in these modern times for the conduct of an Ovation for a man not of the imperial family; Claudius can do just what he wants.’

Sabinus wiped the sweat from his cheeks with a handkerchief. ‘Don’t you mean he can do just what his freedmen want?’

‘It comes to the same thing, dear boy.’

The Senate arrived at the Triumphal Gate and lined the street on either side; the crowd quietened and a sense of expectation hung in the air filled with the aromas of roasting meats and baking bread from the kitchens set up to feed the spectators throughout the day and on into the night. A booming series of knocks on the gates prompted the Consuls to step forward and unbolt them as the first fanfare of massed bucinae, cornua and tubae rang out from the head of the parade, waiting on the Campus Martius beyond the walls. Slowly the gates swung open to the thunderous cheering of the populace and the lead horn players processed through with unhurried dignity.

Rank upon rank of musicians slow-marched into the city, their horns blaring out a repetitive, ponderous tune, and their feet moving in time to the measured beat of resounding drums that was taken up by the chanting and clapping of the crowd.

Following them came wagons laden with booty drawn by lumbering oxen that had no trouble keeping up with the pace. Files of shackled, matted-haired prisoners punctuated the inanimate plunder, their overseers cracking their whips in unison over their filthy backs in bizarre accompaniment to the music. Cart upon cart, file upon file of the spoils of war were driven into Rome and her citizens cheered every one.

‘The odd thing is,’ Gaius commented, ‘I seem to remember most of these bigger pieces of booty from Claudius’ Triumph.’

‘It’s very kind of the Emperor to share his spoils with the man who won them for him,’ Vespasian observed as the first of the floats carrying tableaus depicting scenes from the invasion came trundling in; each had a figure representing Plautius in a heroic pose amongst cowering Britons but each also had a depiction of Claudius, much idealised, placed higher and more prominently and vanquishing more foes. Interestingly, for Vespasian, none of the tableaus specifically depicted Caratacus. He had heard no news of the rebel Britannic King since leaving the infant province; it was as if he had just disappeared. Nevertheless, Vespasian suspected that his resistance was still as bloody and resolute as ever but Rome’s masters had decided not to trouble Rome’s citizens with the details — especially on this day. The sight of druids, however, even though they were represented as almost comedic caricatures, gore-splattered, wreathed in mistletoe and brandishing bloody, golden sickles, brought a chill to his heart as if it had again been squeezed by the hand of the Lost Dead. As they passed, Vespasian muttered a prayer of thanks that he would never have to face such horrors again.

Following the floats were the four white bulls destined as gifts for Rome’s guardian god in thanks for yet another victory. Beribboned and unblemished they plodded along, led by tethers, slowly tossing their heads and lowing as they went. Then came the weapons and the standards of the defeated chieftains followed by the men themselves and their bedraggled families. Some Vespasian recognised as men he had conquered in his push west; amongst them he spied Judoc, looking very much the worse for wear after his spell in his own tin mines. Unable to resist gloating he jeered at the treacherous chieftain of the Cornovii sub-tribe but as he did the cry was strangled in his throat. He pulled at his brother’s sleeve. ‘Look, Sabinus,’ he said pointing to a man just behind Judoc.

Sabinus’ eyes followed his finger and he whistled softly. ‘Well, well, Jupiter’s tight sack; am I pleased to see him. I wonder if Plautius knows that he’s got Alienus amongst his dignitaries. I pray that he does and he’s brought him all the way back here to give him to me; it would be such a shame if he’s just strangled along with the rest.’

‘What are you boys talking about?’ Gaius shouted as the figure of Aulus Plautius appeared in the gateway and the noise escalated beyond what seemed possible.

‘That, Uncle, is the man responsible for Sabinus being kept in a cage for three months.’

‘Then I should like to take him by the arm!’ Gaius roared.

Sabinus grinned. ‘You’ll have plenty of opportunity; I intend to display him in a cage of his very own.’

At an unheard order the procession came to a halt and Aulus Plautius — on foot rather than riding in a chariot and wearing a purple-bordered toga praetexta as it was only an Ovation, and crowned with a wreath of myrtle rather than laurel, for the same reason — stepped into the City of Rome to be greeted by the two Consuls and to lay down his command and once again become a private citizen.

As the ancient formulae were spoken by the three men, unheard above the hubbub, there was a stirring in the crowd and fingers were pointed up to the Arx, above the gate, on the Capitoline Hill. There, before the Temple of Juno, resplendent in purple and crowned in laurel stood Claudius. He raised his arms and gestured for silence.

‘B-b-brave Plautius,’ the Emperor declaimed, once the crowd was quiet, in a high-pitched voice that carried remarkably well. ‘Welcome back to Rome!’ He threw both arms in the air to raise a cheer that was forthcoming and mighty. With an expansive swipe of his arm he cut it off and continued: ‘Stay there, b-b-brave P-Plautius, so that I may come and embrace you.’

Claudius turned and disappeared to the cheering of the crowd and the obvious fury of Plautius. He stood and waited as the crowd’s enthusiasm dwindled and restlessness set in until eventually Claudius lurched into sight. The senators parted for their Emperor as he approached Plautius and, with melodramatic pleasure, enfolded him in the imperial bosom whilst liberally spreading saliva over each of his cheeks.

Once Plautius was released, a white horse was led through the crowd; Claudius was helped into the saddle and gave the signal for the parade to recommence. With a slave leading his mount, Claudius moved off, towering above Plautius, who, with as much dignity as he could muster, walked in his Emperor’s shadow as an accessory in his own Ovation.

‘Well, that was well managed,’ Gaius said as the senators turned to follow the Consuls up to the Temple of Jupiter for the climax of the spectacle — again, it being only an Ovation, they did not lead the procession around its route. ‘Narcissus, Pallas and Callistus hijacked that brilliantly and Plautius can’t complain: the Emperor has shown him honour by accompanying him, yet because of his physical deformities he has to ride a horse. Very clever; even Plautius would have to admire it.’

Vespasian was forced to agree. ‘It was; the one surprise was that Messalina didn’t manage to inveigle her way into the proceedings.’

‘Oh, I’m sure that she has business of her own to attend to whilst Claudius is busy.’

Vespasian smiled and clapped his uncle and brother on their shoulders. ‘I’m sure she has, as have I. Don’t be surprised if you see me in strange company in the next couple of hours; and please, whatever you do, don’t remark upon it to anybody.’

‘This is a very expensive way of doing Narcissus a favour,’ Corvinus complained, joining Vespasian on the steps to the Temple of Jupiter and standing just behind his left shoulder. Around them the Senate waited, sweating in the noon sun, watching the Ovation process into the Forum Romanum below.

Vespasian did not turn to greet him. ‘You wouldn’t have paid it if you didn’t think that it was a fair price for the chance of saving your life.’

‘Narcissus wouldn’t have asked for it if you hadn’t put him up to it.’

‘Narcissus is a businessman as well as a politician; he always charges for his time.’

‘And he just upped his price tenfold when he heard that it was me?’

‘He doesn’t know who it is that he’s meeting today; so don’t feel discriminated against.’

‘You didn’t tell him that it was me?’

‘No. If you have information to sell it holds its value best if you keep its contents secret.’

‘So you are benefiting from this, aren’t you, bumpkin?’

‘Narcissus received the full quarter of a million, Corvinus.’ He handed him a small scroll. ‘Here’s the receipt with his seal. What my arrangement is with him is none of your business. Just be thankful that I persuaded him to come to this meeting.’

Corvinus glanced at the receipt and then hissed a stream of obscenities into his ear, which just added to Vespasian’s enjoyment of the situation. He was careful to conceal it, however, with a solemn expression as he watched Plautius begin his ascent of the Gemonian Stairs on his knees.

Corvinus had flown into a fit of rage when Vespasian had presented Narcissus’ demand for payment. He had threatened all kinds of torment for Flavia and the children, to which Vespasian had shrugged his shoulders and pointed out that Narcissus’ business practices had nothing to do with him, and Corvinus could threaten as much as he liked but that would not get him any closer to a meeting with Narcissus in a manner that would not rouse Messalina’s suspicions. Corvinus had handed over the money in ten small chests, each containing a thousand gold aurei, with ill-concealed bad grace, which Vespasian had stoked by hinting that Narcissus was sometimes apt to change his mind even after payment had been received. Magnus and a couple of his brethren had helped Vespasian to take five of the chests directly to the Cloelius Brothers’ banking business in the forum and the other five, along with a note as to the whereabouts of Theron, to Narcissus’ secretary. Caenis had thanked him kindly for both and had issued a receipt for the full amount in Narcissus’ name and had promised that Theron would be first on Narcissus’ appointment list on his return from Ostia. She had again neglected to charge for this favour on the understanding that Vespasian would be especially attentive over the next few days.

Now in possession of the wherewithal to pay off Messalina’s loan to Flavia without having to borrow from Caenis, Vespasian ignored Corvinus’ insults, contemplating instead the delicious irony that he would pay off the sister with the brother’s money.

The four white bulls appeared in front of the temple having been led up the winding path along the summit of the Tarpeian Rock as Plautius completed his ritual mounting of the Gemonian Stairs and was helped to his feet by his Emperor to another roar from the crowd. The senators applauded him formally as he approached the Temple of Rome’s guardian god with his toga covering his head. The bulls had been lined up under the portico of the temple and priests with the instruments of sacrifice attended them.

Claudius did Plautius the honour of taking the mallet and prepared to stun the bulls in turn in readiness for the sacrificial blade.

Corvinus had now quietened and Vespasian watched Plautius turn his palms to the sky; he addressed Jupiter with a prayer so ancient that it could be barely understood but reminded everyone present of how venerable this ceremony was, and had been down the long years of Roman history.

‘This is the second time that you’ve surprised me, Vespasian,’ Narcissus muttered, sliding into the gap to the left of him. ‘I saw your slave-dealer yesterday; I think that the conclusion will be satisfactory for you.’ He turned to Corvinus. ‘How nice to bump into you at this ceremony.’

‘Did you get my money?’ Corvinus demanded.

‘Naturally, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.’

‘How much?’

‘A quarter of a million, as it said on the receipt.’

Vespasian felt Corvinus’ eyes bore into the back of his head as Claudius crashed the mallet onto the forehead of the first beast to die. The sacrificial blade flashed in the sun and a moment later was dulled by gore.

‘Well, Corvinus,’ Narcissus asked with a silken tone, ‘what do you have for me that will make my sparing your life on your sister’s demise worthwhile?’

‘My sister is planning to get married again.’

Vespasian had seen Narcissus at a loss for words once before in Britannia but this was the first time he had seen him not only struggling for the right response but also reeling from shock. In front of the temple the first bull collapsed to its knees as the blood flowed from its gaping throat.

‘She has to be mad!’ Narcissus eventually managed to whisper. ‘She can’t unilaterally divorce Claudius.’

‘You know perfectly well that in law she is entitled to do just that and she doesn’t even have to inform her husband that she’s left the marriage.’

‘What is she planning then? Giving up being the Empress, losing the right to see her children, retiring to private life and allowing somebody else to take her place?’

‘No, she’s planning a change of emperor not empress.’

Narcissus’ mouth gaped open. ‘How?’

‘By having her new husband adopt Britannicus.’

‘But Claudius will just have him executed.’

‘Not if he’s a consul.’

Narcissus looked vacantly into space as he digested the idea. In front of the temple another bull crumpled into a pool of its own blood. ‘Of course,’ he muttered. ‘Although in law a consul’s person is not sacrosanct like the tribune of the Plebs used to be in the old Republic, technically no one has the power to order a consul’s execution. Claudius, with his knowledge and respect for the law and the way of our ancestors, wouldn’t dare breach that convention, nor would he be able to force the man to renounce his position and thereby condemn himself to death. Nor could he have him murdered because that would be seen as an affront to Jupiter Optimus Maximus to whom the Consul will have made an oath to serve Rome. Messalina is a genius: she’d be married to two men, one of whom is all but inviolate and the other, although emperor, is not because technically he has no official position in the state. Therefore he can be removed or killed at any time — as was proven with Caligula.’

Corvinus nodded. ‘And a promise of a large donative to the Praetorian Guard will be enough to get rid of the vulnerable one.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘Because this was how we’d planned to make me regent to Britannicus; she would’ve persuaded Claudius to award me the consulship for my conquest of Camulodunum and I would have adopted my sister’s children and Claudius would have been isolated. However, you managed to sabotage that so now she’s going to try again.’

‘Which consul is she planning to marry? I assume it must be Geta.’

‘It’s not one of this year’s Consuls; she’s not ready to make her move until she has more confidence in the Guard; she’s … er … bolstering her relationship with the senior officers, one at a time.’

‘I’m well aware of that. So she’ll choose one of next year’s Consuls then?’

‘Yes. I don’t know whom; but that should be obvious once the nominations are announced. Then it’s a question of how, when and where they’ll marry; that’s what Flavia will have to find out.’

‘The Emperor hasn’t finalised who they will be yet; so I’ve still a good chance of getting all my people on the list, which will buy me another year.’

‘I don’t think that you’ll be involved in the decision. Messalina’s given her list to the Emperor and has told him that unless he accepts each one there’ll be no brother for Britannicus.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘My cousin, Gaius Vipstanus Messalla Gallus, who couldn’t resist gloating about it to me: he’s one of her choices. He wouldn’t tell me the rest except to say that I wasn’t one of them. That’s what made me finally decide to turn against her.’

‘But I’ve blocked him and his brother with Claudius.’

‘Messalina’s unblocked them.’

‘She’s planning to marry her cousin?’

‘Well, it’s not illegal like marrying her uncle or nephew would be.’

Narcissus sighed and then considered the situation for a few moments. ‘How do you suggest I stop this?’

‘You can’t, Narcissus, however powerful you are you do not bear the Emperor’s children. Messalina is now taking advantage of that fact. All you can do is wait for it to happen then somehow persuade Claudius that in order to survive he has to do what has never been done before.’

‘Order the execution of a sitting consul? Impossible. It’ll turn the whole Senate against him!’

‘Then he will be a dead man, as will you.’

Narcissus’ normally unreadable face betrayed the fact that he knew Corvinus to be right.

Gaius dipped a piece of bread, smeared with garlic, into a bowl of olive oil and then chewed on it, deep in thought, whilst Vespasian sat contemplating the steaming cup of wine in his hands. Behind him, Hormus stood with a toga folded over his arm in readiness to drape it over his master once breakfast had been eaten.

Picking up the loaf, Gaius tore another hunk from it and began to rub a crushed clove of garlic over it. ‘Claudius won’t believe that she’ll do such a thing until she’s done it, so there’s no way that Narcissus can pre-empt her and have Claudius order the execution of whoever she’s chosen before he’s sworn in as consul.’

‘But Narcissus will know in advance who it is as soon as Claudius announces his nominations for next year’s consulships and then it’s down to Flavia keeping him informed as to the timing of Messalina’s plans.’

‘So you can’t move her out of the palace then?’

‘Not yet, but Narcissus has promised to organise that once this is over.’

‘If he’s still alive, that is.’

Vespasian frowned and shook his head. ‘I never thought that I’d hear myself say this but let’s hope he is. Anyway, until then I’m not going to move into the new house. With Mother away at Aquae Cutillae, I’ll stay here, if that’s all right with you, Uncle?’

‘Of course, dear boy,’ Gaius replied as a loud knock on the front door echoed around the atrium. ‘Who could that be trying to get in before I’ve even opened my door to my clients?’

Vespasian took a sip of his wine as the very attractive door-boy padded over and addressed his master. ‘There’s a man to see Senator Vespasian; he says his name is Theron.’

‘Excellent!’ Vespasian exclaimed, standing. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this. Let him in as soon as I’m ready; but just him, none of his bodyguards. Hormus, my toga.’

‘Most noble senator!’ Theron oozed with his old obsequiousness as he was shown into the atrium. ‘And your honoured uncle, Senator Pollo, I believe; I am at your service.’ He bowed to them both as they sat regarding him in frozen-faced silence. His eyes flicked nervously between them as it became obvious that he was not going to get a response; he licked his lips and then pressed on: ‘I’ve come about the terrible misunderstanding that we had the other day.’

‘I didn’t notice any misunderstanding, Theron,’ Vespasian said in a cold, quiet voice. ‘I asked for the money that you owed me and you refused to pay it; it was all very clear, especially you spitting at my feet.’

Theron wrung his hands, trying his best to smile but managing no more than a grimace. ‘Such a terrible lapse of memory as to whom I was dealing with; I mistook you, noble Vespasian, for another person with whom I have dealings.’

‘No you didn’t, Theron; you knew exactly whom you were insulting. What you didn’t know was that I have a deal of influence with Narcissus. That, I imagine, has come as rather a shock to you. I expect, too, that with his cancelling your contract in Britannia and forbidding you to trade in Italia you’re now regretting the way you treated me.’

Theron cringed his apologies and begged forgiveness as Vespasian looked on in disgust before turning to Hormus. ‘Can you believe that you were afraid of this,’ he waved his hand dismissively at the slave-dealer, ‘this snivelling piece of eastern dishonesty? Look at him, Hormus; take away his living and he’s more wretched than a slave like you and yet the other day he was confident enough to spit at the feet of a senator. I think that today I shall have my slave return the compliment with interest; piss on his feet.’

Hormus stood, paralysed, looking with fearful eyes between his current and previous owners.

‘Do it, Hormus! Do it for me because I command you to humiliate him; but also do it for yourself. I’m giving you the chance, for once, to do something that will make you feel some self-worth. Vengeance is the sweetest of sensations and every man should taste it at least once; even a slave.’

Drawing a series of deep, gasping breaths, Hormus fixed his stare on Theron; his face hardened and for the first time Vespasian saw an expression on his slave that was neither meek subservience nor timidity: it was hatred. Hormus walked steadily towards the slave-dealer, hitching up his tunic. Theron made no attempt to move but stood, clasping his hands, with his head bowed, staring dumbly at the slave’s penis as it emitted a short squirt of urine that spattered on the floor between his feet. Hormus strained his body and the flow increased, drenching the ground and splattering up Theron’s ankles and calves. Hormus looked directly at his former owner as he swayed left then right, spraying Theron’s feet until the pressure died off and with a few flicks of his wrist the last drops were teased out.

‘Thank you, Hormus,’ Vespasian said as his slave adjusted his dress, ‘I think that everyone has benefited from that. So Theron, now that you’ve apologised for the gross insult you showed me perhaps we can talk business. How much do you owe me?’

Theron looked miserably at the pool of urine surrounding him. ‘All the stock survived the journey, senator; being fine specimens, they fetched between one and two thousand denarii each. I cleared just over six hundred thousand; I will bring you the bills of sale.’

‘So twelve and a half per cent is seventy-five thousand, which, as I’m sure Narcissus has explained, you’ve consented to double, making a total of one hundred and fifty thousand denarii. That is correct, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, noble sen-’

‘Let’s drop the pretence that you consider me to be noble! Where is my money?’

‘I can give you a promissory note.’

‘I want cash.’

‘I don’t have it; I took it all back to Britannia and reinvested it in more stock.’

‘All of it?’

‘Yes, senator.’

‘Then you had better sell it quickly; where is it?’

‘Here in Rome; but Narcissus has forbidden me to trade in Italia.’

‘In which case I shall arrange a quick sale; I’ll do a job lot to one of your competitors for, say, one hundred and fifty — no, make it sixty — thousand denarii; I think that sounds fair. That gives you ten thousand to start again with once you’re given permission to trade once more.’

‘But they’re worth much more than that,’ Theron pleaded.

‘Not to me they’re not.’

‘But there’re thousands of them; you saw them all yesterday.’

‘The prisoners in the Ovation?’

‘Yes.’

‘Even the chieftains and lesser dignitaries?’

‘Yes, except for the two who were ritually strangled.’

‘Was either one of them a young man?’

‘No, they were both older.’

‘Theron, this could be your lucky day.’

‘This had better be important, Vespasian,’ Sabinus said as he arrived with Magnus and Sextus at the huge slave compound on the Vatican Hill on the west bank of the Tiber. ‘My inauguration begins at the sixth hour.’

‘If vengeance isn’t important then I’ve brought you here for nothing.’

Sabinus raised an eyebrow. ‘Alienus? But I asked Plautius about him yesterday and he told me that there was nothing that he could do as the stock had all been sold.’

‘It has, but to a man who owes me money and favours — you remember Theron, from Britannia, don’t you? Come with me.’ Vespasian led his brother and Magnus and Sextus to the compound’s main gate where the slave-dealer waited, reunited with his bodyguards.

Without any pleasantries, they followed Theron through the gate into a large corral divided into scores of square pens; each one was crammed with manacled slaves, squatting or sitting in their own filth. Despite their numbers they made barely a sound and the eerie silence of unmitigated misery hung over the whole complex.

Theron issued an order to a couple of his guards who nodded and then strolled off. ‘If I give you this man, will you speak to Narcissus about restoring everything that he took?’

‘Once you give me my hundred and fifty thousand denarii, yes.’

‘And he will let me sell my stock at a fair price to raise that?’

‘I’m sure Narcissus will let you do so for a percentage of the proceeds. I’ll speak to him.’

‘You are generous, noble se … sir.’

‘And you are lucky, Theron.’

Theron acknowledged the fact with a cheerful — if sycophantic — bow that surprised Vespasian, considering he had just been urinated upon by an ex-possession of his.

‘There he is,’ Sabinus growled as the two bodyguards appeared from between a line of pens dragging the weakly struggling figure of Alienus between them.

They pushed him forward so that the weight of his chains dragged him down onto the dirt. He got to his knees with sand adhering to the broken scabs of numerous whiplashes across his back and shoulders and looked at the brothers. He smiled wryly. ‘So it’s your turn now, is it?’

Sabinus returned the smile. ‘Yes, Alienus; although I don’t look upon it as taking turns. But tell me, how did I have the good fortune of possessing you?’

‘With both Rome and Myrddin after me I decided the safest place to lose myself was here in the largest city in the Empire. Since I had no silver I thought that the best way to get here was to offer my services to one of the many slave-traders travelling back to Rome. Unfortunately I chose Theron.’

Theron shrugged. ‘One of his own, whom I had just purchased, betrayed him.’

‘Judoc!’ Alienus spat.

‘Perfect!’ Vespasian laughed. ‘I might even forgive the bastard.’

‘The gods have seen to him; he was strangled.’

Sabinus grabbed Alienus’ hair and hauled him to his feet. ‘And the gods have seen fit to bring you to me. You’re going to learn what it is like to spend three months dangling in a cage five times over; and then, if I’m feeling merciful, I’ll just strangle you.’ He thrust him at Magnus and Sextus. ‘Take him to my house, Magnus, and stay with him until I get back from my inauguration.’

Magnus grinned. ‘It’ll be our pleasure, sir; you take your time, we’ll enjoy hanging about with him, if you take my meaning?’

As he was hauled off, Alienus shouted over his shoulder, ‘You’d do best to strangle me now, Sabinus, before it’s my turn again!’

*

The Father of the House examined the ram’s liver on the altar, a fold of his toga pulled over his head out of respect for the divine presence of Jupiter Optimus Maximus.

Similarly attired and seated on folding stools in straight rows down either of the long sides of the rectangular Senate House, the five hundred senators present watched with interest the deliberations of the most senior of their number.

Standing to either side of the altar at the far end of the building were the causes for the divine invocation and consultation: Titus Flavius Sabinus and Gnaeus Hosidius Geta, the Suffect-Consuls.

Vespasian sat next to his uncle watching the ceremony with a mixture of jealousy and pride. Pride that for the first time a member of his family had been raised to the consulship, thus ennobling it; and jealousy in that it was not him but his older brother.

The Father of the House turned his palms to the sky and gave a prayer of thanks to Rome’s best and greatest god for consenting to favour them with a good omen and ensuring that the day was auspicious for the business of the city. With that done he went on to administer the consular oath to the two new incumbents and they solemnly swore loyalty to the Republic and the Emperor, who sat, twitching, on a curule chair before the altar.

‘They used to have to swear their readiness to prevent a return of the King,’ Gaius whispered. ‘For some reason the line was removed from the oath.’

Vespasian smiled. ‘I imagine someone felt it was redundant.’

Gaius chuckled. ‘Yes, but it’s rumoured that Claudius, with his legal pedantry and fastidiousness in preserving the ways of the ancestors, is going to reinsert it.’

‘Without seeing the irony of it?’

‘He’ll do it with as straight a face as the gods allow him.’

The oath administered, the assembly removed their head coverings and the newly inducted Consuls took their seats either side of the Emperor.

‘C–C-Conscript Fathers,’ Claudius declaimed, ‘it pleases me to have two of the legates who commanded legions in my great and historic invasion and subjugation of Britannia as consuls at the time when Aulus Plautius has come back to Rome and celebrated the Ovation that you granted him as a favour to me.’

There was a general muttering of agreement at that novel restructuring of the facts.

‘I am now in a position to nominate the Consuls and Suffect-Consuls for next year.’

This announcement caused genuine interest as the possibility of patronage was dangled in front of every man present.

‘For the first six months, the Senior Consul will be Aulus Vitellius followed in the last six months by his brother, Lucius Vitellius the younger.’

There was a communal intake of breath as well as a few expressions of surprise from senators less adept at concealing their feelings than was wise as they looked at the two portly young men, both far too young to receive the honour, seated either side of their beaming father, the elder Lucius Vitellius.

‘So that was the price that Vitellius extracted from Messalina to help her get hold of Asiaticus’ gardens,’ Gaius muttered ‘To persuade Claudius to nominate both his sons to the consulship ten years too early.’

‘But would Vitellius be foolish enough to allow one of them to marry the Empress?’

‘I’ve heard it said that Aulus had a horoscope cast at his birth that was, shall we say, imperial in its outlook. Perhaps old Lucius has decided that Fortuna is on the Vitellii’s side. He’s always used his sons to his own advantage; like pandering Aulus to Tiberius when he was fourteen, for example.’

‘I remember; Sabinus and I met him on Capreae. He offered Sabinus an interesting form of relaxation.’

‘I suppose it is a good choice from Messalina’s point of view: a patrician family that can trace itself back to the time of the Kings; even longer than her own. They would certainly be in line for the Purple if the Julio-Claudian blood failed.’

Claudius signalled for quiet and continued: ‘And as the Junior Consul for the first six months I nominate Lucius Vipstanus Messalla Poplicola to be followed by his brother, Gaius Vipstanus Messalla Gallus.’

At this announcement only the very self-controlled managed to contain their astonishment and many eyes turned to Corvinus who sat, rigid-faced, opposite Vespasian and Gaius.

‘Both Messalina and Corvinus’ cousins!’ Gaius hissed under the commotion.

But Claudius was not finished. ‘However, Conscript Fathers, there will in addition be one further suffect-consul for the last three months of next year. Gallus will stand down and in his place I nominate Gaius Silius.’

This time there was stunned silence. Vespasian caught Corvinus’ eye; to his amazement his old enemy’s look told him that he thought Silius was Messalina’s choice to replace her husband.

All eyes turned to a very good-looking young man, seated in the front row, who had only recently been made a senator by Claudius at the behest, as everyone present knew, of Messalina. Furthermore, everyone present, with the exception of Claudius, was well aware that Gaius Silius was the Empress’s lover and no one was under any illusion as to how and why this Adonis had risen so fast.

What they did not know was just how much further Messalina intended him to rise.