Masters of Rome

CHAPTER XX

‘Why was I not warned of this in advance?’ Narcissus’ voice was hushed and it rasped in his throat giving it the sibilant quality of a snake about to strike. ‘Why am I woken in the middle of the night to be told that the Empress has married the new Suffect-Consul and there are two whores covered in coagulated grape juice who can testify to the Emperor that he is divorced and that his ex-wife is going to replace him with a man who wasn’t even a senator this time two years ago?’ His eyes ranged over Vespasian and Pallas, both seated opposite him. ‘Why — didn’t — Flavia — warn me?’ His fists crashed down onto the desk and the hollow thump echoed around the sparsely furnished, newly built room; scrolls and wax tablets jumped and an inkpot slopped a portion of its contents, rocking precariously before returning to the upright position.

Vespasian held Narcissus’ malignant glare, staying still and straight-backed in his chair. Upon arrival at the new port soon after midnight he had been warned by Pallas of Narcissus’ likely reaction, and knew how to counter it. In fact, he was going to enjoy doing so now that he saw the normally unruffled imperial secretary in such a state of agitation. ‘She didn’t have time to because she didn’t know; no one in Messalina’s circle knew apart from her and Silius. You only know now because of Flavia; she heard about the wedding this afternoon and came to me. There wasn’t any time to come down here and ask for instructions so I just did what I thought best and seized two people who could bear witness to the fact. If it wasn’t for Flavia, Narcissus, you wouldn’t have heard about this until the Emperor walked into the Senate at midday tomorrow to find himself without a wife and with a serious rival. Because of Flavia, you’ve got a little time to take action.’

This time Narcissus’ palms slammed down. ‘I don’t want a little time; I want fair warning!’

Pallas leant forward, his face betraying a rare emotion: urgent worry, which Vespasian knew to be false. ‘Dear colleague, this is getting us nowhere. We must react to the situation we have rather than regret what we don’t have.’

Narcissus took in a great gulp of air and shook his head; his weighty earrings rocked on his lobes catching the lamplight and his be-ringed hands combed through his hair, pulling back his head.

‘Vespasian has done the best that he could do in the circumstances,’ Pallas continued once he had regained Narcissus’ attention. ‘He’s left his brother, who’s loyal to us, in Rome to forestall any attempt to convene the Senate earlier than planned tomorrow and he’s brought two witnesses, both of whom, by chance, the Emperor knows, having made use of their services himself on a regular basis. We can use them to persuade Claudius, finally, of Messalina’s debauchery and get him to order her execution.’

‘But what if the Senate and the Guard take her side? She’s married to a consul!’

‘So it would seem; but is she really?’

Claudius gibbered to himself, wringing his hands and drooling copious amounts of saliva down his chin and onto his night-robe as he sat on the edge of his bed looking at the two naked whores kneeling before him; each grasped a shaking, imperial leg in supplication.

‘We did not know, Princeps,’ Calpurnia pleaded, ‘she told us that you had divorced her.’

Claudius looked up at Narcissus. ‘D-d-d-did I d-divorce her?’

‘Of course not, Princeps; although I have hinted many times that you should.’

‘Hinted?’ Claudius’ legs jerked, kicking away the supplicants. ‘Why should you hint such a thing when my Messalina is a perfect wife?’

Narcissus cleared his throat. ‘As you know, there have been rumours-’

‘Rumours? But none of them were true; M-M-Messalina told me so herself.’

Vespasian felt Pallas’ hand touch his elbow; he stepped forward. ‘But this is not a rumour, Princeps; I saw the nuptial feast and these women witnessed the marriage as they have already sworn to you. Look at them, naked and sticky with the juice of Bacchus; they have told you what the feast was like. I saw Messalina copulate with Silius and then declare that she was Gaia to his Gaius.’

Claudius shook his head, trailing mucus from his nose. ‘I must see her face before I believe this; I promised that to my little bird.’

‘No, Princeps,’ Narcissus urged, ‘she would gull you again as she has all of us for so many years. It is your duty to act and it is ours to keep you safe.’ He brandished a scroll at the Emperor. ‘You must order her execution.’

Claudius’ hands twisted around each other, entangling the fingers. ‘But I can’t order the death of the mother of my children.’

‘You must, Claudius! Don’t you understand? Is it so difficult to comprehend the danger that you’re in? That all of us are in. Messalina is going to attempt to set herself and her new husband up as regents for Britannicus and that leaves no place for you; you are a dead man in her plans. Whatever happens now your children will lose one parent.’ Narcissus walked up close to the Emperor, closer than deference to his position should allow. ‘Tell me, Claudius, do you want to deprive them of a mother or a father? Because if it’s the latter you might just as well fall on your sword now and we’ll all follow your example. Or you can start acting like an emperor and order the execution of someone who threatens your position. Which is it to be?’

Claudius seemed not to notice the lack of respect his freedman was showing him but, instead, took his hand and, looking up into Narcissus’ face, burst into fits of ragged, choking sobs; tears now ran from his eyes as freely as the mucus from his nostrils and the saliva from his mouth. Narcissus released the Emperor’s hand and stepped back, his face working hard to conceal the disgust that Vespasian knew he must feel at such a pathetic sight.

‘I, I, I …’ Claudius began and then trailed off. ‘I just want to be emperor.’ His voice was barely audible. He looked with pleading eyes at his chief freedman. ‘Am I still emperor, Narcissus?’

‘You are, Princeps; and you will remain so if you act like one.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes! Now sign that bitch’s death warrant.’ He thrust the scroll in Claudius’ face.

Vespasian sensed that it was as much as Narcissus could do to restrain himself from striking the quivering wreck of a man.

Claudius eased the scroll away. ‘All right, I will.’

Narcissus heaved a sigh of relief.

‘But not here,’ Claudius continued, pushing himself up from the bed. ‘I shall do it in Rome.’

‘But why wait, Princeps?’

‘I want to be taken to the Praetorian camp; I want them to watch me sign it so that they know the sorrow that it causes me but realise that I have no choice.’

‘But, Princeps-’

Claudius raised his hand. ‘No, Narcissus; you have already overstepped the mark, we’ll have no more. I will sign it there.’ He looked down at the two whores, suddenly distracted. ‘We’ll leave as soon as I’ve … er … got over the shock of the situation.’

‘Yes, Princeps.’

Pallas stepped forward, unrolling a parchment upon which was written out an Imperial Decree. ‘Princeps, as you are aware there are two problems in this issue: the first one you have just dealt with in a forthright manner; may I suggest you deal with the second in the same vein? The problem of Silius being consul can, I believe, be solved by you signing this Imperial Decree, now. Vespasian will deliver it to his brother, who, as an ex-consul, has the right to speak first in a session; and with a decree from you in his hand, no one will gainsay him.’

Claudius took the scroll and read it, his mouth moving silently with the words. After a short while his slimed face broke into a smile. ‘Yes, yes; it’s what I wanted anyway.’ He took it to his desk, signed it and put his seal to the signature before handing it back to Pallas. ‘Thank you, Pallas.’

Pallas added a handwritten note before rolling up the decree and passing it to Vespasian. ‘Get this to Sabinus, watch the session and then come and report to us, on the road between here and Rome, as soon as the second vote has been taken.’

‘The second vote? What’ll that be?’

‘Immensely satisfying.’

Vespasian found Sabinus waiting on the steps of the Senate House with Gaius. Sweat ran freely down Vespasian’s face, for he had walked as fast as dignity would allow, with Magnus, Cassandros and Tigran clearing the way for him, from the Porta Ostiensis where they had left Sextus and Marius in charge of their horses. ‘Wait for me here, Magnus.’

‘Well?’ Sabinus asked as Vespasian mounted the steps.

Vespasian handed him the Imperial Decree. ‘Here it is; read it out before any other business is discussed. There’s also a note in there for you.’

Sabinus unrolled the scroll, perused it quickly and then looked at Pallas’ note; a broad smile of satisfaction crept over his face. ‘It would seem that I’m not only paying off my debt but I am also to do Pallas a favour for which he will reward me handsomely.’

‘What with, dear boy?’ Gaius asked, interested, as always, in any patronage offered the family.

‘Moesia.’

‘A province with two legions! That shows great favour.’

‘With the added financial incentive of Macedonia and Thracia.’

Gaius rubbed his hands together. ‘That’s enough to secure your finances for a long time.’

‘As well as further my military ambitions.’ Still beaming, Sabinus turned and made his way up the steps.

‘What has he to do?’ Gaius asked Vespasian as they followed.

‘I don’t know, Uncle; but if Pallas has offered him so much it must involve being conspicuous.’

‘I hope that’s not the case, dear boy.’ Gaius grimaced. ‘Nothing but the animosity and jealousy of others ever came from being conspicuous.’

Gaius Silius turned from the altar and presented the assembled Senate with the unblemished livers of two geese; gifts to Rome’s guardian god. ‘Jupiter Optimus Maximus favours us; the day is auspicious for the business of the city.’

The senators sat down on their folding stools, murmuring gratitude to the Junior Consul for conducting the sacrifice as he threw the livers into the altar’s fire and wiped his hands.

‘He’s got no idea just how auspicious it really is,’ Sabinus whispered, the broad grin still on his face.

Silius walked forward to his curule chair and sat with exaggerated dignity.

The Senior Consul, Lucius Vitellius the younger, waited for him to finally settle. ‘Gaius Silius wishes to address the house.’

‘My thanks, colleague. Conscript Fathers, I appear before you for the first time as consul since being inaugurated yesterday to that most prestigious position. However, since my induction-’

‘Senior Consul,’ Sabinus interrupted, standing and brandishing the scroll, ‘I have here an Imperial Decree that I’ve been charged by the Emperor to read to you in his regrettable absence.’

The Senior Consul did not hide his puzzlement. ‘Why has it been given to you to read out and not sent to the Consuls or the Father of the House?’

‘It’s not my place to question the Emperor’s motives. All I know is that he has entrusted this task to me as a man of consular rank.’

‘Then the ex-Consul should read it to us.’

Sabinus stepped out into the middle of the floor, holding the decree in both hands. ‘“I, Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, out of respect for the ways of our ancestors do decree that from this day on, the day before the calends of October in the year beginning with the Consuls Aulus Vitellius Veteris and Lucius Vipstanus Messalla Poplicola, that all consuls at their inauguration should swear the ancient oath that they shall always strive to prevent the return of the King.” Would the Senate now vote to ratify this law?’

The Senior Consul hastily called for a vote on this latest, seemingly innocuous, piece of legal pedantry; it was passed unanimously.

Sabinus looked at Silius once the vote had passed; he remained unmoved by the development. ‘It would seem, Conscript Fathers, that this was made law by our learned Emperor the day before Gaius Silius took his oath, therefore the oath he took was not complete.’ Sabinus walked forward and handed the decree to the Senior Consul.

Lucius Vitellius glanced at the seal and date and then at his junior colleague next to him. ‘I agree; it looks as if you have not completed your oath, Silius.’

‘A formality,’ Silius replied, waving a dismissive hand, smiling imperiously and getting to his feet. ‘I shall swear the line immediately.’

‘Would that it were so simple,’ Sabinus said as Silius headed for the altar, ‘but as we all know if there is a fault in any ceremony then it is void and the whole process has to start again from the beginning. The fact that you were willing to swear the extra line just now means that you acknowledge that your oath isn’t complete, does it not, Silius?’

Silius turned, his face betraying the first vestiges of concern. ‘What of it? We shall just start the inauguration again now.’

‘Of course we will; but first of all the correct sacrifices have to be made so that we know whether the day is auspicious.’

‘I’ve just pronounced it auspicious.’

‘You did, but only a consul can do that and you are not yet a consul.’

The full implication of this hit Gaius Silius and his handsome face froze as Sabinus tilted his head and looked at him with raised eyebrows and an innocent expression.

‘It would seem that the party that you co-hosted last night in the Gardens of Lucullus to celebrate your inauguration was a bit previous, was it not? It was to celebrate your inauguration, was it not?’

‘I … er … yes, of course it was.’

Sabinus looked around the house for senators he had seen the previous evening. ‘Juncus Vergilianus, you were there, I know; was it a party to celebrate Silius’ consulship, or non-consulship as it plainly is now?’

‘As far as I was aware,’ Virgilianus replied hesitantly.

‘As far as you were aware? Hmm. What about you, Plautius Lateranus? Was it anything more than what Silius says it was? Perhaps your enthusiastic participation was mainly because you were still celebrating your uncle’s Ovation fifteen months later?’

Lateranus squirmed in his seat but said nothing.

Sabinus rounded on an effete young man. ‘And you, Suillius Caesoninus? What were you aware of whilst you spent the evening on your knees either facing — as it were — your partners or backing onto them? No, there is no need to answer as I’m sure that you had absolutely no idea what was going on.’ Sabinus raised his arm and pointed at a young senator. ‘But you, Vettius Valens, you knew exactly what the party was because I heard you when you climbed that apricot tree; I heard you say that there was a storm coming that would strike the Emperor. I heard you say that as we snatched the two whores that you were with; yes, Vettius, we took Cleopatra and Calpurnia to the Emperor. They told him what the celebration was really for, Vettius; what do you think they said?’

Vettius looked in panic at Silius who slumped in his chair, not meeting his eyes.

‘Admitting the truth now, Vettius, might help you later. What did the whores say?’

Vettius hung his head and then drew a breath. ‘They told the Emperor that the party was to celebrate the marriage of Silius to Messalina.’

Silence was complete as if the senators hearing this for the first time were straining their ears in an effort to perceive a different answer: one that they could believe. But it never came and gradually it dawned on the senators that what Vettius had said was, indeed, the truth.

A chill ran through their ranks.

The Senior Consul had visibly paled as he addressed his ex-colleague. ‘You’ve married the Empress! To what purpose? To live privately with her or …?’ The last question was left unspoken but all knew its content.

Silius drew himself up to answer but Sabinus interjected. ‘There is no question of Messalina living privately, is there, Silius? No, Conscript Fathers, this is a direct challenge to the Emperor’s position; in her arrogance she thought that she could force you to choose between the rightful successor to Augustus and her. Yes, her; not this well-sculpted, prize figure of Roman manhood that we see before us. He was just to be her route to ultimate power. You see, Silius, the gods bless very few with both beauty and brains and unfortunately for you, you’re not one of them; you would have been dead the moment that you stepped down from the consulship having got Messalina what she wanted.’

Vespasian enjoyed the look on Silius’ face as the truth of Sabinus’ words sank in.

Sabinus, too, was evidently enjoying himself. ‘This puppet, Conscript Fathers, was about to give a speech before I took the floor. Would you like to summarise for the House what you were going to say, Silius, or would you prefer that I do it?’

Silius jumped to his feet. ‘You have no idea what I planned to say.’

‘Try me.’

‘I was going to say that I propose that in future all senatorial documents should be written incorporating the three new letters that the Emperor wishes to add to the alphabet.’

Sabinus smiled with exaggerated patience. ‘No, Silius, that’s a lie.’ He looked at Pallas’ handwritten note. ‘You were going to inform the Senate that you were now the husband of the Empress and as consul you would call for a vote to depose the Emperor and appoint Messalina as regent to his son Britannicus in his place. You were going to reassure the Conscript Fathers that they need fear nothing from the Guard as the most senior officers had been bought and then you were going to produce a list; where is that list, Silius?’

Silius’ right hand moved involuntarily a fraction towards the fold in his toga. ‘What list?’

‘The list of every man here who has, in the past, slept with your new wife. But no matter.’ Sabinus turned to address the whole Senate. ‘Conscript Fathers, with this list he was going to blackmail you. Not to be too indelicate, I believe that the majority of you would not enjoy the prospect of that list ending up in the Emperor’s hands if he were to be finally persuaded of Messalina’s infidelity.’ Again he glanced at Pallas’ note. ‘However, I am instructed to offer you this: there will be an amnesty for everyone who has defiled the Emperor’s bed now that Messalina has seen fit to officially leave it. A small fee will be charged for this, negotiable through me on a case by case basis.’

At that, Vettius Valens leapt to his feet and sprinted from the chamber.

‘Let him go; Messalina will hear the news soon enough anyway. Conscript Fathers, I move that rather than restart Silius’ inauguration we should take advantage of his non-consular status and vote on whether or not he should be escorted by me to the Praetorian camp to await the Emperor’s judgement. Who would prefer to debate that motion? Or perhaps you would all prefer to carry on with the ceremony, vote to depose Claudius — trusting that the Guard have no objections — and then have Messalina, whose character is no secret, rule Rome as regent to a child who won’t achieve manhood for seven years, by which time her claws will be in all of us?’ Sabinus looked up and down the lines of Rome’s élite, before adding, ‘Those of us still left alive, that is.’

Sabinus walked back to his seat as the Senate erupted in competitive indignation at the treatment of their beloved Emperor by his harpy of a wife and a nonentity, a man who had only just been raised to the Senate and had never even served as a quaestor, let alone consul. Silius stood, watching them in silence as a condemned man would watch the approach of his executioner.

‘That’s got them going,’ Gaius observed as Sabinus sat back down. ‘It’s also made you very conspicuous, dear boy, especially if you’re going to be naming the amount that each man has to pay for an amnesty.’

Sabinus smiled as Lucius Vitellius finally managed to get himself heard and seconded the motion. ‘They’ll have forgotten about it by the time I’m back in Rome.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it, brother,’ Vespasian warned, ‘three years is not such a long time.’

Sabinus waved Pallas’ note. ‘Which is why I’ve been guaranteed at least seven in Moesia.’

Without waiting for anyone to be rash enough to oppose the motion, the Senior Consul called upon the House to divide. But there was no division; unanimously, the Senate voted to send Gaius Silius to Claudius so that the Emperor, whom he, along with most of the men who had condemned him, had cuckolded, could decide his fate.

Rumour of Messalina’s marriage had spread throughout the city as senators passed on the news to clients awaiting them outside the Curia and they in turn informed their hangers-on. Before Vespasian and Magnus had returned to the Porta Ostiensis it was already being discussed in the Fora and the baths; in markets and over the counters of shops and taverns; and by just about every person that they passed in the streets as they pressed through the crush of a city ripe with salacious gossip. Outrage grew as the perceived wrong done to their Emperor — the conqueror of Britannia, the man who had added Mauritania and Thracia to the Empire, the holder of the Secular Games, the builder of the new port that would solve all Rome’s supply problems, the brother of Germanicus and the rightful heir of the Caesars, the dynasty that had kept the common people of Rome fed, entertained and free from civil war for three generations now — the wrong done to him by a notorious nymphomaniac well known in the brothels frequented by the masses.

‘It makes you wonder how she ever thought she would succeed,’ Magnus observed as they mounted their horses surrounded by crowds of common people gathering at the Porta Ostiensis to welcome their wronged Emperor back to Rome.

‘It’s not so hard to imagine how she saw it,’ Vespasian replied, tugging on his mount’s reins as it shied at the crowd. ‘Claudius gone, Silius, Agrippina and Lucius murdered, the Guard paid off and the populace showered with money and games; in three months she could have been safe as the mother to the last true heir of the Caesars. The trouble was that she failed to take into account the loathing that most people have for her.’ From within the city came the ever-swelling sound of mass disapproval moving closer. ‘It sounds as if Messalina also has it in mind to come and greet Claudius.’ Vespasian urged his horse forward, down the Via Ostiensis. ‘Let’s hope Narcissus manages to keep her away from the fool.’

‘Sabinus has taken Silius to the Praetorian camp,’ Vespasian informed Claudius as he rode next to the imperial carriage; two turmae of Praetorian cavalry rode in escort.

‘And my w-w-wife?’

‘She is no longer your wife,’ Narcissus reminded Claudius.

‘We do not know that for sure,’ the elder Lucius Vitellius pointed out, earning a vicious sidelong look from Narcissus. ‘We only have the word of two whores.’

‘And the word of Vettius Valens in the Senate,’ Vespasian countered, ‘plus the fact that Silius did not deny the fact.’

Claudius squeezed out a couple of tears to add to the sheen on his face. ‘Oh, my little bird, where is she?’

‘I would surmise that your wi … Messalina has heard that Silius’ consular oath was void and therefore realises the seriousness of her predicament as I believe that she was on her way to the Porta Ostiensis to greet you as I left.’

‘I won’t see the treacherous b-b-bitch until she’s dead!’ Claudius began to twitch as his cheeks reddened and his breathing became irregular.

‘Indeed not,’ Narcissus crooned.

Vitellius shook his head. ‘Ah, such a crime.’

Narcissus fixed Vitellius with another vicious stare. ‘What do you mean, Vitellius? Is what Messalina has done a crime or is what’s about to be done to her a crime?’

Vitellius smiled vaguely. ‘Such villainy, such villainy.’

Narcissus wrinkled his nose in disgust at Vitellius’ careful avoidance of declaring his position.

Claudius quickly calmed, sinking back into self-pitying reverie. ‘Alas, my little bird, for the sake of the children I’ll forgive you.’

‘You must not talk like that, Princeps.’

‘Oh, how happy we were for so long; the children playing as we sat together in our garden, always together, never apart, every night a first. Oh, little bird, fly back to me.’

‘She’ll see you dead, Princeps, unless you kill her first.’

‘Ah, such villainy.’

Narcissus rounded on Vitellius. ‘If you are determined to say nothing that could be construed as support for either side then I suggest you stay silent.’

Vitellius looked to the sky. ‘Such a crime.’

Vespasian watched Narcissus struggle to control himself, surprised by just how rattled this normally neutral-faced politician had become; he glanced at Pallas, riding up front, next to the carriage driver, and saw the placid face of a man in control.

‘The filthy whore! I’ll snap her neck!’ Claudius exploded, before sinking his head onto his chest and mumbling about the milky smoothness of the little neck that he planned to snap.

Beyond the lead turma of cavalry the city walls were no more than a mile away; but closer, less than three hundred paces distant, stood a cart and kneeling in it was the figure of a woman with her hands outstretched in supplication.

Pallas signalled to the tribune, a dour-faced man in his forties, commanding the escort to come closer. ‘Burrus, ride that cart off the road, but be careful as he hasn’t yet signed her death warrant. And tell your men to start singing.’

Burrus nodded as if ordering his men to sing was the most natural thing in the world and rode to the head of his column. As repeated, high-pitched, female screams rose over the clatter of hoofbeats the escort broke out into a raucous military march.

Claudius looked up, his eyes wide with hope. ‘Was that my little bird I heard? Oh, t-t-tell them to stop singing, I’m sure I heard her.’

‘Nonsense, Princeps,’ Narcissus reassured him, whilst rummaging in the satchel by his side. He pulled out three writing tablets and handed them to his patron; again Claudius cocked his ear at the sound of another brief shriek between verses of the song. ‘Please take a look at these, Princeps; one is a report on how the new letters that you wish to have inserted into the alphabet have been received.’

Claudius was immediately all interest. ‘Ah! I’ve been waiting for this.’ He snatched the tablet and began reading; he was instantly immersed and failed to notice another series of screeches piercing the boisterous singing of his escort. The carriage slowed a fraction as the lead turma, too, reduced its speed; another shrieked call broke over the song and then the column picked up speed and Vespasian saw the cart carrying Messalina driving away over the rough, freshly ploughed farmland on the other side of the road.

‘Claudius!’ she cried as the out-of-control horses carried her off. ‘Claudius!’ She held out her arms towards him, her hair awry and her robe in tatters.

‘That was my little bird!’ Claudius exclaimed, tearing his eyes away from his report.

An instant before he turned his head in Messalina’s direction Narcissus thrust another tablet at him. ‘This is about your safety, Princeps.’

‘My safety?’ Once again Claudius was all attention.

‘Yes, Princeps. We’re sure of Burrus and his cavalry’s loyalty but we feel that as we don’t know just how far this plot has spread through the other senior officers of the Guard it would be best to transfer their command to someone neutral just for the day.’

‘Yes, y-y-yes, that will make me feel much safer. Who do you suggest?’

‘Whom would you trust, Princeps?’

Vespasian knew the answer before it was spoken as he watched the cart bearing Messalina speed off into the distance out of earshot.

‘I trust you, Narcissus.’

Narcissus’ face smoothed into a mask of modest gratitude. ‘I am honoured that you should entrust me with such responsibility, Princeps.’ He opened the tablet. ‘Would you put your ring to the wax to make it official?’

As Claudius signed over the command of the Praetorian Guard to an ex-slave, Vitellius carried on gazing at the sky. ‘Such villainy!’

Narcissus and Lucius Vitellius assisted Claudius up the steps to the main entrance of the palace as he railed at his wife and blubbered for his lost love in turn. Since seeing the size of the crowds waiting for him at the City Gates and lining the streets to the Palatine and feeling the warmth of their affection towards him, Claudius had become increasingly unstable, swinging from pathetic melancholy to murderous rage and then back again, in heartbeats. The people of Rome had watched in sympathy as their wronged Emperor had gibbered and seethed and snivelled his way through the streets; they had called out words of consolation and had urged him to avenge himself on his errant spouse, beseeching the gods that her death would bring him happiness.

Leaving Magnus with his horse, Vespasian followed the Emperor into the palace at Pallas’ side.

‘The next couple of hours are the most crucial,’ the Greek whispered as they passed through the vestibule into the atrium. ‘Narcissus needs to be driven to distraction by Claudius’ behaviour.’

Before Vespasian could ask him what he meant a wail of grief echoed around the atrium.

‘Uncle! Oh, Uncle! How are you, dearest Uncle?’ A female came running barefoot across the chamber, her hair loose and streaming behind her and her cheeks lined with kohl-stained tear-tracks. ‘Oh, how could she?’ She launched herself at Claudius and flung her arms around his neck, kissing him all over his face and leaving black smudges in her wake. ‘Are you all right, Uncle?’

‘I don’t know, Agrippina, I don’t know; it’s all such a shock.’

‘Yes, Uncle, who’d have thought it of such a model wife?’

‘That’s just it, my child; there were no warning signs.’

Pallas gave the slightest of nods as if pleased with the entrance and Vespasian understood exactly what was happening and silently admired the audacity of it as Claudius disentangled himself from his niece and sat on the nearest couch. Before Narcissus could interpose, Agrippina had planted herself firmly on her uncle’s lap and with her left hand gently around the back of his neck, stroked his hair with her other whilst cooing soothingly in his ear and moving her rump slightly more than necessary. The effect on Claudius was immediate; he drew her close, rested his head on her full breast and let fly finally with abundant sobs dredged from the very core of his being.

‘There, Uncle, there,’ Agrippina purred, kissing the crown of his head as if he were a small boy woken in the middle of the night from a bad dream. ‘It’ll soon be over; I’ll look after you until you find another wife. You can trust me, you can trust family. Never forget that, Uncle: you can trust me because I’m family.’

‘Yes, yes, my child, I know that I can trust you; but I still can’t believe that I misplaced my trust in my little bird.’

Agrippina softly pulled Claudius’ face away from her breast, its imprint marked by a moist patch on her stola, and held it in both hands; she looked deep into her uncle’s eyes. ‘I shall take you to see all the proof you need to believe her to be false, once and for all. Would you like that, dearest Uncle?’

Claudius nodded and twitched, gazing back at his niece who, although now in her early forties, still retained a beauty and sensuality purchased by a lifetime’s use of the finest cosmetics. ‘I should like that very much.’

Agrippina slipped from Claudius’ lap, working her buttocks gently against him as she did so, leaving him obviously aroused but too transfixed by her spell to notice his public embarrassment. ‘Follow me,’ she purred, turning from him and swinging her hips as she walked away.

Claudius followed as if in a trance.

‘Where are you taking him?’ Narcissus demanded.

‘Not far, Narcissus; you should come too.’

Having no choice other than to follow his patron, Narcissus complied.

‘Shall we go and see what she’s found?’ Pallas asked Vespasian.

‘By all means; although something tells me that you already know.’

‘How could I? I’ve been in Ostia for the last few days.’

Vespasian smiled as he and Pallas followed Agrippina out of the atrium.

Lucius Vitellius trailed in their wake, shaking his head slowly. ‘Such villainy.’

Agrippina took the route that Vespasian and Sabinus had been taken along on the day of Asiaticus’ hearing and soon they were in the familiar corridors of the house that had once belonged to Antonia.

Taking Claudius by the arm as he lurched beside her, Agrippina led him past the formal reception room — the scene of Asiaticus’ hearing — and on into the atrium that Vespasian had first entered twenty-two years before when his uncle had brought him and his brother to dine at Antonia’s request. The high-ceilinged room had changed beyond recognition: it was now stuffed with statuary, furniture and ornaments, some modest, some brash, but all together gave the gaudy impression that the décor had been fashioned by Caligula after a three-day drinking session.

But it was not with Messalina’s lack of taste that Agrippina hoped to demonstrate beyond all doubt her untrustworthiness; it was with the furnishings and ornaments themselves. She said nothing as she held out her arm and swept it around the room, encompassing each and every item on display.

And Claudius’ mouth dropped open in disbelief.

Every item was an heirloom of his house.

Vespasian recognised Antonia’s writing desk and polished walnut dining table with the three sumptuously upholstered matching couches that had once graced her private rooms. The much-copied original bronze statue of a young Augustus painted in breathtakingly life-like detail: in military attire, his right arm raised and pointing the way and with a cupid at his feet; it had been, Vespasian knew, the prized possession of Claudius’ grandmother, Livia. Statues of Claudius’ kin and ancestors going back to Julius Caesar littered the room as if they were just being stored there amongst the elegant furniture, bowls and vases, each with a story to tell about the family that had ruled Rome for almost a century.

‘Where d-d-d-did she g-get all this?’ Claudius spluttered, going up to a statue of his father, Drusus. ‘I’m sure I saw this in the palace on the day I left for Ostia.’

‘Grief and shock can play tricks on the memory, Uncle,’ Agrippina said, taking his hand and kissing it. ‘She’s had this for months. And then look at that.’ She pointed to two statues side by side taking pride of place in the collection as if overseeing the stationary horde. ‘On the left is Silius’ father. Well, his image has been banned by the Senate ever since he was executed for treason by Tiberius, hasn’t it? Her just possessing it is enough to send her into exile. But look, dearest Uncle, look at the one next to it.’

As Claudius examined it, Vespasian drew in a sharp breath; he was shocked not so much that there was a statue of Silius himself in the room but because of what was draped around it: hanging from a baldric over the figure’s right shoulder was a sword in a plain scabbard; a scabbard that Vespasian recognised as belonging to Marcus Antonius’ sword, the sword that his daughter, Antonia, had gifted to Vespasian on the day of her suicide. She had told him that she had always meant to give it to the grandson whom she thought would make the best emperor. Claudius had seen Vespasian with it during his short stay in Britannia and, jealous, had taken it for himself, knowing full well the story behind it.

‘My sword!’ Claudius exclaimed, spraying the scabbard with spit. ‘The bitch has even stolen my sword!’

‘Hush now, Uncle.’ Agrippina laid a soothing hand on his cheek. ‘Now do you believe?’

‘The wanton, the harpy, the goat-fucker, I’ll have her dead within the hour.’

‘You’re so wise, Princeps,’ Narcissus crooned, stepping forward with a scroll. ‘I’ve her death warrant drafted; here it is. You can sign it now.’

Agrippina turned Claudius away from his chief freedman. ‘Come, Uncle, decisions like that should not be made on an empty stomach.’

Vespasian looked at Pallas, puzzled as to why Agrippina should delay Claudius doing the very thing the freedmen wanted, but the Greek was looking down a corridor on the right as if he expected to see something imminently; and he did.

Two silhouetted figures, a boy and a girl, came running down the corridor. ‘Father! Father!’ they shouted in unison.

‘What’s that?’ Claudius asked, turning in the direction of the noise.

‘Oh Uncle, I’ll deal with them,’ Agrippina said. ‘You shouldn’t see your children whilst you’re in such a rage.’

Claudius looked at Britannicus and Octavia as they appeared in the atrium, tears running down their cheeks, and took a step forward as Agrippina spread her arms and stopped them in their tracks. ‘Come on, little chicks.’ She pinched their cheeks and turned them around. ‘Your father is very tired and emotional; you don’t want to upset him further, do you? Let him eat and rest and then you can see him after that.’ With an arm around each of them she led them back down the way they had come. ‘Oh, look at you both, so adorable, I could eat you.’

‘I think that your niece is right,’ Pallas said, walking towards the Emperor. ‘You should eat, Princeps.’ He gestured Claudius towards the corridor that led back to the palace. ‘But first you need to go to the Praetorian camp to pass judgement on Silius and then with a full stomach you should decide Messalina’s fate.’

With red, vacant eyes, Claudius moved off as if spellbound, assisted by Pallas. Narcissus stared at his colleague, unable to read his face and guess his motivation.

Looking forward immensely to witnessing the next choreographed moves in the unfolding drama, Vespasian followed them out, passing Lucius Vitellius staring at all the items crammed into the room.

‘Ahh, such villainy.’