Masters of Rome

CHAPTER XXI

The entire Praetorian Guard crashed a salute for their Emperor as he was borne, on a litter, into the parade ground at the heart of their camp. Birds, perched on the roofs of the long lines of two-storey barrack buildings, were startled into flight as thousands of arms slammed across chests and as many deep voices roared a greeting for the man who gave reason for their existence as a unit.

Yet it was not with unanimous joy that Claudius was greeted; kneeling before a dais in front of the massed ranks of Rome’s élite soldiery were two dozen forlorn figures, dressed only in tunics, humiliatingly unbelted, like a woman’s.

The sound of the Guard’s roar echoed around the camp, bouncing off the brick walls of the barracks, and eventually faded into no more than the fluttering of scores of standards and the complaints of the birds circling overhead.

The litter was placed on the ground and Claudius, resplendent in imperial purple and wreathed in laurel, was helped to his feet by the man who now commanded, for this single day, the true power in Rome. Narcissus escorted his patron up the steps to the dais and saw him seated with as much dignity as an emotionally broken man in his mid-fifties could muster.

Vespasian stood to one side, next to Pallas and Sabinus, enjoying the sight of the two Praetorian prefects, Rufrius Crispinus and Lucius Lusius Geta, approach the Emperor with Gaius Silius grasped firmly between them. ‘They must be feeling particularly guilty if they’re demeaning themselves by acting as prisoner escort,’ he observed to Pallas under his breath.

‘Your brother negotiated with them on my behalf this afternoon when he brought Silius to the camp.’

Sabinus obviously enjoyed the memory. ‘Once they both understood that Silius wasn’t consul they realised that Messalina’s plot against Claudius had almost no chance of succeeding and were only too pleased to accept the terms.’

‘Which were?’

‘Lenient, considering that almost every man in the Guard over the rank of centurion has sampled Messalina’s wares.’

Pallas watched with satisfaction as Lucius Vitellius mounted the dais and placed himself next to Narcissus behind the Emperor. ‘That won’t help soothe Narcissus’ growing agitation. As to the prefects, all I asked is that they provide two dozen of their number for Claudius to punish however he pleases. How they chose them was up to them. The two prefects keep their posts-’

‘And are well and truly in your debt,’ Vespasian butted in, understanding completely.

‘Precisely; I deemed it safer to hold something over the present incumbents rather than replace them with new ones who might not be as loyal to me as I would wish.’

The two prefects stamped to a halt in front of the dais and thrust their charge down onto his knees. Claudius began shaking visibly at the sight of the man who now claimed Messalina as his wife. Vitellius laid a firm hand on his shoulder and his body calmed.

‘W-w-w-well, wh-what have you to say for yourself, S-S-Silius?’

Silius held his head high and stared Claudius in the eyes. ‘I am guilty of everything that I’ve been accused of; I took your wife and planned to take your place with her. However, although I am guilty of these charges I am not guilty of conceiving the plan that, in my weakness, I consented to go along with. That was Messalina’s idea alone and if she is to be granted the mercy of a quick death then I ask for myself the same favour.’

Vitellius bent to whisper in Claudius’ ear, keeping his hand tightly gripped on his shoulder. Narcissus immediately began to speak in the other ear. A brief unheard argument seemed to ensue before Claudius eventually nodded at Vitellius and again addressed Silius: ‘Very well, a clean death it shall be. Crispinus!’

The Praetorian prefect swept out his sword with a metallic ring and, standing next to Silius, showed him the blade. Silius contemplated it for a few moments and then bowed his head, stretching his neck forward. Iron flashed, slicing through flesh and bone, releasing heart-pumps of spurting blood that propelled the severed head forward to roll almost to the foot of the dais and stop, staring open-mouthed at the Emperor. Claudius ejaculated a growl of deep satisfaction and smacked his lips as he watched the life flee from Silius’ eyes. The body twitched, and the flow of blood lessened as the heart gave out and silence covered the parade ground.

After a few moments more relishing the sight, Claudius looked at the men kneeling in front of the parade before turning to the two prefects. ‘What crime are they accused of?’

Crispinus wiped his sword on Silius’ tunic. ‘To the shame of the Guard, these men are all guilty by their own account of sleeping with Messalina.’

Claudius looked at the accused again and then threw his head back in laughter. ‘If only a q-q-q-quarter of what I’ve been told in the last few hours is true then that pathetic little group would be less than three days’ work for my ex-wife.’

Vespasian felt Pallas tense.

Claudius snapped out of his mirth as quickly as he had entered into it. ‘Very well, bring them forward.’

Pallas relaxed.

The prisoners, each escorted by a ranker, walked to the dais.

‘On your knees! Escorts, draw your swords.’

Again, Vitellius bent the Emperor’s ear and again Narcissus spoke into the other one and again an argument followed in which again Claudius eventually ruled in Vitellius’ favour. ‘I will not ask for these men’s lives; I will not even ask for one of them as an example to the rest. Instead, I dismiss them from my service and forbid them fire and water within three hundred miles from Rome for the rest of their lives.’

As this news was relayed through the ranks and files of the Praetorian Cohorts a cheer rippled through the formation causing Claudius to incline his head and wave a shaking hand towards his audience.

‘I do this because I’m well aware that there were far more people guilty of adultery with my ex-wife than have admitted it. I now wish to let the matter drop. Let her punishment and that of a few of her closer associates be an end to the matter. I shall decide her fate after consultation with the gods of my household.

‘I’ve been made a fool of by that woman and now rejoice in the fact that I am divorced. Men of the Praetorian Guard, there will be a donative of ten aurei per man to celebrate my new freedom and I charge you to kill me if I ever get married again.’

To the massed cheers of thousands of men now richer by four times the annual salary of an ordinary legionary Claudius turned and hobbled back down the steps, this time helped by Vitellius, whilst Narcissus watched, clenching and re-clenching his right fist as the other hand played with his beard.

Pallas moved to join the imperial party. ‘Without him knowing it, Vitellius’ attempt to steer a neutral course is proving very useful to my cause.’

‘But it looks as if you’ll have trouble persuading Claudius to marry again, Pallas,’ Vespasian observed as Vitellius helped the Emperor into his litter.

‘Not when he finds out just who he can marry.’

Agrippina sighed with exaggerated sympathy and reached along the dining couch to place an understanding hand on her uncle’s arm. ‘I know it must have been hard to show Silius such mercy, dearest Uncle, but Vitellius was right: if you’d not granted him the clean death of a citizen and had acted like an animal instead then you would have reminded people of my poor brother, Gaius Caligula.’

Vitellius, placed on the other side of Claudius, beamed his gratitude at Agrippina for supporting his point of view to the Emperor; he then helped himself to a stuffed cabbage leaf.

‘I agree, Princeps,’ Pallas said, nibbling on an olive and reclining on the couch to Claudius’ left. ‘The best way to come out of this with credit is to act with dignity as if the antics of an unfaithful wife are too small a matter to unduly upset a man of your standing and nothing more than rightful retribution need be taken.’

Vespasian caught a brief flash of anger in Narcissus’ eyes as he glanced sidelong at his colleague next to him before his face returned to studied neutrality.

‘I–I-I suppose so,’ Claudius said, spilling semi-masticated brown morsels from his mouth and adding to the mess on his napkin. ‘But I would’ve loved to have seen more suffering from him; he seduced my little bird.’ His mouth fell open, disgorging more of its contents as he lapsed back into melancholy.

Narcissus was quick to support his patron. ‘I agree, Princeps; I believe that you were wrong to take Vitellius’ advice; we need to fully secure your position. You would have been better off following what I suggested. To show mercy makes you look weak; you should never have spared those Praetorian officers.’

Claudius mumbled something about the joys of Messalina’s bedchamber, a subject that no one felt any desire to enlarge upon.

Vespasian toyed with his half-full golden wine beaker. ‘But surely, Narcissus, the Emperor’s magnanimous gesture has earned him the gratitude of the entire Guard?’

‘And, of course, their renewed loyalty strengthened by a deep sense of shame,’ Sabinus, next to him, added, earning a brief look of appreciation from Pallas.

Vespasian picked up his brother’s argument. ‘The Emperor has won their love forever by forgiving so many of them who have acted despicably.’

‘And now, Princeps,’ Vitellius said, ‘you can make yourself even more popular with them by choosing a new wife whom they, and the whole city, will respect.’

Claudius was still immersed in his maudlin reverie. ‘What? A new wife? No, I couldn’t.’

Agrippina leant over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Don’t worry, Uncle; I’ll look after you until we find someone who can see to all your needs. I’m sure we’ll get you just the right person.’

‘There are some very suitable women in my family,’ Vitellius suggested helpfully.

Agrippina gave him the sweetest of smiles. ‘You’re so kind, Lucius, but I think my uncle should look a little closer to home, shouldn’t you, dearest Claudius? And seeing as I’m your niece I’ll be the perfect person to help you judge.’

Narcissus leant forward. ‘Pallas and I both think that you should remarry your second wife, Princeps; don’t we, Pallas?’

Pallas picked up and examined another olive. ‘Should we be discussing this now when the Emperor hasn’t yet decided what to do about Messalina?’

‘Yes, Uncle, what do you intend to do?’ Agrippina shot Pallas a quick look and Vespasian caught a glimpse of something more than mere mutual interest. He realised that they were working much more closely together than he had imagined … She turned back to Claudius. ‘I said that you should decide after a good dinner.’

Claudius’ reply was delayed by a Praetorian cavalry decurion striding into the room. ‘Princeps, Tribune Burrus has sent me to tell you that the chief Vestal, Vibidia, is here on Messalina’s behalf.’

Claudius looked at the tribune, his long face a study in sorrow. ‘I don’t wish to see her now. Tell Burrus to say to Vibidia that I’ll send for that poor woman in the morning and she can plead her case to me then in person.’

‘Yes, Princeps.’

As the decurion turned to go, Narcissus got to his feet and picked up his satchel. ‘I shall go and tell her your words myself, Princeps.’

‘As you wish,’ Claudius said with little interest.

As Narcissus left the room he signalled Vespasian, with his eyes, to follow him.

Vespasian looked over to Pallas who twitched the corner of his mouth into a satisfied half-smile and nodded almost imperceptibly.

After a few moments, Vespasian rose from his couch making his excuses and followed Narcissus out.

‘The Emperor assures you that he will allow Messalina a fair hearing tomorrow,’ Narcissus informed a tall woman in white as Vespasian came out into the atrium. ‘In the meantime he requests that you do not allow this matter to interfere with your sacred duties.’

Vibidia put her hands to her chest and dipped her head. ‘I shall go and inform the Empress of that good news.’

‘The Emperor asks that you return to the house of the Vestals immediately with his thanks and has requested me to send Tribune Burrus to Messalina with the news.’

‘It is good of him to spare me the journey.’

‘Your wellbeing is always at the forefront of his thoughts. Where would Burrus find Messalina?’

‘She’s at the Gardens of Lucullus; her estranged mother, Lepida, has joined her there to bring her comfort. Tell the Emperor that he has the prayers of our house at this delicate time.’

‘I shall, Lady.’

Vibidia turned and walked away with gliding grace.

‘Burrus!’ Narcissus called to the waiting tribune. He pulled a writing tablet from his satchel as Burrus approached. ‘This afternoon, Claudius gave me charge of the Guard to deal with this crisis; you can understand why, can’t you?’

‘Yes, imperial secretary.’

‘Take eight men to the Gardens of Lucullus and execute Messalina on the Emperor’s orders.’

Burrus held Narcissus’ gaze for a few moments and then acquiesced. ‘It shall be done.’

As the tribune marched away Narcissus turned to Vespasian. ‘I don’t know what you were playing at in there, Vespasian, but you can make up for it by going with him and making sure that he does as I’ve ordered.’

‘It’ll be my pleasure, imperial secretary.’ As he turned to follow Burrus, Vespasian marvelled at the panic he had seen in Narcissus’ eyes; panic that Pallas and Agrippina had sown by delaying the Emperor signing the death warrant. Panic that Claudius would calm down and forgive Messalina had just forced Narcissus into making his first, and quite possibly his last, political mistake.

The contrast in the appearance of the Gardens of Lucullus between that evening and the one before could not have been more acute: gone were the multifarious points of light outlining a solid rectangular shape on the southwestern slope of the Pincian Hill and in their stead was a solitary glow from what Vespasian knew to be the villa at the heart of the gardens.

He walked in silence next to Burrus as they approached Messalina’s retreat from the Quirinal Gate. The sound of the measured footsteps of the contuburnium of Praetorian Guardsmen following them, echoing off the buildings to either side, was sufficient to clear their way; carts and pedestrians moved aside as they passed, not wishing to interfere with what was obviously an imperial matter, and it was not long before they reached the locked gates in the whitewashed wall, guarded by two new sentries.

The glint of Burrus’ blade leaving its scabbard and a growled order were hint enough for the two guards to place the keys in Vespasian’s outstretched hand and make off into the night.

With a metallic clunk the lock turned, the gates swung open with a high-pitched creak, the execution party crunched onto the gravel beyond and then began to snake its way along the stone path up the hill. Even with no torchlight and the moon yet to rise, the gardens’ beauty and variety could still not be disguised; the sweet scent of rosemary shrubs gave way first to the sea-air aroma of autumn-blooming crocuses and then the musk of deer resting by freshwater pools. As they climbed, the different scents blended into one another, and Vespasian remembered Asiaticus’ words about how the gardens represented everything that was good in Rome but that their beauty would attract what was bad, and he understood finally what the condemned man had meant. He was aware of, but unable to see, the beauty all around him that harboured the cause of so much of Rome’s present troubles. He was now to witness the canker being cut out, but what would grow in its stead? Who would desire these gardens once Messalina had gone? And for what reason?

Instinctively he knew the answers to those questions. With the memory of the look that Agrippina had given Pallas earlier that evening in his mind, Vespasian prayed that his old acquaintance would use the evident influence he had with the Empress-in-waiting to ensure his and his family’s safety and prosperity during the coming changes.

They passed into the gloom of the orchard, hobnailed sandals striking the mosaic path in unison with a sharp clatter and the occasional flash of sparks. Up ahead, silhouetting the dark forms of Asiaticus’ beloved apricot trees, Vespasian could see the glow of two torches on the terrace in front of the villa. Gone were the couches, tables, silent slaves, strident musicians, tubs of grapes and mounds of naked flesh; instead, in the dim light, sat two women, one feverishly writing as if her life depended on it — which it would have done had Narcissus’ fear of her being forgiven and returned to power not pushed him into going behind his patron’s back.

The sound of the arriving footsteps reached Messalina’s ears and she stood and stared down the path, one hand reaching instinctively for the woman next to her; her mother, Lepida, Vespasian surmised.

As he cleared the final apricot tree, with Burrus at his side, Messalina screamed. It was the cry of one whose worst imaginings have suddenly materialised before them and who is forced to accept that what had been deemed impossible has come true. The shriek pierced the night, filling it with the sound of terror; Messalina turned to run but her mother caught her arm, clutching it tightly, and pulled her back into an embrace as her executioners mounted the steps, two by two, their hands grasping the hilts of their swords.

Messalina stared at them from her mother’s arms. ‘Tell them to go away, Mother! Tell them I command it!’

‘You command nothing now, my child; your life is over.’

‘It can’t be; my husband would never order that.’

‘Your husband is dead,’ Burrus informed her. ‘It’s the Emperor that has ordered this.’

‘My husband is the Emperor!’

Lepida stroked a hand through her daughter’s wild hair and kissed her brow. ‘That ceased to be so when you divorced Claudius and married another man.’

‘But he was consul, I was safe and then they cheated me!’ Messalina spat and hissed like a goaded serpent. ‘How dare they change things; it wasn’t fair.’ Now tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘Can’t they give me another chance, Mother? Can’t they forget a little wrong? I’ve so much life left to enjoy, so much pleasure yet to feel, so much want to be satisfied; I need to be allowed that. Who would dare deny me?’

‘Child, no one would have denied you that had you not tried to have everything all at once. You have brought yourself here and the manner of your doing so means that you will not be allowed away from this place alive.’

Messalina looked her mother in the eyes, screamed at her and pulled away, before landing a ringing slap across her face. ‘You bitch! How dare you say things like that? Now I remember why I banned you from my sight for so long; you always blame me and poison everyone against me. It’s not my fault! I would have been safe if they hadn’t changed things and somehow stopped that idiot being consul. I would have been safe, do you hear? Safe! They must be told to give me another chance. They must, Mother!’

‘They’ll never do that. Now all that remains to you is to seek death with honour.’

‘I — will — not — die!’

‘For the first and only time in your life, child, you will do as you are told.’

Vespasian stepped forward and offered Messalina his sword, hilt first. ‘If you don’t do it, Messalina, it will be done for you.’

‘You!’ she shrieked, ignoring the proffered sword and seemingly noticing him for the first time. ‘Why are you against me? Flavia is my friend.’

‘And lover; I know. But for the last year and more she’s been Narcissus’ spy in your bed.’

‘Liar! No one would dare betray me.’

‘Why? Because you alone have the right to live life as you wish and everyone else in Rome should serve your every need?’

‘I am the Empress.’

‘You were the Empress but, like Caligula’s, your behaviour could not be tolerated; you took everything and gave nothing back. Narcissus and Pallas may guard their power jealously and use it for personal advantage but at least they spread patronage; people can gain by them. The two of them ensure that Claudius gives back also: the new port, the draining of the Fucine Lake for more agricultural land, new aqueducts and much more. But who profits from you being in power? How does Rome benefit from you, who would not even help your own brother?’

‘He was of no use to me any more!’

‘Which was why he betrayed you; it was he who told Narcissus what you planned to do. Flavia spied on you because I told her to; because I knew it would strengthen my standing with Narcissus and Pallas who were determined to get rid of you — rightly. Now they have you, and Claudius, in his folly, can’t protect you any more.’

‘But he promised to look into my eyes.’

‘So you could lie to him?’ Vespasian pushed his sword hilt into Messalina’s midriff. ‘Well, that won’t happen now. Take the sword. There will be no reprieve for you, Messalina. You will die here in the gardens that you killed to possess and Asiaticus gets the vengeance that he foresaw.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You sealed your fate when you drove him to suicide. He set this all in motion: he put Corvinus in touch with Narcissus even though they hate each other; he knew about you and Flavia and how useful she would be; and he judged me, correctly, to be ruthless and unscrupulous enough to use my wife to gain favour. Yes, Messalina, your death was ordained the moment you grabbed the most beautiful place in Rome. So embrace it now with the dignity befitting your status.’

Messalina stared in horror at the sword and then looked to her mother, who just shook her head slowly and then gently lifted the weapon with the palm of her hand. Tears welled in Messalina’s eyes as she slowly grasped the hilt. ‘Must I, Mother? Can’t I be granted exile on an island somewhere? Then Claudius will have time to change his mind!’

Lepida eased her daughter to her knees. ‘That’s the whole point, child, Rome has seen you deceiving Claudius openly, relying on the fool’s love that he has for you; no one is going to let you take advantage of that again. No, be strong and do this; I shall help you.’ Lepida turned the sword so that the point was just beneath her daughter’s heart and then, placing herself behind Messalina, wrapped her hands over hers. ‘Ready, Messalina?’ Mother and daughter tensed, tears flowing down both their faces, and then Lepida jerked her arms towards her. With a squeal, Messalina twisted and buckled; blood coloured the blade and Lepida cried out as she looked down at the cut on the outside of her left thigh.

‘I won’t die, Mother!’ Messalina shrieked. ‘No one has the right to-’ She stopped abruptly and looked around, shocked, and then focused on Burrus’ forearm, just in front of her. She followed it with her eyes, down to the wrist and then on to the hand that grasped the hilt of a sword. Along the blade her eyes went and they widened with horror; only half was visible. She tried to scream but succeeded only in spewing blood on Burrus’ hand as it thrust forward and twisted left then right. Messalina looked at her executioner with fury raging on her face before falling back into her mother’s arms.

‘Enough talk,’ Burrus said, pulling his blade free with a wet sucking sound and then wiping it clean on Messalina’s palla before turning to his men. ‘Let’s go.’

Vespasian looked down at the dead Messalina, blood seeping from her breast and soaking her clothes, and felt nothing: no joy, relief, pity, triumph, regret … nothing. ‘Take the body and deal with it privately, Lepida,’ he said and turned to follow Burrus and his men, leaving Lepida, weeping softly, clutching her daughter’s corpse.

As he walked down the steps Vespasian looked up at the newly risen moon shining through the branches of the apricot trees that had witnessed so much, and swore to himself that he would never again set foot in the Gardens of Lucullus.