Rome’s Fallen Eagle

CHAPTER III

The sun was beginning to set and their long shadows preceded Vespasian and Gaius as they walked east along the crowded, tenement-lined Alta Semita towards its junction with the Vicus Longus on the southern slope of the Quirinal. Here, at the apex of the junction, stood a three-storey building that Vespasian had passed many times but had never entered: Magnus’ Crossroads Brotherhood’s tavern. It was used as the base from where the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood, of which Magnus was the leader, ran their business of protection for the local traders and residents. It also housed the shrine to the Crossroads lares whose worship was the Brotherhood’s main responsibility and the original reason for their existence.

The plain wooden tables and benches outside were empty apart from two hard-looking men whose job, Vespasian guessed, was to waylay travellers who looked wealthy enough to afford the protection of the Brotherhood as they passed through their territory; just as his family had been waylaid upon their arrival in Rome, over fifteen years ago, when he had been a lad of sixteen.

With a nod to the two men, he and Gaius stepped through the low door into the fug of the noisy parlour. The talking instantly died down and all eyes turned to them.

‘Venus’ pert arse! I never thought I’d see a couple of senators walk through that door, and both ex-praetors no less,’ Magnus exclaimed with a grin, getting up from a table in the corner. His companion, an old man with a saggy throat and gnarled hands, stared with milky, sightless eyes in the rough direction of the new arrivals. Magnus put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Have you ever seen a senator in here before, Servius?’

Servius shook his head. ‘No, and nor will I ever.’

‘Yeah, too right, brother.’ Magnus slapped Servius on the back and walked over to Vespasian and Gaius. ‘Follow me.’

The floor was sticky with spilt wine and their red, senatorial shoes clung to it as they walked. A low, quizzical muttering accompanied their progress through the room.

‘We need to move him, Magnus,’ Vespasian said as they passed through the door next to the amphora-lined bar at the far end of the room.

‘What, now?’

‘As soon as it’s completely dark.’

‘He ain’t that sprightly at the moment.’

‘I’m sure, but Narcissus knows he’s wounded somewhere in Rome, so it won’t be long until you have a visit. Who else knows he’s here?’

Magnus started to climb an uneven wooden staircase. ‘Only Servius, my second in command, Ziri, and then Sextus and Marius; they were on guard last night when Sabinus crawled in.’

‘Good, they can help us move him. Is there a back way out?’

Magnus looked over his shoulder and scowled at his friend, humorously.

‘Sorry, silly question.’

‘There are three, actually,’ Magnus informed him, leading them down a dark corridor. At the end he opened a low door. ‘Welcome to what I call home, gentlemen,’ he said, stepping inside.

Vespasian and Gaius followed him into a dimly lit room, no more than ten feet square, with a table and two chairs on one side and, on the other, a low bed. Sabinus lay in it, asleep; his face was pale, even in the low light. Ziri, Magnus’ slave, sat on one of the chairs.

‘How is he, Ziri?’ Magnus asked.

‘He’s improving, master,’ the wiry, brown-skinned Marmarides replied, indicating to an empty bowl on the table. ‘Look, he ate all that pork earlier.’

Sabinus stirred, woken by the talking. He opened his eyes and groaned as he saw his brother and uncle standing behind Magnus. ‘You shouldn’t have come.’

‘No, you idiot, you shouldn’t have come!’ Vespasian exploded, the tension of the last few hours welling up from deep inside him. ‘What the fuck do you think you were doing? You were safe in Pannonia, and Clementina and the kids were with our parents, why didn’t you just let it be and allow others to commit suicide?’

Sabinus closed his eyes. ‘Look, Vespasian, if you’ve come here just to shout at me for avenging my honour then you can piss off. I kept you out of it; I purposely came in secret so that you would not have felt obliged by our blood-tie to aid me.’

‘I realise that and I’m grateful; but I feel obliged by our blood-tie to tell you that you’re nothing but a horse’s arse and unless you’re fucking lucky you’ll be nothing but a dead horse’s arse.’

Gaius stepped between the two brothers. ‘Dear boys, this’ll get us nowhere. Sabinus, how are you feeling because we need to move you? Narcissus’ men are looking for you all over Rome.’

‘Herod Agrippa recognised me, then?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

A faint smile touched Sabinus’ lips. ‘The oily bastard; I’ll bet he’s having a lovely time telling anyone who’ll care to listen.’

‘Fortunately he’s too busy playing politics with the information; we’ve still got a chance to save you.’

‘Save me? You mean they’ve executed the others?’

‘They will tomorrow.’

‘But Clemens had a deal.’

‘Don’t be so naïve, Narcissus was never going to stick to that.’

‘But Pallas?’

‘Pallas is the one person who’s helping us but there’s nothing he can do for Clemens and the rest, it’s public knowledge that it was them. They’re dead men.’

Sabinus sighed. ‘They should be praised, not killed.’

‘I’m sure Narcissus is praising them quietly to himself all the time; but he’s going to kill them anyway. Now, dear boy, we should get going soon. Magnus, get your lads.’

Magnus nodded and left the room.

‘What’s going to happen, Uncle?’ Sabinus asked, hauling himself up unsteadily onto his elbows.

‘First we’re taking you to my house and then tomorrow morning you’re going in front of Narcissus and, however distasteful it may seem to crawl to a freedman, you’re going to beg him for your life.’

Gaius knocked on his own front door; it was sharply opened by the very attractive young doorkeeper. ‘Tell Gernot to put a brazier in a spare bedroom and then have the cook prepare some soup,’ Gaius ordered the young lad.

The boy looked up at his master with frightened eyes. ‘Master, we’ve had the …’

‘Yes, I know, Ortwin, the house has been searched. Don’t worry; there was nothing that you could have done to prevent it. Now go.’

Ortwin blinked and ran off through the vestibule; Gaius eyed with appreciation his slave boy’s short tunic, revealing, as he ran, what it should have concealed, before turning back to the crossroads brothers in the street. ‘Bring him in, Magnus.’ He looked at Vespasian. ‘Flavia must not be told the truth, dear boy; obviously I wouldn’t know, but I’m told that women are prone to gossip amongst themselves.’

Vespasian chuckled. ‘Of course not, Uncle, I understand. However, there’s no explanation that will fit the facts.’

‘Then don’t try to give her one.’

Vespasian marvelled that his uncle could feel that it was that simple.

‘Careful with him, lads,’ Magnus warned Marius and Sextus. ‘An arm each around his waist, then ease him up.’

‘Arm round the waist and ease him up,’ Sextus repeated, as always slowly digesting his orders.

Marius nodded. ‘Right you are, Magnus.’

Vespasian watched with concern as Marius and Sextus hauled Sabinus off the handcart they had used to transport him as Ziri steadied it. Sabinus grimaced as the two crossroads brothers supported him and he stood upright on his left foot. A trace of blood had seeped through the heavy bandaging on his right thigh as a result of the rattling journey along the Quirinal. Aided by the brothers he hobbled painfully through the door.

‘Take the cart around the back, Magnus,’ Vespasian requested, ‘we’ll need it tomorrow.’

‘What about us, sir? Will you be needing an escort in the morning?’

‘Yes, can you and the lads be here at dawn?’

‘We’ll be here,’ Magnus confirmed as Ziri turned to wheel the handcart down the side alley.

Vespasian walked through the vestibule and into the atrium to be confronted with a sight he had never before witnessed: his wife and his mistress in the same room. They both looked less than pleased; Gaius was nowhere to be seen.

‘Just what has been going on?’ Flavia demanded, her voice shrill with indignant outrage. ‘We’ve both had our houses forcibly entered and our bedrooms searched by men who have worse manners than them.’ She pointed an accusatory finger at Sextus and Marius who were helping Sabinus down onto a couch. ‘Then Sabinus is carted in here, more dead than alive, when he should be, by rights, a thousand miles away. And when I demanded an explanation from your uncle he took one look at me and ran off into his study.’

Vespasian was not surprised that Gaius had retreated. Flavia reminded him uncomfortably of his mother and he felt a deep sympathy for his father whom he had witnessed facing this sort of tirade many times in his life. An unpleasant thought flashed across his mind: had he married Flavia because she had reminded him, without him realising it, of his mother? He glanced at Caenis, standing so incongruously next to Flavia, and judged from her expression that he could expect little support from that quarter.

‘Well, Vespasian? We’re waiting.’ Flavia persisted, putting an arm around Caenis.

Vespasian winced at the sight.

‘What have you done to have caused our privacy to be so rudely intruded upon?’

Remembering the satisfying results that had followed his father taking the offensive in these situations — admittedly rather belatedly in life — he resolved to do the same. ‘This is not the time for shouting and recriminations, woman. And there’ll be no explanation! See to it that Sabinus’ room is being made ready and then tell the cook to bring him some soup.’

Flavia put a hand on her swollen belly. ‘I could have miscarried with all the stress; I will have an expl-’

‘You’ll get nothing, woman! Make sure that Sabinus is settled. Now go!’

Flavia started at the force of the dismissal and then, sharing a brief look of mutual sympathy with Caenis, turned and walked briskly from the room.

‘Caenis, see to Sabinus’ bandaging; it needs changing,’ Vespasian ordered, far more curtly than he had intended.

Caenis opened her mouth and then shut it immediately as Vespasian shot her a warning look; he did not want to shout at her and she understood. She walked over to Sabinus who was by now lying, propped up with cushions, on the couch; the look on his pale face told of just how much he had enjoyed witnessing the colliding of his brother’s complicated domestic arrangements at first hand. Sextus and Marius stood next to him, clearly unsure of where to look or how to escape.

‘Thanks, lads,’ Vespasian said, his equilibrium returning. He reached into his purse and pulled out a couple of sesterces apiece for the brothers. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Marius mumbled, heading for the door. Sextus grunted something unintelligible and followed him out; neither looked Vespasian in the eye.

‘The stitches have held,’ Caenis observed, examining Sabinus’ wound, having removed the bandage. ‘It just needs swabbing with vinegar and a fresh dressing; I’ll go and get some.’

She left the room, keeping her eyes to the floor.

Vespasian sank into a chair and wiped the sweat from his brow with his toga, leaving a white stain of chalk.

Sabinus looked at him, too weak to do more than chuckle. ‘I take it that was the first time that all three of you have been in the same room?’

‘And the last, I hope.’

‘Unless it’s in your bedroom, perhaps?’

Vespasian glared at his brother. ‘Piss off, Sabinus!’

Any more comments on the subject were curtailed by Gaius poking his head around his study door. ‘Have they gone?’

‘Yes, Uncle, but they’ll be back.’

Gaius quickly retreated behind the door.

Vespasian reached for a jug on the table next to him and poured himself a large measure of undiluted wine. He took a long sip and savoured the taste, with his eyes closed, wishing that what he had just witnessed was not true.

Unfortunately, a short while later, it was reconfirmed: the sound of two sets of footsteps came from the tablinum at the far end of the atrium. Vespasian took an extra-large slug of his drink. Flavia and Caenis walked in together; Flavia with a bowl of soup and a loaf of bread and Caenis with a bottle of vinegar and fresh bandages.

In silence they ministered to Sabinus together, until his bowl was empty and his wound re-dressed. They then called for a couple of slaves to help them take him to his room.

When they returned they stood before Vespasian, still slumped in his chair, nursing his second cup of wine.

‘I shall go home now,’ Caenis said quietly.

Flavia looked contrite. ‘I’m sorry, husband, you were right to refuse to tell me anything. Caenis has guessed what has happened … why Sabinus is in Rome; and he did the right thing by Clementina. I know you would have done the same.’

Caenis walked past Vespasian to the door, laying a hand softly on his shoulder as she did so. She took her cloak from a hook in the vestibule, slung it around her shoulders and then looked back. ‘We both understand the importance of keeping this secret. We won’t say a word about this ever, Vespasian, not to anyone; will we, Flavia?’

‘No, my dear, we won’t; never a word.’

‘I hear that you found yourself in a bit of a tricky situation last night, sir,’ Magnus said conversationally as he accompanied Vespasian and Gaius down the Quirinal the following morning. His breath was faintly visible in the early morning air; a light drizzle fell from a heavy, grey sky.

Vespasian looked disapprovingly over his shoulder at Sextus and Marius pushing Sabinus, whose face was concealed under a deep hood, in the handcart. ‘I thought that it was only women who gossiped about the domestic woes of others.’

‘Don’t blame the lads; I heard all the shouting from outside so I asked them what was going on when they got out.’

‘It was a fearsome sight, my friend,’ Gaius opined, blanching at the memory. ‘One irate woman is bad enough, but a brace of them? Intolerable!’ Gaius shook his head, sucking the breath in between his teeth. ‘They were both standing there, fire in their eyes, bonded by a mutual sense of violation, with all past hatred and jealousy between them put aside, to face their common foe. Utterly hideous! Luckily I had some urgent correspondence to deal with.’

‘You mean you ran away, Uncle.’

‘Dear boy, it’s not my business to deal with your overly complicated domestic arrangements; especially when they’re united in an unnatural alliance of vengeance. That takes the sort of resolve found only in men rash enough to believe that they can go into a negotiation with nothing to bargain with.’

‘As you’re just about to do, senator,’ Magnus pointed out.

Gaius grunted uneasily and Vespasian smiled to himself despite the truth of Magnus’ observation. They had, indeed, nothing to offer Narcissus in return for Sabinus’ life; nothing, apart from the hope that he, Narcissus, would remember the two debts that he owed them. Ten years previously, Vespasian and his brother had kept the secret of a coded, treasonous letter, written in Claudius’ name — and with his connivance — by his deceased freedman Boter. They had shown it only to Claudius’ mother, the Lady Antonia; she had it read to a mortified Narcissus. He had vowed to keep a firmer hand on the affairs of his malleable but overly ambitious patron. Narcissus had expressed his gratitude to the brothers for their discretion in the matter — it was information that in Tiberius’ or Sejanus’ hands could have meant the banishment or execution of Claudius and the end of Narcissus’ career. He had promised to repay the favour when he could.

The second debt was a more ignominious memory and Vespasian still felt the shame of it. At the Lady Antonia’s behest he and his aristocratic friend Corbulo had murdered Poppaeus Sabinus, who had been financing Sejanus’ successor, Macro’s, bid for power. The deed had taken place in Claudius’ house, with Narcissus and Pallas’ help, during the exchange of Claudius’ debt of fourteen million denarii to Poppaeus for seven of his valuable estates in the province of Egypt. Claudius had been left very wealthy, retaining both the debt marker and the seven estates. This was the favour that Vespasian hoped Narcissus would repay. Although Narcissus had acknowledged his obligation to him at the time, Vespasian knew that there was no way that he could force the issue as it was completely deniable — for they had made it seem Poppaeus had died of natural causes.

These thoughts played around Vespasian’s mind as they trudged up the Palatine, in foreboding silence, until they arrived at the front of the palace complex.

Vespasian was shocked by the sight that greeted them: in the open space before the building, now very cramped owing to Caligula’s ill-considered extensions to Augustus’ once grand house, milled hundreds of senators and equites, stamping their feet and hunching their shoulders in the miserable weather. ‘What are they all doing outside in the cold?’ he wondered. ‘The atrium can’t be full yet.’

‘All of Rome wants to know how they stand with the new regime,’ Gaius suggested. ‘Magnus, stay here with Sabinus and the lads, we’ll go and see what’s happening.’

Vespasian and Gaius eased their way through the disgruntled crowd, offering greetings to rivals and acquaintances, until they saw the cause of the impasse: arranged in front of the main doors was a century of Praetorians, still, outrageously, in full military uniform. In front of them were four desks manned by imperial clerks to whom senators and equites alike were giving their names to be checked against a list of people due to be admitted that day. The look on the faces of those who had been turned away told of the indignation and humiliation felt by those of the highest classes being refused access to their Emperor by mere slaves.

‘Not even Caligula went this far,’ Gaius fumed quietly. ‘In fact, he positively welcomed people coming to greet him every morning.’

‘That’s because, being an immortal, he had no fear of assassination.’

Gaius and Vespasian turned round to see Pallas who had once more managed to catch them unawares.

‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ he said, again putting an arm around their damp shoulders. ‘I’ve been waiting for you in order to help Sabinus circumvent Narcissus’ new admittance policy. Where is he?’

Vespasian pointed through the crowd. ‘Back there with Magnus in a handcart; he can’t walk too well.’

‘I’ll have my men take them through a side entrance.’ Pallas signalled to a couple of clerks waiting on him to come closer. After a brief muted conversation, during which Pallas seemed to reiterate a particular point, they went off on their errand. ‘They’ll take him to my new quarters where he can wait until the interview. Now we should get you through.’

‘Is this going to happen every day?’ Vespasian asked as they moved towards the nearest desk.

‘Yes, only those with appointments will get through and then they will be searched for weapons by the Praetorians.’

‘Senators searched?’ Gaius huffed.

‘Julius Caesar would have done well to follow that policy,’ Vespasian observed, trying to lighten his uncle’s mood. ‘If he had we might be living in a different world today.’

Pallas remained expressionless. ‘I very much doubt it.’

Half an hour later, having finally got through to the expansive and imposing atrium — designed by Augustus to overawe foreign embassies with the sombre dignity and majesty of Rome — Vespasian was surprised by how few people were waiting to be seen. Their quiet conversations were almost inaudible above the splatter of the central fountain and the slapped footsteps of an excessive number of imperial functionaries walking to and fro with wax tablets and scrolls. He was relieved, however, to notice that in the two days since Caligula’s assassination most of the more vulgar decor that had so pleased the brash young Emperor had been replaced by the original, more subtle but exquisitely manufactured furnishings, ornaments and statuary that he had so admired when he had first seen the chamber.

‘I will leave you here, gentlemen,’ Pallas said, indicating to a pair of chairs either side of a table, beneath a much idealised statue purporting to be of Claudius. ‘You will be called in due course. One of my men will alert me as you go in and I will bring Sabinus. Good luck.’

‘Thank you, Pallas,’ Vespasian said, offering his arm, ‘for all your help.’

Pallas stepped back. ‘I can’t take your arm, my friend, not in public. If Narcissus hears of it then he will think of you more as my man, not his. For your sake you should cultivate him now; he’s the real power here; Callistus and I are secondary.’ He turned to go, before adding quietly: ‘However, Claudius is only fifty-two and has a good few more years to live.’

A slave offered them a tray of assorted fruit juices as they sat down and watched Pallas disappear through the columns.

‘I’m beginning to think that we might have been better off under Caligula,’ Gaius said, taking a cup.

Vespasian kicked his uncle’s shin under the table as he selected his drink and waited for the slave to leave. ‘Careful what you say, Uncle. We’re loyal supporters of Claudius, remember? That’s the only viable option at the moment. At least he’s not setting himself up over us as a god.’

Gaius smirked. ‘Even if his favoured freedman is beginning to act like one?’

Vespasian looked away so as not to laugh and saw an unwelcome sight walking through the main doors: Marcus Valerius Messala Corvinus, the man who had, by abducting Clementina and delivering her to Caligula, knowingly set in motion the train of events that had led to Caligula’s assassination and his sister, Messalina’s, rise to empress. His striking, patrician face had an expression of immense satisfaction on it as he strode through the atrium as if he owned the place.

Vespasian had first encountered the man whilst serving as a quaestor in Cyrenaica and they had become enemies. Now he turned his head to avoid being seen; but too late.

‘What are you doing here, bumpkin?’ Corvinus sneered, looking down his long, aristocratic nose. ‘I can’t imagine that there are any positions for foolhardy country boys who enjoy abandoning their social betters to slavers and losing over a hundred men in the desert.’

Vespasian got to his feet, his jaw rigid. It was true that his venture against the desert-dwelling Marmarides tribe had been foolhardy — he had undertaken it solely to impress Flavia — but he did not like being reminded of the fact. ‘My family still have a score to settle with you for what you did to Clementina, Corvinus.’

‘Really? I should say we’re equal.’

‘Not after what Caligula put her through.’

‘Would it help to know that it was mainly business? Although, I will admit there was a sweet mix of pleasure in it as well; I knew that the only person who stood a good chance of assassinating Caligula would be one of the Praetorian prefects. So Clementina was just perfect to have my revenge on you and to goad Clemens into clearing the way for my sister to become empress. Your idiot brother even unwittingly told me where she was; I was surprised he didn’t join with Clemens in the assassination — or is he happy being a dishonourable cuckold?’

‘You don’t want to make it any worse.’

‘An empty threat, bumpkin. I’ll speak to you any way I want; Messalina’s empress now and if you want my advice you should consider us square.’

Vespasian opened his mouth to argue as a clerk cleared his throat next to them. ‘The imperial secretary will see you now, sirs.’

Corvinus creased his nose as if he had trodden in something unpleasant and then turned on his heel and strolled away, seemingly without a care.

‘Follow me, sirs,’ the clerk said, turning to go.

‘That, my dear boy,’ Gaius whispered, ‘is a very wellconnected man whom you’d be wise to steer clear of.’

‘Thank you, Uncle,’ Vespasian snapped. ‘But I think that I’ve got more pressing issues to worry about at the moment; Sabinus’ life, for example.’