Rome's executioner

CHAPTER X

An intense profusion of contrary smells assaulted Vespasian’s olfactory senses as the trireme docked against one of the many wooden jetties in the port of Ostia: the ravenous mouth of the city of Rome. The fresh, salt tang of sea air clashed with the muddy reek of the Tiber as it disgorged the filth of the city, just twenty miles upstream, into the Tyrrhenian Sea. The decay of decomposing animal carcasses bobbing between the ships and wharves conflicted with the mouth-watering aromas of grilling pork, chicken and sausages that wafted across from the smoking charcoal braziers of quayside traders, eager to sell fresh meat to stale-bread-weary sailors. Sacks of pungent spices — cinnamon, cloves, saffron — from India and beyond, were offloaded by Syrian trading ships next to vessels from Africa and Lusitania disgorging their cargoes of high-smelling garum sauce, made from the fermented intestines of fish. Unsubtly perfumed whores solicited unwashed seamen; garlic-breathed dockworkers took orders from lavender-scented merchants; sweat-foamed horses and mules pulled cartloads of sweet, dried apricots, figs, dates and raisins. Rotting fish, baking bread, sweating slaves, resinated wine, stale urine, dried herbs, high meat, hemp rope, ships’ bilges and warm wood: the combinations made Vespasian’s head spin as he watched the Thracian crew secure the ship and lower the gangplank to the constant shouted entreaties of Rhaskos.

‘At times I thought that we’d never make back, sir,’ Magnus said, joining him at the rail, ‘but that is definitely Ostia.’

‘Having never been here, I’ll just have to take your word for it,’ Vespasian replied, smiling at his friend and sharing his relief at finally getting home.

It had not been a straightforward journey, purely for the foreseen logistical problems of feeding so many men. The provisions that they found in the hold had only been sufficient for a few days and, although Rhaskos had been able to buy, with the gold in his strongbox, sacks of hardtack, chickpeas and dried pork at ports along the way they had been forced to stop for two or three days at a time to hunt sufficient game to keep the 350 or so men onboard from going too hungry. Their voyage, therefore, had taken almost thirty days from Cythera, much longer than intended but it had, at least, been without incident.

With the ship finally secured Rhaskos came pushing through the crowded deck. ‘So, my young friend, here’s where we say goodbye,’ the old trierarchus said, sweating profusely from the exertion of so much shouting at his crew. ‘Although how I shall get home I don’t know, as I’ve used up all the gold that the Queen gave me for the return trip.’

‘I’m sure that the gods will provide,’ Vespasian replied, instantly regretting his flippancy.

Thankfully it was lost on Rhaskos, who just nodded his head sagely. ‘Yes, you’re right; I’m sure they will.’

There was a stirring on the quayside and raucous shouting; a group of twenty armed men were shoving their way towards the bottom of the gangway. Although they were not in uniform they certainly had a military look; each was armed with a gladius. However, more worryingly, because of the fine quality of their tunics and the smartness of their appearance they had more than a whiff of the Praetorian Guard about them.

Thoughts of betrayal flooded into Vespasian’s mind and he glanced nervously at Magnus and Sabinus, who had joined him having heard the disturbance.

The soldiers reached the bottom of the gangway and their leader, a tall, wiry, auburn-haired man with a pinched face and pasty skin, motioned them to stop. From within their midst appeared a smartly dressed, bearded Greek.

‘Welcome home, masters,’ Pallas said, making his way up the steep ramp.

‘Pallas!’ Vespasian was astonished to see Antonia’s steward. ‘How did you know when we would arrive?’

‘I didn’t,’ Pallas replied, bowing low. ‘I have been waiting here for ten days now, ever since a messenger from Queen Tryphaena arrived, overland, telling the Lady Antonia that you had left Tomi towards the end of May. She sent me here to escort you and our mutual friend back to Rome.’

‘And I suppose that is our escort,’ Sabinus observed, looking suspiciously at the phalanx of men on the quay.

‘Yes, master. I will explain later, when there are fewer people listening.’ Pallas indicated the mass of crew and ex-slaves that had crowded around to see what was going on.

‘I look forward to it,’ Sabinus said uneasily.

‘Get back to work, all of you,’ Rhaskos suddenly shouted at his milling crew, ‘there’s nothing to see here.’

‘Ah, you must be the noble trierarchus,’ Pallas crooned, bowing towards Rhaskos as the crew started to thin out.

‘Rhaskos, sir,’ Rhaskos stammered, unused to being addressed in those terms.

‘Please, master, do not address me as “sir”, I am but a mere slave.’

Vespasian and Sabinus both smiled; there was nothing ‘mere’ about Pallas whatsoever.

Rhaskos looked confused. ‘I’m sorry, er…’

‘Please do not apologise to me. My name is Pallas, master.’

‘Pallas,’ Rhaskos spluttered, ‘indeed. Thank-’

Pallas raised an eyebrow; Rhaskos halted mid-flow. ‘The Lady Antonia wishes me to inform you, Trierachus Rhaskos, that you are to revictual your ship totally at her expense; I have delivered her promissory note to the port aedile guaranteeing full payment for anything that you require.’

‘May the gods be praised.’ Rhaskos raised his palms and faced to the sky. ‘Please give my thanks to the Lady, sir… er… Pallas. I am in her debt.’ He bowed, then, realising his mistake, quickly stopped himself and beat a hasty retreat, calling out his thanks for his good fortune to every god that he could think of, which were many.

Vespasian was sure that Pallas had been amused by the conversation but was unable to confirm it as the steward’s face remained, as always, absolutely neutral.

‘We should go, masters,’ Pallas said with just the faintest trace of urgency in his voice. ‘We will need to ride fast if we are to get to Rome before dusk.’

In less than an hour they were on the move. Having said their goodbyes to Rhaskos, Drenis and Gaidres, they transferred Rhoteces, hissing and hooded, to a covered wagon that waited for them, along with their horses, a short distance from the crowded harbour. Artebudz, who was on his way north to his mountainous home in the province of Noricum, had come with them and he and Magnus rode in the wagon, guarding the priest.

‘They are Praetorians, as you suspected, masters,’ Pallas informed Vespasian and Sabinus as they rode through the gates of Ostia at a quick trot. ‘However, they’re Praetorian Cavalry; their decurion, Marcus Arrecinus Clemens-’

‘Clemens?’ Vespasian interrupted. ‘I’ve heard that name before; he was with Macro and Hasdro when they were following me up the Via Aurelia. Macro sent Clemens north with half of his cavalry to block the road, whilst he took the rest to look for me in Cosa.’

‘Yes, he is loyal to our new friend, Macro,’ Pallas confirmed. ‘He also happens to be a client of my mistress’s son Claudius.’

‘How did that come about?’ Vespasian was intrigued.

‘I believe he is a man who enjoys gambling at the circus on the team with the longest odds.’

‘There’s a difference between betting on an outsider as compared with a no-hoper,’ Sabinus pointed out.

‘I wouldn’t say that Claudius is a no-hoper,’ Pallus replied with a slight rise of his eyebrows. ‘His mother would, as would the Emperor and Sejanus, but that’s why he is still in the race. He may seem stupid because he stutters, drools and limps, because he has a tendency to say the most inappropriate things in public and makes pathetic jokes under the misapprehension that he’s one of the finest wits of our age; but underneath he’s an ambitious, power-hungry viper and not to be trusted. He’s also very intelligent, if somewhat chaotic, and has written extensively on a wide variety of subjects. Some of his work is, I’m told, quite edifying.’

Vespasian was intrigued. ‘Would you bet on him, Pallas?’

Pallas looked at Vespasian shrewdly. ‘The disadvantage about gambling at the circus is that you can only place a bet before the race starts; to my mind that is the worst time to put your money down. I prefer to lay a bet after the final turn when you have a much clearer idea as to who will be the eventual winner. That system has two advantages: you are more likely to win and you’ll have been parted from your money for a shorter time.’

‘So Clemens has got a long wait before he sees any return to his outlay, then?’ Sabinus chuckled.

‘Perhaps, but like any sensible long-odds gambler he has hedged his bet with a little flutter on Caligula; he escorts him when he goes out at night incognito, gets him out of any embarrassing scrapes that he may fall into and clears up his mess — which is sometimes considerable.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ Vespasian agreed, thinking of his friend’s voracious sexual appetite. ‘So Clemens is one to watch, is he?’

‘Oh yes, and I’m sure that he will make himself very useful to you both.’

‘What makes you think that?’ Sabinus asked.

‘Because you are in the Lady Antonia’s favour and he is a kinsman of yours. A very distant one, but nevertheless the link is there. Your father’s mother and Clemens’ grandmother shared the same grandfather and I’m sure that he will make much of it.’

‘He doesn’t look much like a kinsman of ours,’ Sabinus observed, eyeing with suspicion the thin-faced decurion riding just ahead of them. ‘He’s an ugly bugger, that’s for sure.’

‘I tend to find it best not to judge people on their looks, master,’ Pallas said, bringing the subject to a close.

Vespasian rode on in silence. The tingle of anticipation that had been growing in his stomach since they had sighted the Italian coast was now a churning and he was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on anything other than Caenis. After more than four years he would see her again tonight; at least he hoped that he would. Surely she would be with Antonia? But would he get to talk with her, a chance to be alone with her, to touch and hold her? None of these questions could he answer; he would just have to wait and see — and the knowledge that he was not in control of the situation was driving him to distraction. He tried to put his mind to other matters — his parents, the estates, his uncle Gaius, the island of Capreae whose rocky coastline they had sailed past the previous day — but it would not settle. It just kept on coming back to the most urgent subject: Caenis. He felt blood rushing to his groin as the image of her stepping out of her tunic in the lamplight flitted across his inner eye and he was forced to make an adjustment to his dress.

‘Thinking about your romantic reunion with the mules at home, brother?’ Sabinus drawled, noticing his unfortunate predicament.

‘Piss off, Sabinus,’ Vespasian snapped, hugely embarrassed in more ways than one.

‘I asked Clemens to send a rider ahead to warn my mistress that we would arrive this evening,’ Pallas said, picking up on the problem and guessing its cause. ‘I’m sure there will be a dinner awaiting you and I will make sure that every member of the household fulfils their normal roles.’

Happy in the knowledge that he would at least see Caenis that evening, Vespasian smiled awkwardly at Pallas, whose expression, as ever, remained neutral, as if he had said nothing at all of import. Sabinus gave a wry chuckle.

It was almost dusk as the column clattered up the Palatine Hill. The culture shock that Vespasian had felt at being back in a city so packed with people was wearing off as the crowds thinned out and the houses grew, quite literally, more palatial.

Antonia’s seal had been sufficient to get them and the wagon through the Porta Ostiensis without any questions from the Urban Cohort soldiers on guard — wheeled vehicles not normally being allowed in the city during the day. It had then taken them almost a half-hour to fight their way through the crowds of the Aventine, around the Circus Maximus and finally to the foot of the Palatine. But now their journey was over.

Clemens thumped on the gate to the stable yard at the rear of Antonia’s villa; it opened after a short delay.

‘We’re being observed,’ Pallas remarked as they rode into the yard.

Vespasian glanced back up the street to see a couple of figures lurking in the shadows of a cypress tree overhanging a wall, fifty paces away. ‘Sejanus’ men?’ he asked.

‘More than likely,’ Pallas said, dismounting, ‘but they won’t be able to tell him any more than that a group of men arrived escorting a carriage.’

‘Welcome, gentleman,’ came a strong, familiar, female voice. Antonia descended the steps from the main house and walked elegantly towards Vespasian and Sabinus. Although in her midsixties she was still beautiful in a way that could not just be ascribed to expensive beauty treatments and the best coiffure and gowns that money could buy. She smiled radiantly at the brothers. ‘I cannot begin to express my gratitude at what you have achieved for our cause.’ She took Sabinus’ hand and pressed it warmly. He bowed his head and muttered something inaudible.

Antonia turned to Vespasian and took his hand in both of hers. ‘I see that four years in the army has been the making of you, Vespasian,’ she said, lowering her voice so that only he could hear. ‘You look to be a man in perfect physical condition; I hope that your mind has grown in conjunction with your body because in the next few months it will be politics that’ll be our main concern, not fighting.’

Vespasian reddened slightly. That so powerful a woman should come out to greet them rather than awaiting them in the cool of her study was humbling, and a great honour. ‘I hope that I’ll be up to the tasks ahead, domina,’ he managed to say, bracing himself to once again be swept into the sea of political intrigue in which he knew the highest strata of Roman society wallowed.

He was saved from any more searching questions by the arrival of Magnus and Artebudz dragging the cringing Rhoteces from the carriage. They threw him to the ground in front of Antonia.

‘So this is the creature that’s forced us to go to so much effort bringing him to Rome.’ She looked with distaste at the filthy priest who, shaking with fear, tried to touch her feet in supplication. Magnus kicked his manacled hands away.

‘Thank you, Magnus.’

‘My pleasure, domina,’ Magnus said with a grin. ‘He’s had the fight taken out of him since we landed at Ostia; he’d always thought that his gods would prevent him being brought to Rome but now he’s here he’s been muttering nonstop about them deserting him. Mind you, with one look at him, who would blame them, if you take…’ Magnus ground to a halt, realising that he was far too lowly to be expressing his unsolicited opinions to Antonia, no matter what his previous relationship with her may have been.

Antonia cast him a mildly disapproving look, which to Vespasian’s eye had the hint of desire in it. He could not help but wonder again what form their couplings must have taken having been indiscreetly told by Caligula that Antonia had indulged her passion for boxers fresh from a fight; Magnus had fought in front of her more that a few times.

Magnus bowed. ‘Forgive me, domina,’ he said contritely.

Vespasian suppressed a smile; one question had been answered: his friend had not been the dominant partner.

‘Pallas, secure the prisoner away,’ Antonia ordered, getting back to the matter in hand. ‘Feed him just enough to keep up his strength but no more; we don’t want him thinking that he’s a guest.’

Pallas bowed to his mistress and with Artebudz’s help hauled the writhing priest away.

‘Now, gentlemen,’ Antonia said, wrinkling her nose and turning back to Vespasian and Sabinus, ‘I think that, for all our sakes, you should avail yourselves of my bath house before we dine. I will see you later when you are refreshed. Magnus, you may join them. Show them the way.’

A short while later the three of them were sitting, sweating profusely, in the small, brightly lit, white marble-walled caldarium. Male slaves were rubbing sweet-perfumed oil into their skin and then scraping it off with strigils, slowly removing the ingrained grime of travel.

Neither Vespasian nor Sabinus had bothered to ask Magnus how he had come to be so familiar with the whereabouts of Antonia’s bath house; his embarrassed countenance and inability to look either of them in the eye as he led them unerringly through the maze of corridors were sufficient enough to gain all the amusement they needed from the situation.

Travel weariness had caught up with them in the baking temperature of the caldarium and they eased into a delightful semi-consciousness as their bodies were expertly cleansed.

A booming voice from the doorway abruptly brought them back from the somnolent world into which they had slipped.

‘My dear boys, how lovely to have you back.’

Gaius Vespasius Pollo, their uncle, burst into the room completely naked. His bulbous body wobbled furiously as he waddled the short distance across the mosaic floor. Vespasian and Sabinus stood up and were subjected to his all-enveloping, enthusiastic embraces. Magnus, much to his relief, had to endure no more than a hearty grasp of his forearm.

‘Antonia told me that I would find you here,’ Gaius exclaimed, slapping an arm around each of the brothers’ shoulders and sitting them back down on the hot stone bench. ‘My, my, you look well, Vespasian, what a fine figure the army has given you; much like my own in my younger, more vigorous days. And you, Magnus, how I’ve missed your services these past four years — which reminds me: Antonia asked me to send you to her, she wished to see you before she had dinner; she didn’t say why.’

Magnus grimaced. ‘I suppose I’d better be going then,’ he mumbled, picking up his linen towel and making as dignified an exit as possible.

As the door closed behind Magnus the brothers burst out laughing.

Gaius looked at them, bemused. ‘What’s so amusing, dear boys?’

Vespasian managed to get his mirth under control and indicated subtly to the slaves hovering around them. ‘We’ll fill you in later, Uncle; in the meantime tell us your news.’

Gaius was delighted to ramble on for a good while about his recent achievements, which if not inconsiderable were at least inconsequential.

By the time he had finished they had moved into the tepidarium. Vespasian lay face down on a pleasantly warm leather couch having just enjoyed a good, almost violent, pummelling at the expert hands of one of Antonia’s masseurs. He was vaguely aware of Sabinus and Gaius leaving and being told that he would be called shortly before dinner was served as he fell into a blissful sleep.

Oil being drizzled on to his back and then two thumbs gently working the muscles around his shoulder blades caused him to stir and grunt with pleasure. He lay still with his eyes shut as he submitted himself to the soothing massage, which was far more tranquil than the kneading and pounding that he had received earlier. The hands worked their way down his spine, easing the muscles and drawing from him long groans of relaxed contentment. As they passed the small of his back they moved on to his buttocks and caressed them with a tenderness that was unusual in a massage. He half opened one eye; his heart leapt.

‘Caenis!’ he exclaimed, turning and sitting up all in one swift motion.

‘Shh, my love,’ she softly said, pressing a slender forefinger to his mouth, ‘lie back down and let me finish. It has been such a long time that words may fail us whereas caresses will tell you all you need to know about how I feel; how I will always feel.’

Vespasian gazed at her, his heart thumping within him. There she stood, the woman he had dreamt of for so long, naked; her tender, ivory skin glowed in the soft lamplight that caused her thick black hair to shine with a reddish sheen as it fell in ringlets to her slender shoulders. She smiled at him and shook her head slowly as if unable to believe the reality that her eyes, wide and blue and glistening with unformed tears of joy, were showing her.

Vespasian grasped her hands, linking his fingers through hers, whilst forcing himself not to squeeze too hard and cause her pain. ‘Caenis, I can’t tell you how much I’ve dreamt of this moment, how much I’ve…’

‘Quiet, my love,’ she said, pulling her hands from his and resting them on his shoulders. ‘I can’t tell you either; that’s why we shouldn’t rely on words.’ She pushed him gently down on to his back. ‘Lie still and let me finish massaging you, I’m getting to know your body again.’ She bent over him and kissed him full on the lips; he savoured the touch and the taste of her. As their tongues found each other she lifted herself on to the bench and straddled his waist. Pulling away from the kiss she started to rub his broad shoulders, then worked her way down over the well-formed muscles of his chest; all the while gazing at him with love and disbelief. Vespasian gazed back with equal emotions as she continued the massage on to the happiest of endings.

Vespasian found dinner that evening a very pleasant affair, augmented, as it was, by the frisson of stolen glances with a radiant Caenis as she served her mistress. He spent the evening with a smile on his face as he tucked in, with the gusto of a sexually satisfied man, to the various courses laid in front of him. The food, as expected, had been of the highest quality, as had the wine, and the conversation far more convivial and relaxed than the last time Vespasian had dined with Antonia in the same room. Four years of dining with Queen Tryphaena and her high-ranking Roman guests had taught him the art of dinner-table conversation; it was an art in which he feared he would never excel, because of his rural upbringing, but he had, at least, gained a sufficient proficiency in it for the dining table no longer to seem daunting. He was able to relax and contribute to the conversation, not because he felt that he ought to, and hence come out with the first thoughts that entered his head, but because he had something relevant and interesting to say. The presence of Gaius Caligula made for a welcome reunion, adding to Vespasian’s general sense of wellbeing. His young friend was in fine spirits despite — or perhaps, because of — his mother’s and eldest brother’s banishments the previous year. His other brother, Drusus, had recently joined them in exile in Sejanus’ bid to neutralise all Tiberius’ potential heirs one by one.

To Vespasian’s surprise, apart from himself, Caligula, Sabinus and Gaius, Clemens had also been invited and had proved to be very good company; he had a pithy wit and the ability to lead the conversation without seeming to dominate it. He also managed to flirt with Antonia without being inappropriate or too earnest, so that his compliments were taken not seriously but as homage paid to a beautiful woman by a young man many years her junior.

Over the course of the evening Vespasian came to understand that Clemens was actually there in an official capacity: he was Caligula’s gaoler. Since Drusus’ arrest Tiberius had ordered Caligula to be kept under constant guard, poisoned as he was by Sejanus’ constant whisperings in his ear concerning the loyalty of his immediate family. Macro, who still enjoyed Sejanus’ trust, had managed to appoint Clemens to guard him and therein lay their hope, as Antonia explained once the slaves had been dismissed and Pallas had taken up his place by the door.

‘My information from Macro, a strange but necessary bedfellow as you will all no doubt agree, is that the Emperor does not intend to harm my young Gaius,’ she said, looking affectionately at her grandson reclining on the couch beside her and ruffling his hair.

‘Do stop doing that, Grandmother,’ Caligula protested with a mock-grimace. ‘When I become Emperor my first decree will be to forbid the ruffling of a man’s hair by any woman that he hasn’t paid for.’

‘In which case I would give the Lady Antonia a talent of silver just to ruffle my hair,’ Clemens shouted through the goodhumoured laughter.

‘Very gallant, my dear Clemens,’ Antonia replied. She was glowing, though not, Vespasian suspected, solely from the compliment or the effect of the wine. ‘However, that would only be possible if my grandson survives to take what is rightfully his. As I was saying, Tiberius does not intend to harm my grandson but he does intend to keep him under close observation and the rumour is, according to Macro, that he will invite Gaius to join him on Capreae in the near future. When he does, Macro will ensure that Clemens goes with him as the commander of his guard. With Gaius and Clemens both on the island we will have our chance to smuggle the priest across.’

There was a general murmur of agreement that was broken by one voice of dissension.

‘Domina,’ Sabinus said carefully, ‘I don’t mean to cause offence, but how do we know that we can trust Clemens? He is, after all, Macro’s man.’

Clemens was about to answer the charge himself when Antonia raised her hand. ‘I think that your uncle had best explain that, Sabinus.’

‘My pleasure, domina,’ Gaius said, a little too loudly; he had been thoroughly enjoying Antonia’s wine. ‘Apart from the normal inducements — money, favour and promotion to Praetorian tribune when Macro is made the prefect — there is only one thing that can guarantee loyalty and that is family.’

‘I know that he’s a kinsman of ours from our father’s side,’ Sabinus said dismissively, ‘but so distant as to not make much of a difference. Please don’t take offence, Clemens, I just need to be sure.’

‘None taken, cousin,’ Clemens replied cheerfully, taking a sip of wine. ‘I totally understand your concerns. That’s why I made the offer.’

‘What offer?’

‘Allow me?’ Gaius cut in slightly more abruptly than necessary.

Clemens raised his cup and nodded graciously.

‘The problem is that he doesn’t have close enough family ties,’ Gaius continued, ‘wouldn’t you agree, Sabinus?’

‘Yes, I would.’

‘So we need to make those ties closer, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Yes, but how?’

‘By your marrying Arrecina Clementina, his only sister.’

Sabinus’ mouth opened and closed as he struggled to say something. ‘I’ve got no wish to be married yet,’ he eventually managed to splutter. Vespasian stifled a snigger.

‘My dear boy, don’t be so silly; every man wants to get married,’ Gaius laughed. ‘With a few exceptions, of course,’ he added, holding his hand to his ample chest. ‘Besides, it’s perfect because firstly: it’s a marriage within the larger family. Secondly: she is of equestrian rank. Thirdly: it secures us an important ally. And finally: your parents are very keen on the idea; in fact your father wrote to tell me that it was now his wish that you marry her and he has given me permission to negotiate the terms on his behalf as he cannot come himself to Rome.’

Sabinus swallowed; he knew what that meant.

‘As for me,’ Clemens chipped in, ‘it would be an honour to have my sister marry someone with such good prospects, provided we succeed with our plan, of course; and if we don’t we’ll in all probability be dead so it won’t matter. As for my sister, she’ll do what I say as our father is dead and she is mine to dispose of as I please; and it pleases me to give her to you.’

‘I am very honoured,’ Sabinus said evenly, not forgetting his manners and not wishing to offend Clemens by making light of his very generous offer.

‘You’ll be more than honoured when you see her, Sabinus,’ Antonia said huskily, ‘she’s beautiful.’

Sabinus glanced at Clemens whose narrow face and pallid skin did not inspire him with any confidence in the veracity of that assertion.

‘Pallas, show the lady in,’ Antonia ordered.

Pallas bowed and slipped out of the door.

‘I hope you don’t mind, Sabinus,’ Antonia said, smiling, ‘but I took the liberty of sending my litter for Clementina whilst we were eating. She is fully aware that she has come to meet her future husband.’

Vespasian was enjoying watching the net tighten around his brother whilst at the same time being relieved that it was not he in that predicament. For the first time in his life he was glad of being the younger sibling.

The door opened and Pallas ushered in a young girl, no more than fifteen years of age; she was clad in a saffron stola with a turquoise palla draped around her. She stood before the company, lifted the palla from her hair and then slowly raised her head.

Vespasian had to suppress a gasp.

Sabinus jumped to his feet and recoiled back.

Antonia had not exaggerated: she was beautiful. Her eyes were the green of a newly sprouted leaf in spring and her lips and hair were the colour of that same leaf in autumn. Like her brother she had pale skin but, whereas his was pallid, hers glowed with a soft sheen that spoke of tender nights full of warm caresses. Like her brother she had a thin face but, whereas his was pinched, hers was delicate and fine boned with a slender nose and a full mouth that demanded to be kissed.

‘Titus Flavius Sabinus,’ Clemens said, walking over to her and taking her hand. ‘May I present my sister: Arrecina Clementina.’

‘Lady, I am honoured,’ Sabinus almost whispered.

‘It is you that do me honour, sir.’ Clementina’s voice was soft and melodious. She reached into the folds of her palla and brought out a small ivory statuette. Placing it in Sabinus’ hand, she lowered her head and waited for the gift, and therefore her, to be accepted. He lifted it and smiled as he recognised the carving: Mithras slaughtering a bull.

‘Thank you, Clementina, I accept this gift in token of our forthcoming marriage,’ he said, all doubts evaporated.

‘I look forward to learning about your god,’ Clemintina said sweetly, meeting his eyes.

‘I’m sorry that I have nothing for you,’ he replied, quickly changing the subject, Mithraism not being at all inclusive of women, ‘but I have been taken slightly by surprise.’

Vespasian swallowed a laugh; it was one of the biggest understatements that he had ever heard.

‘But a happy surprise, I hope,’ Clemens said to cover any embarrassment. ‘I will escort you home, sister. Senator Pollo, I shall come to your house tomorrow to discuss the dowry and the terms and time of the marriage.’

‘It will be my pleasure, Clemens,’ Gaius replied.

Clemens took his future brother-in-law by the forearm. ‘I shall be delighted to have you for a brother, Sabinus.’ Sabinus mumbled something positive, unable to take his eyes off his future wife.

‘Domina, thank you for the evening,’ Clemens said, bowing his head to Antonia. ‘Gentlemen, I wish you all goodnight.’

With that he led his sister from the room; Pallas followed, to see them to the litter. Sabinus stood motionless, staring at the closed door. Gaius and Antonia shared a smile as Caligula and Vespasian looked at each other incredulously.

Caligula was the first to recover. ‘Jupiter’s balls, why haven’t I had-’

‘Gaius, my dear,’ Antonia cut in sharply, ruffling his hair again, ‘none of your smut.’

Caligula excused himself from the table soon after, muttering something about a headache. Judging by the speed with which he left the room Vespasian had no doubt that the ache was in another part of his anatomy and he was off to ease it with one, or maybe a few, of his grandmother’s many house slaves.

Since Clemens’ departure with his sister, the talk had been of Sabinus’ good fortune in having such a beautiful young bride. Sabinus himself was drinking deeply at each toast and had started to slur his words. Vespasian knew that he should bring up the subject of the scroll found on the dead Geta before his brother passed into oblivion brought on by a surfeit of anticipated matrimonial bliss. He had an instinct that as few people as possible should know its contents; with Caligula now otherwise engaged the time seemed right.

‘Domina,’ he said as they lowered their cups from yet another toast to the newly engaged couple, ‘there’s a matter that I think I should bring to your attention, sooner rather than later.’

‘By all means,’ Antonia replied, her voice steady, having drunk very little and then only of well-watered wine.

He turned to Pallas, who had returned to his position by the door. ‘Pallas, would you call for Magnus to bring the scroll? He’ll know what you mean.’

‘Yes, master.’ Pallas slipped out briefly to send the message and then resumed his place.

Whilst they awaited Magnus’ arrival Vespasian recounted the circumstances in which they had found the scroll and what it contained; then Sabinus, who seemed to have sobered up slightly, explained his theory as to how Claudius might be using Boter as an expendable shield.

When they had finished Antonia shook her head. ‘That sounds far too subtle for my son; he’s never been anything other than an idiot.’

Vespasian cast a sidelong glance at Pallas who, despite what he had said on the subject earlier that day, showed no sign of disagreeing with his mistress. He did think, however, that he saw the faintest flicker of interest in the steward’s eyes.

‘With respect, domina,’ Gaius said, ‘you look down on Claudius because compared with his late elder brother, the great Germanicus, he is physically such a disappointment to you; but it may be that underneath that crude exterior some of your brains and subtlety may still exist.’

Antonia scowled. ‘Brains and subtlety in that runt? Never! He’s probably just writing to Poppaeus to ask him if he can borrow some obscure books from his library and it amuses his childish sense of intrigue to have it written in code.’

‘But a code needs the recipient to have the key,’ Vespasian pointed out. ‘It would seem a bit extreme to go to all that effort just to talk about books, however obscure.’

‘Well, we’ll find out soon enough,’ Antonia said as a scratching came from the other side of the door.

Pallas let in a rather florid-looking Magnus. He had evidently been partaking rather too liberally of Antonia’s wine after his exertions earlier on that evening, Vespasian mused with a slight grin.

‘Good evening, domina, gentlemen,’ Magnus mumbled from the doorway, unable to meet anyone’s eye.

‘Thank you, Magnus,’ Antonia said. ‘Leave the scroll with Pallas. Your party will be staying here for the night; Pallas will send someone to show you to a room later. That’ll be all — for now.’

Magnus nodded wearily and left.

Antonia looked at Pallas. ‘Do you think that you could break this code?’

‘I would hope so, domina,’ Pallas replied, perusing the scroll. ‘I’m well acquainted with another of your son’s freedmen, his secretary, Narcissus, a man of far greater intelligence than this Boter; we’ve had numerous conversations about codes and ciphers and have shared ideas on how best to construct them. I’m sure that if the code was written by Boter then it would be one that he got from Narcissus. Give me a little time and I’ll be able to find the key. I need something to write with — please excuse me, I won’t be long.’ He slipped quietly out of the room.

As they waited for Pallas, making small talk, Vespasian felt a thrill of excitement as he contemplated the possibility of a whole night with Caenis. It was more than he had expected and he felt sure that Antonia had done it purposefully, even if it did appear that she had an ulterior motive; but then a woman in her position could always get what she wanted without having to worry about the happiness of the likes of him, let alone one of her slaves. She must indeed be very fond of Caenis.

A couple of cups of wine later Pallas returned brandishing a wax tablet. ‘It’s done, domina,’ he announced. ‘It’s a substitution cipher such as Caesar used, but with a rolling shift, based on the number twelve. So the first letter you shift by one, so A becomes B; then the second by two, so A becomes C; the third by three and so on up to twelve. Then you start again but this time you shift the next letter by two, the next by four, then six, eight, ten, twelve. Then you continue with the next letter shifted by three, then six, nine, twelve. Then you do fours, then sixes and then twelve itself, after which you start again with one and so on. Very simple really.’

‘Very good, Pallas.’ Antonia looked as baffled as everyone else around the table. ‘So what does it say?’

Pallas cleared his throat and began to read aloud.

‘“I send my greetings” etc., etc.; then:

‘As you are aware, my master has an agreement with your mutual friend that he will support my master as and when the time comes. However, my master now feels that once he has achieved his aim that friend will move to eliminate him and take his place through a familial right. In order to counter this, my master proposes to free himself immediately he has gained his rightful position and thereby cut the tie to the friend and therefore any legitimate rights he may have. In place of what he loses my master would take what is dearest to you, bonding himself with you, in order to still be able to expect your support, with its full force, at the appropriate time. He realises that certain arrangements would need to be made in advance and suggests that you make them sooner rather than later. He would have you know that he has made similar, though not, of course, the same arrangements with other people of your calibre and would hope that you would see the sense in joining his cause, rather than opposing it, as he would value your and your family’s support highly in the endeavour that he feels is nearing fruition. He awaits your reply.’

There was a stunned silence in the room; all the men turned towards Antonia. The expected explosion did not come; instead she just nodded her head slowly as she digested the barely veiled meaning of the letter.

‘It seems that you may be right after all, Gaius,’ she said eventually. ‘Claudius the booby isn’t quite as stupid as I thought; he’s hidden it well.’

‘That’s why he’s still here, domina,’ Gaius replied quietly, knowing all too well the fragility of Antonia’s temper when it came to discussing her two surviving children. ‘We need to work out what this means for us. I assume the mutual friend is Sejanus; so it seems that he has already got his support to succeed Tiberius.’

‘What a fool I’ve been,’ Antonia whispered, gazing into the middle distance. ‘When Tiberius suggested that Claudius marry Aelia Paetina I jumped at it, thinking that he was using Claudius to give something to Sejanus that he had always wanted: a connection to the imperial house, without giving him anything of value because his sister was marrying someone who could not possibly aspire to anything. How wrong I was. Sejanus is going to make Claudius Emperor, then depose him and take over as his legitimate brother-in-law; he’ll then secure his position by marrying my daughter Livilla. Claudius recognises this threat and is preparing very sensible precautions: divorcing Aelia Paetina once her brother, Sejanus, has made him Emperor and she is of no more use, thereby taking away Sejanus’ claim to legitimacy. Then he’s going to marry Poppaeus’ daughter Poppaea Sabina, thus ensuring her father’s support for her new husband with his full force of the Moesian legions and all his auxiliary cohorts. She’ll have to divorce her husband, Titus Ollius, with whom she’s just had a daughter, another Poppaea Sabina; that must be the arrangement Claudius wants Poppaeus to make. Well, that’s no great hardship, he’s nobody, and Poppaeus won’t be able to resist the chance of his daughter becoming Empress. The other people of influence he’s approached must be the Governors of provinces with legions close to Rome: Pannonia, Africa and on the Rhine. He’ll try to make himself unassailable and one of his first victims will be my little Gaius. I will not let this happen.’

‘It won’t happen, domina,’ Vespasian said with some confidence, ‘because you’re ensuring that Sejanus will fall. Without Sejanus surely Claudius is impotent?’

‘Not necessarily; if he has ambitions to be Emperor, however ludicrous that may seem, then he won’t let a setback like losing an untrustworthy ally stop him. He’ll resort to another strategy, the only possible alternative in the absence of anyone willing to aid him: murder. If he really is as ruthless and cunning as that letter indicates then his obvious course of action would be to clear the way to the Purple by removing all potential rivals; and again my Gaius will be one of his victims. Claudius has to be stopped but, short of killing my own son, I can’t as yet see how.’

Pallas cleared his throat quietly in the corner.

Antonia smiled. ‘You no doubt have a suggestion, Pallas.’

‘Never, domina; but perhaps I may be permitted to make some observations?’

‘I never tire of your observations.’

‘You are most gracious, domina,’ the steward said smoothly, stepping forward into the room. ‘There’re a few things that occur to me. Firstly: the letter states that Poppaeus is aware of the arrangement between Claudius and Sejanus; therefore, at least the three of them, but probably more, must have met to discuss the deal whilst Poppaeus was recently in Rome.’

‘So who else was there?’ Gaius asked.

‘The people of “calibre”, as my mistress suggested, the other Governors or their representatives. At that meeting they would have pledged the support of their legions; you’ll notice that it says: “ still be able to expect your support”.’

‘So what has he offered them to keep them on his side?’ Vespasian mused.

‘That brings me on to my second point: Claudius must assume that Poppaeus has just as much interest in his becoming Emperor as he has in Sejanus deposing him — he is close to both of them and would gain by whoever wore the Purple — otherwise he wouldn’t have made as big an offer as to make Poppaea Empress. He must believe that this will tip the balance in his favour otherwise he would not be making him party to his thwarting of Sejanus’ ambitions.’

Vespasian smiled as he saw the major flaw in the plan. ‘But he can’t offer as high an incentive to the others, so one or two of them are bound to be disappointed and may decide to throw in their lot with Sejanus, in which case Claudius’ scheme is bound to be revealed.’

‘Exactly; so Claudius seeks to counter that by a threat, which he must have made in various forms in the other letters he wrote; he gives Poppaeus a clear choice: with him or against him, no middle ground. He then, in the same sentence, goes on to mention his family; in other words: Poppaea is either Empress or dead.’

‘And if, by some chance, he was to become Emperor,’ Sabinus said slowly, ‘and he went through with that threat against Poppaeus or any of the other Governors who stood against him, they would be obliged to take revenge, for the sake of their dignitas, and-’

Antonia cut in and finished his sentence: ‘We would be plunged back into civil wars as destructive as those in my father’s time.’

‘But I don’t believe it would get that far,’ Pallas continued, ‘because, as Vespasian has pointed out, Sejanus is bound to hear of Claudius’ plan from one of the Governors who’s not been offered enough; in fact he probably already knows about it, as this letter was found four months ago and it’s reasonable to assume from the wording that the other letters were sent at the same time.’

‘And because Poppaeus never received this letter he won’t have had the opportunity to betray Claudius to Sejanus,’ Gaius said with a grin, ‘which will leave Sejanus thinking that Poppaeus is now working against him.’

‘So Sejanus must now think that his plan to gain the Purple through my son won’t work because he’ll have at least the Moesian legions against him and probably a lot more,’ Antonia concluded with genuine concern in her voice. ‘So Claudius is now a liability that needs to be got rid of. In trying to be too clever my son has set himself up to be murdered. The idiot almost deserves it but I couldn’t bear to lose another son, however stupid or badly advised.’

‘Which brings me to my final point, domina: this letter was not written by his secretary, my good acquaintance Narcissus, which, in the normal course of events it would have been; which leads me to believe that Narcissus doesn’t know about the deal with Sejanus or, if he does, has sensibly advised against it and Claudius is now going behind his back.’

‘Why would he worry about his freedman’s opinion?’ Sabinus asked. ‘Surely a freedman’s duty is to do what his patron tells him?’

‘Claudius’ household is run by his freedmen, all of whom hate each other and vie with each other for influence over their patron. Because Claudius is weak he tends to take the advice of whoever is the most forceful, which means he often finds himself vacillating between two contrary courses of action. However, as Claudius’ secretary, Narcissus has control of all his finances; Claudius is in awe of him and can do nothing without him, so he tends to keep his more scurrilous plans from him for fear of being cut off from his money.’

‘That’s outrageous!’ Antonia exploded. ‘How dare some jumped-up freed clerk hold such power over a member of my family, however stupid he may be?’

‘May I speak frankly, domina?’ Pallas asked, bowing his head and looking his most subservient.

‘If you’re going to tell me more things about my idiotic son that I’ve overlooked, I think that you had better.’

‘Yes, domina. Your son, in many ways, appears to be an idiot: he drools and stutters, he cannot organise his own affairs and is very easily influenced as he’s unable to tell the difference between good advice and bad. However, he has an over-inflated opinion of himself, is ruthlessly ambitious and harbours a deep resentment towards his family for all the slights that he believes that he has suffered at their hands. He has never held any offices or priesthoods nor is he even a member of the senate and consequently feels overlooked and undervalued and is determined to redress that. Narcissus has always tried to keep Claudius’ desire for revenge in check; he knows that his patron could never become Emperor at present because there far more suitable candidates within the imperial family.’

‘You say “at present”?’

‘Narcissus is not without his ambitions for his patron and therefore himself, domina, but if he were to find out that Claudius is making a bid for the Purple now I’m sure that he would put a stop to it — especially as it seems that the advice Claudius is following is Boter’s, who has been out of favour since that unfortunate incident a few years back.’

‘Unfortunate? Pah! He cuckolded my son and made him more of a laughing stock than he normally is and my son did nothing about it.’

‘Well, perhaps he is now; your son didn’t sign the letter, so he can deny it if Boter’s advice fails, which I think we’re all agreed that it will. He’ll make Boter the scapegoat, an eventuality that Narcissus would be very keen to see come about, leaving him free to then carry on with whatever plans he has for his patron.’

‘You mean following the strategy that I explained earlier and trying to whittle down the suitable candidates that stand in his patron’s way?’

‘I don’t think that he feels that he needs to do that, domina, as, at the moment, Sejanus seems to be doing it for him. Narcissus takes the long view; for the present his strategy is to keep his Claudius unnoticed and therefore safe.’

Antonia gave a half-smile and nodded in agreement. ‘As ever, your observations have been most enlightening, Pallas, thank you. Send this Narcissus a message; I think that we should talk to him first thing in the morning, and then afterwards I’ll deal with my son.’