Rome's executioner

CHAPTER XVII

‘Careful with him,’ Vespasian whispered to a couple of frightened-looking crewmen as they lowered the semiconscious body of Rhoteces down to Magnus and Pallas waiting in a rowing boat at the stern of the decked bireme.

‘Got him,’ Magnus hissed up from the gloom below.

The crewmen then lowered down the party’s bags before helping Corbulo and Sabinus — fresh from another bout of retching — over the side. They were all unarmed as it was a capital offence for anyone but a Praetorian Guardsman and the Emperor’s German bodyguard to carry arms into Tiberius’ presence.

Caligula clapped Vespasian on the shoulder as he prepared to follow. ‘Another fun wheeze, eh, my friend?’ His white teeth were visible in the dark as he grinned at Vespasian. ‘And, if this works, it’ll clear the way for me to become Emperor; just imagine the fun we’ll have then.’

Since finding out what Tiberius considered amusing, Vespasian had started to wonder just what Caligula’s definition of fun really was. ‘You just make sure that Tiberius isn’t in a cliffhurling mood,’ he replied, swinging his leg over the rail.

‘I will. I might even get little Vitellius to join us on the walk down; that always seems to soothe Tiberius.’

‘Do anything you want if you think it’ll help make him reasonable.’

‘Reasonable? Now, there’s a strange word.’

Vespasian smiled despite himself; he slapped Caligula’s arm and, with a brief nod to Clemens, lowered himself down the rope and into the boat.

‘I’ve had enough of boats for a lifetime,’ Sabinus said miserably as Vespasian took his place by the steering-oar. Corbulo pushed the little boat away from the bireme, Magnus and Pallas took up the oars and they started towards the shore. Above them the forbidding cliffs of Capreae, haloed by the silver light of the moon rising beyond them, loomed menacingly; Vespasian swallowed hard, imagining the terror of Tiberius’ guests as they were hurled from them for no apparent reason.

The bireme was soon lost from view, heading towards a flaming beacon, half a mile up the coast, which marked the entrance to Capreae’s harbour.

With a sudden jerk, Sabinus vomited over the side. ‘This is agony,’ he moaned, keeping his head lowered towards the water.

‘Not as much agony as last night,’ Corbulo observed; he was still in a state of shock at the conduct of his hosts at dinner. As the wine had begun to flow more liberally, Caligula’s and his sisters’ behaviour had deteriorated from what already was (to Corbulo’s way of thinking) an outrageous affront to anyone brought up with Augustus’ ethics into a scandalous breach of all Roman moral standards and of the etiquette governing behaviour not only at the dining table but everywhere in the Empire, both in public and private. Livilla’s lewd attack on him with a goose leg had been the final straw and he had managed to withdraw, without causing too much offence, claiming to have eaten a bad prawn. Vespasian, Sabinus and Clemens had been forced endure it a while longer but had eventually been able to make their excuses, after politely declining offers to join in, once the writhing that Vespasian had dreaded had started in earnest. By this point Livilla had begun to apply her goose leg to Caligula, and the three siblings had been too involved in their own strange world to be unduly worried by their guests’ departures.

After a few hundred pulls on the oars Vespasian saw a couple of glowing points of light on the coast and steered the boat towards them. Not long later, guided by the torches, the boat’s hull scraped on shingle and two Praetorians waded out into the gently lapping waves to help haul it in.

‘Troopers Fulvius and Rufinus of the Praetorian Guard Cavalry, reporting on Decurion Clemens’ orders, sir,’ the older of the two said, snapping a salute to Sabinus as he climbed unsteadily but gratefully out of the boat, helped by the other trooper.

Sabinus staggered slightly as the solid ground caused him to sway. ‘Thank you, troopers.’

Within a short time the boat had been secreted in a cave, Rhoteces had been loaded on to Magnus’ back (with, naturally, a lot of moaning from Magnus concerning the state of the priest’s personal hygiene) and, with their bags slung over their shoulders, they were ready to move. Fulvius started to lead them up a steep but passable path that traversed back and forth up the cliff, which was not quite as sheer as it had first appeared. The going was slow and methodical as the torches had been extinguished and they were relying upon the light of the moon, but eventually they reached the summit.

Following the cliff line, they made their way, in silence, east over moonlit, uncultivated land. To his left Vespasian could see the flickering lights of Pompeii, Heraculaneum, Neapolis and Puteoli reflecting on the swelling water; they were interspersed with fainter points marking the positions of the grand coastal villas of Rome’s elite. Here and there in the darkness between the mainland and the island were dotted the solitary lamps of night fishermen. From below came the sound of waves breaking on the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff. A warm breeze blew from the west carrying upon it the scent of wild thyme.

After almost half an hour of steady walking they came to a high stone wall at the eastern tip of the island. Much to Vespasian’s surprise Clemens was already waiting for them, sitting astride a horse.

‘Any problems?’ he asked, uncoiling a rope.

‘None, sir,’ Fulvius replied.

‘Good; hold the horse,’ Clemens said, pulling his legs up to kneel on the saddle. Steadying himself on the wall he stood up and threw one end of the rope over, then, grabbing the top of the wall, he pulled himself up and disappeared over the other side.

‘It’s secured,’ he called over softly a few moments later.

Apart from a slight delay whilst they hauled Rhoteces up and over, they made it into the moonlight-dappled grounds of the Villa Iovis with ease.

‘It’s a fucking building site,’ Magnus whispered in surprise to Vespasian as Clemens untied the rope from a huge oak beam lying on the ground. All around in the dim light Vespasian could see piles of bricks and cut stone; sections of columns lay on their sides amongst stacks of terracotta roofing tiles and wicker baskets. Magnus dipped his hand into one of the baskets and pulled out a handful of small marble squares.

‘Looks like Tiberius has a few mosaics planned for his pleasure palace,’ he remarked, letting them fall with a light clatter.

‘This way,’ Clemens whispered, leading them off crouching low and weaving through the construction detritus down a slope towards the massive hulk of the unfinished Villa Iovis just four hundred paces away. A few lights in the windows on the far side of the building showed that they were approaching it from the incomplete, uninhabited side.

With a hundred paces to go the building supplies petered out and Clemens halted them by the last heap of bricks. ‘Stay here,’ he ordered. ‘There’s normally a guard stationed close by; I’ll draw him out.’

He stood up and walked purposefully towards the villa.

‘Halt!’ a voice shouted as he was halfway across the open ground. ‘Stand and identify yourself.’

Two uniformed Praetorians appeared from the shadows and ran towards Clemens, who stood motionless.

‘Decurion Clemens, first ala Praetorian Guard Cavalry,’ Clemens shouted at the approaching guards.

‘What are you doing out here, sir? You’ve no authority to be here at night, you’ll have to come with us.’

‘I was looking for you; I thought that I saw movement just up the hill,’ Clemens replied, pointing in the direction of Vespasian and his comrades.

‘Shit, he’s giving us away, the bastard,’ Magnus hissed as Clemens started to lead the two guards towards them.

‘I find that highly unlikely,’ Pallas said calmly.

Fulvius and Rufinus drew their swords; Vespasian automatically went for his only to remember that it was back at Misenum.

‘Don’t move,’ Fulvius said, standing and pointing his sword at Corbulo. Rufinus stood over Vespasian and stuck the tip of his sword against his back. ‘Over here, sir,’ he called to Clemens.

Vespasian felt sick; unarmed and against five Praetorians they did not stand a chance and would surely be taken prisoner. He had a brief vision of being hurled off the cliff and swore vengeance on Clemens in this world or the next.

‘Well, well, what have we here?’ Clemens drawled, his pinched face leering over them through the gloom. The two Praetorians stood either side of him and drew their swords. ‘Fish food would be my guess. Tie them up.’

‘You little cunt, Clemens,’ Sabinus spat. ‘How much did Sejanus pay you to widow your own sister?’

Magnus made a jump for Fulvius, aiming his head at the Praetorian’s groin. A sharp crack from the hilt of Fulvius’ sword on the back of Magnus’ head sent him crashing to the floor unconscious. Rufinus kicked Vespasian to the ground, stepped over him and with a lightning thrust planted his sword into the mouth of the Praetorian to Clemens’ left as Clemens wrapped his right forearm around the other’s throat and, with his left hand, grabbed the man’s head and jerked it violently to one side; with a loud crack the neck snapped and the man went limp.

‘You bastard, Clemens,’ Sabinus growled, ‘you had me there.’

‘Sorry about that.’ Clemens grinned. ‘I wasn’t expecting two of them and I couldn’t take them both on. I needed help getting rid of them; they would have taken me to the guardhouse and I would have had some difficult explaining to do in the morning. Let’s get the bodies over the cliff.’ He grabbed a lifeless arm and started to pull it away; Sabinus, shaking his head, made to help him.

With adrenalin still coursing through his veins Vespasian helped Rufinus drag the other body the fifty paces to the cliff-top.

‘How did you know to kill the two Guards?’ he asked.

‘I thought he was double-crossing you too,’ Rufinus replied, ‘until he ordered us to tie you up, then I knew what to do.’

‘How?’

‘Because, since a fisherman scaled the cliff, Tiberius’ standing order is that all intruders should be executed on sight, no exceptions.’

‘Well, I hope that he makes an exception of us tomorrow,’ Vespasian said as they reached the cliff’s edge.

‘I’ve never known him to,’ Rufinus said plainly.

They toppled the Praetorian over the edge. Vespasian peered over and briefly glimpsed the body spinning in the air before disappearing into the darkness; the roar of the waves crashing into the base of cliff swallowed any sound it made as it hit the rocks below. He turned to go with the sensation of falling preying on his mind.

Upon returning to his companions he found that Magnus was still unconscious and was obliged to carry him with Pallas; Sabinus and Corbulo took Rhoteces.

They quickly crossed the open ground in front of the villa and entered its dark corridors through an unfinished doorway.

With surprising speed Clemens navigated his way through the maze of passageways illuminated by faint moonlight seeping through open windows.

Eventually he stopped outside a huge door and pushed it open. They followed him in and found themselves in a cavernous room; their footsteps echoed off the high ceiling. Rhoteces was dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

‘Fulvius and Rufinus will stand guard until Caligula brings the Emperor,’ Clemens said. ‘I will come too to share whatever fate he decides for you.’

‘Thank you, Clemens,’ Sabinus said, taking his brother-in-law’s forearm.

Clemens returned the grip with a grin. ‘There are plenty of workmen’s buckets around to piss in. Good luck.’ He turned and slipped out of the door followed by Fulvius and Rufinus.

As Vespasian and Pallas laid Magnus down he stirred, opened his eyes and then groaned. ‘Shit! Now we’re for it. They’ve got us,’ he said, rubbing the back of his head.

‘They’ve got us in more like,’ Vespasian said, helping his friend up.

‘What? I thought they were arresting us.’

‘Well, you should have stuck around and seen what happened next instead of trying to play the hero and attacking the wrong person.’

‘You mean Clemens was genuine after all and we’re not in some prison?’

‘Look around.’ Vespasian waved his arm at the faintly lit room. ‘If this looks like a prison to you, I think that Tiberius would be very pissed off; we’re in his new bedroom.’

With the rising of the sun the room gradually filled with light that poured in from four windows high above the door and Vespasian could see the scale of it: it was a perfect cube with the high marble ceiling forty feet above him. Along the wall opposite the door was the unfinished frieze that Tiberius was taking so much interest in; after only a cursory glance at it Vespasian could understand why: it depicted every carnal pleasure known to man in a series of vivid scenes, involving adults, children and beasts, and left nothing to the imagination.

‘Making mental notes, are you, brother?’ Sabinus asked, catching Vespasian gawping at a cruelly used mule.

‘You have to admire the workmanship,’ he replied, ignoring yet again his brother’s implication, ‘even if the subject matter is somewhat obscene.’

‘Somewhat? I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Corbulo said, ‘not even in the-’ He stopped abruptly and blushed.

‘In the brothels along the Vicus Patricius back in Rome?’ Magnus questioned, helpfully trying to finish Corbulo’s sentence for him.

Corbulo gave Magnus a foul look and then busied himself pulling his toga from his bag.

‘I’ve got bread, salt pork and wine, masters,’ Pallas said, walking over having gagged Rhoteces who was starting to come out of his drugged state in the corner. ‘We should eat and then change our clothes in readiness for meeting the Emperor.’

An hour later they were sitting around on upturned buckets, each busy with his own thoughts and worries about the coming interview. There had been a couple of conversations outside the door as Fulvius and Rufinus had prevented workmen from entering, but the door itself had remained shut.

Suddenly there was the sound of feet coming quickly down the corridor; the door burst open and in walked an old but still vigorous man. Vespasian recognised him instantly; he was the most powerful and feared man in the Roman world: Tiberius.

They jumped up as one from their buckets and bowed their heads. At the top of his vision Vespasian could see Tiberius’ hairless legs protruding from under his pure purple tunic; they were traced with an extraordinary amount of varicose veins that wove their way around the open sores and dried scabs on the shiny, tight skin on his shin-bones. His feet were shod in a pair of regulation military sandals; his horn-like toenails were yellowing and ridged.

Tiberius strode towards Vespasian and stopped directly in front of him. Vespasian’s heartbeat accelerated and he had to consciously stop himself from shaking; he found himself wondering why Tiberius did not have his toenails pared for him.

‘Is this the one, my sweet?’ Tiberius asked of someone standing at the doorway, out of Vespasian’s field of vision. His voice was low and grated in his throat; it sounded distant, as though he was somewhat detached from the world.

‘Yes, Nuncle,’ Caligula’s voice replied, ‘that’s him; he’s my friend.’ His voice was slightly strained, as if trying to appear light and nonchalant whilst concealing a nervousness born from the knowledge that a very important decision was about to be made.

‘Your friend, you say?’

‘Yes, Nuncle, my friend.’

‘His name is Vespasian, is that right, my sweet?’

‘Yes, that’s right, Nuncle: Vespasian.’

‘Look at me, Vespasian.’

Vespasian raised his eyes; large, rheumy, grey eyes peered back at him questioningly, as if trying but failing to focus on what was in front of them. Tiberius’ face would once have been considered handsome but was now ravaged by the effects of heavy drinking: puffy-skinned and florid. His white hair was cut short at the fringe and above the ears but hung down in greasy strands over his neck. Flakes of dried skin peeled off his earlobes; there was a virulent pimple on the tip of his nose.

Tiberius placed his left hand on the crown of Vespasian’s head and exerted a monumental pressure so that Vespasian felt that his thumb and forefinger would burst through his skull.

‘He is still young enough for me to push my fingers into his brain, my sweet,’ Tiberius observed, still staring into Vespasian’s eyes with that questioning, almost puzzled look. His breath held the unmistakable reek of fresh human faeces.

‘Yes, Nuncle, he is; but then I wouldn’t have my friend any more.’ Caligula’s voice had risen slightly.

The pressure on Vespasian’s head suddenly increased.

‘But I’m your friend,’ Tiberius abruptly shouted.

‘Yes, Nuncle, you are; but you’re my friend here. Vespasian is my friend in Rome; you don’t go to Rome so I need a friend when I’m there.’

Tiberius released his grip. Vespasian had to stop himself from rubbing his throbbing head.

‘But what happens if I come back to Rome?’ Tiberius asked, still staring at Vespasian.

‘If you do I won’t need another friend in Rome, Nuncle, and you can push your fingers into his brain then.’

‘In Rome then,’ Tiberius said, suddenly cheerily as if a difficult matter had been finally settled by the simplest and most obvious of solutions.

Vespasian breathed a sigh of relief as Tiberius turned his attention to the other members of his party; he felt that he at least was safe for the time being. Caligula nodded towards him surreptitiously from the doorway, confirming his belief. Next to Caligula stood a very pretty youth in his mid teens; his hair had been decorated with flowers and his white tunic was embroidered with gold thread around the hem and sleeve. Behind him, between Fulvius and Rufinus, Clemens stood stock-still with his hand on his sword hilt, looking even more pallid than usual.

‘What about these, my sweet? What are they?’ Tiberius cast his eyes slowly over Sabinus, Corbulo, Magnus and then Pallas. ‘Not more fishermen?’

‘Of course not, Nuncle, you don’t allow fishermen here any more,’ Caligula replied, choosing his words carefully. ‘These men have come with my friend with that important news that Thrasyllus predicted would arrive. One has a letter from Antonia to you.’

‘They’re not intruders then, come to destroy my peace of mind?’

‘It’s to help your peace of mind that they have come, Nuncle.’

Tiberius stared at Pallas for a while; nobody moved. ‘I know you,’ he said eventually, pointing his finger at the Greek. ‘You’re Antonia’s steward. Your name is Pallas, isn’t it?’

‘I am honoured that you should even recognise me let alone know my name, Princeps,’ Pallas replied, bowing. Even with the life-or-death tension in the air he still remained outwardly calm and composed; Vespasian was sweating freely despite the coolness of the morning.

‘She would have given you the letter; give it to me.’

Pallas reached down into his bag; Tiberius jumped back. Realising his mistake, Pallas quickly removed his hand from the bag and tipped it upside down so that the contents fell to the floor with a clatter. It was the first time that Vespasian had seen the smooth Greek flustered and he found himself enjoying the sight.

Pallas picked up the scroll and offered it to Tiberius; the Emperor looked at it closely and then, evidently satisfied that it would do him no harm, took it.

‘My mistress has sent her seal ring, Princeps,’ Pallas said, holding up his hand, which was visibly shaking, ‘to show you that the letter is genuine.’

Tiberius dismissed it with a wave. ‘You’re proof enough of that,’ he said plainly, looking at the scroll and feeling its weight in the palm of his hand. His voice had become less detached as though the presence of a letter from his sister-in-law had helped to draw him out of the dark world in his head into which he had evidently deeply sunk. He looked at Sabinus as if seeing him for the first time. ‘And you are?’ he asked with almost genuine interest.

‘Titus Flavius Sabinus, Princeps,’ Sabinus replied hastily.

‘Ah yes, tribune with the Ninth Hispana,’ Tiberius said without pausing to think, ‘served with distinction in Africa against Tacfarinas’ rebellion; a good man according to the reports I read.’

‘Thank you, Princeps,’ Sabinus spluttered, stunned, as they all were, by the Emperor’s sudden lucidity.

‘You will all stay here under Clemens’ guard whilst I read this letter; Vitellius will keep you company.’ Tiberius indicated the pretty youth. ‘He has certain talents. Come, my sweet; let’s see what your grandmother has been up to.’

Tiberius swept out of the room; Caligula raised his eyebrows at Vespasian and followed.

When the sound of the Emperor’s footsteps in the corridor had disappeared Vespasian and his companions all sank back down on to their buckets in exhausted relief.

They sat in silence for a long while, all contemplating how close to death they just had come. A loud moaning from the corner of the room brought them out of their reverie; Rhoteces had fully woken up.

‘Do something about him would you, please, Pallas?’ Vespasian said irritably; he hated the sound of the priest just as much as everything else about him.

‘I’m afraid we have to keep him conscious for now, master,’ Pallas replied, his composure returned. ‘He may be questioned soon.’

Although that thought cheered Vespasian the increasing noise that the priest was making grated on his already taut nerves. ‘Fucking shut up,’ he shouted to no effect.

‘Would you like me to soothe you, Vespasian?’ Vitellius asked, walking over to him and laying a soft hand on his shoulder.

‘What?’ Vespasian exclaimed, looking up aghast at the youth. ‘No!’ He angrily brushed Vitellius’ hand away.

‘You’re disgusting. Have you no sense of honour, boy?’ Sabinus spat. ‘You’re a son of the Vitellii, an old and noble family; what are you doing prostituting yourself like a harbour whore?’

‘If I don’t then I’ll die,’ Vitellius replied simply. ‘You’ve seen what he’s like.’

‘And you’d rather live in shame as his catamite than die like a man?’

‘To me that seems to be preferable; shame doesn’t matter to me. I’ve given up my honour and pride in order to live, just as my father did when he gave me to Tiberius in return for his life. This way, one day, I’ll have my revenge upon all those who have abused me, or if they’re dead then upon their families.’ Vitellius looked at Sabinus with steel in his eyes.

Sabinus returned his look in full measure. ‘I wouldn’t suck another man’s cock if my life depended on it, you degenerate.’

‘I hope that one day your life will depend on it; then we’ll see what you’ll choose, Titus Flavius Sabinus.’ Vitellius turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

‘Whore boy!’ Sabinus shouted after him.

‘This place does weird things to people,’ Magnus commented as the door slammed.

‘It’s not the place,’ Pallas said, standing over Rhoteces and showing him a knife, which quietened him down, ‘it’s the power. Absolute power will reduce anyone who holds it to a state of depravity if they are weak-willed or morally flawed.’

‘Then may the gods help us if Caligula becomes Emperor,’ Corbulo said, shaking his head. ‘I can’t believe that I’m helping that eventuality to come about. Perhaps we should return to the Republic where two men shared that power for one year only.’

‘It’s too late for that,’ Vespasian asserted. ‘The wealth of the Empire is concentrated in too few hands; the days of the citizen soldier who fights alongside his neighbour to defend their small plots of land are long gone.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’ Sabinus asked dismissively. ‘Every man in the legions is a citizen.’

‘Yes, but now it’s upside down: instead of fighting to defend his land in order to return to it after a summer of campaigning, the common legionary is fighting to gain some land after his twenty-five years’ service.’

‘What difference does that make? The army is still the army no matter what the motivation of the common legionary is.’

‘We’ve already seen what a difference it makes during the years of civil wars, from the time that Gaius Marius made the army professional until Augustus created the Empire. Do you want those days to come again?’

‘No, of course not,’ Sabinus conceded grudgingly: he didn’t like being bested by his brother, no matter how much the logic of his argument rang true. ‘So what do you suggest, brother, seeing as you seem to have been thinking about it?’

‘I have been thinking about it a lot actually; all the way down the Via Appia from Rome.’

‘Enlighten us with your wisdom then.’

‘I believe that there is a straight choice: either the Empire is ruled and held together firmly by one man; or it disintegrates as the legions in the provinces declare their support for any general who feels that his dignitas has been violated in return for him providing them with the best land available. If that were to happen then we’d either destroy ourselves completely through civil war and be overrun by Parthia from the East and the barbarian tribes from the North; or the generals would fight each other to a standstill and the Empire would break up into its constituent parts: Italia, Illyria and Greece, for example, then Gaul and Hispania, perhaps Africa, Asia and Egypt and so on — much as what happened to Alexander’s Empire. They’d all be ruled by Romans but, like Alexander’s successors, would always be fighting amongst themselves until they too would be swallowed up, in the same way that we and the Parthians gradually ate away at the Successor States.’

‘How come you know so much about history all of a sudden?’ Sabinus was incredulous.

‘Because recently, brother, instead of spending all my spare time on top of a lovely young wife, I’ve been making use of our grandmother’s and Uncle Gaius’ extensive libraries; it may not be as exhausting but it’s just as stimulating.’

Sabinus grunted.

‘But what happens when the man who’s supposed to be holding the Empire together goes mad?’ Corbulo asked. ‘As Tiberius seems to have done and Caligula almost certainly will if he inherits?’

‘Well, that’s what I’ve been thinking about,’ Vespasian replied. ‘If you accept the fact that the Empire needs an Emperor then you have to ask yourself how you choose him. As much as I like Caligula, his conduct last night was disillusioning and unacceptable. His obvious inability to discern appropriate behaviour makes him the worst possible person to hand unfettered power — but he’s in line for it purely because he comes from the imperial family.’

‘So do away with the imperial family?’ Magnus suggested with a grin.

‘Do away with the idea that the Emperor is succeeded by one of his family,’ Corbulo said, nodding.

‘Exactly. Look at the choices there are left to Tiberius from within his family: Caligula, Claudius or Tiberius Gemellus; which one would you want as your master?’

‘None of them,’ Sabinus answered wearily.

‘So the Emperor should choose the best man in Rome to succeed him and adopt him as his son, for the sake of Rome not for the sake of his loyalty to his family. Then the idea of an imperial family — and the dynastic power struggles within it — would disappear for ever and, provided the right choices are made, we would be ruled by a man who can handle absolute power.’

‘That all sounds very worthy, master,’ Pallas observed, ‘but how would you persuade the imperial family to release their grip on power?’

‘That’s the problem, I don’t know,’ Vespasian admitted.

‘There’ll be another war,’ Corbulo said gloomily. ‘Rome won’t take someone like Caligula as Emperor for long.’

‘Well, if there is,’ Vespasian said hopefully, ‘whoever eventually emerges as the victor would do well to follow that policy: forget the idea of forging a dynasty and adopt the most able man as his son and heir.’

‘But what happens, master,’ Pallas asked shrewdly, ‘when by far and away the most able man in Rome is the new Emperor’s own son?’

The door opened before Vespasian could answer and Clemens walked in. ‘The Emperor has summoned you to his study,’ he said almost apologetically. ‘I’m afraid that means your presence here will no longer be secret.’

‘What proof does she have?’ Tiberius, waving Antonia’s letter, demanded the instant they were let into his spacious study by a quizzical-looking German imperial bodyguard. Caligula was sitting on a window seat with his eyes closed, enjoying the warm sun on his face, seemingly without a care in the world.

Pallas took the lead as the door closed behind them. ‘Princeps, that list is in Sejanus’ own handwriting.’

Tiberius picked up the list, looked closely at it and then threw it back down on to the marble-topped desk. ‘It may well be but it’s just a list of names, it’s not proof.’

‘Nuncle, if everyone on that list were dead then who would be Emperor?’ Caligula asked mildly without opening his eyes. ‘No one from our family, that’s for sure.’

‘But Sejanus is going to be one of our family; I gave him permission to become betrothed to Livilla, my daughter-in-law.’

‘I know, Nuncle, and you were so right to do that,’ Caligula said soothingly, ‘but perhaps it was a little bit rash. You told me yourself that you were worried about him; that’s why you sent him away to be Consul.’

‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’ Tiberius gazed at a large pornographic picture adorning the wall between his desk and the window, as if he was reverting to the state that he had been in when he had first looked at Vespasian. ‘But I need to be sure, I need to be sure; he keeps me safe, so safe, and takes so much of the load that I bear off my shoulders.’

‘Princeps, may I speak?’ Sabinus asked nervously.

Tiberius did not respond for a few moments but then turned his rheumy eyes to Sabinus; he suddenly jolted. ‘Titus Flavius Sabinus of the Ninth Hispana, a good man. Yes, yes, speak.’

Sabinus told the Emperor of his discovery of the discrepancy in the mint and how the chests of denarii had ended up in Thracia.

Tiberius did not seem to be listening but as Sabinus petered out to what he feared was a flat ending to his story the Emperor became quite alert again.

‘So who saw this money in Thracia?’ he asked, looking around the room.

‘I did, Princeps,’ Corbulo volunteered.

Tiberius looked shocked for a moment, as if he had not noticed Corbulo before. ‘Who are you?’ he snapped. ‘When did you arrive?’

‘Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, Princeps,’ Corbulo replied proudly.

‘You were a praetor early on in my reign. Never made Consul, though,’ Tiberius responded.

‘That was my father, Princeps,’ Corbulo said, visibly pleased that the Emperor should know the name.

‘Father, eh? You’re the son? Never heard of you,’ Tiberius said crushingly. ‘Well, tell me what you saw.’

Corbulo gave his account, mentioning Hasdro’s and Rhoteces’ part but, as instructed, not Poppaeus’.

Tiberius looked at him dully when he had finished. ‘So what were you doing in Thracia?’

‘I was a tribune on Poppaeus’ staff.’

Tiberius seemed uninterested. ‘And who else saw this?’ he asked dismissively, as if Corbulo’s word was worth nothing.

‘I did, Princeps,’ Vespasian said.

‘Ah, my sweet’s friend,’ Tiberius crooned. ‘My sweet, your friend says he saw a box of money given by Sejanus’ freedman to a Thracian tribe to encourage them into rebellion against me.’

‘Then you should believe him, Nuncle,’ Caligula said, still with his eyes closed, ‘he’s a very good friend.’

‘But I do, I do!’ Tiberius was now almost in a state of ecstasy. ‘Yes, I can see that he’s a very good friend indeed.’

‘We have brought the priest with us, Princeps,’ Vespasian ventured, ‘so that you can question him yourself.’

Tiberius’ joy was complete. ‘Ahh, pain,’ he moaned feverishly. ‘Where is he? Bring him to me.’

Rhoteces’ broken body lay strapped to a sturdy wooden table in the middle of Tiberius’ study. He had just passed out for the second time, his right foot being no more than charred, smouldering bones, some of which had fallen off into the mobile brazier below. The stink of burnt flesh filled the smokeenveloped room; a strong shaft of sunlight cut through the heavy atmosphere and fell on to the contorted priest.

Tiberius had administered the torture himself, taking, as Vespasian had expected, an inordinate amount of pleasure in Rhoteces’ every scream and cry for mercy, as if he was listening to the most beautiful and relaxing music. Although he had told them everything that he knew the moment his foot was placed upon the brazier Tiberius had persisted in his pleasure.

‘So this man says that it was Asinius whom he was working for,’ Tiberius said. He was quite lucid again, looking with deep interest at Rhoteces’ charred foot; he gingerly touched one of the blackened bones and, finding it still scalding hot, withdrew his finger quickly and sucked away the pain.

‘Yes, Princeps,’ Pallas answered, ‘but he described Hasdro perfectly. Hasdro told him that he was working for Asinius to protect his master, Sejanus, in the eventuality that something like…’ He paused, and waved his hand at what remained of the foot. ‘Like this should occur.’

‘I suppose that makes sense,’ Tiberius agreed, ‘but then what was Poppaeus’ part in this?’ He turned to Corbulo. ‘You, you were on Poppaeus’ staff, did you ever see him with Hasdro?’

‘No, Princeps,’ Corbulo lied; Vespasian could see that it stuck in his craw to do so.

‘Well, I’ll forget about him for the time being,’ Tiberius said to himself, sucking his burnt finger again. ‘But one day he’ll pay for allowing his army to address him as “Imperator” — when he’s no longer of any use to me.’ He looked around suddenly, aware that he had externalised a private thought. ‘So it seems that I was right all along,’ he carried on cheerfully. ‘Sejanus is a traitor. I knew it, but it takes my dear, dear sister-in-law to show me the evidence and you…’ He held his arms out, encompassing them all; a look of deep emotion came over his face and Vespasian thought for a moment that he would burst into tears. ‘You brave, brave, loyal men, good men, men with my peace of mind in the forefront of your hearts, you men have risked so much to bring it to me. You will go back to Rome and tell Antonia that I will act at once. Come, we shall all take a walk together.’

The gardens on the inhabited side of the Villa Iovis had been laid out on a slope that ran down to the cliff-top; a tall wall masking off the building works gave them privacy.

Tiberius led them, escorted by Clemens and his two men, down a set of grand steps lined with statues of naked gods and heroes on to a wide marble path that bisected the gardens and terminated, as far as Vespasian could make out, at the cliff’s edge, two hundred paces away. On either side, shrubs and bushes were bursting into life encouraged by the spring sun and an irrigation system that pumped water at regular intervals through pipes directly into the beds.

This same system provided the water for the many fountains that fed ornamental pools set on descending levels so that the water cascaded downhill, falling from one pool into the next. The pools were surrounded by small, lifelike statues that, to Vespasian’s amazement, came alive as the Emperor approached. The statues turned out to be children, adolescents and dwarves, who began to cavort lewdly around the pools’ edges, occasionally jumping in, either in pairs or groups, to copulate freely in the shallow water.

‘My fishies have awoken,’ Tiberius cried, waving his hands with joy. ‘Swim and play, my fishies; I will join you later. Will you come and play with the fishies with me, my sweet?’

‘Yes, Nuncle,’ Caligula replied with what Vespasian hoped was feigned enthusiasm, ‘but after my friend and his companions have gone.’

‘Perhaps they would like to join us?’

‘I’m sure that they would, Nuncle, what could be more fun for them? But unfortunately they must return to Rome, as you’ve instructed.’

‘Yes, yes, Rome; they must go back to Rome,’ Tiberius said sadly.

‘And you said’, Caligula carried on carefully, ‘that you would tell them what course of action you’ll take against that wicked man, Nuncle, so that they can warn Antonia, who’s your friend, and she can be ready to help you.’

Tiberius stopped abruptly and glared at Caligula, who looked momentarily afraid but then managed to cover it with a look of placid innocence.

‘I didn’t say that, you little viper!’ Tiberius roared. ‘Are you trying to upset my peace of mind?’

Caligula went down on to one knee. ‘Forgive me, Princeps,’ he said humbly, ‘sometimes I’m just so happy here that I muddle things up.’

Although terrified and unable to take his eyes off the potentially fatal situation in front of him, Vespasian noticed that the fishies had become living statues once again; all had frozen in whatever act they were performing at the point of their master’s roar.

Tiberius stared down at Caligula; rage burned all over his face and he clenched and unclenched his fists. He cocked his head a couple of times, clicking his neck, and then, gradually, he began to calm.

‘Yes, yes, my sweet, I know,’ he eventually sighed, ‘it’s so easy to muddle things up when one is so happy.’ He held out his hand and helped Caligula up. Vespasian and his party, who had all been holding their breath, exhaled with relief simultaneously; the noise caused Tiberius to spin around and stare at them as if he had forgotten that they were there. After a terrifying moment his eyes registered recognition.

‘When you get to Rome tell Antonia that next month I will resign my consulship,’ he said evenly. ‘That will force Sejanus to do the same and his person will no longer be inviolate. I will write to the Senate detailing his treacheries and demanding his arrest and trial; then I shall replace him. I know this Macro whom Antonia has recommended in her letter; he’s married to my good friend Thrasyllus’ daughter Ennia. I’m sure that he is up to the job and and able to shoulder some of my burden; he’s a good man.’

‘He is a good man, Princeps,’ Pallas confirmed, using a definition of “good” that Vespasian had never heard before.

‘And his wife is a beauty, Nuncle,’ Caligula informed him. ‘I dined with her at Grandmother’s house once; I’d like to see her again.’

‘That settles it. I shall arrange for him to visit me here; he can bring his wife so that she can play with my sweet. Come and look over the cliffs with me.’ Tiberius turned and walked purposefully down the path.

The fishies resumed their play.

At the end of the path a brown-skinned, grey-bearded man wearing a leather skull-cap and a long, black robe embroidered with astrological signs and symbols stood looking out to sea.

‘Thrasyllus, my friend,’ Tiberius called in Greek as they approached the cliff-edge, ‘is it an auspicious time to make changes? I must know because a change needs to be made.’

Thrasyllus turned to face the Emperor. ‘The stars say that you are the master of change, Princeps,’ he replied in a melodramatic, quavering voice. ‘You are here to oversee the greatest change of all: the dawn of the new age. Even now the Phoenix is preparing to fly to Egypt, the country of my birth, where in three years’ time flames will consume it and it will be reborn from the ashes of its body; a new five-hundred-year cycle will commence. The world will change, and you, Princeps, through your wisdom and greatness, will guide the Empire through that change.’

‘I’ll wait three years then,’ Tiberius said suddenly deflated.

Vespasian glanced at Caligula in alarm, concerned that the astrologer would deflect Tiberius from his purpose.

‘You may find that the waiting will play on your peace of mind, Nuncle,’ his young friend said; his voice oozed concern. ‘I think that the venerable Thrasyllus was talking about major changes, not the little one that you plan now.’

‘Of course he was, my sweet,’ Tiberius agreed, relieved. ‘If I don’t do this now I won’t live to see the firebird. Thrasyllus, consult your books.’

The astrologer bowed. ‘I will have an answer for you by morning, Princeps,’ he said theatrically. With a brief glance at Caligula he turned and headed back up the path.

Looking pleased with himself, Tiberius sat down on a stone bench that overlooked the narrow passage between Capreae and the mainland, dominated by the brooding Mount Vesuvius. Caligula went to sit next to him whilst the rest of the group placed themselves nervously behind them, uncomfortable at being so close to the cliff’s edge in Tiberius’ company.

It was past noon and the day had warmed up considerably; the sun beat down upon the Tyrrhenian Sea sending an everchanging multitude of sparkles reflecting up off its deep blue, undulating surface. Gulls soared above them calling balefully as they rode the currents of the fresh sea breeze.

‘I wish that I could fly like them, my sweet,’ Tiberius declared, admiring the agile birds. ‘There must surely be peace as you glide through the air.’

It was not the sort of conversation that Vespasian had hoped for in this situation.

‘Yes, Nuncle, but we will never know it,’ Caligula replied guardedly, as if he had had this conversation many times before and knew the conclusion.

Tiberius remained silent for a while contemplating the gulls. ‘I hate the limitations of this body,’ he said suddenly with passion. ‘I’m master of the changing world yet I am earthbound.’

‘We should go and play with the fishies, Nuncle,’ Caligula said in an effort to change the subject.

‘Ah, the fishies, yes, yes, we should,’ Tiberius replied, rising to his feet. ‘We must say goodbye to your friend first.’ He turned to face Vespasian. ‘Go with my thanks and prayers,’ he said formally. ‘Clemens will escort you to the port on my authority.’

They bowed their heads and, with communal relief, turned to go.

‘Wait!’ Tiberius shouted. ‘Who is this?’ He pointed his finger at Magnus. ‘I haven’t seen him before; he must be an intruder, perhaps even another fisherman. Clemens, have your men throw him off the cliff.’

‘Nuncle, that is Magnus, he’s a friend of my friend; he’s been with us all the time.’

‘I’ve not spoken with him, I don’t know him; Clemens, do as I command.’

Caligula signalled them to remain silent as Fulvius and Rufinus grabbed Magnus’ arms and pushed him forward. Magnus looked beseechingly at Vespasian as he struggled in their grip. Vespasian and the rest of them watched aghast as Magnus was forced towards certain death.

‘I knew there was a reason for coming here, my sweet,’ Tiberius crooned in pleasure. ‘I do so enjoy the look of terror in a man’s eyes just before he flies through the air.’

‘Yes I know, Nuncle,’ Caligula replied as Magnus was nearing the edge, ‘but you also like to hear them scream as well; this one’s a brave one, he’s not screaming or pleading.’

‘You’re right, my sweet, he’s not.’

‘But I know one who will.’

‘Then we should throw him over.’

‘That’s a good idea, Nuncle. Clemens, have your men fetch that priest immediately,’ Caligula ordered.

Clemens understood. ‘Fulvius, get the priest right now.’

Fulvius and Rufinus let go of Magnus, who was left shaking on the brink of the cliff, and ran back towards the villa.

‘I’ll say goodbye to my friend whilst we wait, Nuncle; he should go and take all his companions with him, to get your message to Antonia as soon as possible.’

‘Yes, yes, my sweet,’ Tiberius replied absently, his attention back on the gulls. ‘And then we can play with the fishies.’

‘Good idea, Nuncle,’ Caligula said, whilst hurriedly pulling Magnus back from the edge. ‘I’ll see you there once they’ve gone.’

Caligula led them swiftly back up the path, past the romping fishies. Screams had started up inside the villa.

‘Clemens, take them out through the main gate, they’ll never get over the wall unseen in daylight,’ Caligula said as Fulvius and Rufinus appeared with a screaming Rhoteces between them hopping on his remaining foot.

‘Thank you, my friend,’ Vespasian said with heartfelt gratitude, ‘I don’t know how you manage to live here.’

‘It’s not all bad.’ Caligula grinned. ‘The fishies are fun.’

As they passed Rhoteces, Vespasian took a last quick look at his revolting weasel face and felt a huge surge of satisfaction.

‘That’s a fair swap,’ Magnus said, still looking very pale, ‘him for me. I’d take that any day.’

‘It could have been any one of us,’ Sabinus observed as they climbed the steps.

‘Or all of you,’ Caligula pointed out, stopping at the top. ‘I’ve seen it happen. Pallas, tell my grandmother that I’ll try and keep Tiberius focused on Sejanus.’

‘I will, Master Gaius,’ Pallas said with a bow.

‘And don’t worry about Thrasyllus, the old charlatan will declare it an auspicious time to make changes once I tell him that one of them is that his son-in-law is going to become Praetorian prefect. Now go quickly before he decides that he’d rather spend the rest of the morning throwing people off the cliff instead of playing with the fishies.’

Vespasian clasped Caligula’s forearm and, as he turned to follow Clemens, he heard the sound that he had been looking forward to: a scream, long and shrill and gradually fading until it was abruptly curtailed.