Rome's executioner

CHAPTER XXI

‘How’s the house coming along?’ Vespasian asked Sabinus as they took some afternoon refreshment of chilled wine and honeyed cakes in Gaius’ courtyard garden.

‘We should be able to move in very soon,’ Sabinus replied. ‘The sooner the better, in fact, as Clementina is pregnant again.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you, brother. I want her to be settled as soon as possible; you know how stressed women get when they move house.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Vespasian lied.

‘I’ve been waiting for things to quieten down, though. Now that the Senate is finally meeting again today we should see a degree of law and order return.’

‘I certainly hope so,’ Vespasian replied, thinking of the violence that had recently engulfed the city.

For two days and nights Macro had allowed his men to loot and pillage Rome, before recalling them to their camp outside the city’s walls, leaving its citizens poorer and subdued but in no doubt as to who was the real power within the city.

It had taken half a dozen more days for life to get back to normal, although there had been sporadic outbursts of violence, aimed mainly at Sejanus’ supporters, whether real or imaginary. After a few more days the Senate had managed to reconvene, most of the senators having fled Rome for the safety of their country estates during the Praetorian Guard’s occupation of the city.

‘Did you get on the list of prospective quaestors for next year?’ Vespasian asked, changing the subject; he had only enquired after Sabinus’ new house out of politeness and was still in fact deeply disapproving of the way that his brother was financing it.

‘Yes, I did,’ Sabinus replied gloomily, ‘but there seems to be a candidate from every patrician family on it this time. Plebeians like us don’t stand a chance. I’ve a nasty feeling that I’m going to fail for a third time.’

They were interrupted by Gaius bursting into the garden accompanied by Aenor, who was trying to relieve him of his toga.

‘I sometimes think that my fellow senators are a bunch of brainless sheep,’ he boomed furiously. ‘Aenor, bring me a cup.’

The young German boy scurried off; Gaius plonked his ample behind down on a bench next to Sabinus and reached for a calming honeyed cake.

The brothers waited whilst their uncle devoured the tasty morsel and was served a cup of unwatered wine.

‘The idiots were debating whether to censure Macro for letting the Guard loose in the city,’ Gaius continued, thumping his half-empty cup down on the table and spilling a lot of its contents, ‘when Aulus Plautius stands up and says that rather than censuring Macro, we should be praising him for managing to restore order in such a short period of time. Short period of time, my flabby arse! Two days we were barricaded in here with murder and mayhem going on out in the streets.’ He swilled down the remainder of his wine and held his cup out for Aenor to refill whilst reaching for another cake. ‘So he proposes a motion that Macro should be voted the rank of an ex-praetor even though he is not a member of the Senate, which everybody jumps at as being an excellent idea; the house then divides and the motion is carried unanimously.’

‘Unanimously, Uncle?’ Vespasian queried as Gaius took a large bite of his cake. ‘Didn’t you vote against it seeing as it’s so infuriated you?’

‘Of course not,’ Gaius replied testily, spraying crumbs all over the table. ‘I didn’t want to be seen as the only person opposing it — that would hardly have been wise!’

‘If everyone thinks like that then it’s no surprise if the Senate votes for outrageous motions.’

‘Well, that wasn’t the most outrageous motion today,’ Gaius said. ‘I’m afraid the retribution has started and, in order to deflect attention away from himself, it’s being led by Aulus Plautius. He had three of Sejanus’ closest supporters in the Senate condemned to be thrown from the Tarpeian Rock, and as if that wasn’t bad enough he had them dragged up there immediately and threw them off personally. I’m afraid that you are going to be quite busy over the next few days, dear boy.’

Five days later Vespasian stood on the steps of the Senate House, in the warm mid-morning sun, awaiting the latest senatorial decree in the ongoing purge of Sejanus’ supporters. He and his fellow triumviri capitales had indeed been busy, as Gaius had predicted; in the last couple of days they had overseen half a dozen beheadings, four garrottings and one more unfortunate senator being hurled from the Tarpeian Rock. Over a dozen more had managed tocommit suicide before the executioners had got their hands on them, thus preventing their estates from being seized as well. None, however, had had the benefit of a proper trial in the Forum; their executions had been sanctioned by an executive order from the Senate at either the written request of the Emperor or after a motion put to the house by Aulus Plautius.

That morning another long letter from Tiberius had been read out by Regulus; Vespasian had not bothered listening at the Senate House’s open doors as he was bored with the frequent diatribes against Sejanus’ supporters with which Tiberius had been haranguing the Senate.

The noise of the ongoing debate floating out of the doors subsided and Vespasian guessed that the House was dividing. He smiled to himself at the use of that word; during the recent debates the Senate had never been divided, it had always voted unanimously for death. There were a few moments of silence then he heard Regulus pronounce the motion carried and a huge roar of agreement from the Senate.

Vespasian braced himself ready to do his duty and wondered which hapless senator Paetus would be escorting out to him and what form of execution had been decreed. To his shock and consternation Paetus came rushing out with Gaius.

‘Surely not you, Uncle?’ he called, running up the steps to meet them. How could he possibly oversee his own uncle’s execution?

‘What?’ Gaius replied momentarily confused. ‘Oh! No, dear boy, not me,’ he laughed. ‘Tiberius has just snared his biggest prey yet: Livilla.’

‘Livilla? How?’

‘The Emperor’s had proven what most people have long suspected: that Livilla poisoned her own husband, Tiberius’ son Drusus, to clear the way for Sejanus to marry her. Her physician and one of Drusus’ body slaves, who are both freedmen now, were tracked down and confirmed it under torture. I’ve been charged by the Senate to inform the Lady Antonia of her daughter’s sentence. I can’t say that I’m looking forward to the conversation.’

‘I’ve got to oversee the execution of a woman?’ Vespasian asked, not liking the idea in the slightest despite Livilla’s bloodthirsty reputation.

‘No, no, old chap, the Senate hasn’t pronounced a sentence,’ Paetus informed him cheerily, ‘you and I have just got to secure her. Out of respect for Antonia, Tiberius asked that Livilla be handed over to her; he felt it proper for the mother of the woman who murdered his son to decide the manner of her daughter’s punishment. Personally, I think that he’s been too lenient; what mother would order the execution of her own child?’

Four centuries of the Urban Cohort had surrounded Livilla’s property on the Palatine to prevent her escape, although as far as Vespasian knew news of the Senate’s decision had not yet come to her ears. He and Paetus walked up the grand set of steps leading to her front door accompanied by an Urban Cohort centurion; behind them the century that was covering the front of the house formed up. Paetus pulled a chain and a bell sounded inside.

The viewing slot opened.

‘Quaestor Publius Junius Caesennius Paetus, here to see the Lady Livilla at the request of the Emperor and the Senate,’ he said slowly and clearly.

The slot closed but the door remained shut.

‘It seems that the good lady is not too keen on seeing us,’ Paetus observed after a few moments. ‘Can’t say that I blame her. Centurion, break it down.’

‘Sir!’

At a barked order from the centurion four men came rushing forward with a small battering ram. After a half a dozen resounding thumps the door burst open; Vespasian and Paetus walked through the vestibule, followed by the centurion, into a lavish atrium. Vespasian had never seen so many gold and silver ornaments. Vases, statuettes, candelabras and bowls, all of differing sizes, were placed around on low, polished marble tables with ornate legs, again of either silver or gold; chairs and couches, upholstered in deep reds and golds, punctuated the room and echoed the colours of the frescoes that adorned its walls, depicting the bloody wars of the Titans in the days before the coming of man. Four towering black marble columns, streaked with grey, supported the ceiling at the four corners of the impluvium, in the centre of which was a huge bronze statue of Saturn castrating his father, Caelus, with a sickle.

‘How dare you break into my home,’ a low, female voice said threateningly.

Vespasian and Paetus spun round to see a beautiful, slender woman in her mid-forties glaring at them from one of the many doorways off the atrium. She was unmistakably Antonia’s daughter, fine boned and haughty; but whereas Antonia’s eyes were clear and wide hers were dark and mean; the lines that ran from their corners curved down from frowning, not up from smiling. Her mouth was small and her lips full, like her mother’s, but they were set in a sneer that seemed to be permanently fixed upon her ivory-skinned face.

‘We are here to escort you to your mother’s house,’ Paetus replied, stepping towards her.

‘On whose authority and for what reason?’ Her voice had become wary and even lower.

‘On the Emperor’s and the Senate’s authority; you are to come with us immediately.’

‘I will do no such thing until you tell me for what reason.’

‘You have been found guilty of your late husband Drusus’ murder and are to be handed over to the Lady Antonia so that she can decide your fate,’ Paetus answered, stopping just in front of her.

She fixed him with a vicious glare. ‘I am dead then.’

‘Not at the hand of your own mother. Tiberius has shown mercy by giving you to her.’ Paetus layed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Come with me, lady.’ Livilla’s right fist came up from her side and thumped into Paetus’ chest; she turned and ran, leaving Paetus standing motionless, his hand still stretched out. Vespasian instantly sprang forward and, constricted as she was by her silken stola, caught her by the hair within a few paces. Shrieking like a harpy and writhing like a Babylonian whore, Livilla tried to break from his grasp; long nails slashed at his face and sharp teeth drew blood from his arm. Behind him men of the Urban Cohort came flooding in through the door to hold back members of Livilla’s household rushing to their mistress’s aid. As he wrestled with her she forced him around until he could see Paetus over her shoulder. He had sunk to his knees. Blood soaked his tunic and toga and he gazed down incredulously at the golden hilt of a dagger that protruded from his chest.

With an animal roar Vespasian tightened his grip on Livilla’s hair and pulled back his right fist, causing Livilla to go limp in submission; a look of terror filled her eyes. Vespasian pulled her upright by the hair, looked at her in blind fury and spat in her face; with a rolling snarl of hatred he slammed his fist into her full lips. Blood exploded from her, covering her face and splattering his as his blow split her lips in several places and shattered her front teeth. He let her drop and she crumpled, howling, to the floor; savagely kicking her belly in the hope that she might be pregnant, he stepped over her as Paetus collapsed slowly onto his back.

Kneeling down, he lifted his friend’s head in his hand; his skin was waxen and pallid.

Paetus looked up at him with fading eyes. ‘Bit of mess, eh, old chap,’ he whispered. ‘Keep an eye on young Lucius for me, won’t you?’

‘I will, my friend,’ Vespasian replied with tears welling up in his eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Silly me, I thought that she was just a woman.’ The breath left him in a slow rattle and his eyes glazed over. Vespasian laid Paetus’ head down and passed the palm of his hand over his face to close his eyelids.

‘Have some of your men guard his body until his wife comes to claim it, centurion,’ he ordered, ‘then follow me and bring that bitch with you.’

Vespasian stepped out into the warm sun and descended the steps with Livilla, bloodied, face swollen, moaning, walking unaided behind him, escorted by the centurion and four of his men. His eyes were hard and set in a fixed stare as he tried to control himself; all he wanted to do was to rip Livilla’s throat out with his teeth. How could Tiberius have been so merciful towards her?

‘Livilla!’ shrieked a shrill female voice from across the street.

Apicata stood behind the screening century of the Urban Cohort brandishing a long, thin-bladed knife. Her clothes were in tatters and her cheeks and arms were covered in fresh, deep scratch marks; blood lined her fingernails.

‘Livilla, look at me, you Gorgon’s miscarriage!’

Livilla looked up and focused through puffy eyes.

‘I did this to you, Livilla,’ Apicata screamed triumphantly. ‘It was me. I wrote to Tiberius. I told him how you got the poison from your physician Eudemus, and how Drusus’ body slave Lygdus administered it. They were both tortured and confirmed it.’ She cackled hysterically and waved the dagger at Livilla. ‘You took my husband and caused the death of my son and now they’ve taken my other two children from me, but I don’t care, Livilla, I don’t care because I’ve got you — you’re finished, Livilla, finished! And this is what I think of you.’

She lifted the knife above her head, placed both hands on the hilt and, with another high-pitched scream, forced the blade down and under her lower rib; she convulsed and doubled up. Then she lifted her face to Livilla, blood seeping from the corners of her mouth and her nostrils.

‘This is what awaits you!’ she howled and, with a look of wideeyed, manic concentration, she forced the blade up into her heart and died without another sound.

Gaius was waiting for Vespasian in Antonia’s atrium looking agitated.

‘Where’s Paetus?’ he asked as Vespasian stepped through the door.

Vespasian made no reply. One look at his expression and a quick glance at Livilla’s ruined face was enough to tell the story.

‘Oh, I see,’ Gaius mumbled. ‘I’m very sorry, dear boy.’

Vespasian nodded in acknowledgement as Livilla was led past him, now visibly shaking. Vespasian stared at her with hatred. ‘She deserves to die, uncle, but she’ll only get banished to live out her days on some island. No mother would order the death of her child.’

‘This is an unnatural day,’ Gaius said, almost apologetically. ‘I have to go back to the Senate. I’m afraid you’re going to have to join me once you’ve delivered Livilla to Antonia.’

‘As you wish, Uncle,’ Vespasian replied numbly. ‘What’s happening now?’

‘It’s rather unpleasant but I can’t see how it can be avoided,’ Gaius said, shaking his head and walking out.

‘Bring her this way,’ Pallas said, appearing through the columns at the far end of the atrium. ‘The Lady Antonia is waiting.’

‘Thank you, centurion.’ Vespasian walked forward and took hold of Livilla’s arm. ‘I can manage her now. Wait for me outside.’

Vespasian, leading Livilla, followed Pallas through the house until they came to the door that led down to Antonia’s private prison where Rhoteces and Secundus had been incarcerated. Pallas pushed it open and descended the damp stone steps.

Livilla started to struggle as she caught the scent of fear and desperation that wafted up from the forbidding, dank corridor below. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she shrieked, squirming in Vespasian’s strong grip.

‘To see your mother, bitch,’ he growled, pushing her through the door.

Antonia was waiting for them in the low corridor outside what had been Rhoteces’ cell.

‘That it has come to this’, she said, shaking her head and regarding her daughter with cold, menacing eyes, ‘grieves me more than you will ever know, Livilla.’

‘Mother, Mother, please,’ Livilla cried, breaking away from Vespasian and running to kneel at Antonia’s feet and clasping her knees. ‘Please, Mother, forgive me.’

With a sharp crack Antonia slapped her daughter across her broken face. ‘Forgive you? You, who killed your own husband; you, who would have tortured Caenis, the daughter I should have had, had I not intervened; you, who were prepared to see your own son die to achieve your aims. You ask me for forgiveness?’

‘I beg you, Mummy.’

‘Don’t you dare be familiar with me, whore!’ Antonia screamed, pulling away from Livilla’s grasp. ‘There is no love between us any more, nor will there ever be again.’ She swung open the door of the cell. ‘Get in there.’

Meekly, Livilla obeyed and crawled whimpering into the fetid cell. Antonia pulled the door shut behind her and locked it. She threw the key to Pallas.

‘Keep it, Pallas. Don’t give it back to me even if I beg you to; Vespasian is your witness to my order,’ she commanded, pulling a stool in front of the door and sitting down.

‘What are you going to do, domina?’ Vespasian asked.

Antonia folded her hands on her lap. ‘What I must. The Emperor lost his only son because of my daughter. Livilla was prepared to sit by while her son died through poison; so, to end it, I will do the same. Bring me food and water once a day, Pallas; I will sit here and wait for my daughter to die.’

At these words a long screech erupted from the cell and fists pounded at the door.

Vespasian stepped forward. ‘But domina, to kill one’s own child goes against all tha…’ Pallas’ hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him and pulling him back. Vespasian turned to face him and saw for the first time an expression written over the Greek’s normally neutral face: anger.

‘It shall be as you command, mistress,’ Pallas articulated deliberately whilst staring into Vespasian’s eyes. He turned and pulled Vespasian back up the steps. As they neared the top Vespasian glanced back. Antonia sat, hands clasped in her lap, impervious to the cries of her daughter behind her, staring fixedly at the smoke-blackened wall.

Pallas escorted Vespasian back through the house as Livilla’s screams echoed around the corridors.

‘Vespasian,’ Caenis called, running up to him as they reentered the atrium, ‘what’s happening?’

He wrapped his arms around her and nestled his head in her hair. ‘A demonstration of your mistress’s strength of will: she has passed a death sentence on her own daughter and is acting as the executioner herself.’ He let go of Caenis and jabbed his finger repeatedly towards of the source of the now hysterical screaming. ‘No matter how much she hates her,’ he shouted at Pallas, ‘how can she do that?’

‘She has to, master,’ Pallas said, his face now a study in neutrality. ‘If she doesn’t then she knows that for honour’s sake Tiberius will have his revenge for his son in far more terrible way. Claudius, Caligula and Gemellus will all die and with their deaths he will take away her power.’

‘If that’s what it takes to hold on to power in Rome then I want to go back to my estates.’

Caenis looked up at him, shaking her head slowly as the screams continued. ‘No, my love, you stay here and learn from her strength. Pallas is right: she cannot afford to force Tiberius into a position whereby he is honour-bound to kill the rest of his family.’

‘Why not? Caligula is my friend and I wish him no harm, but I’ve seen what he’s like and I know that he will be the worst kind of emperor. It would be for the greater good if Tiberius were free to choose a suitable man to succeed him.’

‘Do you really think that he’ll do that? Or will he just choose someone infinitely worse so that he’s remembered, by comparison, in a better light? A real tyrant,’

Recollecting the unstable old man on Capreae, Vespasian did not need to think long about the answer. ‘He’d choose a tyrant and it would amuse him, because…’ He stopped and a look of comprehension slid over his face. He began to relax. ‘So we’re better off having someone like Caligula, however profligate and base he may be, because at least he will have the restraining influence of Antonia over him?’

‘I would think so, master, which is why I would not have you try to change her mind.’ Pallas held up the key to Livilla’s cell. ‘I won’t give this back to my mistress until she has done her duty to Rome. It’s better for us all this way.’

Vespasian stared at the key; with a shock he realised that giving it to Pallas was an admission by Antonia that she could not trust her maternal instincts not to overrule her sense of duty. ‘She doesn’t want to do this, does she?’

‘Of course not, would you?’

‘And there is no other way?’

‘Not unless she took the knife to her daughter’s throat. But she couldn’t do that — who could? So she must bear her daughter’s screams as she slowly dies. She will see it as her punishment for infanticide, but she is willing to take that punishment in order to fulfil her obligation to Rome.’

Vespasian looked back towards the screaming. ‘Yes, I think I can see that… and I must applaud her for it. She’s paying a high price indeed, but a necessary one, I suppose, to fulfil her duty.’

Pallas shrugged. ‘She has the strength and, in the end, it’s no more than she can afford.’

‘For that I suppose she must be grateful.’ Vespasian looked back at Caenis and sighed. ‘Now I should find the strength to go and do my duty.’

Caenis reached up and stroked his cheek. ‘You’ll find the strength to do it, my love; one way or another.’ She smiled.

He stood back and gazed at her. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself deep within her and cleanse himself of the cares and horrors of the day, but he knew that it was not yet over. ‘Pallas,’ he said quietly, ‘would you be so good as to have Caenis escorted to my uncle’s house — I don’t think your mistress will have any use for her services over the next few days.’

‘I shall see to it personally, master.’

‘I’ll see you later, my love,’ Vespasian said, raising her chin and kissing her gently on the mouth.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To the Senate House to do what my uncle thinks may be a very unpleasant duty. I don’t know what it is but it will seem as nothing compared to what Antonia is doing.’

He kissed her once more with passion and then, with Livilla’s screams still resounding in his ears and the image of his benefactress sitting, waiting placidly for her daughter’s death in his mind, he walked away, steeled by Antonia’s unselfish resolve.

The Senate was in uproar as Vespasian looked through the open doors. Standing in front of the two Consuls at the far end, and flanked by rows of baying senators sitting on their folding stools on the stepped levels that ran down either side of the house, were two children: a boy of about fourteen and a small girl of no more than seven.

‘And I ask you, Conscript Fathers,’ Consul Trio was bellowing at the top of his voice, ‘how can we be seen to pass such a sentence on two children, so obviously innocent of any crime.’

He sat back on his curule chair and Aulus Plautius rose to his feet from within the disorderly ranks of senators.

‘Conscript Fathers, I would have your attention,’ he shouted and then paused whilst the furore died down. ‘Innocent of crimes they may be,’ he said, looking down his nose at the two frightened children, ‘but innocent of name they are not. When we voted for Sejanus’ death we also voted for damnatio memoriae, wiping his name from history as if he had never existed. What is the Senate, Conscript Fathers, if it refuses to act on its own will? It is our will that the name of Sejanus be eradicated and they’ — he pointed a damning finger at the two children — ‘they carry his name. So do your duty and condemn them.’ He sat down with a dramatic flurry of his toga to absolute silence as the senators tried to mentally refute the logic of his argument. None could.

After a brief pause it became obvious that no one else wished to speak. Regulus got slowly to his feet.

‘The motion before the house is: that the children of Sejanus, Capito and Junilla, be executed in the same manner as their father in accordance with the previous decree of damnatio memoriae. The house will divide.’

Vespasian’s heart sank as the vast majority of senators passed to the right of Regulus.

‘So be it,’ Regulus said wearily. ‘I declare the motion carried. Summon a triumvir capitalis.’

Vespasian walked with leaden feet into the House and stopped just behind the two children.

‘You heard the sentence?’ Regulus asked him.

‘Yes, Consul.’

‘Then do your duty.’

Vespasian steeled himself. Rome, it seemed, was asking much from everyone today. He put a hand on the shoulder of each child; the boy looked up at him with cold, dead eyes and brushed the hand away.

‘Where are we going, Capito?’ Junilla asked her brother.

‘To Father,’ Capito replied, taking her hand.

‘But he’s dead.’

Capito nodded.

‘What does execution mean?’

Capito squeezed her hand and led her calmly, with his head held high, towards the open doors.

Vespasian followed. The senate was silent as they passed.

As they descended the steps into the Forum Gaius caught up with Vespasian.

‘I’m sorry that it has to be you, dear boy,’ he mumbled.

‘Why did Aulus Plautius do that? Hasn’t it gone far enough already?’

‘It wasn’t Plautius, I afraid.’

‘Then who proposed the motion, Uncle?’

‘I did.’

‘You? Why?’

‘On Antonia’s orders,’ Gaius replied, obviously distressed. ‘She had the children seized in vengeance for Apicata writing to Tiberius; she knew that Livilla would have to die, Tiberius expected no less, and although she hated her she couldn’t in honour let it pass without retribution. So she demanded that I asked the Senate for Apicata’s children’s deaths. I tried to refuse her but she threatened me.’

‘What with?’ Vespasian asked wondering what Antonia could have on Gaius that would make him do such a thing.

Gaius looked his nephew straight in the eye. ‘My life,’ he said simply and walked away.

He slowly shook his head as he watched his uncle go, wondering whether Antonia really would have taken Gaius’ life if he had not done her bidding. Then he remembered her sitting resolutely waiting for her daughter to die. He knew the answer and he understood why: what was Gaius’ life to her compared to what she was forced to do for honour and duty?

Vespasian turned and followed the two children as they walked hand in hand, escorted by the Urban Cohort centurion and his men, the short distance across the Forum towards their deaths in the Tullianum.

As he walked he again remembered his grandmother sipping her wine from her treasured cup and saying: ‘I advise you to keep out of politics that you don’t understand, and to keep away from the powerful, because in general they only have one goal and that is more power. They tend to use people of our class as dispensable tools.’ He had seen the reality of that warning: Gaius was as dispensable as he, Vespasian, could one day be.

The centurion rapped on the Tullianum door; Spurius opened it after a brief pause.

‘Well, well, what do we have here?’ he drawled, surveying Capito and Junilla and licking his lips.

‘You will do your duty with dignity and remain silent, Spurius,’ Vespasian hissed, ‘or by all the gods I will see to it that you will be the next victim of this purge.’

Spurius looked at him, taken aback by the venom in his voice, and seeing the steel will in Vespasian’s eyes slowly nodded his acquiescence. He stepped back from the door and allowed Capito to lead his young sister in.

‘What place is this?’ she asked her brother, looking around the chill, shadow-ridden room.

‘This is the place where it ends, Junilla,’ Capito replied softly. ‘Be brave.’

‘Cut or twist?’ Spurius asked in Vespasian’s ear.

‘Twist,’ he replied, although the word stuck in his throat. ‘Make it swift.’

One of Spurius’ mates quickly procured two garrottes whilst Spurius made the children kneel. The nooses were placed around their necks; Junilla started to cry softly as she realised what was happening.

‘Wait,’ Spurius said suddenly, ‘we can’t do this to the girl.’

‘Why not?’ Vespasian snapped. He was shaking with tension. ‘It’s the will of the Senate.’

‘She’s a… you know… ’ Spurius spluttered, trying to be discreet, ‘and we can’t… it’s against the gods.’

Vespasian closed his eyes and put his hands over his face.

‘Do the boy then,’ he ordered swiftly.

Junilla watched in frozen horror as the wooden rod was inserted in the noose behind her brother’s neck and twisted until the slack was taken out. Spurius looked back at Vespasian who nodded reluctantly.

A silent scream was written over the young girl’s face as the noose squeezed the life out of her brother and his face and body contorted in agony. She buried her face in her hands and shuddered uncontrollably.

Capito’s lifeless body fell forward with a splash into the pool of urine that surrounded it and Junilla threw herself, heaving with sobs, on to it.

‘What shall we do with her then?’ Spurius asked.

Vespasian felt weak and sick. He thought of Caenis and wanted only to lie in her arms.

He turned and walked to the door. ‘The Senate has decreed that she must die,’ he said, opening it. ‘If you can’t execute a virgin then make sure that she isn’t one.’

He walked out into the sun, slamming shut the Tullianum door, as Junilla let out a long, terrified shriek.