Tribune of Rome

CHAPTER VI

Once through the gate the Via Nomentana narrowed so that two carts could just pass each other. The makeshift huts and tombs on either side were replaced by three-, four- or even five-storeyed tenements – insulae – that prevented the sun from reaching the street level except for an hour or so around midday. Each building had open-fronted shops on the ground level selling all manner of products. Costermongers squeezed in between pork butchers and leather-goods salesmen; stores selling live poultry next to taverns, barbers, fortune-tellers and purveyors of small statuettes of gods and heroes. Sweating smiths hammered at ironwork on open forges alongside tailors hunched over their stitching and bakers filling shelves with loaves, pastries and sweet buns.

The cries of the shopkeepers advertising their wares resounded in the air, which was already bursting with the aromas, both sweet and foul, given off by such a variety of human activity. Vespasian was overwhelmed by the throng of people, free, freed and slave, going about their everyday business pushing and shoving each other in an effort to remain on the raised pavements so as not to soil their feet in the mud, made up mainly of human and animal excrement, which covered the road.

On the outside of the lower buildings, in order to maximise the rentable living space inside, rickety wooden staircases led up to equally precarious balconies that gave access to the rooms on the first and second floors. Women, mainly, populated these upper levels; they scrubbed garments on wooden boards beneath lines of nearly clean washing that fluttered in the breeze. They prepared the evening meal, which would be cooked in the local baker’s oven, whilst gossiping with their neighbours as their children squatted at their feet playing at knucklebones or dice. Brightly painted whores called out their services and fees to the passersby below and made lewd jokes with each other, cackling with unashamed laughter, whilst the elderly and the infirm just sat and stared greedily at the life they could no longer participate in.

An underclass of thieves, confidence tricksters, charlatans and cheats preyed on the unwary or the dull, weaving their way stealthily through the crowds looking for likely targets and picking them off with a finesse born of a lifetime’s dishonesty. What profit they could not cream off they left to the lowest of the low: the beggars. Blind, diseased, maimed or malformed, they struggled, with a desperation known only to those who have nothing, to elicit some scraps or a small bronze coin from the few who cared enough to even notice them.

All forms of human existence were here – except the wealthy. They lived up on Rome’s hills in the cleaner air, above the heaving masses that they saw only when they had to pass the squalor on their way through the city to or from their more fragrant country estates.

The Flavian party made its way along the street that plunged, downhill, straight as an arrow, towards the heart of Rome.

‘We need to keep on this street until it divides in two, then we take the right-hand fork,’ Titus called out to their hired guards, who were doing a fine job of easing their passage through the crowds. He turned to look at his younger son. ‘Well, my boy, what do you think?’ he asked.

‘It’s a lot bigger than Reate, Father,’ Vespasian replied, grinning. ‘Though in truth I don’t know what to say… it is everything that I was expecting, except magnified by ten. I was prepared for a lot of people, but not this many. I knew that the buildings would be tall, but this tall? How do they stay up?’

‘Well, sometimes they don’t,’ Titus replied. ‘The landlords build these insulae as quickly and cheaply as possible, and then cram them with as many tenants as they can. They often collapse, and when they do they just put up another and to Hades with the poor buggers who got crushed to death. There’ll always be people happy to pay rent to live in the city, even in a death trap; it’s that or in the tomb shantytowns outside the walls. At least in the city the poor can take advantage of the free corn dole; the Emperor won’t let his people starve, that would be political suicide. Anyone with any money will tell you that we are only ever an empty granary away from revolution.’ His father smiled at Vespasian. ‘But you don’t have to worry about all that, it’s no concern of ours; let others take care of their own as we do of ours.’

They came to the fork in the road. At its apex stood a tavern outside of which lounged a group of hard-looking men drinking and playing dice on rough wooden benches. As Titus’ party took the right-hand fork one of the group stood up and approached Titus.

‘You’ll be needing protection, sir, if you’re thinking of going down that road,’ he said in a quiet, menacing voice. He had the build and cauliflower ears of a boxer; the scars on his face attested to his profession. He stood squarely in front of Titus and made no attempt to move as Titus tried to push his horse past him.

‘I said that you’ll be needing protection on that road. My name is Marcus Salvius Magnus and my crossroads fraternity here can provide you and your party with that reassurance,’ he insisted. ‘A denarius apiece for me and two of my lads will see you safe enough on your way.’

‘And from whom do we need protecting, Magnus?’ Titus asked, his voice filling with suppressed rage. ‘You and your murdering bunch of cronies no doubt.’

‘There’s no need to be uncivil, sir,’ the boxer replied. ‘I just wouldn’t advise you to proceed without an escort who knows the area. Who knows where to go and not to go, if you take my meaning?’

Titus struggled to control himself; the last thing he wanted to do was to lose his dignity to a mere thug. ‘Why do we in particular need protection?’ he asked and pointed to a passing group of travellers. ‘What about them, why don’t you offer them your protection?’

‘They don’t look like they could afford it, sir. Them that can’t afford it don’t need it, because if you’re too poor to afford protection you’re too poor to rob. Your party on the other hand looks as if it can afford to buy the protection that it therefore quite obviously needs.’ Magnus looked pleased with the logic of the argument.

‘Ah, but we have our protection, three armed guards all very capable of looking after themselves and us,’ Titus said, gesturing towards the ex-legionaries who had now dismounted and drawn their daggers.

‘And very lovely they look too, sir, but there are only three of them and there are a lot of very bad people down that way, I can assure you of that.’

‘I’m sure you can,’ Titus seethed, ‘but what if we decide not to take your very well-meant advice?’

‘Then that would be very risky, sir, and somewhat foolish, if I may be so bold.’ Magnus gave a smile that did not reach his eyes. Behind him his comrades had started to get up; the whole situation was getting rapidly out of control.

‘Just pay the man, Father,’ Sabinus whispered, realising that they would come off worst if it came to a fight.

‘Over my dead body,’ his father replied forcefully.

‘Let’s hope that it doesn’t come to that, sir. It’s to prevent that that I’m offering you our services. Tell us where are you heading and we’ll see you safely on your way,’ Magnus insisted. The Flavian guards had now surrounded him, yet he showed no sign of backing down.

‘Just what is going on here, Titus?’ Vespasia had got down from her litter and stood next to her husband.

‘These thugs wish to-’

‘As I said, there is no need to be uncivil,’ Magnus cut across him.

‘Uncivil! You disgusting, uncultured ape,’ Vespasia shouted. ‘How dare you delay us? I shall speak to my brother as soon as I see him.’

‘Hush, my dear, I’m afraid that won’t help us at the moment.’ Titus looked at Magnus’ cronies, who were now completely blocking both their way forward and their retreat. He realised that fighting was futile and made a mental note to one day extract a painful revenge. ‘We are going to the house of Gaius Vespasius Pollo,’ he spat out, ‘on the Quirinal.’

‘What? The ex-praetor? Why didn’t you say so before, my friend? That changes everything. I know him well; there’ll be no charge. A silly misunderstanding; please accept my apologies, sir, madam, and pass on our greetings to the honourable senator.’

‘I shall do no such thing, you impertinent little man,’ Vespasia said darkly as she turned and made her way back to her litter.

‘Nevertheless it will be our pleasure to escort you and your party to his house, sir. Sextus, Lucio, with me, we shall lead this noble family to their destination.’ With that he walked off down the right-hand fork leaving the rest of the group to follow him.

‘What was all that about, Father?’ Vespasian asked Titus as they moved off.

‘That, my boy, was part of the most powerful force in Rome after the Emperor and his Praetorians: the crossroads fraternities,’ Titus replied, still bemused by the rapid turn of events. ‘They’re gangs who base themselves at all the major road junctions in the poorer areas of the city and extort money from the local traders, residents and people passing through by selling their protection. If you buy it they won’t rob you, and if you don’t they will. It’s as simple as that.’

‘But surely that’s illegal,’ Vespasian said appalled. ‘Why doesn’t the Emperor do something about it?’

‘Well, it may sound strange but they are tolerated because they also do a lot of good.’

‘What good can a bunch low-life who specialise in demanding money with menaces do?’ Vespasian scoffed.

‘Well, for a start, rather ironically, they keep the crime rate down in their areas just by being there. Other thieves caught operating on their patch get pretty rough justice from all accounts. If you think about it it’s in their interest to keep their areas safe so that business will flourish; the more traders, the more money they rake in. On top of that they also look after the crossroads shrines. Your uncle evidently tolerates them at the very least, if not actively encourages them, judging by their reaction to his name just then.’

‘You’re making them sound like they’re a good thing, Father, a nice bunch of religious boys with nothing but the community’s best interests at heart and supported by the great and the good.’

‘Well, in a way yes, they are,’ Titus said as they turned off the main road and started to make their way up the Quirinal Hill. ‘However, they do have a very nasty habit of pursuing vendettas with rival gangs; and they’re also prone to fighting other factions at the circus who support a different colour team to them.’

As they climbed the hill the insulae disappeared and were replaced by single-storey houses with no windows to the front, just a doorway. Narrow alleys separated them from each other, so that the effect was like one long wall with lots of doors in it. There were fewer people on the road up here, and those they did pass wore much finer clothing; even the slaves were well dressed. Already they could detect a difference in the air quality; the light breeze was blowing away the fumes of the city below whose hubbub had now been reduced to a faint murmur.

They had made a few turns left and right when Magnus stopped outside a yellow-painted house. ‘This is the house of the senator Gaius Vespasius Pollo, good sirs,’ he said, pulling on the bell chain. ‘I’ll leave you here. If there is ever anything that I can do for you, to make up for that unfortunate misunderstanding, please feel free to ask.’

He made to help a grim-looking Vespasia down from her litter, but she slapped his face. He bowed his apologies to her, wished them all a good day and left with his two companions, leaving his erstwhile charges waiting for the door to open.

‘I shall be speaking to my brother about that ghastly man, Titus,’ Vespasia said as she joined her husband. ‘How dare such a low-life threaten people so far above him?’

‘I don’t think they care about the social standing of their intended victims, unless it is to judge how much they can extort from them, my dear,’ Titus replied. Vespasia scowled at her husband aware he was mocking her, but was prevented from retorting by the door opening, revealing a man so old and frail that he was almost bent double. He peered at them with moist, bloodshot eyes.

‘Who may I say is calling?’ he asked in a reedy voice.

‘Titus Flavius Sabinus and his wife Vespasia Polla and his two sons Sabinus and Vespasian,’ Titus replied.

‘Ah, yes, I have been told to expect you. Please come in and wait in the atrium. I shall announce you to my master,’ the ancient retainer wheezed, bowing even lower as they filed past him. Vespasian was worried that he wouldn’t be able to right himself again, but with the aid of a stick he heaved himself up, closed the door and hobbled off to find the senator at a speed that made it inevitable that they would be waiting for some time.

Vespasian looked around the room. It was almost twice the size of their atrium at home and decorated far more lavishly. Brightly coloured frescoes of naked young men hunting and wrestling, amongst other less noble activities, adorned the walls. Statues of well-formed gods, leaving nothing to the imagination, painted to look lifelike, inhabited niches between the frescoes. The floor was covered with the most beautifully executed mosaic showing a superbly muscled Achilles despatching a doe-eyed Hector, both also mysteriously without clothes. Vespasian noticed his mother grimace as she took in the surroundings and realised that she was the only feminine thing in the whole room.

‘I am not sure that I approve of my brother’s taste in decor,’ she whispered to Titus. ‘It’s very vulgar and most unsuitable for our young lads. Why didn’t you tell me, Titus? You have, after all, been here before.’

‘So has Sabinus, don’t forget, and it didn’t seem to affect him adversely,’ Titus pointed out, also sotto voce, slapping his eldest son on the shoulder. ‘Besides, what would you have done had you known? Changed our plans? You’ve always been aware of your brother’s foibles, so this can’t come as too much of a surprise. Anyway, we’re here now and cannot leave without causing great offence.’

‘Foibles?’ Vespasia snorted. ‘Is that what you call them?’

Sabinus caught Vespasian’s eye. ‘Keep your back to the wall when Uncle Gaius is around, little brother.’

‘That will do, Sabinus,’ Titus hissed. ‘Remember your uncle is to be honoured and respected.’

‘But not submitted to,’ Vespasian mumbled under his breath, unable to resist a smile, which was greeted by a fierce look from his mother.

‘Whatever else my brother may be, he’s very influential, so do as your father says and keep your thoughts to yourself.’

Vespasian nodded his assent and tried not to stare at the frescoes.

‘Vespasia! How lovely to see you again,’ boomed a deep voice in an accent that Vespasian recognised as being very close to his own. ‘And, Titus, my friend, what a pleasure.’

Vespasian looked up to see a hugely fat man waddle into the room. He was dressed in a white tunic with a thick purple stripe down the front that struggled to cover his bulk; any belt that he may have been wearing had disappeared in the rolls of fat that wobbled as he walked. His round face showed signs of make-up, rouge on the cheeks and kohl around the eyes. It was framed by a series of carefully tonged brown curls that covered his ears and forehead. On his feet, which seemed far too small for his body, he wore a delicate little pair of red leather slippers. Vespasian had never seen anyone so outlandish in his life and had to fight to suppress a gasp.

Gaius came forward and embraced his sister. Despite her distaste for his lifestyle and obvious surprise at his size, she seemed genuinely pleased to see her brother and submitted to his affectionate greeting.

‘Gaius, it has been too long,’ she said as he released her from the folds of his body. ‘I trust that we find you well.’

‘Never better, never better,’ he replied, taking Titus’ arm in a firm grip. ‘You’re looking well, my friend; the country air must suit you. Is that why you don’t come to Rome more often? Well, you’re here now and it will be my pleasure to offer you all hospitality. Now, Sabinus, it’s been four years since you were here and it must be ten years since I last saw Vespasian.’

The brothers stepped forward and bowed their heads to their uncle, who put a hand on each of their shoulders and looked them up and down. ‘Fine boys, Titus, fine boys, you must be very proud. Sabinus, I look forward to hearing about your military service. I’m sure that it was the making of you.’

‘Indeed it was, Uncle,’ Sabinus replied. ‘And now I wish for a junior magistrate’s position.’

‘Of course you do, and you shall have it, my boy, you shall.’ Gaius turned to Vespasian. ‘And what does the younger brother want, eh?’

‘To try to serve Rome and my family,’ he replied.

‘Well said, my boy, you’ll go far with that attitude.’ Gaius squeezed Vespasian’s arm. ‘But in what capacity first, eh? The army?’

‘Yes, Uncle, like Sabinus, as a military tribune.’

‘Excellent. I’m sure that can be arranged, I still have connections with the two legions in which I served.’ Gaius saw Vespasian’s eyes widen in disbelief, and laughed. ‘Oh, dear boy, do you think that I was this size all my life?’

Vespasian reddened, mortified that his thoughts had been read.

‘No, I was once as fit as you two, as your mother will confirm. I choose to be this way now; or rather I choose the good life that makes me this way. Rome now has an emperor who tolerates lifestyles like mine, unlike his predecessor, the divine Augustus, who was a prude who led an austere life and expected everyone else to do so too. The gods bless Tiberius for allowing me to indulge myself and to be fat and happy.’ He smiled at Vespasian. ‘Well, let us hope that I can be of service in promoting your careers in this fine city of ours. That is after all what you are here for, eh, boys?’ Gaius chuckled.

‘Yes, Uncle, thank you,’ the brothers said in unison.

‘No, no, don’t thank me yet, I haven’t done anything. Wait until you have just cause, then I trust that you’ll find a way to thank me,’ Gaius said, turning back to his sister. ‘Now, Vespasia, I’ll have you shown to your rooms, then I’m sure that you would all appreciate a bath and a change of clothes after your journey; I have a set of very excellent baths here, unless of course you would prefer to go to the public ones?’

‘No, Gaius, we would be most happy to use yours,’ Vespasia replied.

‘As you will. I shall have them brought up to temperature immediately.’

He clapped his hands and four house slaves appeared from the corner of the room. They were all youths in their early teens with long blond hair down to their shoulders. They wore bright red tunics that seemed very short to Vespasian’s eye.

‘These boys will show you to your accommodation,’ Gaius said. He looked apologetically at his sister. ‘I’m afraid, Vespasia, that there is a shortage of female slaves in this household. I trust that you have brought your own.’

‘Indeed, brother, they are outside with the rest of our belongings.’

‘Excellent, I’ll have Priscus my steward make arrangements for them all. Now, please, make yourselves comfortable, I’ll see you when you are refreshed, and then we shall make plans for these boys of yours.’

The bath had indeed been refreshing, although both Vespasian and Sabinus had felt a little disconcerted at being expertly massaged and then rubbed down by two very pretty youths, who, despite their age, seemed to have no hair on their bodies at all, apart from their long golden locks.

They had joined their parents who were sitting in the shade in the courtyard garden. It was dominated by a statue of an unnecessarily large Apollo placed in the middle of the fishpond at the centre of the garden. Vespasian was sitting at the pond’s edge idly trailing his fingers in the water when Gaius arrived.

‘Don’t do that, dear boy,’ he warned. ‘That pond contains my lampreys; they’ll dig their teeth into your finger in a trice, given the chance. Unfortunately they enjoy eating us as much as we enjoy eating them,’ he said cheerily as he sat on a stool proffered by yet another beautiful slave boy. ‘One of my slaves fell in last year and was dead before he could be pulled out. Apparently the whole pool just seethed as they rushed to sink their teeth into him. I believe he died of shock. I was furious as I was particularly fond of the lad and had only recently bought him.’

Vespasian quickly moved away from the pond and sat down next to Titus. Two more slave boys appeared, one with a table and the other with a tray of sweet cakes.

‘It’s my custom at this time of day to take something sweet,’ Gaius said as one of the boys set down the table. ‘I do hope you will join me, it will be a little while before dinner is served.’

The boy with the tray bowed to Vespasia and offered a cake, displaying as he did a pair of smooth well-shaped buttocks and a tight, hairless scrotum, which Gaius eyed appreciatively. Vespasian felt his father, next to him, shift uncomfortably in his chair at the sight and wondered how his mother would react when his side of the table was being served. Thankfully Gaius became aware of his guests’ discomfort and before Vespasia was subjected to the ordeal he slapped the boy’s arse.

‘Arminius, how dare you serve my guests in a state of undress? Go and put your loincloth on at once.’

The boy stared uncomprehendingly at his master, having obviously never before been told to put on that particular item of clothing, if indeed he even possessed one.

‘Go!’ Gaius barked. ‘And leave the cakes on the table.’

The poor boy did as he was told and ran off. Gaius smiled at his guests. ‘I must apologise, they can be very forgetful, these Germans. Good workers, but a bit sloppy.’

‘Please don’t mention it, Gaius,’ Titus replied. ‘No harm done. Are all your slaves Germans? I believe they are very expensive.’

‘Oh, they are, but worth every denarius,’ Gaius said with a faraway look in his eye. ‘I have mainly Germans, but also a couple of Mesopotamians and a Briton.’

‘Where are Britons from?’ Vespasian asked.

‘Britannia, an island to the north of Gaul. Surely you’ve read Caesar? He went there twice over seventy years ago, but they were a vicious bunch and he never managed to subdue them; that will be someone else’s task in the future, no doubt. But come, Titus, haven’t you given the boys any education. Surely they must have read the classics?’

‘I’m afraid Vespasian was more interested in husbandry than history, and much of his reading was neglected.’

‘That is something that must be repaired. Vespasian, I shall lend you my copy of Caesar’s Gallic Wars; in it you will learn about Britannia and Gaul and Germania as well. You need to know these things as a soldier; who knows where you’ll be posted? You boys may have free use of my library whilst you are my guests.’

‘That is most kind, dear brother,’ Vespasia said. ‘I shall make sure the boys use it to their best advantage.’

Gaius gestured to the cakes. ‘Please, in the absence of a serving boy help yourselves, these almond and cinnamon cakes are particularly good. Tuck in, my boys, we have a busy day tomorrow so you need to get your strength up.’

‘What have you planned for tomorrow, Gaius?’ Vespasia asked.

‘Your boys need to be seen and introduced,’ Gaius replied, stuffing a cake between his plump, moist lips. ‘Tomorrow is yet another public holiday, so where better to go to be seen and introduced than at the chariot races in the Circus Maximus?’