Rome's Executioner (Vespasian)

by Robert Fabbri

  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, breaki
ng 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.