The Furies of Rome

by Robert Fabbri

  If Vespasian could have swallowed he would have; the biggest bet he had ever laid in his life had been one sestertius on his team the first time they had raced in the Circus Maximus; the thrill of winning two whole denarii when they had come in first had not been enough to tempt him from being so reckless with his money ever again. ‘Could we, perhaps, bet with something other than money, Princeps?’

  Nero threw the towel back to the groom. ‘Like what?’

  Again Vespasian wished he could swallow; he was at a loss for an idea.

  ‘So it’s agreed then,’ Nero carried on when Vespasian failed to furnish him with another form of currency. ‘Twelve thousand denarii from the loser to the winner; we’ll do it next time I’m in the mood for it.’

  Vespasian nodded blankly, registering Nero upping the wager and wondering how his innate parsimony would allow him to deliberately lose a race to the Emperor; he was sure that even driving his team of Arabs the Emperor’s ability to race chariots was only slightly greater than his talent for singing. But for Nero it was the delusion that counted.

  Suddenly remembering the objective of the morning, Vespasian steeled himself to get the favour he desired from Nero. ‘Princeps, as you may know, my daughter is to be married in a couple of days now that she is of an age. Her husband-to-be was a praetor last year.’

  Nero thought for a few moments. ‘Quintus Petillius Cerialis, yes, I granted him an audience yesterday. I hope you don’t expect me to be coming to the wedding?’

  Vespasian held up both hands as they approached the gates. ‘No, Princeps, no; I would never expect you to do anything. Should you wish to attend the festivities then we would be the most honoured family in Rome but should you wish to confer some mark of distinction on the couple, merely a …’ Vespasian trailed off hoping that Nero would fill in the rest of the sentence.

  And he did as the gates were swung open for them. ‘A wedding present! I must think of a suitable wedding present for the couple.’

  ‘A wedding present, Princeps? That would be a great distinction; such an honour.’

  ‘Yes, it would be, wouldn’t it? Have you any suggestions?’ Nero asked as he walked out onto the open ground beyond the gates where his litter and Praetorian Guard escort awaited him, all snapping smartly to attention at the bellowing of their centurions.

  ‘Me? Well, let me see.’ Vespasian knew that he was getting close to his objective and just had to play the next few lines carefully. ‘What did Cerialis come to see you about, yesterday, Princeps, if I might ask?’

  The transformation that came over Nero by stepping out of the masculine environment of the racetrack and back into his world of art and creative pretence was palpable. He struck a pose, suggesting thought, before answering. ‘Oh, just the usual: he offered me his greetings and complete loyalty and then gave me a present of an amber ring. Oh yes, and he passed on a letter from his brother, Caesius Nasica, the legate of the Ninth Hispana in Britannia.’

  ‘He’s … er … he’s coming back to Rome soon, I believe.’

  ‘He is; and Suetonius Paulinus, the Governor of Britannia, has written to me with a few suggestions as to who should …’ Nero took an inspirational pose. ‘Wait! Cerialis’ name was on that list.’

  ‘Was it now?’ Vespasian said, knowing perfectly well that it was and that had been Paulinus’ repaying Vespasian the favour he owed him for dealing with Venutius even though the Britannic chieftain was now in Seneca’s custody; the other names on the list were mediocrities or plain no-hopers.

  ‘Perfect! That will be the ideal gift,’ Nero announced as the curtains to his litter were drawn back for him, ‘I will confirm Cerialis as the new legate of the Ninth Hispana; I shall have his Imperial Mandate sent to your house on the day of the wedding. He can leave for Britannia once he’s done his duty by your daughter, provided it doesn’t take more than a moon.’

  Vespasian’s gratitude was genuine and his expression told no lie. ‘Princeps, he’ll be entirely in your debt.’

  ‘The whole of Rome is in my debt.’ Nero clapped his hands and the litter rose, lifted by bearers chosen for their bulk rather than their good looks. ‘It is all mine.’

  Vespasian watched the Emperor depart, contemplating the frightening truth of that simple statement.

  Vespasian listened to the ribald comments of the young, male wedding guests with a mixture of amusement and paternal outrage at such things being said about his daughter as she was led off by Flavia and the other women to prepare herself for the consummation of the marriage in her new husband’s house on the Aventine.

  ‘I am a very lucky man,’ Cerialis, Vespasian’s new son-in-law, admitted, watching his bride walking away.

  ‘You are indeed, Cerialis. I didn’t get mine until I was thirty-two; you’ve managed it just before your thirtieth birthday.’

  Cerialis’ well-formed face – high cheekbones, prominent nose, firm mouth and intelligent, dark eyes – betrayed momentary confusion. ‘Quite so,’ he said, knowing that his father-in-law had been married at the age of twenty-nine just like him. ‘You had to wait a long time for your legion; I am very lucky.’

  ‘Very lucky, indeed,’ Vespasian confirmed as the bridal party disappeared down a corridor, ‘it took a few favours called in but we got there; so don’t fuck it up. Britannia has plenty of scope for military glory but it also has plenty of scope for making a balls-up of everything and coming back in disgrace; I should know as I was within a hundred heartbeats of having my legion hit in the flank, whilst deploying forward, by that man over there.’ He indicated with his head to Caratacus who was drinking wine and conversing with Sabinus and his son-in-law, Lucius Caesennius Paetus.

  Cerialis was interested. ‘And what saved you?’

  ‘Who, more like.’ Vespasian pointed out Hormus chatting with Magnus and Tigran on the fringe of the reception, the realm of the less prestigious guests. ‘That man over there.’

  ‘Your freedman?’

  ‘He was my slave at the time. An oil lamp in my tent rekindled itself mysteriously and he told me that his mother used to believe that when things behave in a strange way, like that, it’s the gods giving us a warning that we’ve overlooked something. I didn’t take much notice at the time, but as I was leading the legion out of the camp to attack the hill fort we’d invested I realised that I had overlooked something and that something was in the north. I just managed to have the legion form up facing in that direction as thirty thousand hairy-arsed savages appeared out of the night, led by Caratacus. It was a very nasty moment; we beat them off but not before I had to send a young tribune to his certain death leading a suicidal cavalry charge that bought me the time I needed for my reserves to arrive. He went without a complaint and we buried him with great honour.’ Vespasian slapped Cerialis on the back. ‘So, my boy, be prepared for nasty decisions and look out for candles and lamps rekindling all by themselves.’

  Cerialis grinned; it was a pleasant sight. ‘I will, Father; and I shall make you proud to have me as a son-in-law.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. And by the way; I knew exactly what you were referring to when you first said that you were a lucky man.’ It was Vespasian’s turn to grin, the strained expression on his face lighting up. ‘You played along perfectly, well done; I think we might enjoy each other’s company, you and I.’

  ‘I hope we’ll have ample opportunity to do so, Father.’

  ‘We will, I’m sure; but not too much, as you should be off winning a name for yourself and making my daughter proud of her husband. And you’re right: you are a lucky man.’

  A cheer erupted from the younger male guests and Vespasian looked round; Flavia was standing at the end of the corridor. He smiled at Cerialis. ‘Well, my boy; time to go and get me a grandson.’ He gripped Cerialis’ proffered forearm before the younger man walked off to his awaiting bride to the percussion of slow clapping echoing around the atrium. He followed his mother-in-law out of sight and the guests settled down with more wine to wait for the annou
ncement confirming the successful conclusion of the business at hand after which they would depart.

  ‘I suppose it’s best not to think about what’s happening at the moment,’ Vespasian said as he joined Sabinus, Paetus and Caratacus.

  Sabinus laughed and threw an arm around Paetus’ shoulders. ‘Someone’s got to do it and it’s as well that it’s someone you like, as with Paetus and my daughter, and not just a political union with some flaccid patrician from a family that’s seen better days.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Vespasian agreed half-heartedly, trying not to picture the scene in Cerialis’ bedroom.

  ‘Of course he’s right,’ Caratacus affirmed. ‘What use are daughters anyway unless they produce sons?’

  Sabinus took a firm grip of Paetus and shook him. ‘Especially sons of consuls.’

  It took Vespasian a few moments to realise just what Sabinus had implied. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ Paetus agreed, his face breaking into a toothy grin, reminding Vespasian of his father, his long-dead friend. ‘Nero is coming to the Senate tomorrow to announce the consuls, praetors and governors for the coming year; I’m to be Publius Petronius Turpilianus’ junior colleague for the first six months.’

  Vespasian was genuinely pleased despite the fact that Paetus had exceeded him by becoming a consul in January, thereby having the year named after him and his colleague. ‘Congratulations, Paetus, how did you manage that?’

  Paetus looked to his father-in-law but said nothing.

  ‘Well?’ Vespasian asked Sabinus.

  ‘There was no way that we could afford to bribe Seneca so I did a trade with him,’ Sabinus admitted. ‘I’ve been the prefect of Rome for four years now and Lucius Pedanius Secundus, Corvinus’ crony, has been agitating endlessly for the position, so I went to Seneca and offered to step down, pointing out that if I stayed he wouldn’t be getting any bribe money from selling the post for the foreseeable future. He said that he could just remove me and sell the post anyway, to which I replied that if he did that who would ever trust him enough to offer him a large bribe again anytime soon?’ Sabinus tapped his temple to indicate his own perceived cunning. ‘So I said, instead of selling the junior consulship, for however much, why don’t you just give it to Paetus and sell the prefecture for a lot more instead? Being a reasonable businessman he saw the logic and we had a deal.’

  ‘Very good, Sabinus; very well played,’ Vespasian said, full of admiration for his brother.

  Only Caratacus looked less than impressed. ‘I still fail to understand how you Romans can consider that achievement of power by anything other than strength of arms to be honourable.’

  Sabinus scoffed. ‘It’s where you get to that counts, not how you get there; and it’s not “you Romans”, it’s “we Romans”, as we keep on having to remind you, Tiberius Claudius Caratacus, ever since you were brought to Rome, pardoned and given citizenship.’

  ‘What good is citizenship to me?’ The former Britannic King’s eyes flashed for a moment before they resumed their normal mild aspect. ‘Prasutagus of the Iceni has been granted citizenship and he is free to stay in the province of Britannia. Yet I, who am also a citizen, cannot leave Rome without the Emperor’s permission, which means that I’m a prisoner here.’

  Vespasian was stunned by Caratacus’ outburst. ‘I thought that you had accustomed yourself to that, having had your life spared.’

  Caratacus’ expression soured. ‘I had; up until yesterday.’

  ‘What happened then?’ Vespasian asked, frowning as he could think of nothing special occurring the day before.

  ‘Yesterday Seneca released Venutius and procured a pardon for him from the Emperor; he is free to go back to Britannia with his citizenship restored.’

  Vespasian, Sabinus and Paetus were all lost for words.

  ‘Why?’ Vespasian eventually managed to ask.

  ‘You tell me, Vespasian; all I can say is that I perceive it to be a grave injustice if the man who betrayed me, the man who rebelled against Rome, is free to go back to our own land and yet I, I who have sworn my loyalty, must remain here as a virtual prisoner.’

  ‘It must be about money,’ Sabinus hypothesised. ‘Seneca, as we all know, does nothing unless it’s for money. As we also know, Venutius owed him a substantial amount numbering in the low millions and I suppose there was no possibility of him retrieving that and the interest whilst Venutius was being watched over by you, Caratacus, which is why he put pressure on Vespasian to have you hand him over.’

  ‘But he won’t get his money back at all if Venutius goes back to Britannia and on up to the unconquered tribes in the north and starts to stir them up against us. If anything he risks losing all the other loans that he has made in the province by causing another revolt.’ It made no sense to Vespasian but it did keep his mind off what was happening to his daughter only a few dozen paces away.

  ‘That’s just the point,’ Caratacus said, after taking a large draft from his cup. ‘The price for Venutius’ freedom was that he pay back his debt to Seneca by borrowing from other sources; he’s done that and Seneca’s destroyed the debt marker.’

  Vespasian looked at Sabinus; they both saw the logic of the move. ‘That means that if Paulinus was planning on using the information that we provided him with, that Seneca’s loan had helped fund Venutius’ revolt, then he’ll be disappointed as there’s now nothing that can prove it any more.’

  Sabinus shook his head. ‘He’s covered his tracks perfectly and will no doubt invest the returned loan somewhere just as dubious.’

  Vespasian found it hard not to admire the lengths that Seneca would go to in order to keep his reputation clean whilst at the same time indulging in some of the worst excesses of usury that he had ever heard about.

  Eventually there was another raucous cheer, far more boisterous than the one that followed Cerialis’ departure, announcing the groom’s reappearance, smiling broadly and wearing only a tunic; behind him came two female slaves holding up a bloodied sheet as proof the wife had been a virgin and that was now no longer the case.

  ‘Family and friends,’ Cerialis called over the hubbub; it soon died down. ‘I have taken possession of my bride and her dowry.’ He paused for another bout of cheering. ‘Tomorrow I shall hold the formal wedding dinner here in my home. I invite you all to come along two hours after the Senate has risen for the day.’ With that he turned and, at some pace, walked back to his new bride.

  ‘Furthermore, after I had Artaxata raised to the ground so it could no longer be held against us and had taken possession of Tigranocerta,’ Cossus Cornelius Lentulus, the junior consul, declaimed, reading aloud from a despatch, ‘urgent news reached me. Tiridates, the younger brother of Vologases, the Great King of Parthia, was advancing across the border from Media into Armenia in another attempt to claim the Armenian crown; and this in spite of the diplomatic efforts of the embassy that we sent to Vologases last year. I despatched one of my legates, Verulanus, ahead with the auxiliaries whilst I followed on with the legions by a series of forced marches.’ Lentulus paused as the assembled senators rumbled their agreement to the wisdom of that course of action.

  ‘Speed, you see, Cerialis,’ Vespasian said to his son-in-law, sitting to his right, ‘always speed in reaction. I’ve known Corbulo for almost thirty-five years and I’ve never seen him dither once. Hit the bastards before they get a chance to consolidate.’

  Cerialis nodded thoughtful agreement while Paetus, seated on Cerialis’ other side, wrinkled his nose. ‘He’s just doing what anyone with any sense would do.’

  Vespasian did not bother arguing as he knew that it was pointless when discussing Corbulo with Paetus. Paetus had never got on with the dour and rigid patrician when he had served under Corbulo’s command in Germania Superior as he, Vespasian, had seen at first hand, much to his amusement.

  ‘Thus I forced the Parthians’ withdrawal,’ Lentulus continued, ‘subjecting those whom I caught, as well as any towns that held out agains
t us, to wholesale slaughter and burning and so managed to have Armenia completely under Roman control when Tigranes, of the Cappadocian Royal House, whom our Emperor, in his wisdom, has chosen to be our puppet-king in Armenia, arrived in the country. I have installed Tigranes on the throne, have overseen his vassals swear the oath to him and he in turn to Rome. I have left him with a garrison of two cohorts of legionaries, three of auxiliaries and two cavalry alae. As well as that, I have requisitioned fifty talents in gold and one hundred talents in silver that will pay for all our expenses incurred during the struggle; this I have sent overland for fear of shipwreck. I have now withdrawn back into Syria to take up the governorship left vacant by Ummidius’ death.’ Again a pause for more protestations of approval from the full Senate House. ‘I commend myself to my Emperor and my esteemed colleagues in the Senate.’ Lentulus rolled up the scroll with a flourish. ‘That completes the despatch from Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, proconsul of Syria.’ He turned, beaming, to Nero, his senior colleague in the consulship for the first six months of the year, who sat at the head of the long oblong chamber. If he was expecting fulsome praise from the Emperor to be heaped upon Corbulo for what sounded like a very neat and clinical job in wresting Armenia back into the Roman sphere of influence and at the same time adding to Nero’s much depleted treasury, he was sadly disappointed.

  Nero’s hands were gripping the arms of his curule chair so intensely that his knuckles were white.

  ‘I propose a vote of thanks,’ Lentulus ventured, his voice trailing off to almost a whisper.

  ‘There’ll be no vote,’ Nero rasped. ‘Why should the Senate thank one of its members for doing a job that any one of us could have done?’

  ‘Indeed, Princeps,’ Lentulus agreed as a chorus of voices supported the Emperor’s decision.

  ‘Corbulo better watch his step,’ Gaius, sitting to Vespasian’s left, whispered in his ear, ‘it doesn’t do a man any favours to be seen to be doing too good a job in a military capacity. Emperors tend to be thankful that the job is done but not grateful to the man who did it. It doesn’t matter that Nero’s spending more and more on grandiose building projects and Corbulo’s just provided the finances to make his new baths on the Campus Martius even more lavish. Remember what happened to Germanicus? If only half the rumours at the time were true then he met his end because of Tiberius’ jealousy.’