The Furies of Rome

by Robert Fabbri

  Vespasian could but agree. ‘The trouble with Corbulo is that his innate patrician arrogance won’t let him play down his part; he needs everyone to know just what a glorious victory he has gained.’

  ‘Well, dear boy, if he carries on sending despatches like that then it’ll be an inglorious death that he gains and he’ll have no one to blame but himself.’

  ‘I think you may well be right, Uncle,’ Vespasian agreed as the Father of the House called upon the Senior Consul and First amongst them to make the statement that he had prepared.

  ‘In addition to these appointments to the consulship and praetorship,’ Nero declaimed in his husky voice, ‘I have a list of suggestions for next year’s aediles and quaestors, which I shall give to the Father of the House so that you, Conscript Fathers, can vote on them as is your right.’ A round of thankful applause followed for the crumb of autonomy offered by the Emperor to the body that once proudly voted on all its own decisions and appointments. Nero accepted it, smiling benevolently as if it were one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. Eventually, much to everyone’s relief, he carried on: ‘And so I come to the governorships for next year: Lucius Vitellius will replace his brother, Aulus, in Africa.’ Nero paused, evidently delighted by the murmur of surprise that echoed around the chamber.

  Vespasian found himself struggling to keep his temper as he looked over to the smug and porcine younger Vitellius brother.

  ‘I reconfirm Marcus Salvius Otho,’ Nero continued, ‘in his position as governor of Lusitania.’

  ‘So Otho is doomed to stay in Lusitania until Nero either murders him or forgives him,’ Vespasian observed, trying to take his mind off Africa, ‘even though he’s complied with his wishes and has divorced Poppaea.’

  ‘That’s no surprise,’ Gaius whispered as Nero carried on with the list of appointments to the imperial governorships and confirmations of those already in place, ‘his presence back in Rome would prove an inconvenience for Nero. What is surprising is that Nero still hasn’t divorced Claudia; perhaps he’s realised that losing the legitimacy that Claudia gives him might be a precarious move to make, having killed his …’ Gaius dried as he realised that Nero had stopped talking and was looking directly at him and Vespasian; all eyes turned on the two of them. ‘My apologies, Princeps,’ Gaius stammered; Nero was not used to people whispering whilst he was talking as he expected everyone’s full attention all of the time. ‘We were just commenting on … on …’ He trailed off, unable to think of a reasonable excuse.

  ‘I tell you when to comment,’ Nero said, his voice dangerously quiet. ‘I tell you when to talk and I tell you when to shine, Pharos!’

  Gaius went red as the whole Senate erupted into sycophantic laughter at Nero’s use of what had now become, to one and all, Gaius’ nickname.

  ‘And finally, I appoint Servius Sulpicius Galba,’ Nero continued once the mirth had died down, ‘governor of Hispania Tarraconensis.’

  Vespasian glanced at the bald and gaunt Galba, sitting opposite, and wondered how he managed to get the posting as it was well known that Galba espoused ancient values and would never demean himself by buying a position.

  ‘And so, Conscript Fathers, I commend these appointments to the House and ask that you vote them into being.’ Nero sat down having requested this unnecessary formality.

  And now it was the turn of the Senate of Rome to debate the Emperor’s appointments; and they did, at length and with fulsome praise for his wisdom, no one daring to leave until, finally, Nero departed, before the House divided on the matter, evidently having had a surfeit of flattery, which, for him, was unusual.

  The vote, once all had spoken and had their remarks placed on the record for all to read in the future, was unanimous and, at last, Rome’s élite were free to file out.

  ‘That was an extremely nasty moment, dear boys, I don’t mind telling you,’ Gaius said as they came out into the Forum, ‘very nasty indeed; I felt like I was ten and under the withering stare of my grammaticus.’

  Sabinus laughed. ‘Well, Uncle; if you and Vespasian had not been so busy talking in class then you would have noticed something very interesting.’

  ‘The only thing I noticed was that I didn’t get Africa,’ Vespasian grumbled.

  ‘Do stop going on about that. That was not what I was talking about. What you obviously didn’t notice was that Nero mentioned every province except one.’

  ‘Yes, I noticed that,’ Cerialis said, frowning.

  Vespasian was unimpressed. ‘So? He probably just forgot it.’

  ‘He was reading from a list,’ Sabinus pointed out.

  ‘Then he missed it out by mistake.’

  ‘Really? The Emperor forgot the most important province at the moment by mistake? I doubt that very much.’

  ‘All right then, which one?’

  ‘Why do you think Cerialis noticed it?’

  Vespasian did not need to think for too long to work that out. ‘Ah!’

  ‘“Ah!” indeed, brother. Now why do you think Nero didn’t reconfirm, or name a replacement for, Suetonius Paulinus as governor of Britannia?’

  CHAPTER VIII

  ‘AND WHAT MAKES you so sure, my love?’ Vespasian sat with Caenis the following day, in the cool of her garden, escaping from the worst of the midday sun.

  Caenis took a sip of her pomegranate juice as she contemplated her answer. ‘I suppose it’s because for the last two months, Seneca has written to every one of his debtors in Britannia changing the terms of their loans; he’s given them the choice between immediate repayment or a rise of five per cent on the interest.’

  ‘Five per cent!’

  ‘I know; even by his standards, it’s iniquitous.’

  ‘What are people choosing to do?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, as none of them have responded yet to any of his letters; that’s why he keeps on writing. I think he’s starting to get desperate. The trouble for him is that with Nero getting increasingly more profligate, he daren’t bring too much cash back to Rome; Nero would have it off him as soon as he heard about it.’

  Vespasian could appreciate Seneca’s dilemma. ‘And yet if he leaves it invested in Britannia and if the Emperor does decide to withdraw from the province after all then he’s as good as lost it all. But that is a very big if.’

  Caenis did not look so sure. ‘Is it? I was doing a transaction with the Cloelius Brothers’ banking business in the Forum Romanum a couple of days ago and Tertius told me that they’ve given instructions to their agents in Londinium to stop issuing any more loans in the province and where possible to recall all those who have in any way fallen behind on their payments. They’ve stopped short of calling in every loan that they’ve made, like a few of the less respectable Londinium bankers have begun to do, but Tertius says that unless there is a clearer sign from the Emperor that he intends to stay in the province then the Cloelius Brothers will have no choice but to take their money out. Although, he did say that he had heard that Suetonius Paulinus was planning an invasion of the Isle of Mona in an attempt to wipe out the druids altogether. He thinks that if this can be achieved then resistance to our rule would decrease significantly and the province would stand a chance of being financially viable – eventually.’

  ‘He was very free with his thoughts; what did he want in return?’

  Caenis smiled, her eyes flashing sapphire in the sun. ‘You always assume that someone wants something if they let slip a bit of information.’

  ‘Well, they normally do in my experience.’

  ‘And you’re right, this was no exception. Tertius was very keen to know what Seneca was planning to do.’

  ‘So you told him about his dilemma?’

  ‘No, my love; I told him nothing, but I did promise Tertius that should I hear that Seneca plans to take his money out then he would be the first to know. He was so pleased that he refused to charge a fee for taking deposit of my five thousand aurei.’

  ‘Five thousand! You could almost pay a
legion for six months with that. Where did you get it all?’

  ‘As Seneca’s secretary it’s even more lucrative charging for access to him than it was for Pallas or Narcissus. Corvinus gave me a hundred aurei the other day to get him an immediate appointment with him; which I was only too happy to do.’

  Vespasian was always interested when his enemy’s name came up in conversation. ‘What did he want?’

  ‘I knew that would get your attention.’ Caenis took another sip of juice and then, with a mischievous look in her eyes, placed the cup down on the table, very slowly.

  Vespasian laughed. ‘Stop teasing, woman, otherwise I’ll show you just what a large amount I pay for access.’

  ‘That’s a big promise and very tempting; I think I’ll take you up on that.’

  ‘Not until you’ve told me why Corvinus wanted an urgent meeting with Seneca.’

  ‘Ah, yes; all that talk of access drove it from my mind. Well, remember that Nero granted him a stipend of half a million sesterces a year, ostensibly to raise his family’s fortune to above the minimum level required for a senator but in fact to buy him off for having his province taken away so that Nero could send Otho as far away from Rome as it’s possible to get within the Empire?’

  ‘Of course I do, the bastard hasn’t stopped smirking since.’

  ‘He has now; Nero’s withdrawn it as a luxury that he can ill afford.’

  ‘Ha!’ Vespasian clapped his hands in delight. ‘That’s the first sensible thing that I’ve heard Nero do for a long time.’

  ‘I thought that would please you, my love.’

  ‘Did Seneca promise to help him?’

  ‘Yes; he said he’d try to get Nero to change his mind for an annual payment of three hundred thousand.’

  ‘More than half the stipend! This just gets better.’

  ‘Corvinus flew into a rage and so Seneca showed him the door saying that if he was willing to take a hundred per cent of nothing rather than two fifths of something then he was even more stupid than people thought.’

  ‘That must have stung seeing as stupidity is one thing of which you cannot accuse Corvinus.’

  ‘Quite; and he realised that he was indeed being stupid so he agreed, grudgingly, to Seneca’s terms.’ She tilted her head at an angle and looked at him out of the top of her eyes in an excellent impression of a coy innocent. ‘Now, what do you mean by “paying me a large amount for access”, sir? How large?’

  Vespasian reached across the table, grabbed her wrist and pulled her over to him so that she landed, giggling, on his lap; negotiations began in earnest.

  However, before the deal could be concluded there was the sound of a throat being cleared coming from the doorway into the tablinum. Caenis dropped what she was doing and looked up to see her steward.

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, domina,’ the steward said, his embarrassment palpable, ‘but Magnus and another gentleman are here for the master. They say it’s of the utmost urgency.’

  Caenis got up off Vespasian’s lap. ‘Very well, show them out here and bring wine for them both; I don’t imagine that Magnus has much of a taste for pomegranate juice.’

  ‘Yes, domina,’ the steward said, bowing and turning to go.

  Caenis looked down at Vespasian and frowned; he followed her gaze, grinned and then adjusted his tunic so that what had caught her attention could no longer do so as Magnus along with Tigran were shown into the garden; the steward followed with a slave girl carrying a tray with a jug of wine and some cups.

  ‘I hope we didn’t interrupt anything,’ Magnus said as he took Caenis’ hand in greeting.

  ‘Nothing that can’t be revived later, Magnus,’ Caenis said as Tigran took her hand and mumbled his greetings. ‘Sit, please, gentlemen.’

  ‘Well, it’s like this,’ Magnus said after they had been served wine and the steward and slave girl had retired. ‘They’ve got Sextus.’

  Vespasian looked at Magnus, his mind still on other things. ‘Who’s got Sextus?’

  ‘The Vigiles,’ Tigran said, ‘they grabbed him this morning.’

  ‘Why?’

  Magnus took a slug of his wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘We think it’s to do with the Terpnus affair.’

  ‘But that was over a year ago; surely that’s been forgotten by now?’

  ‘I don’t think Tigellinus forgets things that easily; especially as he was deeply humiliated.’

  ‘Then why has it taken him so long to haul Sextus in?’

  ‘I had all the lads involved in the business leave Rome straight after Senator Pollo warned me that Tigellinus was investigating it,’ Tigran explained. ‘I sent them down to Pompeii; Cassandros, my second in command, has a cousin who’s very influential there, shall we say.’

  ‘I see,’ Vespasian said, understanding perfectly, his heart beginning to race. ‘And now they’re back.’

  Tigran nodded. ‘Yesterday. I thought that it would be safe after so long.’

  Vespasian saw the implication immediately. ‘Mars’ arse! Tigellinus was waiting for him to arrive back in the city and took him the moment he did so?’

  ‘That’s what it looks like,’ Magnus muttered.

  ‘The bastard knows; I can feel it.’

  ‘That’s what we think too. As soon as I was sure it was the Vigiles who had him,’ Tigran continued, ‘I went to Magnus to ask his help and advice. Sextus is tough but I don’t think he will be able to hold out that long against specialist interrogators; they’ll have broken him by this time tomorrow and then Tigellinus will know not only that it was the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood who attacked the Emperor on the Viminal, but also that the prefect of Rome and an ex-consul were with us.’

  Vespasian felt the colour fade from his cheeks, his expression more strained than ever. ‘That’s something to be avoided at all costs; it would be the end of us and our family.’ And so soon after becoming the generation responsible for it, he added in his head.

  ‘Which is why I thought that you could get Sabinus to put pressure on Tigellinus to release Sextus,’ Magnus suggested.

  ‘That won’t work,’ Caenis said, shaking her head. ‘Tigellinus doesn’t take any notice of anyone other than the Emperor and the only other man who could have him killed.’

  All three men looked at Caenis, trying to work out who that was.

  ‘Burrus?’ Vespasian said eventually, the sick feeling in his stomach alleviating slightly with a glimmer of hope. ‘Of course, the Praetorian prefect could have Tigellinus on trumped-up charges of treason any time he wanted.’

  Caenis smiled. ‘Yes, but would he want to? Or to put it another way: what would make him want to?’

  Vespasian looked despondent, the glimmer fading. ‘I have absolutely no influence over Burrus at all, quite the reverse, in fact, as it was him who suggested to Agrippina that I had shown sympathy towards Messalina at her execution.’

  ‘You might not have any influence over him but I’m pleased to say that, thanks to Pallas and Agrippina, I do and it will be a pleasure to exercise it.’

  ‘What have you got over him?’

  ‘Ohh, something he really won’t like.’ Caenis rose to her feet. ‘I’ll just get my secretary to make a copy of a letter whilst I call for my litter and get changed; I think a visit to the Praetorian Guard’s camp is in order.’

  Caenis’ litter passed through the Viminal Gate; Vespasian, walking next to it, nodded at the Urban Cohort centurion on duty and then wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, pulled from the fold in his senatorial toga. Magnus and Tigran did their best to keep their faces averted from the guards as they came through behind the litter. Up ahead, about two hundred paces away, lay the brick-built walls of the Praetorian Camp; massive structures in their own right but dwarfed by the Servian defences of Rome.

  ‘I can’t say as I’m all that keen on going in there,’ Magnus muttered as they passed through the obligatory crowd of beggars that infested every gate, waving t
heir mutilated limbs or displaying virulent skin diseases in the hope that revulsion would stir pity and generosity in the hearts of the passers-by. A small boy, holding his begging bowl between two stumps, accosted him importunately, causing Magnus to have to step aside to avoid tripping over the child. ‘Fuck off!’ Magnus clouted the boy on the side of the head, toppling him and sending his bowl flying through the air to disappear into the crowd. ‘Just fucking sitting around here all day and annoying respectable folk; why don’t you work like the rest of us?’ Magnus stalked on muttering, his mood worsening the closer they came to the gates of the camp.

  ‘Senator Titus Flavius Vespasianus and Antonia Caenis here to see Sextus Afranius Burrus, prefect of the Praetorian Guard,’ Vespasian informed the Praetorian centurion in charge of the four men blocking their entry to the camp.

  Cold eyes scrutinised Vespasian with no particular urgency as the centurion tapped his vine-stick repeatedly into the open palm of his left hand, his burnished bronze scale-armour almost blinding in the burning sun. He pulled a grudging salute as if he were unable to understand why such an illustrious member of the Praetorian Guard should have to salute a senator rather than the other way around. ‘Wait here.’

  This was too much for Vespasian, who jumped forward and caught the man’s elbow as he turned, restraining him. ‘Listen here, lad,’ he hissed in the man’s ear, ‘you might think that being in the Praetorian Guard makes you ever so special but you’re wrong. Not only am I a senator and a good twenty years older than you but I’m also an ex-consul and have commanded a legion for six years during which time I actually saw combat on a regular basis, all of which makes me far superior to a parade-ground soldier like you. Now, if you choose to leave me waiting on the doorstep like some tradesman whilst you go off to see whether the man I’ve come to see is busy or not then that’s your decision; but between you and me, I can tell you it’ll be the last decision that you ever make. Common legionaries in the Second Augusta, fighting the painted savages of Britannia, don’t need to make decisions as they’re all made for them in order that they can spend all their time concentrating on getting killed or having a limb lopped off. Do I make myself clear?’ Vespasian pulled back, allowing the man to turn and face him.