Masters of Rome: VESPASIAN V (Vespasian 5)

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘They must be very beautiful to risk so much.’

  ‘Oh, they are, dear boy; and you’ll see them this evening – Asiaticus is holding his dinner there.’

  CHAPTER XII

  VESPASIAN BREATHED IN deeply the lush scents of a garden in full bloom. Enclosed by a high wall and set on the southwestern slope of the Pincian Hill, just beyond the Quirinal Gate, north of the Campus Martius, the Gardens of Lucullus offered the perfect retreat from the noise and bustle of the streets of Rome. Here, Vespasian noticed, the loudest sounds to be heard were the cicadas’ relentless creaking and the patter of water flowing from the fountains that stood in the centre of each of the many themed areas of the gardens laid out around the villa, which was accounted to be one of the most luxurious in Rome.

  ‘Claudius has used rather a clever trick to enable him to put on the Secular Games,’ Gaius informed Vespasian as they walked up a red-peony-lined path made of a fine mosaic illustrating the various forms of flora and fauna to be found in the gardens. A couple of other guests walked leisurely before them. ‘He reckoned on them being held every hundred and ten years as in the traditional Etruscan method of calculation rather than every hundred years as Augustus did when he revived them. It probably means that we’ll end up with two cycles, one every hundred years and another every hundred and ten, as no emperor would want to turn down the chance of holding such a prestigious event. However, Claudius has made himself very popular with the masses for his bit of false accounting and I haven’t heard any mumblings against it in the Senate. In fact, I’ve hardly heard anything in the Senate as opinions have become rather dangerous things to own since Messalina has persuaded her husband that every senator harbours treasonous thoughts.’

  ‘How has Messalina treated Flavia?’

  ‘Strangely enough, they get on very well and Flavia is as close a thing to a friend that a harpy like Messalina could have. Flavia, of course, has no idea of the potential danger that she’s in and spends her time flaunting her exalted position as the Empress’s companion to every other woman in Rome. I can’t say that’s gone down too well; you know what they’re like.’

  Vespasian grunted, well able to imagine Flavia behaving like that.

  ‘I think that you’ll find this will make up for not seeing Flavia this evening.’

  Vespasian breathed in deeply again, enjoying the warm evening sun on the back of his head and neck, and found himself agreeing with his uncle: it was much better than a reunion after six years with a wife who was liable to be in a foul temper. ‘I do feel a bit guilty about delaying seeing Titus and Domitilla, though.’

  ‘Nonsense, dear boy; you’ve never met Domitilla and Titus was just over a year old when you left so he won’t recognise you. What difference are a few more hours going to make?’

  ‘None, I suppose; but I am nervous about seeing Titus again.’

  ‘Don’t worry about him, he worships the memory of his father. Flavia, your mother and Caenis have all seen to that.’

  Vespasian felt a certain relief as he admired a Pan-themed area to his left, surrounding a fountain of the goat-legged demi-god spurting water from his pipes into a pool in which grew the reeds from which the pipes were made. His imminent reunion with his son had been playing on his mind: the boy was almost eight and would already have his own character and opinions; if he was to mould the child he would have to make a big impact on him to make up for the lost time.

  A shrill cry erupting from close by cut through Vespasian’s thoughts; he turned to see a bird, bigger than a cockerel but with similar legs and feet and with a long neck of intense blue plumage upon which was perched a tiny, crested head coloured blue, black and white. As Vespasian looked at the creature it cried again and then spread its magnificent tail feathers into a huge semi-circle, framing its body with colour: light and dark blues, turquoise, pale green and soft yellow-browns. Each feather was of a differing length but tipped with the same bright design that was like an eye with a dark blue iris within a turquoise, rather than white, sclera. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I don’t know what it’s called but Asiaticus had three pairs of them imported at great expense from India, I believe. It’s only the male that has such a striking tail; the female is drab in comparison.’

  ‘They make a horrible noise.’

  ‘Yes; I’m sure that they would taste far better than they sound,’ Gaius opined as they passed through the warm shade of an apricot orchard, the descendants of the original trees imported from Armenia by Lucullus when he laid out his gardens over a hundred years before. As they cleared the last of the fruit-laden trees filled with songbirds celebrating the waning sun, the villa came into view: single storey with sloping terracotta-tiled roofs leaning upon elegant, towering columns painted yellow and red to contrast the umber and golden hues that adorned the walls. It was the height of refined taste and Vespasian understood why Asiaticus would rather die than give up this paradise – as they would say in Parthia – so close to the stews of Rome.

  ‘Vespasian, it is good to see you back in Rome,’ Decimus Valerius Asiaticus said, clutching Vespasian’s forearm with a huge hand as he and Gaius mounted the steps to the marbled terrace in front of the villa. ‘When I got your uncle’s message that you were here I was only too pleased to offer my hospitality.’

  ‘It’s good to see you again too, proconsul,’ Vespasian replied with genuine feeling, whilst suppressing surprise at Asiaticus’ appearance: he had lost all his hair since he had last seen him, which made his round, ruddy face with its pudgy nose and broad mouth seem even more Gallic now that it lacked a civilised Roman hairstyle. Despite having been consul twice, he now looked like what he essentially was: an old Gallic chieftain in a toga. ‘And it’s a great honour to able to admire what has to be the most beautiful place in the whole of Rome.’

  ‘But beauty always has a price, Vespasian, and in this case the price could be as high as my life.’

  ‘Surely Messalina won’t go that far,’ Gaius put in, taking his turn to grasp his host’s well-muscled forearm, whilst Vespasian took two cups of chilled wine from a passing slave. ‘She can’t be seen to have you killed and then steal your property.’

  ‘Why not? Emperors have always done that in the past so why not the Empress? What does she care how she looks to others? Everyone knows that she’s the biggest whore in Rome – mostly, like me, from experience – so why not add thief to whore?’

  ‘And murderer?’ Gaius asked, taking his drink from Vespasian with a nod of thanks.

  ‘No, she won’t go that far. She’s going to force me to take my life instead; in fact she’s already started the slanderous whisperings to her husband that will finish me, which is why I’ve started sending a lot of my wealth back to Gaul. That extortionist, Publius Suillius Rufus, is preparing capital charges against me – and he doesn’t even know how ironic one of the accusations is.’ He leant in closer so as not to be overheard by his other guests on the terrace. ‘He’s going to accuse me of adultery with Poppaea Sabina.’ He tried but failed to force down a guffaw, causing more than a few heads to turn in his direction. ‘Can you imagine it? I’m being accused of ploughing Poppaeus’ daughter after I was part of Antonia’s conspiracy, along with you, Vespasian, to murder him. Isn’t that rich? It’s almost as if Poppaeus is having his revenge from beyond the grave.’

  Vespasian smiled despite being once again reminded of that ignoble deed. ‘But that’s not a capital crime.’

  ‘Not in itself it’s not; he’s also preparing a case accusing me of passive homosexuality. Me, of Gallic descent, taking it up the arse like some Greek after two cups of wine! Ludicrous! But he’s been clever; he’s claiming that whilst I was in Britannia with the reinforcements that Claudius brought, I let common legionaries do that in return for exempting them from the more arduous duties of the camp.’

  ‘But corrupting legionaries is still not a capital crime – although it’s a humiliation to be accused of it.’

  ‘I agree. But a few
days ago I heard, from my good friend Pallas, what I was really going to be accused of. That’s why I rushed back from my estates at Baiae so that I can be arrested in Rome in front of witnesses – which I fully expect to happen this evening.’

  Gaius’ jowls wobbled as he clenched his jaw nervously. ‘Arrested here, this evening; what makes you say that?’

  ‘Pallas sent me word that Messalina has paid Sosibius – who is Britannicus’ tutor and therefore has unfettered access to the Emperor when he comes to see how his son is progressing at his lessons – to tell Claudius that I was the unidentified man who helped assassinate Caligula.’

  Vespasian felt himself go pale and snatched a quick, sideways glance at his uncle whose jowls were now in a state of constant motion.

  Asiaticus picked up on his unease. ‘What, Vespasian? It’s always been known that there was another conspirator whom Herod Agrippa and Claudius himself both saw just prior to Caligula’s murder. Claudius never saw his face and Herod glimpsed it only fleetingly.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Vespasian replied quickly. ‘My son, Titus, is being educated with Britannicus; I don’t like the idea that his tutor is so … er …’

  ‘So what? Of course he’s Messalina’s to command, she’s Britannicus’ mother so he’s beholden to her for his very influential job.’

  Vespasian managed to conceal the relief that he felt at Asiaticus swallowing his not entirely untruthful excuse. ‘Of course he is.’

  ‘With all the other conspirators executed and Herod Agrippa dead from a pleasingly vile disease – when was it, three years ago? – there’s no one left who could identify me as the man or not. Which means there is no way that I can disprove it was me.’

  ‘But neither can they prove it was you.’

  ‘They don’t need to; Sosibius has sworn to Claudius that he heard me boasting about it and Claudius believes it because he’s recently become obsessed with uncovering who was the masked man who so nearly killed him. It’s a perfect charge and, backed up by Suillius’ lesser ones spells my death as surely as if I had been caught in the act of assassinating an emperor. The only thing that can save me is if it became known exactly who this mystery man was. So come, gentlemen, and enjoy what may be my last night not under a sentence of death.’

  Vespasian took a pork, leek and cumin sausage from the platter on the table in front of him and chewed on it without the enthusiasm that its well-balanced flavours deserved. The meal had been exemplary, so far; the musical entertainment gentle and unobtrusive; the surroundings magnificent and the view from the terrace over Rome, with the sun setting behind it, unparalleled. But none of this could assuage his unease at the thought that Claudius was now obsessed with trying to identify the man who had helped to kill his predecessor.

  Apart from himself and the close members of his family, Vespasian was aware of only four people of consequence alive in Rome who knew the masked man had been his brother, Sabinus; he had taken part in the assassination to avenge the brutal rape of his wife, Clementina, by Caligula. Magnus and a couple of his crossroads brethren also knew, as it was in their tavern that Sabinus, wounded in the violent aftermath of the killing, had sought refuge; they could be trusted, but what of the four? The first, Caenis, he could rely on implicitly; she would never betray Sabinus. But then there were Claudius’ three freedmen: they had promised to cover up Sabinus’ part in return for his and Vespasian’s efforts to secure their newly elevated patron in his position by retrieving the Eagle of the XVII Legion; this they had done and they had been rewarded by Sabinus being made legate of the XIIII Gemina and all mention of his role in Caligula’s death being dropped. But that had been six years ago and Vespasian was all too aware that promises, however iron-clad they may seem at the time, could rust away as easily as the metal from which they symbolically gained their strength.

  He carried on picking at the ever-changing plates of food in front of him, whilst half-heartedly joining in the conversation around his table. Torches were lit around the terrace and throughout the gardens and the whole complex was bathed in shimmering firelight, giving the open blooms and lush foliage an artificial, gilded hue that, contrasted with the deep shadow of night, made it seem that Lucullus had sown his garden with seeds of fertile gold. That so much cultivated beauty could reside in one small area and yet be unable to repel the ugliness that surrounded it was an irony that Vespasian appreciated with a hardened heart and a resigned sigh as he watched Rufrius Crispinus, the Praetorian prefect, lead an unnecessary number of his men up through the gilt garden to fulfil Asiaticus’ prediction.

  ‘Decimus Valerius Asiaticus,’ the prefect proclaimed as he reached the top of the steps to the terrace, ‘I arrest you in the Emperor’s name.’

  Asiaticus got to his feet and wiped his lips with a napkin. ‘Don’t you mean, Crispinus, that you arrest me in Messalina’s name? Are you fresh from her bed or has it been promised to you when you return with her prize? Whichever one it is, remember that I too have been there and I know that it doesn’t stay warm for long.’

  ‘It is only the Emperor who has the power to order your arrest.’

  ‘Don’t pretend to be more stupid than you really are; we both know how things work. What is the charge?’

  ‘Treason,’ Crispinus replied in a low voice.

  ‘Speak up, Crispinus, so that my guests can all hear why I’m being dragged from my dinner table.’

  ‘Treason!’

  ‘Treason? Then I shall argue my case before the Senate and the Emperor, as is my right.’

  ‘There will be no trial before the Senate; you will appear before the Emperor in the morning.’

  ‘I’m to be disposed of in secret; very well, upon what ground is the charge based?’

  ‘You will find out when you—’

  Asiaticus threw his head back and cut Crispinus off with a slow, false laugh. ‘You don’t know, do you, message boy? You don’t know because a beast like you just does what it’s told.’ He stepped forward. ‘Come, beast, take me to your handler.’

  *

  ‘I can’t say that I was thrilled at being present at Asiaticus’ arrest,’ Gaius muttered as he and Vespasian made their way down through the torch-strewn gardens. ‘I’m sure Crispinus saw my face even though I tried to keep it in my neighbour’s shadow.’

  ‘That’s the least of our problems at the moment, Uncle,’ Vespasian replied, keeping his voice below the chatter of the senators around them. ‘The question is, will Narcissus or Pallas want to defy Messalina by denying her Asiaticus?’

  Gaius stopped momentarily, putting his hand to his mouth. ‘Oh! I see; I hadn’t looked at it that way. I just thought that Callistus wouldn’t reveal Sabinus’ name because he would have no interest in proving Asiaticus’ innocence.’

  ‘And I don’t think that Pallas would because of the longstanding relationship with our family.’

  ‘You’d have hoped so; but political expediency often outweighs loyalty.’

  ‘I don’t think he’d sacrifice Sabinus for this; but Narcissus?’

  ‘Narcissus? Narcissus is capable of anything, especially when it comes to fighting Messalina.’

  ‘But would he sacrifice his nomination as suffect-consul?’

  ‘There’re plenty more like Sabinus and if he’s finally exposed then that could put us both in great danger.’

  ‘So what do we do, Uncle?’

  ‘The only thing we can do: we have to see Narcissus – now.’

  ‘That was sooner than I expected,’ Narcissus crooned from behind his desk as Vespasian and Gaius were shown into his chamber; he did not get up. ‘When I heard that you two were amongst Asiaticus’ guests I knew that you would come to me but I confess I didn’t expect you to see the danger that you’re in quite so quickly. I congratulate you both as I only realised that possible course was open to me a short while ago.’

  ‘It was good of you to receive us at this late hour, imperial secretary,’ Gaius said, hiding any irritation that he might have fe
lt at being kept waiting for two hours.

  ‘Had my secretary not been still here then I might not have seen you at all, but Caenis is very persuasive on behalf of her very good friends. I imagine she’s gone home to warm up the bed, Vespasian.’

  Vespasian gave a weak smile; his meeting with Caenis had been brief and tempting but he knew where honour dictated he would have to spend the night now that he was in the palace and so close to Flavia.

  ‘Anyway, it’s only halfway through the third hour of the night; the Emperor’s affairs keep me up late and this business with Asiaticus is most taxing.’ Narcissus indicated to the two hard wooden chairs opposite him. ‘So, please be seated, gentlemen.’

  Vespasian glanced around the room, predominantly decorated in shades of red and lit by four identical ten-armed candelabras each placed in front of a bronze mirror, and he shivered internally despite the warmth and beautiful light. The last time he had been in this room, six years before, had been to plead for Sabinus’ life and now it seemed that he was about to do the same thing; but this time his own life might also be in the balance. ‘Thank you, imperial secretary.’

  ‘Welcome back, Vespasian; although not covered in glory, it would seem that you did adequately. The Emperor has read all Plautius’ rather feeble excuses in his despatches as to why more of that sodden, cold island is not feeling the warm and kindly hand of Rome, but he has decided to award him an Ovation anyway, as you know. Can you tell me why?’

  Vespasian knew from past experience that with Narcissus straight-talking was appreciated. ‘Because it wouldn’t do to have the people think that anything other than constant glorious conquest was happening in Britannia; giving Plautius the first Ovation for decades awarded to someone who is not a member of the imperial family confirms that must be so. Also the Emperor will share Plautius’ moment of glory and bring the attention back onto himself.’

  Narcissus twitched an eyebrow in appreciation of the assessment as he toyed with his neat, pointed black beard; two weighty gold earrings glinted on either side of it. ‘Very good, Vespasian; indeed, Claudius will hijack the whole affair so he can celebrate his glorious conquest twice without the people noticing.’