‘I need cash and I need it fast without borrowing against my property so I want you to find that slave-dealer, Theron, and bring him to me with all the money that he owes me. He should either be in Rome or at Capua.’
‘Fair enough, sir; that won’t be a problem.’
‘Thank you, Magnus,’ Vespasian said, hastening to finish the conversation as he saw Sabinus approaching.
‘I imagine that you’ll not want me to mention your loan to your brother?’
Vespasian scowled while Magnus tried but failed to hide a grin, and then turned to greet his brother, who looked as sombre as the situation dictated.
‘I’ve written a new will,’ Sabinus said, handing Vespasian a scroll. ‘I haven’t had time to lodge it with the Vestals so will you keep it and read it if it becomes necessary?’
Vespasian’s personal worries disappeared as he was confronted with the reality that Sabinus may well not see the day’s dusk. He took the scroll and placed it in the fold of his toga. ‘Of course, brother; but it won’t come to that.’
Sabinus’ look made Vespasian regret his crass remark; only Narcissus could make that decision.
‘Dear boys,’ Gaius said with less of a boom than was normal, having dismissed the last of his sixty or so clients, ‘I trust we have all made the necessary sacrifices to the relevant gods? We’ll need their help today.’
As Vespasian followed his uncle and brother he was only too aware that he had been so angry he had completely neglected to appeal for divine protection. It was with a prayer to Mars running through his head and a promise of a sacrifice at the close of the day that he entered the palace and submitted to the body-search that was now compulsory for anyone wishing to come into the presence of the Emperor.
A slave was waiting for them in the atrium, which was alive with imperial functionaries, the products of the bureaucracy that Narcissus, Pallas and Callistus had created since their master had come to power. ‘Follow me, masters.’
They were led through the high, wide and labyrinthine corridors of the palace complex, every echoing step becoming heavier as the weight of the power within the building seemed to grow and oppress them. Each felt helpless; their destinies were now out of their hands. They were to be used as pawns in the political manoeuvrings, for his own personal gain, of a man of inferior birth who had become the most powerful person in the Empire.
Vespasian felt the bile rise in his throat, knowing that there was nothing that they could do. They could not run or hide or plead for mercy. For a few moments he envied Corbulo the certainties of the military camp, of which he had spoken so wistfully, and the decent Roman values of discipline and honour. But a career in Rome could not be forged by military achievement alone if a man was to rise; the politics had to be endured. All they could do now was accept their positions in this most hierarchical of societies; to do otherwise would mean exclusion and that would lead to obscurity. And that, for their family’s honour, they could not countenance.
Vespasian followed the slave out of a side door of the palace and across a garden, walled off from the outside world with no sign of a gate, and then through a second door and on into another building. After they had turned a couple of corners recognition hit him with a jolt. ‘This is the Lady Antonia’s house, Uncle,’ he said with some surprise.
‘It was Antonia’s house; now, of course, it belongs to Claudius. However, he gave it to Messalina last year because she told him that she wanted somewhere quiet to keep out of his way whilst he dealt with the weighty matters of state.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Exactly.’
The presence of the slave meant they could say no more, but Vespasian understood well enough what the house of his old benefactress was now used for.
They turned another corner and Vespasian recognised the corridor in which Antonia had confronted Sejanus, all those years ago, as Sabinus, Caligula and he had hidden behind an unlocked door; it was to this very door that the slave led them, ushering them in with a bow to a small room, no more than an ante-chamber, sparsely furnished with three stools. Narcissus and Pallas waited within, along with two Praetorian centurions.
‘Good morning, senators,’ Narcissus said, waving the slave away. ‘I’m sure that you remember this room and the view that it has into the house’s formal reception room.’ He indicated the curtain through which the brothers and Caligula had spied on Sejanus on the evening that they had rescued Caenis from his and his lover Livilla’s clutches. Since then the curtain had been replaced with one of a finer material and the room beyond was visible so that the features of those already within could be discerned. ‘I want you to be able to see and hear the proceedings so that when I call upon you to speak you will be able to answer the questions asked of you with the benefit of knowing how the arguments have been made.’
‘Or what I was supposed to have said, I suppose,’ Gaius muttered.
Narcissus looked at him in surprise. ‘Exactly. So you’ve worked out why you’re here.’
‘Vespasian did.’
Narcissus gave Vespasian an appreciative look. ‘You’ll make a politician yet.’
‘I don’t think I have the stomach for it.’
‘It has nothing to do with your stomach but, rather, your natural instinct to survive.’
‘I have that all right; we all do. That’s why we’re here and not helping Sabinus into a warm bath and giving him a sharp knife.’
Gaius looked into the brightly lit reception room where Asiaticus sat in profile, guarded by Crispinus, opposite a dais with two chairs upon it, and then turned nervously to Narcissus. ‘Won’t people see that we’re in here?’
‘No, this room is much darker; from out there you can see nothing through the curtain so no one will know that you’re here except Pallas and me as well as these two gentlemen.’ He indicated to the centurions. ‘They are here to ensure that, on the off-chance that Claudius or Messalina order the curtain to be drawn back, I can’t be accused of putting their lives in danger seeing as you are being guarded by two seasoned killers.’ With a curt nod of his head, Narcissus walked past them to the door. ‘You’ll be called if and when you’re needed.’
As Pallas followed him he whispered, ‘Remember that whatever happens I’ll try and secure the best outcome for you all.’
Vespasian watched him go and then looked at his brother and uncle; neither would meet his eye as they struggled with their own thoughts. Two men entered the reception room; one, whom Vespasian recognised as Lucius Vitellius, sat next to Asiaticus and the other, whom he guessed was Suillius, took his place next to the dais. Claudius’ freedmen then made their appearance and placed themselves on three chairs in a row, facing Vespasian, between the accused and the imperial seats. Vespasian slumped down onto a stool, feeling his belly churn – more violently, even, than before combat, when at least a man holds his life in his own hands – and, with an increasing sense of helplessness, waited for the arrival of the Emperor and Empress.
CHAPTER XIIII
CLAUDIUS ARRIVED FIRST, a quarter of an hour later, causing the occupants of the room to spring to their feet and look at one another with barely concealed concern. Wearing a purple toga and a laurel wreath over his sparse grey hair, the Emperor shambled in on weak legs, which only just supported the extra weight that he had put on since Vespasian had last seen him at Camulodunum; he had to be helped up the steps to the dais by an accompanying slave. His expression, made sorrowful by a downturned mouth and eyes with drooping care-lines set in a long, slack-skinned face etched with the ravages of heavy drinking, changed to one of confusion as he noticed Messalina’s vacant seat. ‘W-where’s my w-w-wife? She should have b-b-been here b-b-before me.’
‘Indeed she should, Princeps,’ Narcissus agreed with a silken voice.
‘She arrived some time ago,’ Callistus lied, bobbing his bald head and wringing his sinewy hands, ‘but then she remembered that she had left an important item behind.’
No one raised an eyebrow at
this patent untruth but it satisfied Claudius who chuckled as he sat down. ‘She’s a f-f-forgetful little thing sometimes; women can be so sc-sc-sc-scatter-brained. But we must get on as it’s the climax of my Secular Games and I d-don’t want the beast hunt to be delayed this afternoon because I’m late in arriving.’ He pulled a scroll from the fold of his toga and, with shaking hands, unrolled it. ‘The charges against D-Decimus Valerius Asiat-aticus ...’ A spray of saliva erupted from his mouth as he enunciated the last word, splattering the parchment, but everyone in the room affected not to notice. Claudius wiped his lips with his toga and then began to read aloud.
Vespasian observed the two men in the room whom he did not know as Claudius stumbled through the list. Lucius Vitellius he knew by sight but he had never had any dealings with him; a martial-looking man, despite his baldness, with a square jaw and hooked nose, but running to fat in his old age, Vitellius had conducted a war against Parthia whilst Governor of Syria in Tiberius’ reign, concluding it on very favourable terms for Rome and had won the favour of successive emperors by his unabashed sycophancy. He had enthusiastically worshipped Caligula as a god and it had been to Vitellius that Claudius had entrusted Rome when he had rushed to Britannia to claim the credit for the fall of Camulodunum. But it was his attitude to his elder son, Aulus Vitellius, for which he was infamous. He had pandered him to Tiberius, who had greatly prized his oral favours and, no doubt, much else.
Publius Suillius Rufus, a nondescript man of medium height and unremarkable features – unless it was to comment on their blandness – Vespasian knew only by reputation. What he lacked in physical charisma he made up for with his vicious oratory; he was as skilled at reasoning with false, honeyed arguments as he was at cajoling with slanderous fabrications to ensure the condemnation of his victims whose only crime had been to cross him or his imperial patroness.
Claudius had finished reading the charges and was drawing to the close of a long, rambling speech about how saddened he was that his great friend Asiaticus should be appearing before him in such dismal circumstances, although he was sure that Vitellius’ eloquence would clear him, when a commotion at the door, two Praetorian Guards snapping to attention, heralded the arrival of Messalina.
‘My dearest!’ Claudius exclaimed, turning in his seat and almost falling from it. ‘You’ve arrived just in time.’
Messalina made her entrance with all the hauteur of one who revels in power: slow, self-assured and with no recognition of anyone else in the room; even Claudius got to his feet. Slight of build but made taller by the pile of intricately woven, jet-black hair that rose from the crown of her head, part-covered by a crimson palla and studded with jewels, she processed into the room attended by four slave girls so richly attired that they could have been mistaken for great ladies in their own right. She mounted the dais and held out a languid hand, weighed down by rings, for her husband to slobber over before turning her dark, kohl-rimmed eyes to Asiaticus; her full lips creased with a faint smile, which could have been interpreted as one of regret had it not been for the hardness in her eyes. She sat, adjusting her palla so that it flowed with studied elegance from her head to her shoulders and then, covering her left arm but baring her right, perfectly down either side of her body to the floor. Her poise was exquisite; beautiful and delicate, with fair skin, fine cheekbones and a slender straight nose, she exuded a sexual aura that was mesmerising and animal. Every man in the room was drawn to her whether they were for her or against. She had grown in presence since Vespasian had seen her last, six years ago, when Claudius had just become emperor; he now understood what Corbulo had meant when he had talked of her allure. Her delicacy made her seem almost fragile and brought out the urge to protect and cherish her, and yet all knew what ruthless power lurked behind that innocent façade. Vespasian drew a breath and wondered if he would have the strength to resist her if she tried to bend him to her will, but in his heart he knew the answer.
All eyes rested on the Empress and nobody in the room made a sound until she was comfortable.
‘D-d-did you find whatever it was you’d forgotten, my dearest?’ Claudius ventured as everybody sat back down.
Messalina frowned at her husband and then caught Callistus’ look and slight nod. ‘A trifling thing that I thought to give to you, my darling; but then I decided to wait until later – when we are alone.’ She brushed the back of her hand along the outside of Claudius’ thigh making his head twitch and his eyes blink rapidly. ‘Shall we read the charges that have been brought against this unfortunate man?’
‘I-I-I’ve already read them, d-d-dearest.’
‘Then read them again; I wish to hear them because I’m sure that they can’t be true.’ She cocked her head and looked at Claudius girlishly with wide eyes and parted lips. ‘After all, that’s why we decided to hear them informally, in private, so this calumny wouldn’t become public and ruin poor Asiaticus’ reputation.’
Claudius tore his eyes away from his wife’s inviting mouth and hastily stemmed a flow of drool with his toga. ‘Of course, anything for you, my darling; you are so considerate of others.’
Messalina composed her face into an ideal of feminine modesty and looked down at her hands folded in her lap as Claudius once more laboured through the list of charges. As he drew to a close with Sosibius’ accusation of Asiaticus being a party to Caligula’s assassination, she wiped a tear from her eye and let out a soft sob. ‘That we could have chosen such a disreputable man to tutor our darling Britannicus. Oh husband, once you’ve thrown these charges out we shall dismiss him and banish him to the most unwelcoming of provincial towns to rot in his own maliciousness.’
‘Then let’s just d-d-dismiss them now.’
With a sad sigh, Messalina shook her head. ‘Would that be wise, my darling? We must hear the arguments for and against, in case there be the slightest truth in one or two of the allegations. I’m sure that even dear Asiaticus would agree that he should be punished if he has any guilt; as a two-times consul he better than anybody else other than you understands that the rule of law must hold firm, and to ensure that, justice must be seen to triumph.’
Despite himself, Vespasian found himself sympathising with the argument although he knew it to be specious.
Claudius looked at Messalina with wonder in his eyes as if he were beholding the wisest, most beautiful and compassionate being ever to have been given life. ‘You are so right, little bird, we must hear the arguments if only for my good friend Asiaticus’ sake.’ He jerked his head away from Messalina and looked at Suillius. ‘You may b-b-begin.’
Asiaticus slammed his fist down onto the arm of his chair and leapt to his feet interrupting Suillius mid-flow. ‘What proof do you have of any of these allegations, Suillius? You have accused me at some length of passive homosexuality with rank and file soldiers and then adultery; it’s not enough just to say these things, however eloquently – you must back them up.’
‘I haven’t finished making my case, I still have—’
‘This is not a court of law! Nor is it a hearing before the Senate, both of which have protocols to follow; this is an informal hearing before our Emperor.’ Asiaticus rubbed his smooth pate to calm himself and then addressed Claudius. ‘Princeps, as there is no precedent to follow, may I be allowed to deal with the accusations one by one, as they arise, so that the weight of each of the falsehoods levelled at me don’t combine to make the case against me seem overwhelming before I even begin my defence?’
Claudius contemplated the request for a few moments, remaining surprisingly still, his expression hinting at the great pleasure he had in deliberating on such a matter. ‘The differences between precedents and protocol in legal hearings, both formal and informal, must be weighed against the ways of our ancestors.’
Claudius launched into a legal argument of such pedantry that it could only have been of interest to the most petty-minded minor official of a ghastly provincial backwater who had nothing better to do all day than exercise his o
wn self-importance. For Vespasian and everyone else suffering it, however, it was eye-wateringly tedious. It was to vacant, pallid faces that Claudius eventually concluded: ‘So to sum up with the briefest of answers: in this case, but only in this one instance, my judgement, Asiaticus, is yes.’
Evidently having lost track of the argument and therefore whether the judgement was for him or against, Asiaticus stood bewildered for a moment before gathering himself. ‘So I may defend each allegation in turn, Princeps?’
‘Th-th-that was my j-j-j-judgement,’ Claudius replied testily, his stammer, absent during his fluent legal ramble, returning full force.
‘I’m grateful, Princeps.’ Asiaticus faced Suillius. ‘Firstly, the most disgusting allegation: that I allowed, no, actively sought to be penetrated by other men – common legionaries – in return for favours. As if, had I wanted such base entertainment, I couldn’t just get one, or even half a dozen, of my slaves to defile me any time I liked – as many men in Rome do, I believe.’ He raised his eyebrows at Suillius. ‘How did you come up with that idea? What were you doing when it occurred to you that you should level false allegations of buggery with lowlife against me?’
Suillius sneered. ‘Inferences like that won’t hide the truth. I have a witness.’
‘Have you? Then he should be able to recognise me seeing as we’ve been so intimate, or is he going to claim that he only saw the back of my head? Princeps, can I suggest that this witness comes into the room and, without any prompting from this creature here, tries to identify the man whom he alleges was accommodating enough to part his buttocks for him?’
Claudius nodded with enthusiasm. ‘That w-would be an ad-admirable way to settle this.’ He turned to the guards on the door. ‘One of you, fetch this man in.’
Asiaticus took his place back next to Vitellius and then pointed at Suillius. ‘Sit down.’
Suillius did so reluctantly as a squat man of powerful build, in his fifties, wearing a plain citizen’s toga was led in, looking as if he already regretted agreeing to appear in front of such august company. He swallowed as he stood before the Emperor and Empress.
Masters of Rome: VESPASIAN V (Vespasian 5) Page 27
