He knew that he could not talk Titus out of wanting to go as the conversation would certainly be repeated to Britannicus. This would doubtless mean Claudius hearing of it and perhaps taking it as implied criticism, so Vespasian had to accept his son’s desire to attend the games. ‘Very well, you shall come.’
‘Oh, thank you, Father.’
‘And we shall be in the imperial box,’ Flavia purred. ‘The other women will be so jealous.’
Vespasian refrained from comment, unwilling to stoke his lingering anger at his wife in front of the children, and smiled instead at his daughter. ‘And you’ll stay here with your nurse, Domitilla.’
Domitilla twisted a rag doll in her hands and smiled back. ‘Yes, Tata.’
‘Oh, but she must come, Vespasian,’ Flavia insisted, ‘we should be seen as a family.’
‘She will stay here and I won’t discuss the matter any further.’
‘But it would—’
‘You will start doing as you are told without questioning me, Flavia; then we may have a small chance of harmony in the house and you might find me better disposed towards you than I’m currently feeling. Domitilla will stay.’
Flavia caught the steel in her husband’s voice and stilled her tongue.
Vespasian pulled his daughter close and kissed her. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Won’t you be back after the games, Tata?’
‘No.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’ve got to go and say goodbye to a man who has to leave Rome because of me.’
*
A white handkerchief fluttered in the light wind; a quarter of a million pairs of eyes fixed on it and a quarter of a million voices echoed around the Circus Maximus calling for its release. With a shaking hand, Claudius held the handkerchief aloft, displaying it to the masses crammed on the stepped-stone seating along both sides of the circus’s six hundred-pace length. Messalina stood next to him at the front of the imperial box, her head held high and her arms around her two children, Britannicus and Claudia Octavia, bathing in the reflected glory of the husband who had been an object of ridicule and the butt of countless jokes when she had married him. But now the people of Rome loved their Emperor for his gift of the Secular Games, which, for the last ten days, had been celebrated in lavish style. Today would be the climax of the festival and they cheered Claudius with savage ferocity as he dropped the handkerchief and the first of the hundred pitch-soaked prisoners chained to stakes around the track burst into flames.
A team of men wielding torches jogged around the circus igniting the howling victims, one by one, to the roars of approval of all who watched. Black smoke rose in columns from the flames and then, wafted by the breeze, circulated around the crowd, bringing the acrid tang of blazing pitch and burning flesh to the nostrils of delirious spectators as they savoured every writhe and scream of the agonised human torches. Once the last had been fired, and his skin had begun to shrivel and blister, the torch-bearers left the circus through the great gates at the northern end, passing a herd of filthy, condemned prisoners. Whipped onto the sand-covered track, soon to be soaked in their blood, the hapless men – and a few women, there to add spice to the proceedings – looked around with eyes wide with terror at the scene that greeted them. On either side of the spina, the low barrier running down the centre of the track around which chariots sped on race days, the flaming carcasses of the human torches sagged against their chains, life still just evident in a few of them, whilst the onlookers jeered at their suffering. Forced even further out onto the track by the lashes of their drivers the prisoners cried, unheard above the din, to their disparate gods to save them from a fate worse than burning: to be ripped asunder and their flesh consumed before their very eyes by beasts starved to the point of madness, for the delectation of the people of Rome.
With vicious farewell cracks of their whips, the drivers retreated to the gates and the noise began to dull. Bored of the opening act of the spectacle, which was now doing nothing more exciting than spasm occasionally, the crowd eyed the huddled prisoners with interest. There were a lot of them, at least a hundred, and the knowledgeable in the audience – which was most of them – knew what that meant: many beasts. Anticipation settled on the Circus Maximus.
‘I b-b-believe the crowd are pleased, my d-dearest,’ Claudius observed, seating himself on his well-padded chair.
Messalina took her seat next to him. ‘It was an original idea of yours to surprise them by setting fire to those prisoners. I’m sure everyone thought that they were going to be mauled to death. You’re so clever, dear Claudius.’
Claudius twitched and took his wife’s hand. ‘We must keep them entertained if we’re to keep their love.’
Vespasian sat behind the imperial couple, between Lucius Vitellius and Flavia, who could not help but scan the crowd nearest the imperial box to see who was looking at her. Behind them sat a sallow-faced little man with a crooked back, whom Vespasian knew by sight to be a drinking companion and toady of Claudius.
‘The Emperor has a real talent for pleasing spectacles,’ Vitellius commented to Vespasian loud enough for Claudius to overhear.
‘He has a talent for many things, consul,’ Vespasian replied, playing Vitellius’ sycophantic game, ‘justice being one of them, as we saw this morning.’
‘Indeed; allowing Asiaticus the mercy of suicide and keeping his property was the act of a wise and just ruler.’
Vespasian detected a stiffening in Messalina’s posture but then the roar of the crowd turned his attention to the gates through which a dozen carts were being wheeled, each supporting a large wooden box. There was a stirring amongst the prisoners as the guttural roar of bears emanated from the boxes and the huddle began to disperse as the natural human instinct to put as many other people as possible between oneself and the threat took over. Prisoners ran to either side of the spina, sheltering close to the still burning torches in the hope that the flames would protect them.
Ropes, pulled from behind the boxes, opened the doors and the muzzles of twelve snarling bears poked out.
‘That’s split them all up,’ Claudius exclaimed, rubbing his hands together.
The crook-back smacked his lips in anticipation. ‘I do admire the strength of a bear.’
‘Th-th-that, Julius Paelignus, is because you have so little yourself; hunchback.’
Paelignus flinched and Vespasian was amused that the crippled emperor had someone more unfortunate than him to be the butt of his jokes. He wondered idly what unsightly creatures Paelignus consorted with to help him feel better about his deformity.
The bears’ keepers rapped rods on their boxes to encourage the beasts out in the face of the mighty roar of the crowd. One by one they emerged, shaking their huge frames and prowling up and down as a small gate, at the rounded far end of the circus, opened and at least twenty scraggily thin lions swooped onto the sand. The crowd’s din rose to even greater heights as the delicious prospect of the possibility of beast versus human and beast versus beast in the same combat became apparent.
Britannicus clapped his hands in excitement and Titus ran to join his friend to get a better look; together they leant on the box’s wall craning their heads left and right as the beasts fanned out and their victims ran about screaming, knowing there was no place to hide other than in death. Claudius smiled benevolently at the two boys, enjoying their enjoyment, before turning round. ‘What do you say to a wager, Lucius?’
‘With pleasure, Princeps; what’s it to be?’
‘A thousand denarii says that the bears will do for the prisoners and the lions before the bestiarii come in to finish them off.’
‘Caesar, my money is on the lions.’
‘What about you, Vespasian?’
‘Well, Princeps, I’m certainly not going to bet on the prisoners.’
Claudius chortled, spraying spit in abundance. ‘Oh, very good, not going to bet on the prisoners indeed. No, my friend, that would be foolish,
you may sit this bet out. I won’t b-b-bother to ask you, Paelignus, you p-p-pauper.’
Paelignus flinched again. ‘If you make me procurator of Cappadocia as you promised then I’ll be able to afford to wager with you again.’
Claudius seemed unconcerned by such an importune demand. ‘We’ll see; until then you can make a note of the bets.’
Relieved at having got out of such a large wager, Vespasian turned his attention back to the track just as the massive jaws of a bear clamped onto a prisoner. Britannicus whooped and jumped in the air as the spilling of the first blood sparked a killing frenzy. Fleet and agile, the lions hunted their slower two-legged prey, twisting and turning in sprays of sand as they ran down and then pounced upon their victims, shredding flesh with their razor claws and blood-dripping teeth. Bears lumbered with rolling shoulders then, suddenly accelerating, bounded on screaming targets, punching them to the ground to dismember them with gore-spattered ferocity as the people of Rome cried out for yet more blood.
Claudius leant forward in his chair, his head jerking this way and that, taking in every gruesome detail of the carnage that now raged along the length of the track on both sides of the spina, shouting with glee at each limb ripped from its socket and laughing uncontrollably at the sight of Niger stumbling with a wild cat on his back and a length of his colon, spilling from a hideous gash in his belly, cradled in his hands. ‘That’ll teach him not to lie about poor Asiaticus,’ he managed to say between bouts of laughter.
‘About poor Asiaticus,’ Messalina said, keeping her eyes fixed on the spectacle. ‘Do you think it was wise to let his family inherit all of his wealth, my dearest?’
‘He was consul twice, sweet girl, which was a feat of some note for a man whose grandfather fought against Caesar. Were I to ruin his family because of a crime that he committed I would lose their loyalty as well as the loyalty of all their clients, which is the entire Allobroges tribe in the northern Narbonensis near Lugdunum. Seeing as the imperial mint is in Lugdunum that might not be considered good politics.’
‘You see, there I go again, questioning your wise judgements without knowing all the facts or taking into consideration the wider political implications; you must think me such a silly girl.’
Claudius squeezed his wife’s thigh and then brushed his hand against her breast as he withdrew it. ‘N-n-never. There’s no reason why you should bother your beautiful head with large matters such as this; it was enough just to be there by my side this morning, supporting me through a very regrettable hearing.’
Messalina licked her lips as a couple of lions started fighting with a bear over the rights to a badly mauled corpse. ‘It was the least that I could do. It’s so sad when an old friend turns out to be treacherous; it must make you wonder whom you can really trust.’
‘I trust you, my dearest girl.’
‘Of course; and you know that I only have your best interests at heart?’
Claudius turned and smiled at his wife with a look of genuine affection as beyond him a screaming woman was eviscerated. ‘I would never doubt that.’
‘Then you won’t mind me giving you some advice?’
‘I t-t-treasure your advice, little bird.’
‘Well, it’s just this, my dearest: I think that you let Asiaticus off too lightly. I completely understand your reasoning about keeping the loyalty of the Allobroges, and you’re so clever to have thought of that, but I think that if his family get to keep all of his property then it doesn’t act as much of a deterrent to other wicked men who might be contemplating treason. They must be deterred if we’re going to keep you safe.’
‘Yes, they must; but I’ve already given my judgement.’
Messalina took her husband’s hand, brought it up to her mouth and let her tongue flick across the tips of his fingers. ‘You’re the Emperor, you can do anything; you can change your mind any time you want to.’
Claudius watched Messalina’s tongue working on his fingers and dabbed away a trail of errant saliva from his chin with the other hand. ‘I can, can’t I?’
‘You can, dearest.’
‘Then I will. What would you suggest?’
‘Take his most prized possession; his family get to keep his fortune but they lose the one thing that he valued above all else.’ Messalina began to suck Claudius’ trembling fingers, one by one.
‘That’s a wonderful idea, little mouse; I’ll take his entire library.’
‘No, husband, there’s something that he prizes more than that.’
‘What?’
‘His gardens.’
‘His gardens; what use are they to me?’
‘Not for you, dearest, nor for me but for our children; it would do them good to have a place just outside the city walls.’ She turned to Flavia. ‘Flavia, I value your opinion above all other than my husband’s; do you think that the Gardens of Lucullus would be a perfect place for children?’
‘I’ve never seen them but if the stories of their beauty are true then they would be a perfect place for young people to learn to appreciate the finer things in life.’ She smiled beneficently at Britannicus and Titus enjoying the sight of a bear being ripped apart by three bloodied lions.
‘You are so right, my dear; children must learn to appreciate beauty.’ She turned her attention back to Claudius’ fingers.
‘Th-th-that settles it,’ Claudius decided, unable to take his eyes from his wife’s mouth, ‘I shall confiscate Asiaticus’ gardens for Britannicus and Octavia.’
‘That is a wonderful idea, dear husband; I know they’ll appreciate them so much and their friends will have the use of them too, of course. Vespasian, you will allow Titus to go there, won’t you?’
Vespasian hid his grudging admiration for the way that Messalina had got just what she wanted from her husband. ‘Of course, domina; it will be an honour for him to go.’
Messalina smiled but her eyes remained cold as they fixed Vespasian with an intensity that could only be described as predatory. ‘And you will accompany him from time to time, I hope; you too should be allowed to sample the pleasures of such a garden and savour the nectar of its fruit.’ She sucked on Claudius’ thumb whilst keeping her attention on Vespasian.
Vespasian decided against mentioning his invitation to Asiaticus’ last supper later that day and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘It would give me great pleasure to do so, domina.’
‘I am very partial to nectar and appreciate the subtle differences between the tastes of the juice from similar fruit.’
Messalina took the thumb from her mouth and licked between Claudius’ forefinger and middle finger; her eyes warmed as they turned to Flavia and her predatory look melted into one of genuine affection. ‘I think no two ever taste exactly the same and that means that every fruit should be sampled. Don’t you agree, Flavia, dear?’
Flavia’s eyes widened with delight as she smiled at the Empress. ‘Oh, I do; you know it too well.’
Messalina dropped her husband’s hand and reached back to squeeze Flavia’s knee. ‘Then it shall give me great pleasure to enjoy the children’s gardens together with you, Flavia – regularly.’
Vespasian tried to clear his mind as he once again passed through the gates of the Gardens of Lucullus with the westering sun on his back. His ears still rang with the relentless cacophony of the day’s spectacle, and bloody images, gathered over five hours of butchery, still played in his head. Once the first group of prisoners had been slaughtered and partially consumed, the bestiarii had entered and, displaying prodigious skill and courage, which Vespasian had greatly admired, despatched the surviving lions and bears with the loss of only three of their number. Claudius had claimed the bet on the grounds that more lions had been killed by bears than the other way around and Vitellius had happily and fawningly conceded to his Emperor.
Enthused by his win, Claudius had then proceeded to bet on every display: how many bestiarii would the bulls gore; whether the giraffes would manage to kill a single wolf; whet
her the camels would put up a fight or just make people laugh; and how long would a dozen Nubians, armed only with daggers, last against a couple of maddened rhinoceroses – the stars of the show. Vespasian had been left very badly off, having lost every bet he had been forced into by his gambling-minded Emperor; his shows of losing with good grace had become weaker as his purse became lighter. Paelignus’ fawning congratulations each time he announced Claudius’ winnings had irritated Vespasian considerably and he hoped fervently that the nasty little sycophant would not be given the province that would restore his finances.
The games of dice that Claudius insisted upon between the acts had further eaten into Vespasian’s finances: he had no interest in dicing so he was no expert. Claudius had promised him a copy of his new book on the subject to help him before they played together again. Vespasian had thanked him, brimming with conjured enthusiasm at the prospect of reading such a scholarly work on so deserving a pastime. Paelignus had praised Claudius’ expertise at the game, regretfully adding that such expertise had been the cause of his present reduced circumstances.
Eventually, after the demise of three or four hundred wild beasts of many different varieties and almost twice that number of humans, the people of Rome had cheered their Emperor as he left the circus until they were hoarse. No one could dispute that it had been a fitting climax to the games of a lifetime and Claudius’ popularity had soared; no one bothered to question the fraudulent calculation that had enabled him to pull such a massive propaganda coup. The Secular Games, with their long cycle, served as a reminder to the people that Rome would last far longer than anyone’s lifetime, except, perhaps, the deified Julius Caesar and his adopted son the deified Augustus whose blood flowed in Claudius’ veins.
Masters of Rome: VESPASIAN V (Vespasian 5) Page 29
