‘So twelve and a half per cent is seventy-five thousand, which, as I’m sure Narcissus has explained, you’ve consented to double, making a total of one hundred and fifty thousand denarii. That is correct, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, noble sen—’
‘Let’s drop the pretence that you consider me to be noble! Where is my money?’
‘I can give you a promissory note.’
‘I want cash.’
‘I don’t have it; I took it all back to Britannia and reinvested it in more stock.’
‘All of it?’
‘Yes, senator.’
‘Then you had better sell it quickly; where is it?’
‘Here in Rome; but Narcissus has forbidden me to trade in Italia.’
‘In which case I shall arrange a quick sale; I’ll do a job lot to one of your competitors for, say, one hundred and fifty – no, make it sixty – thousand denarii; I think that sounds fair. That gives you ten thousand to start again with once you’re given permission to trade once more.’
‘But they’re worth much more than that,’ Theron pleaded.
‘Not to me they’re not.’
‘But there’re thousands of them; you saw them all yesterday.’
‘The prisoners in the Ovation?’
‘Yes.’
‘Even the chieftains and lesser dignitaries?’
‘Yes, except for the two who were ritually strangled.’
‘Was either one of them a young man?’
‘No, they were both older.’
‘Theron, this could be your lucky day.’
‘This had better be important, Vespasian,’ Sabinus said as he arrived with Magnus and Sextus at the huge slave compound on the Vatican Hill on the west bank of the Tiber. ‘My inauguration begins at the sixth hour.’
‘If vengeance isn’t important then I’ve brought you here for nothing.’
Sabinus raised an eyebrow. ‘Alienus? But I asked Plautius about him yesterday and he told me that there was nothing that he could do as the stock had all been sold.’
‘It has, but to a man who owes me money and favours – you remember Theron, from Britannia, don’t you? Come with me.’ Vespasian led his brother and Magnus and Sextus to the compound’s main gate where the slave-dealer waited, reunited with his bodyguards.
Without any pleasantries, they followed Theron through the gate into a large corral divided into scores of square pens; each one was crammed with manacled slaves, squatting or sitting in their own filth. Despite their numbers they made barely a sound and the eerie silence of unmitigated misery hung over the whole complex.
Theron issued an order to a couple of his guards who nodded and then strolled off. ‘If I give you this man, will you speak to Narcissus about restoring everything that he took?’
‘Once you give me my hundred and fifty thousand denarii, yes.’
‘And he will let me sell my stock at a fair price to raise that?’
‘I’m sure Narcissus will let you do so for a percentage of the proceeds. I’ll speak to him.’
‘You are generous, noble se … sir.’
‘And you are lucky, Theron.’
Theron acknowledged the fact with a cheerful – if sycophantic – bow that surprised Vespasian, considering he had just been urinated upon by an ex-possession of his.
‘There he is,’ Sabinus growled as the two bodyguards appeared from between a line of pens dragging the weakly struggling figure of Alienus between them.
They pushed him forward so that the weight of his chains dragged him down onto the dirt. He got to his knees with sand adhering to the broken scabs of numerous whiplashes across his back and shoulders and looked at the brothers. He smiled wryly. ‘So it’s your turn now, is it?’
Sabinus returned the smile. ‘Yes, Alienus; although I don’t look upon it as taking turns. But tell me, how did I have the good fortune of possessing you?’
‘With both Rome and Myrddin after me I decided the safest place to lose myself was here in the largest city in the Empire. Since I had no silver I thought that the best way to get here was to offer my services to one of the many slave-traders travelling back to Rome. Unfortunately I chose Theron.’
Theron shrugged. ‘One of his own, whom I had just purchased, betrayed him.’
‘Judoc!’ Alienus spat.
‘Perfect!’ Vespasian laughed. ‘I might even forgive the bastard.’
‘The gods have seen to him; he was strangled.’
Sabinus grabbed Alienus’ hair and hauled him to his feet. ‘And the gods have seen fit to bring you to me. You’re going to learn what it is like to spend three months dangling in a cage five times over; and then, if I’m feeling merciful, I’ll just strangle you.’ He thrust him at Magnus and Sextus. ‘Take him to my house, Magnus, and stay with him until I get back from my inauguration.’
Magnus grinned. ‘It’ll be our pleasure, sir; you take your time, we’ll enjoy hanging about with him, if you take my meaning?’
As he was hauled off, Alienus shouted over his shoulder, ‘You’d do best to strangle me now, Sabinus, before it’s my turn again!’
*
The Father of the House examined the ram’s liver on the altar, a fold of his toga pulled over his head out of respect for the divine presence of Jupiter Optimus Maximus.
Similarly attired and seated on folding stools in straight rows down either of the long sides of the rectangular Senate House, the five hundred senators present watched with interest the deliberations of the most senior of their number.
Standing to either side of the altar at the far end of the building were the causes for the divine invocation and consultation: Titus Flavius Sabinus and Gnaeus Hosidius Geta, the Suffect-Consuls.
Vespasian sat next to his uncle watching the ceremony with a mixture of jealousy and pride. Pride that for the first time a member of his family had been raised to the consulship, thus ennobling it; and jealousy in that it was not him but his older brother.
The Father of the House turned his palms to the sky and gave a prayer of thanks to Rome’s best and greatest god for consenting to favour them with a good omen and ensuring that the day was auspicious for the business of the city. With that done he went on to administer the consular oath to the two new incumbents and they solemnly swore loyalty to the Republic and the Emperor, who sat, twitching, on a curule chair before the altar.
‘They used to have to swear their readiness to prevent a return of the King,’ Gaius whispered. ‘For some reason the line was removed from the oath.’
Vespasian smiled. ‘I imagine someone felt it was redundant.’
Gaius chuckled. ‘Yes, but it’s rumoured that Claudius, with his legal pedantry and fastidiousness in preserving the ways of the ancestors, is going to reinsert it.’
‘Without seeing the irony of it?’
‘He’ll do it with as straight a face as the gods allow him.’
The oath administered, the assembly removed their head coverings and the newly inducted Consuls took their seats either side of the Emperor.
‘C-C-Conscript Fathers,’ Claudius declaimed, ‘it pleases me to have two of the legates who commanded legions in my great and historic invasion and subjugation of Britannia as consuls at the time when Aulus Plautius has come back to Rome and celebrated the Ovation that you granted him as a favour to me.’
There was a general muttering of agreement at that novel restructuring of the facts.
‘I am now in a position to nominate the Consuls and Suffect-Consuls for next year.’
This announcement caused genuine interest as the possibility of patronage was dangled in front of every man present.
‘For the first six months, the Senior Consul will be Aulus Vitellius followed in the last six months by his brother, Lucius Vitellius the younger.’
There was a communal intake of breath as well as a few expressions of surprise from senators less adept at concealing their feelings than was wise as they looked at the two portly young men, both far too youn
g to receive the honour, seated either side of their beaming father, the elder Lucius Vitellius.
‘So that was the price that Vitellius extracted from Messalina to help her get hold of Asiaticus’ gardens,’ Gaius muttered ‘To persuade Claudius to nominate both his sons to the consulship ten years too early.’
‘But would Vitellius be foolish enough to allow one of them to marry the Empress?’
‘I’ve heard it said that Aulus had a horoscope cast at his birth that was, shall we say, imperial in its outlook. Perhaps old Lucius has decided that Fortuna is on the Vitellii’s side. He’s always used his sons to his own advantage; like pandering Aulus to Tiberius when he was fourteen, for example.’
‘I remember; Sabinus and I met him on Capreae. He offered Sabinus an interesting form of relaxation.’
‘I suppose it is a good choice from Messalina’s point of view: a patrician family that can trace itself back to the time of the Kings; even longer than her own. They would certainly be in line for the Purple if the Julio-Claudian blood failed.’
Claudius signalled for quiet and continued: ‘And as the Junior Consul for the first six months I nominate Lucius Vipstanus Messalla Poplicola to be followed by his brother, Gaius Vipstanus Messalla Gallus.’
At this announcement only the very self-controlled managed to contain their astonishment and many eyes turned to Corvinus who sat, rigid-faced, opposite Vespasian and Gaius.
‘Both Messalina and Corvinus’ cousins!’ Gaius hissed under the commotion.
But Claudius was not finished. ‘However, Conscript Fathers, there will in addition be one further suffect-consul for the last three months of next year. Gallus will stand down and in his place I nominate Gaius Silius.’
This time there was stunned silence. Vespasian caught Corvinus’ eye; to his amazement his old enemy’s look told him that he thought Silius was Messalina’s choice to replace her husband.
All eyes turned to a very good-looking young man, seated in the front row, who had only recently been made a senator by Claudius at the behest, as everyone present knew, of Messalina. Furthermore, everyone present, with the exception of Claudius, was well aware that Gaius Silius was the Empress’s lover and no one was under any illusion as to how and why this Adonis had risen so fast.
What they did not know was just how much further Messalina intended him to rise.
PART IIII
ROME, AUTUMN AD 48
CHAPTER XVIII
CLUTCHING AT HER mother’s waist the girl struggled against strong arms trying to rip her away. Her flame-coloured veil matched the colour of her shoes and covered her hair, which was dressed ritually in six locks fixed in a cone atop her head, but did not totally obscure her face; Vespasian enjoyed the expression of grim determination on it as Paetus tried to wrench his bride from her mother’s grip. With a small shriek that turned into a giggle, Vespasian’s niece, Flavia Tertulla, fell into the arms of her new husband.
‘Hymen, Hymenaeee!’ Vespasian shouted along with the other guests as Paetus released Flavia Tertulla; blushing, she stood next to her husband outside the open front door of Sabinus’ house on the Aventine Hill. Slender-faced with pale skin, auburn hair and young-leaf-green eyes, Flavia Tertulla was the image of her mother, Clementina, when Vespasian had first set eyes on her, seventeen years before. Paetus smiled jovially whilst exchanging crude banter with the more rakish of the guests, putting Vespasian in mind of his father, his long dead friend, whom he resembled so closely.
Spotting nine-year-old Titus, standing proudly in his boy’s toga praetexta in his capacity as one of the three boys with parents still living who escorted the bride, Vespasian ran a hand through his thinning hair and then clapped his brother on the shoulder. ‘Where does the time go?’
‘I know what you mean, brother, I’ve been feeling like that all day. It seems just a few days ago that Flavia Tertulla used to keep me awake with her mewling; now look at her, she’ll be producing mewling infants of her own very soon. In fact, with all the best appointments going to Messalina’s cronies, by the time I get a governorship she’ll probably have a whole pack of them.’
Sabinus threw a handful of walnuts, symbolising fertility, up into the air so that they rained down on the newlyweds as his fifteen-year-old son and namesake came out of the house with a flaming torch lit from the hearth with which he ignited a bundle of torches held by Paetus. With the torches, burning with the bride’s hearth-fire, distributed amongst the guests the procession from the bride’s parents’ house to that of her new husband on the Esquiline Hill was ready to begin. Flavia Tertulla took the spindle and distaff that Clementina offered her, representing her role as a weaving wife, and then, together with Paetus, set off down the hill, proceeded by the young Sabinus, Titus and a relation of Paetus’ whose name Vespasian was vague about.
Vespasian walked next to his mother, Vespasia Polla, on the bride’s side of the procession, smiling with a sense of wellbeing at the sight of so many of his family around him. His mood had been further improved by an excellent wedding breakfast and the sight of an emaciated Alienus hanging in the foul-smelling cage that had been his home for over a year now. Despite his condition he had still displayed defiance and had thrown a turd at the brothers as they gloated; it had fallen short. However, Vespasian had had a grudging respect for Alienus’ refusal to admit defeat; it had been Rome’s same stubbornness during the long struggle with Carthage, centuries before, that had eventually seen her through to victory. He foresaw a long struggle in Britannia if even half Alienus’ compatriots showed the same resilience; which, with the encouragement of the druids who were fighting for their very existence, he thought highly likely. His humour was even more enhanced by the knowledge that folly raging on in Britannia was no longer his fight.
With shouts of ‘Talasio!’ from passers-by – the ritual good-luck greeting for a bride, so old that its origin and meaning were now lost to time – the wedding party processed in a carnival atmosphere with much good-natured walnut lobbing.
‘I’m starting to feel my age, Mother,’ Vespasian commented. ‘Children grow so quickly.’
Vespasia snorted in derision. ‘Wait until you reach seventy and have outlived your spouse; that’s when you feel your age.’ She grabbed Domitilla by the shoulder as she went skipping past. ‘Child, show some decorum; you’re a member of a consular family and should behave as such.’
Domitilla looked up at her grandmother, evidently having no real understanding of what had been said.
Vespasia turned to Flavia walking behind her with Gaius. ‘You should keep the girl under control.’
Flavia’s lips tightened. ‘She was just enjoying herself on a happy day, Vespasia; leave her alone and don’t try to discipline my children again.’
‘I’ll discipline them as much as I like if I see them behaving in a way unbecoming for this family.’
‘What do you mean, “this family”? Do you mean the equestrian family that you produced or the senatorial family that my husband and his brother turned it into? There’s nothing worse than the snobbery of a person who has been raised up beyond their birth rank.’
‘My husband may have been only an equestrian but Gaius, my brother, was a praetor and has been in the Senate for over thirty years. I have always been of senatorial stock. At least I don’t have the taint of slavery in my blood, daughter of Titus Flavius Liberalis! Your grandfather was undoubtedly a slave and your lax way of rearing children bears out that fact.’
‘Mother!’ Vespasian exclaimed, his good mood fast disappearing. ‘You will not talk to my wife like that.’
‘No? I’ll talk to her however I see fit. A woman with morals like hers does not have my respect – or the respect of anyone in good society.’
‘Just what do you mean, Vespasia?’ Flavia asked coldly.
‘I mean that a woman who whores herself to the Empress is not fit to be treated as anything other than what she really is: a disgrace to her family name.’
‘You wicked old bitc
h! I’ll—’
‘Flavia!’ Vespasian snapped, stepping between the two women and grabbing his wife’s outstretched hand before the nails made contact with his mother’s cheek. ‘Control yourself.’
‘Control myself! After what she just said?’
‘Mother, you will apologise.’
‘I won’t apologise for telling the truth. What interests me, Vespasian, is that you don’t seem very surprised by the revelation.’
Vespasian kept hold of Flavia’s hand and forced it back down by her side as they walked on. ‘What interests me, Mother, is what would make you want to make such an accusation in the first place?’
‘Dear boy, keep your voice down,’ Gaius urged, ‘you’re spoiling the wedding procession.’
Flavia shook her hand free. ‘Defend me from such slander, Vespasian. I demand you to.’
Vespasia’s face contorted in spiteful triumph. ‘He’s not defending you because he knows it to be true.’
‘Mother, of course it’s not true and you will never say that again. Who told you such a thing?’
‘I got it from a very good source: Agrippina.’
Gaius looked doubtful. ‘Claudius’s niece has hardly been seen since the Emperor recalled her from exile at the beginning of his reign and married her to Passienus. She won’t go near the palace as she’s convinced that Messalina will try and murder her son, Lucius. The rumour is that the Empress has already made a couple of attempts on his life.’
‘Well, I see her,’ Vespasia said as the procession passed between the Appian Aqueduct and the southern end of the Circus Maximus. ‘After Passienus died last year he left all his property to young Lucius, including the neighbouring estate to ours at Aquae Cutillae. If you’d bothered to come up, Vespasian, you would know about it.’
‘I have better things to do with my time than to pry into my neighbours’ affairs; besides, I’ve been obliged to stay in Rome.’
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