‘The Emperor assures you that he will allow Messalina a fair hearing tomorrow,’ Narcissus informed a tall woman in white as Vespasian came out into the atrium. ‘In the meantime he requests that you do not allow this matter to interfere with your sacred duties.’
Vibidia put her hands to her chest and dipped her head. ‘I shall go and inform the Empress of that good news.’
‘The Emperor asks that you return to the house of the Vestals immediately with his thanks and has requested me to send Tribune Burrus to Messalina with the news.’
‘It is good of him to spare me the journey.’
‘Your wellbeing is always at the forefront of his thoughts. Where would Burrus find Messalina?’
‘She’s at the Gardens of Lucullus; her estranged mother, Lepida, has joined her there to bring her comfort. Tell the Emperor that he has the prayers of our house at this delicate time.’
‘I shall, Lady.’
Vibidia turned and walked away with gliding grace.
‘Burrus!’ Narcissus called to the waiting tribune. He pulled a writing tablet from his satchel as Burrus approached. ‘This afternoon, Claudius gave me charge of the Guard to deal with this crisis; you can understand why, can’t you?’
‘Yes, imperial secretary.’
‘Take eight men to the Gardens of Lucullus and execute Messalina on the Emperor’s orders.’
Burrus held Narcissus’ gaze for a few moments and then acquiesced. ‘It shall be done.’
As the tribune marched away Narcissus turned to Vespasian. ‘I don’t know what you were playing at in there, Vespasian, but you can make up for it by going with him and making sure that he does as I’ve ordered.’
‘It’ll be my pleasure, imperial secretary.’ As he turned to follow Burrus, Vespasian marvelled at the panic he had seen in Narcissus’ eyes; panic that Pallas and Agrippina had sown by delaying the Emperor signing the death warrant. Panic that Claudius would calm down and forgive Messalina had just forced Narcissus into making his first, and quite possibly his last, political mistake.
The contrast in the appearance of the Gardens of Lucullus between that evening and the one before could not have been more acute: gone were the multifarious points of light outlining a solid rectangular shape on the southwestern slope of the Pincian Hill and in their stead was a solitary glow from what Vespasian knew to be the villa at the heart of the gardens.
He walked in silence next to Burrus as they approached Messalina’s retreat from the Quirinal Gate. The sound of the measured footsteps of the contuburnium of Praetorian Guardsmen following them, echoing off the buildings to either side, was sufficient to clear their way; carts and pedestrians moved aside as they passed, not wishing to interfere with what was obviously an imperial matter, and it was not long before they reached the locked gates in the whitewashed wall, guarded by two new sentries.
The glint of Burrus’ blade leaving its scabbard and a growled order were hint enough for the two guards to place the keys in Vespasian’s outstretched hand and make off into the night.
With a metallic clunk the lock turned, the gates swung open with a high-pitched creak, the execution party crunched onto the gravel beyond and then began to snake its way along the stone path up the hill. Even with no torchlight and the moon yet to rise, the gardens’ beauty and variety could still not be disguised; the sweet scent of rosemary shrubs gave way first to the sea-air aroma of autumn-blooming crocuses and then the musk of deer resting by freshwater pools. As they climbed, the different scents blended into one another, and Vespasian remembered Asiaticus’ words about how the gardens represented everything that was good in Rome but that their beauty would attract what was bad, and he understood finally what the condemned man had meant. He was aware of, but unable to see, the beauty all around him that harboured the cause of so much of Rome’s present troubles. He was now to witness the canker being cut out, but what would grow in its stead? Who would desire these gardens once Messalina had gone? And for what reason?
Instinctively he knew the answers to those questions. With the memory of the look that Agrippina had given Pallas earlier that evening in his mind, Vespasian prayed that his old acquaintance would use the evident influence he had with the Empress-in-waiting to ensure his and his family’s safety and prosperity during the coming changes.
They passed into the gloom of the orchard, hobnailed sandals striking the mosaic path in unison with a sharp clatter and the occasional flash of sparks. Up ahead, silhouetting the dark forms of Asiaticus’ beloved apricot trees, Vespasian could see the glow of two torches on the terrace in front of the villa. Gone were the couches, tables, silent slaves, strident musicians, tubs of grapes and mounds of naked flesh; instead, in the dim light, sat two women, one feverishly writing as if her life depended on it – which it would have done had Narcissus’ fear of her being forgiven and returned to power not pushed him into going behind his patron’s back.
The sound of the arriving footsteps reached Messalina’s ears and she stood and stared down the path, one hand reaching instinctively for the woman next to her; her mother, Lepida, Vespasian surmised.
As he cleared the final apricot tree, with Burrus at his side, Messalina screamed. It was the cry of one whose worst imaginings have suddenly materialised before them and who is forced to accept that what had been deemed impossible has come true. The shriek pierced the night, filling it with the sound of terror; Messalina turned to run but her mother caught her arm, clutching it tightly, and pulled her back into an embrace as her executioners mounted the steps, two by two, their hands grasping the hilts of their swords.
Messalina stared at them from her mother’s arms. ‘Tell them to go away, Mother! Tell them I command it!’
‘You command nothing now, my child; your life is over.’
‘It can’t be; my husband would never order that.’
‘Your husband is dead,’ Burrus informed her. ‘It’s the Emperor that has ordered this.’
‘My husband is the Emperor!’
Lepida stroked a hand through her daughter’s wild hair and kissed her brow. ‘That ceased to be so when you divorced Claudius and married another man.’
‘But he was consul, I was safe and then they cheated me!’ Messalina spat and hissed like a goaded serpent. ‘How dare they change things; it wasn’t fair.’ Now tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘Can’t they give me another chance, Mother? Can’t they forget a little wrong? I’ve so much life left to enjoy, so much pleasure yet to feel, so much want to be satisfied; I need to be allowed that. Who would dare deny me?’
‘Child, no one would have denied you that had you not tried to have everything all at once. You have brought yourself here and the manner of your doing so means that you will not be allowed away from this place alive.’
Messalina looked her mother in the eyes, screamed at her and pulled away, before landing a ringing slap across her face. ‘You bitch! How dare you say things like that? Now I remember why I banned you from my sight for so long; you always blame me and poison everyone against me. It’s not my fault! I would have been safe if they hadn’t changed things and somehow stopped that idiot being consul. I would have been safe, do you hear? Safe! They must be told to give me another chance. They must, Mother!’
‘They’ll never do that. Now all that remains to you is to seek death with honour.’
‘I – will – not – die!’
‘For the first and only time in your life, child, you will do as you are told.’
Vespasian stepped forward and offered Messalina his sword, hilt first. ‘If you don’t do it, Messalina, it will be done for you.’
‘You!’ she shrieked, ignoring the proffered sword and seemingly noticing him for the first time. ‘Why are you against me? Flavia is my friend.’
‘And lover; I know. But for the last year and more she’s been Narcissus’ spy in your bed.’
‘Liar! No one would dare betray me.’
‘Why? Because you alone have the right to live life as you wish
and everyone else in Rome should serve your every need?’
‘I am the Empress.’
‘You were the Empress but, like Caligula’s, your behaviour could not be tolerated; you took everything and gave nothing back. Narcissus and Pallas may guard their power jealously and use it for personal advantage but at least they spread patronage; people can gain by them. The two of them ensure that Claudius gives back also: the new port, the draining of the Fucine Lake for more agricultural land, new aqueducts and much more. But who profits from you being in power? How does Rome benefit from you, who would not even help your own brother?’
‘He was of no use to me any more!’
‘Which was why he betrayed you; it was he who told Narcissus what you planned to do. Flavia spied on you because I told her to; because I knew it would strengthen my standing with Narcissus and Pallas who were determined to get rid of you – rightly. Now they have you, and Claudius, in his folly, can’t protect you any more.’
‘But he promised to look into my eyes.’
‘So you could lie to him?’ Vespasian pushed his sword hilt into Messalina’s midriff. ‘Well, that won’t happen now. Take the sword. There will be no reprieve for you, Messalina. You will die here in the gardens that you killed to possess and Asiaticus gets the vengeance that he foresaw.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You sealed your fate when you drove him to suicide. He set this all in motion: he put Corvinus in touch with Narcissus even though they hate each other; he knew about you and Flavia and how useful she would be; and he judged me, correctly, to be ruthless and unscrupulous enough to use my wife to gain favour. Yes, Messalina, your death was ordained the moment you grabbed the most beautiful place in Rome. So embrace it now with the dignity befitting your status.’
Messalina stared in horror at the sword and then looked to her mother, who just shook her head slowly and then gently lifted the weapon with the palm of her hand. Tears welled in Messalina’s eyes as she slowly grasped the hilt. ‘Must I, Mother? Can’t I be granted exile on an island somewhere? Then Claudius will have time to change his mind!’
Lepida eased her daughter to her knees. ‘That’s the whole point, child, Rome has seen you deceiving Claudius openly, relying on the fool’s love that he has for you; no one is going to let you take advantage of that again. No, be strong and do this; I shall help you.’ Lepida turned the sword so that the point was just beneath her daughter’s heart and then, placing herself behind Messalina, wrapped her hands over hers. ‘Ready, Messalina?’ Mother and daughter tensed, tears flowing down both their faces, and then Lepida jerked her arms towards her. With a squeal, Messalina twisted and buckled; blood coloured the blade and Lepida cried out as she looked down at the cut on the outside of her left thigh.
‘I won’t die, Mother!’ Messalina shrieked. ‘No one has the right to—’ She stopped abruptly and looked around, shocked, and then focused on Burrus’ forearm, just in front of her. She followed it with her eyes, down to the wrist and then on to the hand that grasped the hilt of a sword. Along the blade her eyes went and they widened with horror; only half was visible. She tried to scream but succeeded only in spewing blood on Burrus’ hand as it thrust forward and twisted left then right. Messalina looked at her executioner with fury raging on her face before falling back into her mother’s arms.
‘Enough talk,’ Burrus said, pulling his blade free with a wet sucking sound and then wiping it clean on Messalina’s palla before turning to his men. ‘Let’s go.’
Vespasian looked down at the dead Messalina, blood seeping from her breast and soaking her clothes, and felt nothing: no joy, relief, pity, triumph, regret … nothing. ‘Take the body and deal with it privately, Lepida,’ he said and turned to follow Burrus and his men, leaving Lepida, weeping softly, clutching her daughter’s corpse.
As he walked down the steps Vespasian looked up at the newly risen moon shining through the branches of the apricot trees that had witnessed so much, and swore to himself that he would never again set foot in the Gardens of Lucullus.
CHAPTER XXII
ALMOST TWO HOURS after he had left it, Vespasian walked back into the triclinium at the palace; apart from the addition of a group of musicians the scene was exactly the same. Narcissus looked at him questioningly and he replied with a tired nod as he slumped back down onto his couch, next to Sabinus.
‘Such villainy,’ Lucius Vitellius pronounced, just loud enough to be heard over the music, whilst peeling a pear.
Vespasian ignored the remark as he caught a brief, silent exchange between Pallas and Agrippina before she returned her attention to her uncle who was now well into his cups and adding to them.
Signalling a slave to fill his, Vespasian turned to his brother, keeping his voice low, so as not to be heard over the music. ‘What’s happened? Why is everyone still here?’
‘None of them wants to leave the others alone with Claudius.’
‘They’ll be here all night then. Why are you still here?’
‘I was waiting for you, to remind you to be at the Senate at dawn and make sure that Uncle Gaius comes too.’
‘Of course, the incest law; I’ll speak directly after you.’
‘I’d appreciate that. Gaius has managed to persuade Servius Sulpicius Galba to speak for the motion. I’ll have him follow you.’
Vespasian grimaced as he took a full pull on his cup, remembering his dealings with Galba when he was first assigned to the II Augusta. ‘He’ll shout them into submission.’
‘He can do whatever he likes as long as he helps get the motion passed and I can get off to Moesia, Macedonia and Thracia; and if you want my advice, brother, you should get out of Rome for a while too, because after witnessing Agrippina’s behaviour this evening I can tell you that life with her in power is going to be just as precarious as it was with Messalina.’
‘I will. I’ll go back to the estates until my consulship and after that hopefully Pallas will get me a province.’
‘Don’t rely on him too much. He’s sleeping with Agrippina, I’m sure of it; there’s a hint of it in her eyes when she looks at him.’
‘I noticed that too and thought that it would be a good thing for us.’
‘That would depend on which one of them has the stronger will.’
Vespasian looked over at Agrippina, wiping her uncle’s mouth and talking soothingly in his ear.
‘But I want her,’ Claudius suddenly cried out. ‘I miss my little bird already.’
‘Then summon her now to account for herself. If she is indeed innocent, why wait till morning to find out? And if she’s guilty then have done with her and choose another.’
‘I could do that, couldn’t I?’ Claudius’ face lit up at the prospect.
‘Of course you could, Uncle,’ Agrippina purred, looking directly at Narcissus, who paled visibly, even in the soft lamplight.
Claudius indicated to his freedman with his cup, slopping much of its contents onto his couch. ‘Narcissus, have Messalina brought to the palace.’
Narcissus regained his composure. ‘Surely you’re joking with me, Princeps? You ordered me to have her executed just two hours ago.’
Claudius opened and closed his mouth and then his features froze, staring blankly into vacant space.
‘Uncle!’ Agrippina cried. ‘How brave of you to do so. But why didn’t you tell me? In fact, why didn’t I hear you give the order? I’ve been reclining next to you all evening.’
Claudius did not answer or even register that he had heard the question. Nor did he seem to hear loud wailing from out in the atrium.
‘It was what you wanted, Princeps, after all,’ Narcissus insisted, ‘otherwise I would have questioned it when you gave me the command.’
‘Did you give the command, Uncle, really?’
Claudius lifted his cup to his mouth as if by an automatic impulse, took a swig and then placed it back on the table. An instant later he repeated the movement as the wailing closed in.
‘I th
ink that it’s time for us to leave,’ Vespasian suggested to Sabinus. ‘I doubt that our departure will be noticed.’
The brothers got to their feet as Claudius and Messalina’s two children burst into the room. Obviously in an advanced state of grief they set about their father with slaps and scratches whilst he did nothing to defend himself or even show that he knew that he was under attack.
As Vespasian left the room he caught Pallas smiling at Agrippina, who returned it with interest whilst Lucius Vitellius mouthed two words, inaudible over the commotion.
‘The vote to remove Messalina’s statues and name from all public places has been passed unanimously,’ the Father of the House announced in the absence of any consuls. ‘The order will be given to the Urban prefect to proceed without delay so that our beloved Emperor can begin the process of choosing a new wife without always being reminded of the old.’
Claudius sat in his chair, his eyes still vacant and his skin pallid as a rumbled chorus of agreement greeted this thought. He nodded absently and fluttered a shaky hand in acknowledgement of the Senate’s gesture but failed to make a verbal reply. In its absence Sabinus stood and caught the attention of the Father of the House.
‘Titus Flavius Sabinus has the floor.’
Sabinus walked to the centre of the House, stood still for a couple of moments and then began: ‘Conscript Fathers, who here does not have the Emperor’s welfare at the forefront of his mind? Who here does not consider the Emperor’s happiness to be of paramount importance to the wellbeing of the Empire? Who here would therefore deny the Emperor the right to marry the woman most suitable to him?’
*
The House sat in stunned silence as if each man had just been struck a blow on the forehead by the priest wielding the mallet before the sacrificial knife is applied. No one moved as Sabinus sat down after his short speech proposing the law of incest should be changed so that the Emperor could marry his niece. Claudius, too, was speechless but not as before: his eyes had lost their vacant stare and had become focused.
Masters of Rome: VESPASIAN V (Vespasian 5) Page 41
