‘This is my city,’ Caligula stated in a pitiful voice, ‘and my friend is in charge of keeping the streets clean. Oh Drusilla, he’s let me down.’
Drusilla wiped a tear from the corner of her brother’s eye and licked it off her finger.
‘I’m sorry, Princeps; it was just while you were…’
‘Oh, it’s my fault, is it?’
‘No, no, it’s completely mine.’
‘You should have him prosecuted,’ Macro said venomously, ‘it’s almost treason to be so negligent in one’s duties.’
‘Stop presuming to tell me what to do, prefect. Chaerea, have your men scoop up some of this filth and pile it into the aedile’s toga.’
Vespasian stood still as handful after handful of the foul-smelling muck was slopped into the fold of his toga. ‘I will have it remedied tomorrow, Princeps.’
‘No, you will not, you’re quite evidently not up to it, I’ll find someone else to do it.’ He glared at Vespasian and then suddenly smiled. ‘Besides, my friend, I’ve got something for you to do for me.’ His train of thought abruptly changed and he turned to Macro. ‘Where was my cousin Gemellus today? Why wasn’t he celebrating my transformation?’
‘I’ve heard that he has a bad cough, Princeps.’
‘A cough, eh? Or perhaps he just wishes that I wasn’t here any more and doesn’t want to see me in my glory. What do you think, Vespasian?’
‘It must be a cough, no one would wish for your death.’
‘Hmm, I suppose you’re right. Nevertheless I think we should cure him of his cough, don’t you?’
Vespasian did his best to hide his thoughts, mindful of Antonia’s last piece of advice, knowing that to disagree could be fatal for him but to agree would be fatal for Gemellus. ‘Perhaps it will go with time, Princeps.’
Caligula stared at Vespasian uncomprehendingly. ‘Time? Time? No, time goes too slowly. Chaerea, go and cure my cousin of his cough; permanently.’
‘Is that wise, Princeps?’ Macro asked. ‘Gemellus is very popular with the youth.’
‘Then his funeral will be well attended,’ Caligula snapped. ‘That’s the second time today that you’ve questioned me, Macro, don’t let there be a third. Now get out of my sight.’
Macro opened his mouth to argue, then, thinking better of it, bowed his head and walked away.
‘What are you still doing here, Chaerea?’ Caligula shouted. ‘Didn’t I give you an order?’
Chaerea snapped a salute and, keeping his face neutral, turned and led his men off.
Caligula closed his eyes slowly, drew a luxurious breath and kissed Drusilla on the mouth. ‘Isn’t she beautiful, Vespasian? I will have a theatre built in the Forum so that I can display her properly. Would you like to be displayed, my sweet?’
‘If it pleases you, dearest Gaius,’ Drusilla simpered, tracing the outline of his lips with her finger.
Caligula looked lovingly at her and stroked her throat. ‘Just think, Drusilla, I could have this pretty throat slit any time I want.’
Drusilla sighed with ecstasy. ‘Any time you want, dearest Gaius.’
Caligula licked her throat and then put his arm around Vespasian’s shoulder in a friendly fashion and began to walk him away, much to Vespasian’s relief. ‘I have a problem, my friend, it’s like a persistent itch but if I scratch it I know that it’ll get worse, but I must rid myself of it.’
‘Surely you can do anything you want,’ Vespasian replied, adjusting his arm to take the weight of the filth piled in his toga’s fold.
‘I can, but sometimes there might be a consequence that not even I can control.’
‘What consequences?’
‘I’ve tired of Macro’s wife and I’ve tired of him, he’s started to give me advice. Before my transformation he actually told me that it was not fitting for an emperor to laugh loudly at a joke in a play; it was Plautus, how can you not laugh at Plautus?’
‘Impossible.’
‘Precisely. And now today he questioned me; so he must go.’
‘But the consequence would be upsetting the Guard.’
‘Oh my friend, how well you understand me, that is the consequence; if only I could kill them all. What do you advise me to do?’
Vespasian thought for a few moments, wondering if giving Caligula advice would prove as fatal for him as it was going to be for Macro. ‘If he’s not the Praetorian prefect, then the Guard won’t feel threatened.’
Caligula turned to him with a pained expression on his face as if he were dealing with a retarded child. ‘But he is the Praetorian prefect, you idiot, and if I try and remove him it would have the same consequence.’
‘You don’t have to remove him, he’s already asked to be removed and you, in your wisdom, have already granted it.’
‘Have I? Oh good. When?’
‘The moment the sailing season opens up again in the spring.’
Caligula frowned. ‘Stop talking in riddles.’
‘Princeps, you have very cleverly promised Macro the province of Egypt. The moment he sets foot on the ship in Ostia he will be prefect of Egypt, not prefect of the Praetorian Guard.’
Caligula beamed with understanding and slapped Vespasian on the shoulder. ‘And I could have him killed then without fear of the consequence.’
‘You could, but wouldn’t it be better if you ordered him to commit suicide? That way there could be no possibility of anyone being accused of murder.’
‘Oh, how fortunate I am to have a friend like you, Vespasian. You will tell me what the expression was like on his face after you’ve told him, won’t you?’
CHAPTER XVI
THE SMALL FLAME sputtered into life illuminating five bronze statuettes, standing on the lararium, representing Caenis’ household gods; the reflected glow played on their polished forms giving them the ethereal quality of the deities they symbolised. Vespasian placed a fold of his toga over his head as Caenis set the oil lamp down onto the altar and took her place beside him; behind them stood the household slaves faintly lit by a small fire in the hearth next to the lararium – the only other light in the atrium.
Vespasian poured a wine libation onto the altar and sprinkled a handful of salt into the puddle before spreading his arms and turning his palms upwards. ‘I call upon the lares domestici – or whatever name by which you would like to be called – to ensure that I and my household enjoy what we already have in good health, just as you have done for me before; and that you preserve us and this day safe from all dangers, if there are or shall be any on this day. If you grant a favourable outcome in the matter that we deem that we are speaking of and you preserve us in this present condition or better – and may you so do these things – then I vow that you shall have, in the name of this household, the tokens of our gratitude after the setting of the sun. Nothing more do I ask.’
Caenis then turned to the fire and completed the female part of the morning ritual by offering up a prayer to Vesta, goddess of the hearth, and throwing sweet-smelling incense into the flames. Vespasian watched her, as he had done every morning for the past six months, with an ache in his heart as she performed the duties of the wife that she could never be to him.
The morning prayers complete, the household slaves dispersed to their various duties as pale light seeped in through the windows looking out to the peristylium announcing the beginning of another cold, early April day.
Vespasian pulled the fold of his toga from his head and adjusted it around his shoulders. ‘Our household gods will have another busy day ahead of them,’ he observed with a wry smile. ‘Caligula’s due to inaugurate the theatre that he’s had built in the Forum to display Drusilla to the mob and he wants me and a few others of his “friends” to be present; he said that he might want us to lend a hand. If the large bed with purple sheets in the middle of the stage is anything to go by, then I believe that it’ll be more than just a hand we’ll be having to lend.’
‘Then don’t go, my love.’
Vespasi
an looked at her with raised eyebrows. ‘You know that he can’t be refused, so don’t make unhelpful suggestions.’
Caenis smiled sorrowfully. ‘I’m sorry, I should know better; it’s because he can’t be refused that apart from a couple of visits to your uncle’s house I’ve not set foot out of here since you carried me over the threshold.’
Vespasian looked deep into her sad eyes, beautifully set off by a necklace of clear, blue-glass cylindrical beads that shimmered softly around her throat in the pale light. He sympathised with her frustration at her virtual captivity, but, although Caligula believed her to be in Egypt and Magnus’ brothers had not reported any more sightings of Corvinus’ man or any other suspicious goings on, he still felt it best to keep her inside. He kissed her.
A loud knock at the door cut through the moment; the huge Nubian opened up and Aenor came nervously through the vestibule into the atrium and stood waiting to be spoken to.
‘What does my uncle want, Aenor?’
‘He has asked that you should come to his house at once, master,’ the young German slave boy replied in his guttural accent.
‘Did he give a reason?’
‘He said to tell you that there was an important person waiting to see you there.’
‘Who?’
Aenor scrunched up his face in an effort to remember the exact title that he had been told to pass on. ‘The prefect of the Praetorian Guard.’
It was with great trepidation that Vespasian entered his uncle’s house, passing through the cluster of clients, with their breath steaming in the cold, dawn air, waiting outside to greet their patron. He had allayed Caenis’ fears that he was to be arrested with the logical argument that it would be beneath the prefect’s dignitas to come in person to apprehend a junior senator. Nevertheless he felt a sense of foreboding as he stepped through the vestibule and into the atrium.
‘Ah, there you are, dear boy,’ Gaius boomed in a cheerful voice that betrayed no concern. He was sitting by the hearth with Clemens; both were munching on wrinkled winter apples. ‘Have you breakfasted?’
‘Yes, thank you, Uncle. Good morning, Clemens.’
‘Good morning, Vespasian; the Emperor has sent me.’
Vespasian looked around the room, confused. ‘Where’s Macro?’
Gaius burst out laughing. ‘What did I tell you, Clemens? He spends too much time in that nest of honey and delight; he hasn’t heard.’
‘Heard what?’ Vespasian asked testily.
‘I’m sorry, dear boy, that was my idea of a joke getting you here thinking that Macro was waiting. The Emperor formally relieved Macro of his position yesterday evening, and he’s due to sail for Egypt today to take up his post as prefect there.’
Vespasian glanced at Clemens; a look of understanding spread across his face and he smiled. ‘And you’re the new prefect of the Guard?’
‘One of them,’ Clemens confirmed. ‘However, the Emperor has decided to go back to Augustus’ principle of having two prefects, so I share the position with Lucius Arruntius Stella.’
‘It would appear that our Emperor is not as mad as he seems,’ Gaius said, having got his mirth under control, ‘he’s appointed two prefects who hate each other. That should weaken the Guard, eh, Clemens?’
‘It will certainly create two factions.’
‘And make it twice as likely that a prefect will move against him,’ Vespasian observed. ‘Not that I would suspect you of disloyalty, Clemens – yet.’
Clemens looked worried. ‘With Clementina due back in Rome with Sabinus this summer who knows what cause for disloyalty I may have if Caligula puts his mind to having her?’
‘Then Sabinus should keep her safe out at Aquae Cutillae, as you do your wife at Pisaurum.’
‘Not any more; Caligula ordered me to call her back and bring her to dinner at the palace. There was his new wife, Lolia Paulina, plus twelve other women present, all wives of his guests. He arrived dressed as Apollo and went round feeling each one and then chose two – not Julia, thankfully – and took them to bed while their husbands had to carry on eating as if nothing were happening. When he reappeared with them he started to compare and contrast with the unfortunate husbands the strengths and weaknesses in their wives’ sexual performances. It was excruciating; the two women were obliged to recline there as if the conversation was the most natural thing in the world. Then he ordered Lolia to strip naked so that he could give everyone a practical demonstration of some of the finer points of his arguments.’
‘I’d not heard about that,’ Gaius said, looking horrified.
‘You wouldn’t have; it was last night at the banquet to celebrate Macro’s new position, which was ironic in itself considering what Caligula has sent me here for.’
Vespasian groaned. ‘Oh, I’d hoped that he’d forgotten about that.’
‘If you mean about your offer to be the man who orders Macro to commit suicide as he gets on the ship today, then no he hasn’t.’
‘I didn’t offer, I just suggested that if he wanted to get rid of Macro then that would be the best time, place and way to do it.’
‘Well, however it came about that’s what he wants you to do, and I’ve got to escort you with a turma of my cavalry to make sure that Macro obeys the order.’
‘You do get yourself into some unpleasant situations, dear boy.’
‘That’s not a helpful observation, Uncle,’ Vespasian replied tersely.
‘No, but it’s a pertinent one.’
‘Have you got the warrant?’ Vespasian asked Clemens, ignoring Gaius’ remark.
‘No; we’re to go to his Drusilla theatre; he said he’d see us there, after the show, as he put it, which doesn’t bode well.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ Vespasian got to his feet with a sigh. ‘Well, if I’ve got to do this then I might as well do it properly; I’ve just got to fetch something from my room before we go, Clemens.’
Caligula’s new theatre was not built on as grand a scale as he would have liked but this was for practical reasons; the semicircular structure filled the area between the Rostrum and the Temple of Saturn with its stage set hard against the steps of the Temple of Concordia, almost prohibiting access. However, it did hold over two thousand spectators who were thoroughly enjoying the show, much to the bemusement and disgust of Vespasian and the others of the senatorial order who had been forced to attend. In a humiliation of the Senate Caligula had dispensed with their reserved seating and they were forced to sit among the urban rabble. They had cheered as Caligula, dressed as Hercules in a golden lion-skin and brandishing a golden club, had slowly disrobed his sister. They had cheered louder as he had put her through a series of gymnastic poses, each designed to explicitly show off the female form. And then they had cheered even louder as he began to take her through a succession of sexual acts on the enormous, purple-sheeted bed, while she howled like a harpy.
‘Bring me my gladiators,’ Caligula shouted, pulling himself out of Drusilla, who knelt on the bed before him and then fell onto her belly, breathing deeply.
Vespasian was relieved to see four oiled, naked gladiators, an Ethiopian and three Celts, all at the peak of physical condition, striding onto the stage. He had been dreading a summons to join in the obscenity being acted out before him and now felt confident that his services would not be required.
‘This is going to be worse than you think,’ Clemens whispered in his ear as Drusilla turned her attention to the new arrivals clustered round her with an urgency and greed born out of uninhibited and shameless lust.
‘How can it be worse?’
‘You’ll see. I’ve got archers stationed around the theatre to make sure that nothing happens to Caligula – he was concerned about letting one of the gladiators have a sword so close to him in the finale.’
Hardly able to believe his eyes, Vespasian watched in mounting horror as the siblings created a scene with three of the gladiators of such carnality that it made Caligula’s behaviour in the circus with the catamite s
eem almost acceptable. The tangle of bodies began to writhe with escalating fervour, matched by the increasing clamour of the crowd, until reaching such a pinnacle of ecstasy that they were no longer aware of their surroundings. At this point a Praetorian walked onto the stage and handed a sword to the unoccupied fourth gladiator and then gave a signal towards the back of the theatre. Vespasian looked around and saw that archers were now standing at intervals behind the spectators; all had their bows drawn and were aiming at the newly armed man as he approached, from behind, the Ethiopian gladiator servicing Caligula. Sensing imminent blood the roar of the crowd, already deafening, swelled to ear-splitting proportions. Down on the stage, Caligula raised his fists to his shoulders and flapped his arms in imitation of a cockerel’s wings and then slumped down onto his sister’s back. Grasping Caligula’s hips, the Ethiopian threw his head back and let out a roar, unheard over the din of the crowd, of satisfaction; it was the last sound he ever made. With a lightning flash the fourth gladiator swept his head from his shoulders, sending it spinning into the audience, and releasing a powerful jet of crimson blood, shooting from his torso, high up into the air to splatter down on Caligula and Drusilla. Once the blood had stopped raining down on them Caligula reached back and pushed the decapitated corpse out of him; it crumpled to the floor. The executioner raised his sword in a gladiator’s salute to the crowd and was instantaneously struck by a dozen well-aimed arrows that hurled him back as if he had been yanked by an invisible rope. Seemingly oblivious of this development, Caligula and Drusilla were staring lovingly into each other’s eyes as they rubbed blood over one another. The two surviving gladiators rose warily to their feet, looking anxiously at the archers who had reloaded and were now aiming at them.
‘He was stupid,’ Clemens shouted in Vespasian’s ear, ‘he had been warned to drop the sword as soon as he’d cut off the other man’s head; if he’d listened he wouldn’t be dead. The other two will be fine so long as they don’t go near the sword.’
Vespasian could not think of anything to say and just stared dumbfounded between the Emperor and his sister smearing blood over their bodies and the crowd who had started to play catch with the decapitated gladiator’s head. Where was the honour? What had happened to dignitas? Was this to be the tone of the new age, filth and degradation until the Phoenix returned in five hundred years? And yet this was the Rome that he had worked for in his support for Antonia; this was the Rome that she had unwittingly preserved while keeping her family in power. He had seen it in its infancy on Capreae in the court of Tiberius. He had seen the debauched Emperor’s ‘fishies’ – dwarves and children copulating freely in the water – and had heard Caligula describe them as fun. He had witnessed Caligula’s behaviour with his sisters and knew that incest was committed regularly; he had watched Caligula enjoy his troupe of dwarves and seen him service whore after whore in a public tavern. He had hoped that these were the heights of his excesses; but no, they had just been eclipsed. Vespasian feared then that the height had not yet been achieved.
False God of Rome Page 27
