‘Caligula’s bound to offend someone in such a way that their sense of honour will overrule their judgement, and then we just have to pray that they’re successful.’
‘Yes,’ Vespasian agreed gloomily, flicking another fillet into the pond and watching the feeding frenzy. ‘Just imagine what Caligula’s retribution would be like on the guilty and innocent alike if a plot against him failed.’
‘All the more reason to stay in his favour, dear boy. Take Livius Geminius, for example: he swore an oath that at Drusilla’s funeral he saw her spirit ascending into the heavens to commune with the gods. Complete rubbish, of course, but he was handsomely rewarded for it.’
The tinkling of the door bell floating through from the atrium interrupted them.
‘Ah, that’ll be Magnus and Ziri,’ Vespasian said, getting up. ‘They’ve, er…they’ve brought Flavia with them.’
Gaius looked at him quizzically. ‘Flavia? Is she some relation of yours, a cousin or something?’
‘She must be distantly related; but anyway, I intend to marry her.’
Gaius looked suitably pleased. ‘It’s about time you took that step, dear boy.’
‘Exactly; and with my father’s business keeping him away in Aventicum I need you to negotiate the marriage terms.’
‘I’d be delighted. What’s her father’s name and where does he live?’
‘North of Rome in Ferentium. Flavia’s travelling there tomorrow so she could take your letter to him; apparently you know him, his name is Marcus Flavius Liberalis.’
Gaius frowned. ‘I do know him, he was one of the clerks when I was a quaestor in Africa; he was having trouble proving he was a full citizen and not just the possessor of Latin Rights.’
Vespasian shrugged. ‘He’s certainly a full citizen now; he’s done well enough for himself to have been enrolled into the equestrian order recently.’
‘But what about Flavia? She was born before he sorted out his legal status – I remember her as a child.’
‘She claims full citizenship; I wouldn’t be marrying her otherwise.’
‘It would be as well to check, dear boy, you don’t want your offspring to have legal problems.’
‘Vespasian, my dear,’ Flavia said, walking with breathtaking elegance into the garden as if she owned it, ‘this must be your uncle. Won’t you please reintroduce us?’
‘There’s no need, Flavia,’ Gaius said, gently squeezing the fingers of her proffered right hand, ‘even though it was twenty years ago I remember you perfectly as a little girl of six or so. Did you stay in Africa long?’
‘My father left five years ago, but I stayed on; I was attached, shall we say.’
‘Indeed. Your father was having some trouble with his citizenship status while I was there, as I recall.’
Flavia looked blank. ‘If he was, he never told me about it.’
‘No, why should he have? You were only a child; besides it must be all right now, Vespasian tells me that he’s become an equestrian.’
‘Yes, and I hope that he will settle a large dowry on me so that Vespasian and I can enjoy the finer things in life.’
‘I’m sure he will and I’m equally sure that Vespasian will enjoy spending it on luxurious frivolities.’ Gaius raised a surreptitious, plucked eyebrow at his nephew.
Vespasian thought it best not to express his opinion on the subject and contemplated the fertile ground for many a marital disagreement in the future.
Flavia indicated that the men should be seated. ‘Shall we sit down and call for some wine?’
‘By all means,’ Gaius agreed, visibly surprised by Flavia’s virtual assumption of the role of hostess in his domain.
Vespasian helped Flavia to a chair. ‘I’m afraid that I must leave you, I have to dine with the Emperor.’
Flavia’s eyes widened with delight. ‘How exciting; should I come, do you think?’
‘It would be best to stay here, Flavia,’ Gaius assured her, ‘the Emperor’s liable to take fearful liberties with his female guests. You won’t have that problem with me, I can promise you that.’
Vespasian leant down and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back so don’t wait up for me. Where’s Magnus?’
‘Oh, I left him and Ziri to help my maids put my bags into my room.’
‘And he didn’t object?’
‘Why should he? I asked him so nicely.’
Vespasian raised his eyebrows and turned to go to find Magnus, wondering whether his friend had been right about Flavia.
‘All I’m saying, sir,’ Magnus concluded as they reached the summit of the Palatine, ‘is that just because Flavia’s come back with you to Rome that’s not a reason for you to have to go through with the marriage. You’d be mad to – she’ll make your life a misery. Granted she showed good spirit in Alexandria, and yes, she would have formidable sons, but you should have seen her at the port once you’d gone; just because you’d been summoned by the Emperor she started ordering everyone around and shouting at people who weren’t even slaves. She’s using you, which is fair enough, but what are you going to get in return, eh? You can’t even bear the thought of buying and feeding just one slave; how are you going to feel when she demands that you purchase a whole household? You’re going to find yourself having blazing rows about how many hairdressers she has because a woman like that is going to want more than two, as sure as a new recruit wants to go home to his mother.’
‘Two?’
‘More than two.’
Vespasian grimaced, acknowledging that Magnus had a point. He had realised that Flavia was going to be expensive but had only thought in terms of dresses and jewellery and not all the things that accompanied them. One of them – and he felt sure that it would not be her – would have to change if the marriage were to work. But then, he reflected, what other woman would be happy to become his wife knowing that he would have a lifelong mistress? And if he were to find another, would she get his blood racing in the way that Flavia did by his just thinking of her? She was making a sacrifice, Caenis was making a sacrifice, therefore, he reasoned, he could bear to buy a few slaves for the sake of some sort of harmony in his domestic arrangements.
‘No, my mind’s made up, Magnus, I will marry her and try to accommodate her wishes; after all, what’s the worst that could happen?’
‘She could spend all your money and you could be expelled from the Senate,’ Magnus informed him as they reached Augustus’ House. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you here, sir, I sent Ziri straight over to the crossroads, so the brothers know I’m back; they should have a decent party prepared for me when I get there. I’ll be willing to bet that it’ll be a fuck sight more civilised than what you’re going to get in there.’
‘That may well be true,’ Vespasian said softly, looking at a steady stream of senators arriving with nervous-looking wives and wondering whether Magnus might be right on both counts.
Watching his friend disappear back down the hill he had a moment of self-doubt but then, shaking his head and dismissing it, he turned to follow the senators in. As he did so a familiar voice drawled in his ear. ‘I hear that you’ve been lowering yourself to petty theft now.’
‘Piss off, Sabinus,’ Vespasian said, spinning around to face his brother.
‘That seems to be your standard greeting to me these days, brother.’
‘If you started by thanking me for sending your things on to you in Bithynia and supervising the completion of your house then you might have got something more cordial.’
‘Fair enough; thank you.’
‘Where’s Clementina? I hope you’re not bringing her here.’
‘Not a chance. Caligula seems to have forgotten about her, he hasn’t mentioned her once since I got back. I’ve left her at Aquae Cutillae.’
‘She should be safe enough there.’
‘Let’s hope so. Come on, we should go in and see which poor sod the Emperor’s going to publicly cuckold tonight.’
‘So how
do you know about me stealing the breastplate?’ Vespasian asked as they began walking towards the palace doors. ‘I only got back today and I gave it straight to Caligula.’
‘Pallas.’
‘Pallas? How did he find out?’
‘Oh, he knows everything now that he lives here in the palace. Caligula ordered Claudius to move in so that he could humiliate him on a daily basis; Pallas is part of his household now so he came too.’
‘And Narcissus?’ Vespasian asked, thinking about the gold in his uncle’s house.
‘Yes, and Narcissus,’ Sabinus confirmed, looking sideways at his brother. ‘Did I detect a note of concern in your voice?’
‘I’d just rather not see him at the moment, that’s all.’
‘Well, you won’t this evening, he’s down at the Bay of Neapolis. Caligula put Claudius in charge of getting all the ships for his bridge but then demanded that he stay in Rome so that he could carry on humiliating him; Claudius handed over the practicalities to Narcissus.’
Vespasian was shocked. ‘A freedman with the power to commandeer ships! That’s outrageous.’
Sabinus grinned. ‘Just imagine how Corbulo feels about it; he’s got to work with him. He’s been charged with building the road across the bridge and getting running water to it.’
‘Running water on a bridge?’
‘Oh, it’s not just a bridge going from one end to the other; it’s got peninsulas attached to it with accommodation furnished in the manner that Caligula feels is suitable for a god: triclinia in which two hundred people could easily recline, atriums with fountains, even a couple of bath houses.’
‘All that in two months!’ Vespasian exclaimed as they entered the atrium with its ragged queue of urban poor.
‘The industry of Rome has worked on nothing else, I’m told.’ Sabinus leant closer to Vespasian and whispered in his ear. ‘It’s a phenomenal waste of money but I’m really looking forward to seeing it.’
‘You’re going to travel down there just to have a look?’
‘You will as well; Caligula’s ordered every senator to escort him down to the bay and witness his triumph.’
The gardens to the rear of Augustus’ House were stepped on two levels, clinging to the edge of the Palatine and overlooking the arched facade of the Circus Maximus. Along the low balustrade of the upper level, dining tables had been arranged in such a way that all those reclining at them would have a good view down to the second level where two stages had been set. Although it was still at least three hours until the late, summer dusk, torches, in tall brass holders, burned beside each stage and all around the gardens’ perimeter as well as at intervals among the tables. Brightly coloured linen canopies littered the lawn of the upper garden under which the Emperor’s dinner guests stood or sat drinking chilled wine and talking in the animated manner of people ill at ease but trying to conceal it.
Vespasian and Sabinus stood at the top of the steps leading down from the house and admired the beauty of the scene before them: the colour, the elegance, the soft evening light.
‘It would be a pleasure to be here if one knew for certain that one would leave alive, would it not, gentlemen?’ a voice behind them commented quietly.
The brothers turned, both smiling at the truth of the statement.
‘Pallas,’ Vespasian said with genuine pleasure, ‘how are you? Sabinus tells me that you live here now.’
Pallas looked grave. ‘I think that you’ve answered your own question, Vespasian: I live here.’
‘It’s as bad as that, is it?’
Pallas pointed down into the garden to where some guests were laughing with evidently feigned hilarity at a man in their midst. He stood with his hands outstretched, except he had no hands, just cauterised blackened stumps; his hands were tied to a piece of rope and hung around his neck along with a sign.
‘The sign says: “I stole from the Emperor”,’ Pallas informed them.
‘And did he?’ Sabinus asked.
‘A small strip of decorative silver had fallen off a couch and he was taking it to the steward to be mended when Caligula saw him with it; life here has become very arbitrary.’
‘Life has always been arbitrary.’
‘Granted, but generally within the parameters of the law; our new god seems to have forgotten about the law. My patron, Claudius, however, loves the law; think about that, gentlemen.’ Pallas patted them both on the shoulder and walked away.
‘Don’t get involved,’ Vespasian warned Sabinus as they descended the steps.
‘I’ve no intention of doing so,’ Sabinus replied, taking two cups of wine from a slave and handing one to his brother, ‘I intend to stay alive. However, it’s comforting to know that we have a good friend close to the only obvious heir to the Purple.’
A fanfare of bucinae blared over the garden and all conversation stopped as everyone looked with sycophantic longing towards the main doors of the house at the top of the steps. A horse trotted out and looked around in a semi-curious equine fashion. From behind it came a shout of ‘Hail Incitatus’.
The dinner guests responded immediately. ‘Hail Incitatus! Hail Incitatus!’
Having never paid homage to a horse before, Vespasian found it a struggle to keep a straight face as he joined in with an enthusiasm fired more by the absurdity of the situation rather than any great respect for the beast being lauded.
The chant quickly turned into ‘Hail Divine Caesar!’ as Caligula, flanked by Clemens and Chaerea, appeared next to his favourite subject, dressed soberly – Vespasian thought, considering some of the costumes that he had seen him wearing – in a purple toga edged in gold and crowned with a golden laurel wreath.
‘This evening,’ Caligula declaimed, ‘we are here to honour not only me but also my good friend, my trusted ally, my comrade, the man who brought the breastplate of Alexander back from Egypt to me: Titus Flavius Vespasianus. Tomorrow at noon we can begin our progress down to the Bay of Neapolis where I shall ride in triumph across my greatest creation. Come forward, Vespasian, and receive my thanks – you shall be a praetor next year.’
Vespasian walked slowly back up the steps to a beaming Caligula, who held his arms open to him. As he reached the penultimate step he was enfolded in a purple embrace and kissed on each cheek to the applause of the people below.
‘Only a man like this,’ Caligula declared, turning Vespasian around to face the audience and putting a hand on each shoulder, ‘could I trust to go to Egypt, the source of so much of Rome’s wealth. No senator has visited it for four years, not since Tiberius’ astrologer, Thrasyllus, warned him of the imminent return of the Phoenix, heralding a great change and made a prophecy about it. Did you see the Phoenix while you were in Alexandria, Vespasian?’
‘No, Divine Gaius,’ Vespasian replied truthfully.
Caligula looked triumphant. ‘Of course not, because it has flown. Last year, three years after its rebirth, it was seen leaving Egypt flying east; Thrasyllus’ prophecy was not fulfilled. You are blessed, my sheep, because the change heralded by the Phoenix is that Rome is ruled by an immortal god; I will rule for another five hundred years until the Phoenix is sighted again. Until then I open Egypt back up to any member of the Senate who has good reason to travel there.’
This was greeted with a loud cheer from the many senators who had dealings with the Emperor’s private province.
‘And now we shall eat; Vespasian shall have the great honour of reclining on my right.’ He moved past Vespasian and began to descend the steps.
‘Divine Gaius,’ Chaerea said in his high-pitched voice, following him down, ‘what is the watchword for the night?’
Caligula stopped and laughed. ‘I love his sweet voice!’ He turned and put his middle finger to Chaerea’s lips, parting them slightly and then wiggling them provocatively. ‘Such a sweet voice deserves a sweet watchword, does it not?’
Sycophantic cries of agreement compounded the Praetorian tribune’s humiliation.
‘In which
case the watchword is Venus; the sweetest of gods for the sweetest of men.’
Caligula turned and skipped daintily down the steps to the raucous laughter of his guests. Vespasian saw the anger burning in Chaerea’s eyes but otherwise his face remained impassive. Clemens’ hand went to his sword hilt as he watched his junior colleague control himself. Finally Chaerea saluted and matched stiffly away.
Magnus would not have lost his bet, Vespasian reflected as he tried to swallow a mouthful of perch while watching yet another beheading on one of the stages below. In a strange juxtaposition the other stage contained a group of dancers performing to the soft melody of two flutes.
‘Something for everyone,’ Caligula enthused, feeding an apple to Incitatus whose head nuzzled between him and Vespasian. ‘Art or death, take your pick and enjoy.’
‘P-p-personally I’ll t-t-take death, Divine and Supreme G-G-Gaius,’ Claudius stammered, watching the blood spurt from the severed neck with relish; his arousal was plain for all to see and the pretty, fair-skinned girl reclining next to him had edged as far away from him as good manners would allow. ‘I could never understand the p-p-point of dancing.’
‘That’s because there’s no point in you dancing, cripple,’ Caligula observed, ‘your legs would buckle underneath you.’ He fell about laughing far more uproariously than the observation deserved; his dinner companions had no option but to join in.
‘Your d-divine insight is faultless,’ Claudius said through his own laughter.
‘So let’s prove the point; go and dance with them, Uncle.’
Claudius’ slack-lipped mouth fell open and his bloodshot eyes flicked around the table appealing for help; it was not forthcoming, not even from his pretty companion, who looked away with a faint smile of regret edging her moist, pale lips.
‘Go!’ Caligula hissed with quiet menace; malice played in his eyes.
Realising that he had no choice but to humiliate himself in front of the whole company, Claudius got to his unsteady feet and lurched off down the steps to the lower garden.
‘This will be highly amusing,’ Caligula affirmed. ‘I’ve made him run, skip, jump and crawl but I’ve never made him dance.’ He turned to Claudius’ attractive companion. ‘Can you make him fuck, Messalina, or are you putting that horror off until your wedding night?’
False God of Rome Page 38
