Rome's Lost Son

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘That only works if there is a suitable candidate from the imperial family. But each province with legions will want their own generals, because if they support a man to the Purple they know they’ll be very well rewarded.’

  ‘Civil war, you mean?’

  ‘Of course. And there’re no rules about what blood a man needs running in his veins in order to win a civil war; he just needs to ensure that it stays in them.’

  Gaius turned his hooded face towards Vespasian, his voice conveying his consternation. ‘You, dear boy?’

  ‘Why not? Sabinus was at my naming ceremony; he saw the auspices but has always refused to talk about it because of the oath. However, he asked me, after Claudius had taken back the sword, what if Antonia had not given it to me as a simple gift but had actually given it to the person that she thought would make the best emperor, as she had always said she would? And at that moment I thought: Why not? Why not me? Because someday it will be someone from a different family; it has to be if Rome is to survive. Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius? If Nero is like any one of them then …’ Vespasian trailed off; the point did not need to be made.

  ‘You think that Sabinus believes you could become …?’ It was Gaius’ turn to leave a question hanging.

  ‘I’m not saying that; all I’m saying is that he put it into my mind. And I think that Pallas also has a suspicion; I think Antonia said something to both him and Caenis when she gave them her father’s sword to pass on to me before she died, but I’m willing to bet that she swore them to secrecy. But I think that Pallas managing to help me to a position which is obviously so fraught with danger that Agrippina does not expect me to survive is his way of testing whether Antonia was right.’

  ‘You mean if you survive you’ll eventually become …?’ Gaius tried but again failed to complete the sentence.

  ‘I expect that if I survive Pallas might look at me in a different light.’

  ‘You don’t seriously think that you could be the …?’

  ‘Why not, Uncle? Look at me: look at how far I’ve come since being brought to your house when I was sixteen with lofty ideals of serving Rome for the greater good. I’m now consul, admittedly only for two months, but I’ve reached that rank because of what I’ve achieved and not because of what blood flows in my veins. I’ve commanded a legion in the field for six years, four of those in Britannia against some very unpleasant tribes; I’ve spilt blood when necessary and sometimes when not. Here, in Rome, I know how the politics of the city and of the palace work because for years now I’ve been unwillingly wading through their mire; I’ve become just as ruthless as the practitioners whom I’ve learnt from and whom I’ve come to admire. I understand the power of money, fear and patronage and know that any man can be bought by a mixture of all three; it’s just a question of finding the right levels of each ingredient. I’m ideally qualified.’

  Gaius’ jowls quivered with fear. ‘You can’t believe that you’ll succeed to the …?’

  ‘No, Uncle; but I may fight my way there one day. If the blood of the Caesars fails there’ll be a scramble for the Purple and who better than someone like me? But if it’s to be someone like me then why not me?’

  ‘And you think all this just because of a mark that looks like a “V” on a liver?’

  ‘Not just that. I think this because then many things, strange things, that have happened in my life start to make sense: the Phoenix, the prophecy of Amphiaraios, Myrddin, the Oracle of Amun telling me that I had come before it too early to know the right question to ask; every weird thing that has happened to me would be explained by that.’

  ‘This is something that you should keep to yourself, dear boy; it won’t do to go about shouting that you’re a potential …’ Gaius still could not bring himself to say the word.

  ‘Oh, I will keep it to myself, Uncle. And I won’t dare to believe that I’m right until it happens. However, because I know the possibility is now there I shall watch out for sensible opportunities and will not do anything rash in the meantime.’

  ‘Like agreeing to secret meetings with scheming imperial freedmen in the middle of the night, for example?’ Gaius suggested as they came to the acute junction of the Alta Semita and the Vicus Longus at the apex of which stood Magnus’ tavern.

  Vespasian smiled at his uncle. ‘This may well be an opportunity; and besides,’ he added as he pushed open the door, ‘it’s not a secret.’

  Vespasian did not pull back his hood as he entered the crowded fug of the parlour; sweat, stale wine, cheap-whores’ perfume and burnt pork fat assaulted his nose, his ears rang with drunken shouting and harsh laughter and his eyes immediately moistened with stinging charcoal fumes from the cooking fire behind the amphorae-lined bar at the wider, far end of the tavern. Gaius’ girth caused some comment – not all of it good-humoured – as they followed their escort across a wine-sticky floor, through the shadowy crowd of drinkers and whores filling the widening room. To quizzical looks they passed through a leather-curtained doorway and then turned right into an unlit corridor. At the far end on the left, the leader of their escort, a huge bald man in his late fifties, knocked with a ham-sized fist on a substantial iron-reinforced door and opened it at the sound of a response from within.

  ‘Well done, Sextus,’ Magnus said, getting up from his seat behind the desk as the door swung open. ‘Any trouble?’

  ‘No, brother,’ Sextus replied, stepping aside to allow Vespasian and Gaius into the room.

  ‘Good. Now take your lads outside and keep an eye out for our two guests.’

  Sextus hesitated for a moment and then rumbled slowly into a guttural laugh. ‘Aw, very good, Magnus,’ he managed between bursts of mirth. ‘Keep an eye out! I like that.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Magnus said, shaking his head, exasperated. ‘It was almost funny the first time we had that joke, three years ago.’ His one good eye looked at Vespasian apologetically while his glass replica glared at Sextus, adding to the man’s enjoyment of the humour. ‘Now get out and do what you’ve been told.’

  ‘Keep an eye out,’ Sextus chuckled as he left with his brothers, ‘right you are, Magnus.’

  ‘Sextus has got a new joke, I take it,’ Vespasian said as he took the seat that Magnus had just vacated.

  Magnus picked up the pitcher on the desk and poured three cups of wine. ‘Each time he hears it he thinks it’s for the first time.’

  ‘Just like he used to when he was always offering to give one-armed Marius a helping hand.’

  ‘Yes, it’s the same thing and it keeps him amused for hours.’

  Gaius sat in the chair next to his nephew, accepting a cup of wine. ‘Still, he’s a reliable solid lad, from what I know of him.’

  ‘Solid being a good choice of word in more ways than one, sir,’ Magnus observed, proffering a cup to Vespasian. ‘He knows his limitations and didn’t make a fuss when I promoted Tigran to my second in command when old Servius died.’ Magnus walked across the room, opened a door on the far side and looked out into the darkness beyond. ‘I do miss the old bugger,’ he continued, closing the door and bolting it. ‘Even though he was blind towards the end he could still see the right way through a problem.’ Magnus paused to consider for a moment. ‘I was thinking over what you were saying this morning about retiring now; it may not be such a bad idea. I promised Tigran that I would soon. Perhaps it’d be better to do it now rather than have it forced upon me by one of the other brotherhoods staging a takeover or Tigran slipping a knife between my ribs because he can’t wait.’

  Vespasian raised his eyebrows. ‘He’d do that?’

  ‘He’s already thought about it; it was only my promise that stopped him. Anyway, that’s how I got the job all those years ago.’ Magnus closed and secured the shutters on the only window in the room, dulling the rumble of traffic and drunken shouts coming in from the street.

  ‘Twenty-six, to be precise,’ Gaius informed them. ‘I should remember because it cost me a fortune in bribes and blood-money to s
ave you from being condemned to the arena.’

  ‘For which I’ve always been grateful, senator.’

  ‘And you’ve repaid me many times over.’ Gaius chuckled, holding his cup in both hands. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll get quite as good service from the brotherhood if Tigran becomes the patronus.’

  ‘It’ll certainly cost you more; but I’m sure we can come to an accommodation as part of the transfer of power.’ A knock on the door prevented him from elaboration on the point. ‘Ah, your guests.’ He opened it to find Sextus’ massive form blocking the doorway; he moved to one side, his shoulders shaking slightly as if he was still controlling his amusement.

  A moment later, Narcissus walked into the room, removing his hood; Agarpetus followed. Narcissus glanced at Magnus with languid, pale eyes. ‘The redoubtable Magnus of the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood,’ he crooned, walking straight to a chair and sitting opposite Vespasian and Gaius; the scent of his pomade wafted through the room. ‘Thank you for your hospitality. Losing your grip a bit recently, I hear, hmm?’

  Magnus bristled. ‘Not so as you’d notice.’ He shot Narcissus a one-eyed glare and then pushed past Agarpetus and left the room.

  Narcissus affected not to notice the slam of the door. ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’

  ‘Good evening, imperial secretary,’ Vespasian and Gaius replied as Agarpetus stepped forward to stand at his patron’s right shoulder.

  ‘You had a safe journey, I trust,’ Gaius asked at his most ingratiating.

  ‘I came by carriage and the roads were terrible; clogged with scroungers and wastrels drunk on our merciful Emperor’s wine.’ The Greek examined one of the many bejewelled rings he wore on each of his chubby fingers and spoke as if addressing the ruby set in it: ‘Which is exactly why I chose tonight for our meeting. So we will get directly to business and forgo the small talk.’

  ‘We’ve always respected your penchant for straight-talking,’ Vespasian replied while pouring another cup of wine.

  Narcissus’ mouth twitched into the nearest he ever came to smiling. He leant forward and placed his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers and pressing them to his lips above his trimmed and oiled black beard; weighty gold rings, dangling from each ear, glinted in the lamplight as they rocked to and fro. He considered Vespasian and Gaius for a few moments, his eyes slowly passing between them as if he was deciding whom to address first. Raucous laughter over a steadily increasing chanting and clapping filtered in from the tavern; a whore and her client were evidently being encouraged in their endeavours.

  Vespasian pushed the filled cup across the desk, holding his visitor’s gaze when it fell upon him, and was shocked by how lined Narcissus’ well-filled-out face had become since the last time he had seen him at such close quarters. The strain of losing his position of influence with the Emperor – if not his title and function – to his colleague Pallas had evidently borne down hard on him; it was not easy living with the constant fear of execution. However, Vespasian felt no sympathy for him as he observed the black staining of dye on the pale skin around his hairline and beneath his beard. The threat of arbitrary death had been the lot of every Roman of the equestrian order and up from Tiberius’ reign onwards; the closer one was to the centre of power the more acute that danger became. It was something that Pallas had admitted the one time he had let his mask slip in front of Vespasian.

  ‘You both know very well the situation that I find myself in,’ Narcissus began, half-closing his eyes. ‘I am the Emperor’s secretary, in charge of his appointments and therefore access to him; yet for the last couple of years my influence over him has been negligible. Since Pallas and Agrippina manoeuvred me into ordering Messalina’s execution before Claudius had completely settled his mind upon it, I have been out of favour with my patron. Yes, I can still make a great deal of money charging for audiences but that is nothing compared to what Pallas makes charging for influence. I remain alive because Claudius cannot bring himself to order my execution as only I know the ins and outs of all his business affairs; I’m alive because he is too chaotic to survive without me. Agrippina has made a couple of attempts on my life but I’m too careful for her; but very soon she won’t have to resort to murder. Once Claudius is dead I think it is very obvious to all what will happen.’ He parted his hands a fraction and held them still, inviting Vespasian to fill in the gap.

  ‘Nero will become emperor.’

  ‘Yes, Claudius’ attitude to Britannicus this afternoon showed us just how far he has estranged himself from his own flesh and blood. He even granted Agrippina’s request and had Sosibius executed this evening as being responsible for Britannicus’ carefully studied insult.’

  Vespasian was shocked at the extreme result of Britannicus’ revenge and wondered if either the boy or Titus had realised the possibility of that outcome. He found himself hoping that they had: it was sweet justice for the man whose lies had forced him to bear false witness. ‘Of course, he was Messalina’s appointment; I suppose it was only a matter of time before Agrippina got him.’

  ‘She is not feted for her mercy; and she is ruthless in fighting for Nero’s and therefore her own position. She couldn’t have the boy executed so the tutor would have to do.’ Narcissus inclined his head a fraction. ‘Lucky that Titus wasn’t standing next to Britannicus.’

  Vespasian chilled but then felt a surge of hope. ‘Perhaps with his tutor’s death, I’ve got a good excuse to find an alternative for Titus.’

  ‘I’m afraid not; Britannicus’ education and that of his companions has now been entrusted to Seneca. Claudius has managed to put Britannicus in even more danger by giving him to the one man whom Agrippina respects and Nero actually listens to. Because Seneca’s as ruthless as the two of them in the pursuit of power he will share their view that Britannicus is an obstacle. Whatever you thought of Sosibius, at least he provided some sort of protection from those three.’

  Vespasian took the point and began to wish that the odious tutor had not been so summarily dealt with.

  ‘So, Claudius will condemn his own son to death by making Nero his heir and that poisonous little snake does everything his mother tells him to.’ Narcissus re-steepled his fingers and looked meaningfully at each of them in turn. ‘Everything. And she gets him to do everything she asks because she in turn does everything that he asks of her; and I can tell you, gentlemen, that his requests are far removed from what a son should ask of his mother.’

  Vespasian shuddered at the image but, having seen Nero snuggling up to Agrippina and resting his head on her breast that afternoon, it did not come as much of a shock to him. In fact, he reflected, after what he had seen with Tiberius and Caligula, that there was very little that the imperial family could now do to shock him. Caligula had made free with all his sisters, Agrippina amongst them; why should she not go further than him and do the same with her son? But then how would the Senate and people of Rome take to having such an unnatural couple rule over them? And if Nero felt free to bed his own mother, what depravity would not be beyond him?

  From the bar the clapping and cheering had reached a crescendo; a successful conclusion to the business was clearly imminent.

  Narcissus raised his voice, slightly, over the noise. ‘One of the first conditions that she will extract from Nero for her acquiescence to his unhealthy demands once he becomes emperor will be my death; and that, gentlemen, is something that I intend to avoid.’ Narcissus paused for a sip of wine, frowned his disapproval at the vintage, or lack of it, and then dabbed his lips with a handkerchief. ‘Now, interestingly, you two find yourselves with a similar, if not quite so potentially fatal, problem.’ Narcissus indicated to his freedman with a fractional head movement. ‘Agarpetus came across some very interesting intelligence from the trierarchus of a trading ship just back from the Kingdom of Colchis on the eastern coast of the Euxine. It would seem a Parthian embassy passed through Phasis, the major port of Colchis, towards the end of September heading home by way of the Kingdoms
of Iberia and Albania and then across the Caspian Sea, thus skirting very close to the north of our client kingdom of Armenia.

  ‘Now, that may be nothing in itself: the Parthians are often sending embassies to the tribes and kingdoms around the Euxine and our traders are always reporting them; we pay well for the information. But what caught Agarpetus’ eye was an earlier report intercepted from one of Agrippina’s people that he had killed an agent, as he had been ordered, very soon after the man had informed the Governor of Moesia that a Parthian embassy to the tribes beyond the Danuvius had arrived in Tyra, just to the north of that province, and therefore this agent had been prevented from getting the news to his pay-master; unfortunately we don’t know who that was. This happened, as I said, in September, at the end of which month, incidentally, our puppet king in Armenia was subject to an invasion led by his nephew. It’s a reasonable assumption that this was the same embassy and it’s also reasonable to assume from their route home that on their way to the Danuvius they passed through Iberia. Now, Iberia was the base for this invasion that has since managed to topple the Armenian King.’ Narcissus raised an eyebrow at his audience and braved another sip of wine as a massive cheer broke out next door.

  Vespasian saw Narcissus’ implication immediately. ‘Therefore the Parthians could have triggered the Armenian usurpation on their way through and Sabinus must have failed to kill or capture them, even though he had been warned about their presence.’

  ‘It would seem that way; very careless, wouldn’t you say?’ Narcissus dabbed his lips again; the noise level from the tavern had dropped back down to laughter and boisterous conversation. ‘If we had a chance to question them we would know the object of their mission to the northern tribes and, more importantly, we would know for sure if Parthia is once again trying to destabilise Armenia. Still, it’s done now and one can only hope that the consequences aren’t too … er … disastrous for Rome – or indeed, for Sabinus and perhaps even his family?’

  ‘Are you threatening us, Narcissus?’