Rome's Lost Son

by Robert Fabbri

  With a jolt, Vespasian suddenly understood that it was not Britannicus that Pallas and Agrippina planned to murder, but the Emperor.

  Gaius too made the connection and got to his feet in a state of alarm. ‘I think there is some urgent correspondence that needs my attention in my study.’

  ‘Sit down, Senator Pollo, you are already involved.’ Pallas’ voice, normally so level and measured, was harsh and Gaius sat back down sharply, causing his wickerwork chair to creak in protest. ‘I apologise for my tone, Gaius; my nerves are very stretched at present.’

  Vespasian could see the tension in the freedman’s expression; his face had always been a mask, betraying nothing of his thoughts, but now that mask was slipping. ‘So how are you going to achieve this?’

  ‘Agrippina will be responsible for doing it.’

  ‘Poison, then?’

  Pallas nodded and drained his cup; his mask had returned and he showed nothing of his thoughts for or against the woman’s weapon of poison. ‘It will be done over a period of time with small doses and will be complete before Britannicus comes of age. It will appear as if it were a natural death; no one will suspect a thing. What I need of you two gentlemen is to ensure that the Senate doesn’t dawdle this time in proclaiming Nero the new emperor. As soon as you hear the news of Claudius’ death you must insist upon a full meeting of the Senate and both speak for Nero.’

  Gaius did not look enamoured of the prospect. ‘That will make us very conspicuous.’

  ‘It will also serve to draw the venom that Agrippina harbours for Vespasian, Gaius. I made him a promise, when he went to the East at my bidding, to help protect him from her; this is me making good that promise. I’m trusting you both with advance knowledge of an emperor’s death so that you can be the first to hail his successor; that should be the sort of conspicuousness that is a benefit not a curse.’

  Gaius mumbled thanks and apologies at the same time and then tried to cover his embarrassment by tucking into the last cake.

  Pallas took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘But before I give my full and unequivocal support to Agrippina and Nero I need to know if she has committed any treason by colluding with Rome’s enemies that could be used against her and therefore against me.’ He turned to Vespasian and waited for him to speak.

  Vespasian spoke for almost an hour recounting his conversations with Sabinus, Tryphaena, Paelignus, Vologases and Felix. When he was finished Pallas sat in thoughtful silence. ‘Tryphaena?’ he said after a while. ‘So the embassy wasn’t Parthian after all but her people masquerading as such. I suppose that the leaders of the northern tribes wouldn’t know the difference between a real and a fake Parthian. In reality they probably just spent a few days of meaningless conversation with the embassy, having no idea that they were being deceived; but it was enough to make us suspicious. It was just all about timing; that explains it.’ He gave a rare smile. ‘Narcissus was wrong; Agrippina had nothing to do with it.’ His smile broadened. ‘That’s a great weight cleared from my mind. If she’s not vulnerable to the accusation of treason then I can feel safe enough to press ahead with our arrangements. Tryphaena has prepared the ground for us very well indeed; there is even an Armenian delegation just arrived in the city to plead with the Emperor to send in more troops. Luring Parthia into a war with Rome has done everything that she hoped. People are now openly blaming Claudius for the instability in the East; only a couple of days ago a series of senators spoke against him in the Senate – in guarded terms, admittedly, but still against him.’

  Gaius nodded, licking crumbs from his fingers. ‘I was there; it made me rather uneasy. Can you imagine anyone doing that with Caligula?’

  ‘Or, for that matter, in the early days of Claudius’ reign?’ Pallas contemplated that for a few moments. ‘No, it has weakened him; that and his drinking as well as all the stories whispered by Seneca and Burrus, exaggerating Nero’s capabilities and intelligence; people are now ready for a change. Especially since Paelignus came back to Rome boasting of how he lost a couple of fingers while he bloodied the Parthian nose but was then forced to withdraw because of lack of reinforcements.’

  ‘Paelignus is back?’ Vespasian felt a surge of hatred for the odious little procurator who had cost him two years of his life.

  ‘Yes, and foolishly he’s let it be known that he was very wealthy again with what he brought back and then what he inherited on the death of his father last year. Claudius made him a senator now that he’s passed the financial threshold and has since, when sober, been systematically stripping him of his new wealth at the gaming table.’

  ‘I’d like to strip him of a lot more than that. He betrayed me to the Parthians in Armenia.’

  ‘Did he now? That’s not how Paelignus tells it.’ Pallas held Vespasian’s gaze. ‘You’ll have the perfect opportunity for revenge for what he did to you in Armenia in the blood-letting that will follow Nero’s ascension.’

  ‘And will there be much?’

  ‘I hope not. If, between Seneca, Burrus and myself, we can keep Nero in line then he could make a fine emperor; at least at the beginning.’

  That was not Vespasian’s reading of Nero’s character. ‘And after the beginning?’

  ‘We’ll see what happens once power ceases to be a novelty. The important thing is for him not to think that the Senate are against him, as Claudius did at the start of his reign; and that will be down to you two. Emphasise in your speeches that Nero will show strength from the very start by prosecuting the war in Armenia that Vologases is so considerately continuing for both our sakes.’

  Vespasian had a moment of clarity. ‘If it’s strength that he wants to portray then he should also do something here, something tangible that both the Senate and the people will respect.’

  Pallas was interested. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘Your brother’s warning about this Jewish cult; have Nero take a personal interest in stamping them out in Rome.’

  ‘A couple of years ago, while you were away, Claudius expelled a whole load of people, Jews and otherwise, for worshipping somebody called Chrestus; is that the same thing?’

  ‘Probably; but does it matter? The important thing is to unite the majority of the people behind the new Emperor by vilifying a dangerous minority and exterminating them.’

  Pallas got to his feet. ‘Yes, that should bring about a communal sense of wellbeing; especially if we can find a couple of higher profile members of this cult. Gaius, I’m afraid that I have to decline your kind offer to stay for lunch; I need to get back to the Palatine to escort Claudius to the Senate. No need to get up, gentlemen; I trust that you will be present to hear the Emperor speak at the seventh hour?’ Without waiting for a reply he walked out of the garden, leaving Gaius sweating with fear of knowledge that he would rather not have possessed and Vespasian contemplating his revenge on Paelignus.

  ‘Father!’ Titus called as he entered the garden with Magnus shortly after Pallas had left. With a distinct lack of decorum he ran to Vespasian, who stood and returned his son’s embrace with equal measure.

  Making a conscious effort not to comment on how much Titus had grown or coming out with any of the other stock phrases that always seem to accompany a reunion with a child after some considerable time, Vespasian took his son by the shoulders and held him at arm’s length, admiring him.

  ‘I nearly choked when he was let in,’ Magnus said. ‘I thought it was you at the age when we first met.’

  ‘There’s no denying your paternity, Vespasian,’ Gaius added, pleased to have a pleasant family observation to make to take his mind off what Pallas had revealed.

  Titus was indeed the younger image of his father, stocky, round-faced with a prominent nose and humorous eyes; the one difference was that he lacked the permanent strained expression, as if he was having difficulty at stool, which Vespasian had developed during his time commanding the II Augusta.

  ‘I thought we’d lost you, Father,’ Titus said after a few moments of
staring at each other.

  Vespasian fingered Titus’ toga praetexta, the purple-bordered toga worn by magistrates as well as boys who had not yet come of age. ‘You’ll be fifteen in December, won’t you, Titus?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘Then we’d better do something about this. Tomorrow I shall declare you to be a man.’

  Titus beamed at Vespasian. ‘Thank you, Father. May I ask Britannicus to come and witness it?’

  ‘Lunch is ready, master,’ Gaius’ steward announced from the door.

  Gaius’ face lit up. ‘At last, Ewald; I’m famished.’

  Vespasian put his arm around Titus’ shoulder and led him towards the house. ‘I must insist upon you not seeing Britannicus for a while, Titus.’

  ‘But what about our lessons together and our riding and sword play?’

  ‘They’re going to have to be suspended.’

  Titus stopped and looked at his father as Magnus and Gaius walked on. ‘Are you telling me that Nero is about to become emperor?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Because I know what will happen; Britannicus told me. Claudius will be assassinated, Nero will become emperor and Britannicus’ life will be over. He’s no fool, Britannicus. He knows that Claudius must die before he comes of age in order for Nero to become emperor unopposed; it’s obvious, therefore, that he’ll be assassinated sometime in the New Year. I assume that you telling me that I’ve got to break my ties with Britannicus is because you’ve found out about the assassination. Pallas’ presence here means that he’s told you so that you can be prepared to work for him in the Senate, supporting Nero.’

  Vespasian was astounded. ‘Did you work all that out yourself?’

  ‘The part about the reason for Pallas being here, yes, but all the rest was with Britannicus.’

  ‘Has he told his father?’

  Titus was dismissive. ‘Of course; but Claudius won’t listen and just laughs it off and says “good luck to you, my boy” as if Fortuna can postpone the inevitable. He’s told Britannicus that once he reaches his fourteenth birthday he’ll change his will and make Britannicus his heir instead of Nero.’ Titus gave a grim chuckle. ‘Claudius is as stupid as Britannicus is clever and if Claudius chooses to do nothing then both their deaths will be inevitable. Britannicus does get some comfort from the fact that his idiot father will die before him; but I’ll get no comfort from losing my friend who helped me keep my mind off you when we thought you were …’ Titus trailed off, evidently embarrassed to display such sentiments.

  ‘You mustn’t say a word of this to anyone, Titus.’

  ‘Of course not, Father; unlike Claudius, I’m blessed with a brain.’

  Vespasian looked into his son’s eyes, assessing him for the first time as an adult and not a child any more. ‘Yes, I can see that, and so I will trust you. You’re right: Pallas is planning Claudius’ death and Nero’s ascension. I will aid him for two reasons: firstly, I have no choice, and secondly, even if I did have a choice, I believe that this is the best for our family. So your friend’s life is over, I’m afraid.’

  Anger flared for a brief moment in Titus’ eyes and the muscles in his jaw pulsed; he took a deep breath. ‘Now do you see how important it is for Britannicus to be present at my coming of age ceremony, Father? He’s never going to have his own so he would dearly love to see mine.’

  Vespasian thought about it for a few moments and then sentimentality, for once, got the better of cold reason. ‘Very well, Titus, you can invite him; tell him to be at our house tomorrow at the second hour of the day, after I’ve finished greeting my clients.’

  ‘Of course, not all your clients have remained loyal,’ Gaius said, wiping his lips, moist with the juice of a pear that had rounded off the light lunch of bread, cold meats and fruit. ‘They all attended me for the first six months or so, once I got back, but then after you hadn’t been heard of for a while a few started to cultivate other senators.’

  Vespasian swung his feet off his couch for one of Gaius’ boys to slip on his red, senatorial shoes. ‘Who, Uncle?’

  ‘Generally, the sitting consuls and praetors.’

  ‘No, I meant which of my clients?’

  ‘Oh, I see. I don’t have their names to hand but I know that Ewald has a list. He’ll give it to you before you leave.’

  The steward acknowledged his master’s wish and went in search of the document.

  Vespasian stood and allowed the boy to begin draping his toga around him. ‘Thank you, Uncle; if there is one thing that I can’t abide, it’s ingratitude.’

  ‘My feelings exactly, dear boy; that’s why I had Ewald make up the list,’ Gaius said as he patted his tonged curls into place with the help of a bronze mirror held up by another of his slave boys. ‘We should hurry if we want to be at the Senate House before Claudius starts his address; assuming, of course, that he hasn’t imbibed too much of this year’s vintage in his enthusiasm for the Meditrinalia. If Pallas is right then the Emperor’s going to set himself up for the most enormous, and fatal, piece of ingratitude.’

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE PEOPLE OF Rome interrupted their business and cheered their Emperor as he passed, borne in a litter preceded by twelve lictors, down the Via Sacra from the Palatine to the Forum Romanum. They cheered and waved and applauded and then, as soon as the rearmost litter-bearer had passed, they immediately returned to their more pressing affairs, leaving the cheering to those further down the route so that the praise rippled down the street, desultory and conspicuously lacking the enthusiasm with which they had lauded Claudius at the beginning of his reign.

  Claudius, for his part, either did not, or affected not to notice the lack of fervour with which he was received by his people; he reclined on his litter, hailing the crowd with a shaking arm – as much due to excessive drink as it was to his afflictions – while his head twitched erratically and his slack mouth oozed drool that he occasionally dabbed at with a handkerchief.

  Two centuries of German Imperial Guardsmen surrounded the Emperor, tall and muscled, their hair and beards long but well groomed; their right hands gripped their sword hilts, ready for immediate action. They loped by with long strides, their barbarian trousers and strange tattoos reminding the people of Rome just how removed the Emperor was from them. But still they cheered, if only the bare minimum to ensure that Claudius was not insulted and would not decide to spend less money on the Ludi Augustales, the ten days of games that cumulated in the Augustalia, the celebration of the first Emperor’s achievements, due to be marked on the following day, three days before the Ides of October.

  Vespasian stood next to Gaius amongst the other five hundred or so senators currently present in the city on the steps of the Curia, ready to welcome their Emperor. It had clouded over and a light rain now fell from the dull sky, dampening the wool of their togas and bringing out the scent of the urine in which they were washed.

  The procession turned into the Forum and transactions along the arcades and the damp, open-air trial came to a brief halt, for politeness’ sake, until, with the Emperor’s passing, they could continue.

  ‘He does look his age,’ Vespasian commented out of the corner of his mouth as Claudius’ litter was set down at the foot of the steps. Pallas and Narcissus both accompanied it; the latter, with swollen ankles and making heavy use of a walking stick.

  ‘He looks eighty-four, not sixty-four,’ Gaius muttered. ‘He’s the same age as me and Magnus yet he looks as if he could be our father; his trouble is that he doesn’t abstain enough.’

  Vespasian looked pointedly at his uncle’s corpulence. ‘Whereas you do, Uncle?’

  Gaius rubbed his ample belly with affection, obscured not in the slightest by the copious folds of his toga. ‘A well-rounded physique is not necessarily the sign of reckless overindulgence; whereas bloodshot, baggy eyes that lack focus and a florid, to say the least, complexion does hint of excessive consumption of the fruit of Bacchus. And that, along with his almost
complete baldness, his sagging arse and breasts, makes him look twenty years older than me and helps me to feel remarkably good about myself.’

  Vespasian could not argue, for his uncle’s description of the ageing Emperor was very accurate; he looked even more ravaged than Tiberius had at the age of seventy-three, when Vespasian had been brought before him on his island hideaway of Capreae, twenty-four years before.

  ‘Moreover,’ Gaius continued in a whisper as the litter came to a halt in front of the Senate House, ‘it’s affected his mind; his grasp on detail has faded and his literary endeavours are so rambling now as to be barely intelligible.’

  Pallas helped Claudius to his unsteady feet; he had evidently taken the Meditrinalia very seriously that morning. Claudius looked around at the senators, his eyes red and dewy and slightly downturned like his mouth, before shambling up the steps in a series of weak-kneed lurches, forcing his lictors to ascend faster than dignity dictated.

  As Claudius passed, wreathed in a mist of wine fumes, Vespasian’s eye caught that of Narcissus as he followed his patron up the steps next to Pallas. The Greek showed a rare hint of surprise as he registered that the man whom he had sent out East to investigate his suspicions about the Parthian embassy was indeed back in Rome and had failed to inform him of the fact.

  ‘Senator?’ Narcissus crooned as he paused next to Vespasian. ‘You will, of course, come and see me at your earliest convenience?’

  ‘Of course, imperial secretary,’ Vespasian replied, unable to envisage a time of any convenience.

  Narcissus nodded and then hobbled on after Claudius as the senators crowded up the steps in his wake, talking loudly of their eagerness to hear the Emperor’s speech while thinking quietly about how they were going to stay awake during what was normally an hour or two of eye-wateringly pedantic tedium.

  ‘The auspices from the sacrifice are good for the business of Rome. The Senate calls on our beloved Emperor, Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, to address the House,’ the Junior Consul, Marcus Asinius Marcellus, declaimed, standing next to the seated Claudius; behind him, in what was an outrage that had now become so commonplace that nobody remarked on it any more, sat Pallas and Narcissus.