‘Then we’ll just have to hope that it’s not you that they’re looking for.’
‘When was the last time that Romans came here?’
Coronus scratched his grey beard. ‘I’m afraid to say that was you.’
‘And I’m telling you that I was here forty years ago!’ The voice came from beyond the leather sheet covering the doorway and was instantly recognisable. ‘And I know he’s here with Caenis, which is why I’ve travelled fuck knows how far so that these gentlemen can give him some good news.’
Vespasian smiled with relief. ‘It’s all right, Coronus; they can come in. It’s Magnus and he would never betray me.’
Coronus pulled back the leather sheet and ushered the visitors in.
Vespasian took a step back as Castor and Pollux bounded in followed by Magnus, Titus, Sura, Hormus and, intriguingly for Vespasian, Nerva.
‘It started, in Caesarea, with a complaint about people sacrificing a couple of birds to Apollo in front of one of their synagogues, as the Jews call their temples,’ Nerva explained as they sat round a table in Coronus’ hall and were served roasted goat, bread and dark Thracian wine. ‘And then it escalated into a protest about the heavy and rising taxation that Judaea is subject to and then this was exacerbated by Gessius Florus, the procurator of Judaea, removing seventeen talents of gold from their temple treasury and sending it to Nero to help finance his Golden House. Needless to say, not all the money made it to Rome.’
‘There’s a surprise,’ Magnus muttered through a mouthful of persistent goat; Castor and Pollux lay on the ground next to him, gnawing on huge bones.
Nerva took a swig of his wine and almost choked. ‘Strong stuff! Anyway, things quickly got out of hand when the Jews started passing around baskets to collect money, mocking Florus for being poor. Having absolutely no sense of humour he crucified a few of them and that led to open revolt. The king, the second Herod Agrippa, and his sister Berenice tried to calm things down but had their lives threatened by the rebels and so fled. Florus appealed to his direct superior, Cestius Gallus, the Governor of Syria, for aid.’
‘When was this?’ Vespasian asked.
‘Autumn last year,’ Titus replied. ‘Did you hear nothing of this, Father?’
Vespasian shook his head and broke off a hunk of bread. ‘The whole point of being here was to be insulated from the world.’
Magnus finally won his battle with the goat. ‘Well, it worked. When Hormus got back from Africa with a decent amount of cash for you, which we deposited with the Cloelius Brothers, it took me ages to figure out what you meant by me knowing where you were because you had Caenis with you.’
Vespasian turned to his freedman. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, master; the business has been a great success; it’s growing all the time. I’ll tell you after the gentlemen have finished.’
Vespasian had to suppress his curiosity for a while and turned his attention back to Nerva. ‘So why did you need to find me just to tell me of a minor revolt in Judaea?’
‘That’s just it,’ Nerva said, ‘it’s not minor. Gallus led an army of thirty thousand into Judaea to crush the rebellion. He did well at first, captured a couple of towns, dealt with over eight thousand rebels in Caesarea and Jaffa and pretty much got the situation back under control.’
Vespasian could see it coming. ‘Until?’
‘Until he got ambushed at a place called Beth Horon; he just walked into it and six thousand of his men were massacred before he could extract himself, leaving the Twelfth Fulminata’s Eagle behind.’
‘He lost an Eagle? To rabble like that?’
‘They may be rabble, but they’re fanatical rabble. Anyway, Gallus shamed himself even more by abandoning his troops and fleeing back to his province, where, I’m pleased to say, he did the decent thing. Lucinius Mucianus is on his way out to replace him.’
‘Mucianus?’ Vespasian mused. ‘I suppose he has sufficient experience to put down the rebellion; he served me well as a military tribune in the Second Augusta.’
‘So why did you come all this way just to tell us that?’ Caenis asked.
‘Because Mucianus is not going to fight this war, although he doesn’t know that yet; Vespasian is.’
Vespasian was astounded; he felt Caenis’ hand squeeze his thigh. ‘Me? But Nero ...’
Sura smiled. ‘Nero’s made the decision that you are the most qualified general to take on the revolt, and my family’s money as well as your brother Sabinus’ and Nerva’s petitions for you to get the command helped him make up his mind, although I don’t suppose Mucianus will ever forgive us when he finds out.’
‘Thank you, Sura,’ Vespasian said, genuinely touched by the generosity of spirit. ‘And you, Nerva, thank you.’
Nerva shrugged. ‘I consider it to be a debt paid. I’ve risen highly in the Emperor’s esteem since you exposed the Pisonian plot; although I think that Sura’s money was more important than my requesting a favour in return for my service last year.’
Sura waved away the thought. ‘The Emperor is preoccupied with his tour of Greece and the cash was very welcome; especially as one of the first things he did there was marry Sporus, or Poppaea Sabina as we must all call her now, and spent fortunes on the wedding banquet. He landed in the province last month and brought most of the Senate with him, which is why we’ve been able to act so quickly.’
‘So you bought me the position?’
‘No; I bought my daughter’s husband the position of being second in command of what could be the biggest military operation since the invasion of Britannia.’
‘He’s right, Father; this could be very good for us. I’m to go to Egypt from here to bring the Fifteenth Apollinaris north, by sea, to Ptolemais where the Fifth Macedonica and the Tenth Fretensis will also be.’
‘I’ve got their orders to march south from Syria with me,’ Nerva said. ‘I’m taking them to Mucianus. All being well, if Mucianus accepts the decision graciously, you should have three legions and the equivalent in auxiliaries plus Herod Agrippa’s army ready by the beginning of the campaigning season.’
Vespasian was struggling to take everything in. ‘All this has been organised already, so fast?’
Nerva nodded. ‘Of course; it was imperative. We were lucky in that Magnus and Hormus had letters from Sabinus to various people in Nero’s entourage and so came via us in Corinth; that’s helped us find you so quickly. The Jews have to be crushed as soon as possible. They invited the Great King of Parthia in, in return for Judaism being the only recognised religion in Judaea; it would have given him access to our sea. Luckily, because his younger brother was still in Rome at the time, he refused the offer, but now that Tiridates is travelling back to Armenia he might well change his mind.’
‘But what about Corbulo? He’s still out in the East and right on hand.’
Titus shook his head. ‘We don’t know, Father. But you will find out. Nero has summoned you to Greece so he can brief you personally and give you the benefit of his advice. Corbulo has also received a summons.’
The Sanctuary of Olympia, ten days later
It was with a great show of humility that Nero came out onto the track of the hippodrome in the southeast corner of the Sanctuary of Olympia; it was the second day of the Olympic Games, which had been brought forward by a couple of years to enable the Emperor to compete.
Having been on his tour of Greece now for almost a moon he had excelled himself in winning already over two hundred victors’ crowns, all for recitals at the many competitions that had been arranged so that the inhabitants of this ancient and learned country could have the opportunity to appreciate the ineffable talent of their Emperor. And they had many such opportunities, for Nero performed in every town he progressed through and such was his talent that the judges could award the prizes to no one else. And in the evenings the local dignitaries would vie to entertain the Emperor and his Empress, politely taking care not to notice that she seemed to have mislaid her breasts.
; But it was not to sing that Nero appeared today; no, today it was a far more dangerous event that Nero had in his sights, for he wished to be crowned an Olympic champion in the chariot event, and to make it absolutely sure that he would be, it was in a ten-horse chariot that he made his way. The cheering of the crowd, thick around the stadium, echoed throughout the ancient sanctuary that had held the quadrennial games for over eight hundred years.
Having been told by the Emperor, upon his arrival at Olympia that morning, that he would receive him after the race, Vespasian watched, along with Caenis, Magnus, Hormus, Sura and the three hundred or so members of Nero’s entourage, as the Emperor mounted the vehicle. The other contestants drew their four-horse chariots up to the staggered starting line, held in position by gates that would be raised into the air to commence the race. Although each of Nero’s ten horses was being restrained by a groom holding its halter, their skittishness was apparent for all to see, having never been harnessed in such a grouping before. Untroubled by the state of his beasts, Nero took up all ten sets of reins, grasping them in one hand whilst acknowledging the crowd’s roars with the other, as the grooms guided their charges up to the starting line on the outside of the seven other chariots now waiting.
‘This is not going to end well,’ Vespasian observed as the grooms sprinted aside, leaving Nero tugging on the reins but failing to keep his team from moving forward and pressing against the specially enlarged gate.
The starter, a priest of Zeus, saw the danger and immediately signalled the off. Up went the gates beginning with the outermost, Nero’s, and then working inward towards the central barrier. As if shot from a ballista, Nero’s team pelted forward, more in fear than eagerness, with the Emperor struggling to remain on his feet as they hauled on their reins. One by one the remaining teams were released, each a moment after the other, thus staggering the start. The chariots were not the lightweight Roman design, but, rather, traditional wooden constructions that were based on the war-machines of ancient times, cumbersome, unwieldy and heavy. Nero’s team, sharing that weight between ten, powered ahead of the four-horse teams, to the rapture of the spectators and to Nero’s obvious terror, as it raced east, down the track to the first hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, with no discipline being instilled upon it. It was with an inevitability, which left many in the crowd shaking their heads, that not all ten of the horses realised that they needed to make the turn at the same time; with no help from their driver, who was now screaming in panic, they pursued their own agendas to mutual catastrophe. With piercing equine shrieks and thrashing limbs and twisting necks they fouled one another and crashed to the ground, tumbling and rolling in sprays of dust, sending the chariot careering towards the hippodrome wall, spinning horizontally as it went, casting Nero aside to slide on his back across the sand that ripped at his tunic and scraped the skin from his shoulders, buttocks and calves.
The crowd gasped, horrified by the outcome. The Empress jumped up and screamed into her hands as the rest of the field raced past the wreckage intent on completing the twelve laps that was the time-honoured length of the Olympic chariot race. Down Sporus ran, to the edge of the seating, to jump the ten feet onto the track; Epaphroditus followed as the race carried on. Vespasian watched in disbelief as the castrated slave ran along the side of the track, with no regard for personal safety, to rush to the aid of the person who had done such cruelty to him – or her. As the race progressed, Sporus and Epaphroditus pulled Nero to the edge of the track and sat him up with his back against the wall as they checked him for broken limbs.
With the final lap completed the three remaining teams pulled up before the priest of Zeus, with the winner to the fore. But it was towards the Emperor that the priest pointed with the victor’s olive crown and it was with great shows of modesty and relief that Nero hobbled back down the track to receive his prize from the priest, who offered no explanation for his decision for none was necessary.
The victor crowned, the spectators began to disperse in search of other entertainment around the huge complex and Vespasian made his way to Nero’s tent, erected next to the hippodrome. Epaphroditus admitted him and Sura into the lofty and spacious inner compartment, furnished with the lavishness of one who thinks nothing of spending a good portion of the Empire’s wealth to build himself a house.
‘Ahhh, the sleeper!’ Nero, lying flat on a couch, fixed Vespasian with a stare that he did not care for as the Empress rubbed salve into his grazed behind. ‘You think that perhaps I have forgotten the insult?’
‘I am truly sorry, Princeps,’ Vespasian said in a small and humble voice. ‘I don’t know how it happened; I can only thank you for starting again at the beginning so I could hear the bit I’d missed.’
Nero grunted and winced as Sporus applied his attention to a particularly raw patch. ‘I have never been so insulted; however, it was as well for me that you chose to run and hide as I would not now be able to use your talents since you would have followed your treacherous uncle on his last journey. I need you now and you know what you must do.’
‘Yes, Princeps; I will not fail you.’
‘See that you don’t and I might think better of you when you return.’ He gestured to a scroll-case that Epaphroditus was holding. ‘Those are Corbulo’s orders; he is waiting for you at Corinth to brief you on the officers of the Fifth Macedonica and the Tenth Fretensis seeing as he has the best knowledge of them. Once he has done so to your satisfaction, give him his orders; I’m sure he will be pleased to set down the burden of the East that he has shouldered for so long. You will find ships waiting for you as well as two auxiliary cohorts in Cenchreae, Corinth’s east coast harbour. Now go.’
‘Yes, Princeps; and congratulations on your splendid victory.’
‘Yes, it was stunning,’ Nero replied with no trace of irony whilst dismissing Vespasian with a wave of the hand; the Empress bent to kiss her husband’s behind, gazing at it as if it was the most beautiful sight in the world.
Vespasian took the scroll-case from Epaphroditus and walked away; Nero moaned with pleasure as the castrated Sporus buried his face between his buttocks.
Corinth, two days later
‘Well, Vespasian, to sum up, I don’t mind admitting that my influence has vastly improved the abilities of both Sextus Vettulenus Cerialis and Marcus Ulpius Traianus as legates.’ Corbulo paused for a self-satisfied snort as he looked down his long, patrician nose at Vespasian sitting, with Magnus, at the table opposite him, outside a tavern on the waterfront of Cenchreae, Corinth’s port on the Aegean. Massed shipping bobbed at anchor, being loaded and off-loaded in a continuous cycle of trade. Just along the quay a party of surveyors that had accompanied Vespasian to Corinth were taking measurements on their groma for Nero’s projected canal across the isthmus; beyond them, auxiliaries were being embarked onto transport ships. ‘They now show good initiative and an ability to analyse military problems without emotion and act swiftly on their findings; they should be very good for you, especially as both have been out in the East long enough to have developed a great dislike for the Jews and their continual anti-social behaviour.’
‘That’s very gratifying to hear, Corbulo; thank you,’ Vespasian said with sincerity.
Corbulo poured Vespasian another cup of wine, completely ignoring Magnus, as he had done for the whole meeting. ‘Think nothing of it; it’s the least that I could do seeing as our children are now engaged; it’s a worthy match now that you have achieved the consulship and governed a province; even if you do come from a rural New family.’
Vespasian nodded his agreement, taking absolutely no offence at Corbulo’s snobbishness; he had always been thus and Vespasian was used to it.
‘Thank you, Corbulo, very kind of you,’ Magnus said, snatching the jug as Corbulo set it down. ‘I’ll just pour my own then.’ Castor and Pollux looked up from their shaded corner at the sharp tone of their master’s voice; satisfied that he was under no threat, they returned to their siesta.
Corbulo looked
at Magnus and frowned, as if it was the first time he had noticed him. ‘Are you taking your man, er ... him, with you?’
‘Magnus? Yes.’
‘Do you think he’s up to it?’
Magnus slammed his cup down onto the table. ‘I’m the best judge of that, Corbulo, and yes, I am up to it; there’s plenty of fight and fuck left in me, you’ll see.’
Corbulo pointed at Magnus’ glass eye. ‘But you hardly do.’
The strained sound, akin to a ram in distress, issuing from Corbulo’s gullet told Vespasian, who knew the signs, that Corbulo had made another of his rare forays into humour; albeit not very successfully. He put a restraining hand on Magnus’ shoulder. ‘I have your new orders from the Emperor, Corbulo.’ He pulled the scroll-case from a satchel slung over the back of his chair and pushed it across the table.
Corbulo’s mirth dried up and he looked at the thing in horror.
Vespasian recalled giving Corbulo a similar scroll twenty-four years previously in Germania Superior when he took over from him as legate of the II Augusta in the aftermath of the downfall of Corbulo’s half-sister, Milonia Caesonia, and her husband, Caligula. ‘No, I don’t know what it says, Corbulo. Nero just said that he imagined that you would enjoy having the burden of command eased.’
Corbulo picked up the case and balanced it in his hand as if trying to guess the contents by its weight, just as he had done with the last one. ‘Well, there’s only one way to find out.’ He broke the seal and removed the lid. The scroll was thin; he unrolled it; there was very little written on it. Corbulo paled, passed it to Vespasian and then stood up.
Vespasian read the three words and then looked up at Corbulo. ‘I’m so sorry, Corbulo.’
Corbulo drew his sword. ‘I’ve been too successful, Vespasian; I’ve been expecting this. I’m the obvious threat to him; remember that when you take command of my legions because Nero is right.’ He fell to his knees and then, pressing the tip of his blade just below his left ribs, fell forward without hesitation. He made no sound.
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