Rome's Lost Son (5 page)

Claudius frowned and then held up a hand for silence. ‘B-b-before the reb-b-b-bel dies let him explain his actions.’

Caratacus lifted his hands so that all could see his chains. ‘Had my restraint while I was prosperous matched, rather than fallen short of, my honour and noble birth, I would have entered Rome as your friend and not your captive. You would not have disdained to receive a king descended from such illustrious ancestors, the lord of many nations, and we would have signed a treaty of mutual friendship and peace. However, now my humiliation is as glorious to you as it is degrading to me; but I have brought myself to this pass. I had men, horses, arms and wealth. Who would blame me if I parted with them reluctantly? If you Romans, in your halls of marble, who have so much, choose to become masters of the world, does it follow that we, in our huts of mud, who have comparatively little, should accept slavery? I am here as your prisoner because my pride would not allow me to give you all that I had. But I say this to you, Emperor of the Romans, neither my fall nor your triumph will become famous; I shall be just another king crushed under your heel. My punishment will be followed by oblivion and your victory will be soon forgotten. Whereas, if you grant me my life, I shall be an everlasting memorial of your clemency and bring glory to your name.’

Claudius gawped at the Britannic King, his jaw moving as if masticating stubborn gristle, while weighing these words.

As he vacillated, Agrippina stood and held out her arms to Caratacus. ‘Your eloquence has moved me.’ A tear rolled down her cheek as if in confirmation of the veracity of the statement. She turned to her son. ‘What does Nero Claudius Caesar Drusus Germanicus, the Prince of the Youth, think?’

Nero had taken his mother’s lead and, with a mighty sob of raw emotion, had begun to weep. ‘I believe, Mother dearest, that my father should show clemency in this one instance. A merciful ruler is a lauded ruler and his praise will be written and sung.’ He looked towards Britannicus as his tutor, Seneca, nodded in sage
agreement, the picture of self-satisfaction. ‘I’m sure my brother would agree.’

Britannicus did not meet his stepbrother’s eyes. ‘A ruler who does not punish rebellion will encourage more.’ Heads nodded in agreement with such wisdom from so young a source. ‘I believe
Domitius
to be wrong.’

There was a hush around the daises and all eyes looked at the Emperor to see if he would reprimand his natural son for such an insult to his adoptive one. Sosibius visibly paled and stared at his charge, his mouth open in horror. Vespasian saw Titus, standing with the other youths of the imperial household, smile involuntarily before taking on the shocked expression of his fellows.

Claudius’ head jerked and he shook as he felt the ice-glare of his wife biting into him. Nero fell to his knees as melodramatically as the wronged lover in a comedy, his tears now streaming down his face. He took the supplication pose with easy perfection as Seneca placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. ‘Father, don’t let my brother repudiate me.’ Nero flung his head back, one hand running through his luxuriant flame curls and then rested the back of his other hand on his brow before addressing the heavens. ‘As the gods are my witness, I ceased to be a member of the Domitii when you adopted me, Father.’

Claudius’ throat spasmed as he tried to form a word; eventually it exploded from him: ‘Britannicus!’ It echoed around the walls. ‘Apologise!’

Britannicus did not quail. ‘The legitimate heir to the Purple apologises to no one. You should support your own blood, the pure blood of the Julio-Claudians, against that tainted by the Domitii. I say Caratacus should die.’ He glared at his rival who was now catching tears on his fingertips and displaying them to the crowd.

Claudius held out his fist as if adjudicating at a gladiatorial fight and kept his thumb pressed close to it in imitation of a sheathed sword. ‘C-C-Caratacus shall live! As shall his retinue.’

Burrus looked to the Empress; she glared at Britannicus and then nodded with a triumphant smile. The Praetorian prefect turned to his cohorts. ‘All hail the Emperor’s mercy!’

The roar of nine thousand voices rose to the sky, once again sending aloft the crows in fluttering spirals. The other captives fell to their knees at the foot of Claudius’ dais and reached up with their hands to touch his feet as Caratacus strode forward and bowed first to the Emperor and then to the Empress and her son, who had now risen to his feet and taken a pose with one hand on his heart and slowly shaking his head while staring into the middle distance as if attempting to summon the words with which to describe such a majestic act of mercy.

Caratacus then presented his chains to Burrus.

‘There is a very canny man,’ Gaius observed in Vespasian’s ear as Caratacus’ manacles were unlocked to renewed cheering from the Guard.

‘And there is a very unhappy boy and a very frightened tutor,’ Vespasian said, watching Sosibius usher Britannicus back towards Titus and the rest of the youths. ‘I wonder if he’ll dare to beat him one last time before he finds himself looking for a new position.’

Sosibius glanced at Agrippina in terror and Britannicus looked over his shoulder at Claudius with undisguised hatred, as the Father of the House launched into the first of many sycophantic, senatorial speeches praising the mercy of the man who had executed more of their number and the equestrian class than had his predecessor, Caligula.

The sun was well past its zenith when Claudius, having exhausted the supply of snacks brought to him at regular intervals during the long succession of speeches, grew tired of being lauded on an empty stomach and called for his litter.

Vespasian brought proceedings to a close by proposing a full debate in the Senate the following day to vote his colleague in the consulship a double-life-sized bronze statue in the Temple of Concordia in praise of his magnanimity and his ability to bring concord to all peoples.

Suitably flattered, the Emperor left, having been helped into his litter by the latest addition to the equestrian class; Caratacus was also now the proud owner of a villa on the Esquiline Hill that
had belonged to a senator who had forfeited his property having been falsely accused of treason by Agrippina and executed.

‘I think you did very well out of that, dear boy,’ Gaius observed as they watched the Empress give one final venomous glare in Britannicus’ direction and then leave with Nero laying his head on her breast as the curtains of the litter were drawn. ‘The Senate will vote for Claudius’ statue and he’ll thank you for it when you step down in three days.’

‘He may thank me but he won’t reward me, Uncle.’

‘He might reward you,’ a voice said from just behind them. ‘In fact, he had plans to do so.’ Vespasian and Gaius both felt a hand on their shoulder and turned to see Pallas; the Greek inclined his head. ‘And in a way that you would, perhaps, have expected.’

‘I’d expect to be given a province, and not a senatorial province but an imperial one with legions and the chance of some military glory; just as my brother has.’

‘That is what you deserve but unfortunately—’

‘Unfortunately I seem to have incurred the Empress’s displeasure,’ Vespasian interrupted, ‘because my son is friends with her son’s rival.’

‘It does seem a little unreasonable, I’ll admit, if you phrase it in those terms; however, there’s more to it than that, much more. Walk with me, gentlemen.’ Pallas guided them back towards the gates; Vespasian’s lictors fell in behind, unable to precede him as they did not know where they were headed. ‘Obviously we are talking in confidence as only old and trusted friends can?’

Vespasian glanced at his uncle, feeling a twinge of guilt. ‘Of course, Pallas.’

‘Then you’ll spare me a denial when I say that I know that you have both agreed to meet with Narcissus tonight somewhere in secret.’

Vespasian met Pallas’ eye and inclined his head while Gaius blustered something about coercion. All around horns rang out, centurions bellowed and men stamped feet and crashed weapons in unison as the Praetorian Guard turned to march, cohort by cohort, back into their camp to the voluble admiration of the watching women.

‘I don’t blame you for agreeing to meet him; the way that it was put to you made your options seem very limited: a faithful son of Rome cast out by a grudge-bearing woman; lost and friendless, and then Narcissus comes to his aid offering a chance of preferment once again. I’m not going to ask you not to go, quite the reverse as a matter of fact. I want you to go and agree to whatever it is that he wants you to do for him. No doubt he’s moving to push me aside and reinstate himself as Claudius’ most influential advisor. I’ll be interested to know how he plans to go about it, so it should be a fascinating meeting.’

‘How do you know about this, Pallas? I only decided to go this morning.’

‘Then that should answer your question for you.’

‘But Narcissus’ messenger Agarpetus and my slave Hormus are the only people who know; other than my uncle and Magnus, of course.’

‘Do you trust your slave?’

‘Implicitly.’ Vespasian paused and made the obvious assumption. ‘So, Agarpetus must work for you, Pallas?’

‘Not in a way that he would know it; I just have his movements tracked and when he goes somewhere that interests me, like your house this morning for example, I make closer enquiries. Agarpetus is extraordinarily fond of the young lad who shares his bed and discusses much with him. Unfortunately for him that young lad has a greater love of coinage than he has respect for his lover’s privacy. One gold aureus bought me the fact that you were meeting with Narcissus, and when I noticed the look that passed between you both upon your arrival here I knew that I hadn’t been cheated out of my money. As to the time and place: I could guess that it was not going to be in the palace, for obvious reasons, and therefore Narcissus would be wise to use the festivities planned for this evening as cover to help him slip unnoticed through the city. They will still go ahead despite the Emperor pardoning Caratacus. The feast will now be to celebrate Claudius’ mercy in victory rather than his ability to vanquish all enemies.

‘But where Narcissus would be heading through all this joyful celebration, I don’t know for sure. However, if I were him I
would choose Magnus’ tavern because his loyalty to you would ensure Narcissus’ complete safety.’

Vespasian could not help but smile. ‘It’s evidently quite pointless trying to have a secret from you; I suppose you know what we are going to discuss even though I have no idea?’

‘That I don’t know but I want you to tell Caenis after the meeting; she’ll be expecting you. She will inform me in the morning.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Then Agrippina will have her way and all that promise that you’ve shown in your career so far will most certainly be lost. Help me in this matter, spy on my enemy, and I will persuade the Emperor and Empress that you are the perfect man for a delicate task that could earn you much credit. Believe me when I say it’s the only chance you’ll get to serve Rome once you step down from the consulship. Agrippina’s mistrust of you is such that this offer is the only thing that I’ll have a chance of getting her to agree to.’

‘What have I done?’

‘It’s what you didn’t do. You didn’t kill Messalina.’

‘But Burrus did.’ Vespasian recalled the night in the Gardens of Lucullus when he had accompanied the then tribune Burrus to execute the faithless Empress.

‘He did, but only after you offered her the honour of suicide. Burrus is a very ambitious man and if he can do someone down at the same time as benefitting himself then he will grasp the opportunity. He has made much of your weakness in the Gardens of Lucullus that night, implying to Agrippina that you showed sympathy to Messalina to the extent that you might not have wished her death. Agrippina takes that as an indication that you would rather she were not empress. She does not forgive sentiments like that, even though I have tried to persuade her otherwise.’

Gaius was outraged. ‘But he offered his sword to Messalina not out of pity but out of a desire to see her do something that she had forced so many others into through jealousy and spite.’

‘Burrus does not frame it in those terms.’

Vespasian shook his head, sighing at the injustice of the matter. ‘And Burrus has done very well out of doing me down to the Empress.’

Pallas inclined his head in agreement. ‘He immediately became the obvious choice for Praetorian prefect.’

‘Very well, Pallas, I will spy for you despite the fact that you have given me no firm guarantee of advancement, just a promise to try to persuade the Emperor and Empress to allow me to perform some vague task.’

‘That is a very sensible decision; and you needn’t worry, I’m sure the Empress will agree to my proposal.’

‘Why, Pallas? If she distrusts me so much how can you manage to get her to agree to my benefit?’

Pallas cocked an eyebrow and gave a rare half-smile. ‘When she hears what I propose you do for Rome, she’ll be most enthusiastic. She will certainly support it because she will fully expect you to die.’

CHAPTER III

U
NRECOGNISABLE IN A
deep-hooded cloak, Vespasian walked in silence next to his uncle, escorted by four of Magnus’ crossroads brothers who had been sent to see them through Rome’s nocturnal streets. Even in the middle of the night the city teemed with activity as suppliers made their deliveries with carts and wagons banned from Rome’s thoroughfares and lanes during daylight hours and the people feasted on the generous handouts made by the Emperor in thanks for the defeat of his persistent enemy, Caratacus. However, the presence of so many people abroad at this time did not make the journey to Magnus’ tavern any safer; quite the contrary in a city where the vast majority lived a hand to mouth existence. Gangs of footpads roamed the streets hauling the unwary or the intoxicated into dark alleyways to relieve them of their property and sometimes of their lives. Those who bore witness to the muggings would, in general, prefer the safety of minding their own business to the mortal danger of coming to the aid of a stranger. Only the club-wielding Vigiles, Rome’s nocturnal fire-watchers and keepers of the peace, offered any assistance to those in trouble and then, often, at the price of the contents of the victim’s purse.

With four torch-bearing crossroads brothers, daggers and cudgels secreted under their cloaks, Vespasian felt safe as they made their way along the bustling Alta Semita bordered by three-or four-storey tenements to either side; thin light delineated an occasional upper window and gloom-filled alleys divided them, leading into a dark and completely lawless world between the more frequented thoroughfares. But it was not his present well-being that concerned Vespasian as he blocked out the drunken
singing, the cries of the street vendors and carters, the rattle of iron-rimmed wheels, the bestial calls of beasts of burden and the countless other sounds that made sleep a rare commodity on Rome’s busier streets; it was what the future held for him.

‘If Agrippina expects me to be killed,’ he said eventually to Gaius, ‘doing whatever it is that Pallas suggests, then how would you explain the mark that I found on the sacrificial liver this morning?’

‘I can’t explain it and I certainly wouldn’t make it public,’ Gaius said after hearing the incident recounted.

‘I’m not stupid!’ Vespasian snapped more tersely than he had meant to. ‘But that mark implies that Mars has a destiny set for me that is somehow involved in the greater affairs of state. I’m no auger, but when I put together a clear reference to me on a sacrifice to Jupiter Optimus Maximus, made in the very heart of Rome by my hand as a consul of Rome, with the fact that the auspices at my naming ceremony were of such a sensitive nature that my mother forced everyone present to take an oath never to talk of them, then I begin to wonder what that destiny is, seeing as I’ve already achieved the consulship.’

‘Well, I wasn’t at your naming ceremony, so I can’t comment.’

‘If you had been you would be sworn against commenting anyway. But I’m beginning to have a suspicion that is so outrageous that I might as well discuss it with you.’

‘So that’s what you were brooding about all through dinner; I was thinking that you and Flavia had had another dispute over your differing attitudes to expenditure. Try me.’

Vespasian took a deep breath and hoped that the cause of his last few hours of contemplation would not provoke ridicule. ‘It was Sabinus who originally put it into my mind when Claudius came to Britannia. Claudius noticed that I had Marcus Antonius’ sword that had been given to me by the Lady Antonia; only Pallas and Caenis knew that it had been a gift from her, as they had brought me the sword after she had used it to open her veins. Claudius asked me how I got it because it was well known in the imperial family that his mother would only give it to the person that she thought would make the best emperor. I lied and told
him that Caligula had given it to me. Pallas told me never to let the truth be known because, if Claudius found out, my life could be in danger. Sabinus witnessed the incident and asked me about it; I laughed it off saying that it was a simple gift and, besides, I didn’t have the blood of the Caesars. He then asked how long that bloodline would last.’

‘That’s a treasonous question.’

‘But it’s a pertinent one. If Claudius does die soon, Britannicus will be moved aside and Nero will become emperor having married his stepsister who is also his first cousin once removed; it’s not quite Egyptian but it’s getting close. How long can a bloodline like that last? Suppose it finishes with Nero, what then?’

‘Then the Guard will proclaim an emperor.’

‘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 save 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.’