False God of Rome (17 page)

R
OME
, J
ULY
AD 35

‘W
HAT IN THE
name of Mars are they doing?’ Vespasian asked Magnus in alarm as a group of seemingly demented
women came rushing towards them, across the Forum Boarium, beating themselves with branches.

‘Nothing in Mars’ name, sir,’ Magnus replied, restraining Ziri who had dropped the hand-cart containing their belongings and Capella’s chest in order to defend them from
the oncoming screaming women. ‘They’re slaves and they do that in Juno’s name. It’s the Caprotinia; all the female slaves in the city get the day off and run around hitting
themselves with fig-tree branches.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘No one’s really quite sure.’ Magnus helped a very confused Ziri pick up the hand-cart as the women rushed past. ‘I’ve heard that it was something to do with a
woman prisoner in the Gallic camp during their invasion of Italia. She gave a signal from a fig tree for our lads to storm out of the city and take the hairy buggers by surprise. Anyway, who gives
a fuck why they do it, the important thing is that they do and it’s always a great night; by the time they’ve finished running about beating themselves they’re extremely excited
and very amenable, if you take my meaning?’

‘I’m sure I do,’ Vespasian said, wondering if Caenis was out whipping herself up into a frenzy and found himself quite interested by the idea.

Another band of women, some of them baring their breasts, came howling into the Forum, scattering passers-by who laughed good-naturedly at their antics.

Magnus licked his lips appreciatively. ‘We’re back just in time; not only do we get very enthusiastic, half-naked women, but we also get a nice few days at the circus to recover from
any excesses that we might have indulged in, as the Caprotinia falls during the eight days of the Apollo Games. I love July.’

‘I can imagine,’ Vespasian agreed, unhappy to be reminded that it was already over halfway through the year and he was only now arriving back in Rome.

His disappointment at the disappearance of Flavia Domitilla had been compounded by his enforced extended stay in Cyrenaica; he had then been obliged to wait until June for his replacement, a
sour-faced young man, who had evidently felt the posting far beneath him and had shown little desire to arrive promptly in the province. Once he had eventually been relieved, unseasonal gales had
delayed his return for another two frustrating market intervals.

Apart from a longing to see Caenis again and to forget about Flavia in her arms, his main reason for wanting to get back to Rome as soon as possible had been to hand over Capella’s chest
– minus the gold and the bankers’ draft – to Antonia. Narcissus would soon become concerned enough by its non-arrival to instigate an investigation, which would in all likelihood
lead to Vespasian, and he did not like the idea of being waylaid and relieved of his newfound wealth by hired thugs in the pay of Claudius’ ambitious freedman.

Passing out of the Forum Boarium with the huge facade of the Circus Maximus to their right they turned left onto Vicus Tuscus, heading to the Forum Romanum. Ziri’s face, already
slack-jawed with amazement since entering the city, became a picture of disbelief as he looked up at the monumental House of Augustus with its high marble walls, dominating the summit of the
Palatine.

Magnus clapped his slave on the shoulder. ‘A bit different to the arse-end of a camel, eh, Ziri?’

‘Fucking right, master; I never fucking seen such a fucking thing, fucked if I has.’

Vespasian frowned. ‘You’ve got to stop him from swearing all the time, Magnus; it’ll get him into trouble.’

‘He’s all right; you should be impressed by how quickly he picked up Latin.’

‘Yes, I am; the trouble is that he’s picked up your sort of Latin.’

‘Who are you to talk with your country-bumpkin Sabine burr, if you don’t mind me saying, sir? At least he sounds like a Roman.’

‘Yes, I sound like a Roman, sir,’ Ziri said with pride, ‘I no sound like a cunt.’

‘Ziri!’ Magnus snapped, clouting him around the ear.

‘Sorry, master.’

Having made their slow way through the festival crowds up the Quirinal Hill they eventually arrived at the familiar door of Vespasian’s uncle, Senator Gaius Vespasius
Pollo. Magnus knocked and, after a brief delay, it was opened by a young and very attractive dark-skinned youth.

‘My uncle’s broadening his tastes, it would seem,’ Vespasian observed to Magnus once he had given the lad instructions to show Ziri around to the slaves’ entrance with
their belongings, Magnus having first relieved him of Capella’s chest.

‘Change pleases,’ Magnus quoted as they walked through the vestibule and into the atrium.

‘Dear boy,’ boomed Gaius, walking out of his study, ‘and Magnus, my friend! I heard someone at the door and was praying that it would be you; I’ve been worried sick for
the last few days.’ He came waddling at great speed across the mosaic floor, the ample flesh on his plump body wobbling frantically under his tunic. He enveloped Vespasian in a smothering
embrace while planting a moist, rubbery kiss on his cheeks. ‘When I heard of the foul weather out at sea I was worried that you may have shared the fate of the first grain fleet of the season
heading from Egypt.’ He grasped Magnus’ forearm and gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder.

‘What happened to it, Uncle?’ Vespasian asked, putting his hand to his face, as if in concern, in order to surreptitiously wipe off the excess saliva from each cheek.

‘Only two out of the thirty transports made it through, the rest were shipwrecked off Kithria; that’s why I was so concerned for you two. The humorists are saying that the only
reason the storms stopped is because Neptune’s now too busy baking bread. Sabinus is having a terrible time of it: he’s the aedile in charge of the grain supply in the city and the
granaries are getting low and the mob are getting angry. Thankfully, for Sabinus and the Senate, most of their anger is directed towards Tiberius for staying on Capreae and – as they see it
– deserting them. But come and sit down.’ Gaius led Vespasian through the atrium towards the
peristylium
. ‘Aenor, bring wine, and take Magnus to the kitchen for some
refreshments,’ he called to the young, blond-haired, blue-eyed German slave boy who had been hovering in the background, waiting to be of service, while his master greeted his guests.
‘And cakes, we must have honeyed cakes.’

‘It would seem, my dear boy, that you’re in a tricky position,’ Gaius mused, looking at the contents of Capella’s chest. ‘Your instinct to take it
to Antonia for her to decide what to do about it is correct, but that could also be seen as an act of treason.’

‘What do you mean, Uncle? I’m not aiding Narcissus; he’s the one who’s committing treason by buying up land for Claudius in Egypt without the Emperor’s
permission.’

‘No, you’re not aiding him, I grant you that; but neither are you exposing him as a traitor, and if you cash his bankers’ draft that could be seen as a bribe. Since the
restarting of the treason trials that might be considered to be a little foolhardy.’

Vespasian went to protest but Gaius held up his hand. ‘Hear me out, dear boy. You must remember that you are no longer a mere thin-stripe military tribune or a lowly member of the
vigintiviri
; you are now a senator. Your duty is to the Senate and to the Emperor, not to Antonia, who is purely a private citizen and a female one at that. Yes, she is very powerful in her
own way but she is not the government or even an official part of the State.’ Gaius paused to take a sip of his wine and reach for the last remaining cake.

The air in the courtyard garden was pleasingly cool and the wine delicate and refreshing; had his uncle not just given him cause for concern Vespasian might have found himself relaxing for the
first time since Capella’s chest had come into his possession.

‘You’re recommending that I take the chest to the Senate or directly to the Emperor then, Uncle?’

‘I didn’t say that, I was just pointing out where your duty lies. Your obligation, however, is an entirely different matter and that’s why you’re in a tricky situation.
If you were to go to the Senate with this thing, Antonia would never forgive you for putting her son, however much she dislikes him, in danger; she considers that to be her prerogative.’

‘And then I’d have her, as well as Narcissus, as an enemy,’ Vespasian groaned. He put down his cup and held his head in his hands, cursing the day that he met Flavia and his
arrogance that had led him into this situation. ‘I could take it directly to one of the Consuls in private,’ he suggested after a few moments’ thought.

‘Good thinking but it won’t work with the Suffect Consuls that we have this half of the year. Decimus Valerius Asiaticus is Antonia’s man, he used to look after her interests
in Narbonese Gaul. He owes everything to her, not least his being the first Consul of Gallic origin. Antonia would hear of it within the hour. His junior, Aulus Gabinius Secundus, is a talentless,
vicious man who would use the information to cause as much trouble as he could for everyone involved. I’m afraid that I can see only one course of action for you to take and that is to steer
the middle ground.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You can’t do your duty to the Senate until it next meets in three days’ time, after the close of the festival of Apollo, so in the meantime I suggest that you fulfil your
obligation to Antonia. Show her the land deeds and explain the predicament that you find yourself in, emphasising of course that your loyalty to her was the reason why you brought it to her first,
and ask her if you should take it to the Senate. You never know, she might surprise you.’

‘What if she doesn’t?’

‘Then, my dear boy, at least you would have some sort of defence if the worst should come to the worst; you could truthfully say in court that Antonia told you not to take it to the
Senate.’

‘But how could I prove that?’

‘Ask Antonia for a formal meeting; then you’ll get a copy of the minutes.’

‘But she could still deny it.’

‘Not if you take a witness. Unfortunately I won’t do and nor would Sabinus; a court won’t believe that we’re not just supporting your case through family
loyalty.’

‘Who, then?’

‘I would have thought that that’s quite obvious: your old comrade from the Fourth Scythica, Corbulo. I know that he’s in Rome at the moment as he’s trying to get elected
as a praetor for next year; he’s desperate to come above Sabinus in the poll. His father told me a long time ago that he feels that his family is obliged to us for you saving his son’s
life in Thracia; I’ll call in the favour immediately.’

‘I can’t say that I’m too happy to be doing this, Vespasian,’ Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo told Vespasian as they approached Antonia’s house on the
Palatine. ‘Especially if you won’t tell me what it’s about.’ He pointed over his shoulder vaguely at Magnus who was flanked by two of his crossroads brothers, Marius and
Sextus; Ziri brought up the rear. ‘I can only assume that it’s something to do with what’s in the chest that your man’s carrying.’

‘That’ll be Magnus, Corbulo,’ Magnus said lightly, ‘remember? You sat in my shit and I sat in yours in that cart all the way across Thracia, nine years ago, after
we’d been captured by some very nasty tribesmen.’

Corbulo wrinkled his nose at the memory of the journey and subsequent near escape from the Thracians, but refused to acknowledge that he could recollect the name of someone so beneath him after
such a long time.

‘Pompous arsehole,’ Magnus muttered, but not entirely to himself.

Corbulo held his chin in the air disdaining to hear the comment. Vespasian shot Magnus a withering look over his shoulder; Magnus shrugged and smiled innocently.

‘Believe me, Corbulo, it’s best if you don’t know what it’s about unless you have to,’ Vespasian said, trying to get back onto the subject. ‘You’re
right that it’s to do with what’s in the chest. I plan to show the contents to the Lady Antonia and then we’ll discuss what to do about them in your presence. That way you
won’t be put in any danger because you won’t know what we’re talking about; I just need you to witness what she asks me to do about it so that you could back me up in court if it
came to it.’

Corbulo looked down his long nose at him. ‘You’re way out of your league, Vespasian. However, I’ll do this to repay the debt that my father insists that I owe you, but
that’s it – the slate is clean afterwards.’

‘Let us both pray that there
is
an afterwards,’ Vespasian muttered as they approached the tall, single-storey villa that belonged to the most formidable woman in Rome.

Vespasian mounted the steps as the sun slipped behind the Aventine Hill throwing Rome into shadow. He rapped on the door; the viewing slot snapped back and two eyes appeared. ‘Titus
Flavius Vespasianus and Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo request an interview with the Lady Antonia.’

The slot closed and the door opened immediately; the doorman let Vespasian and Corbulo into the vestibule, leaving Magnus, Ziri and the brothers outside with the chest. As they walked through
into the imposing and exquisitely furnished atrium a familiar voice came from across its vast length.

‘Masters Vespasian and Corbulo, how good to see you again,’ Pallas, Antonia’s Greek steward, said in his faultless Latin. ‘I trust that the natives of Creta and Cyrenaica
weren’t too tiresome.’

‘They were as belligerent as one would expect, Pallas; and it’s very good to see you again too,’ Vespasian replied with a smile.

Corbulo grunted his acknowledgement.

‘You are too kind, masters; I am honoured that you should be pleased to see me, a mere freedman.’

‘There’s nothing mere about…freedman, did you say?’

Pallas pulled his right hand from behind his back and placed a
pileus
, the conical felt cap that marked a freedman, on his head. ‘Indeed, sir. My mistress was good enough to give me
my freedom soon after you left for your province; I am now Marcus Antonius Pallas, a freed citizen of Rome.’