False God of Rome (25 page)

Poppaeus stared at him for a few moments. ‘I can only imagine that an intellect far greater than yours has seen through what we had planned. I detect Antonia behind this; if that is so
then I am dead, no matter how much I try to convince you that I was right. So if I am to be murdered I shall act with dignity, if only to shame you; although I’m curious to know how you plan
to get my body away from here when there are so many witnesses.’

‘Tell me first why splitting the Empire would be good for Rome.’

‘Do you really think that it would remain divided? Of course not. Whoever holds Egypt holds Rome. Caligula and Ennia would have been dead within months and Macro would have been emperor
with my daughter, Poppaea Sabina, as his empress at the cost to him of merely a wife.’

‘And a new dynasty would have been founded,’ Claudius pointed out with a sneer.

Poppaeus shook his head. ‘No, that was the beauty of it. Had Sejanus succeeded then that would have become a problem, but with Macro it would have been different: he has no children and my
daughter cannot have any more after the complications she had giving birth to the young Poppaea. There would be no male heir so Macro would have to choose the best man for the job and adopt him as
his son, thereby creating a precedent that I hoped would last for the benefit of Rome. That’s why I agreed to help him although he was my enemy. Yes, I admit that I wanted the honour for my
family to be able to boast an empress, but more than that I wanted to free ourselves from this hereditary Kingship in all but name; we rid ourselves of the Kings five hundred years ago and now we
have them again and it doesn’t work. However, if Antonia is determined to keep her family in power despite its obvious unsuitability I want no part of it, so let’s get this over
with.’ Poppaeus removed his toga and knelt on the floor. ‘Give me the sword and I’ll die like a Roman should.’

‘It’s not going to be done like that,’ Vespasian said quietly, feeling a huge sympathy for his old enemy’s views; if Rome was to be ruled in honour by an emperor, was it
not best to select a suitable man rather than leave it to the vagaries of blood? He had expressed the same sentiments to Sabinus, Corbulo and Pallas in Tiberius’ unfinished bedroom on Capreae
as they had waited for the crazed old Emperor to read Antonia’s letter damning Sejanus.

‘How is it to be done, then?’ Poppaeus asked, looking up.

‘We are to drown you, sir,’ Pallas informed him.

‘I see, I wondered what that barrel was for. You’re going to try and make it look like a natural death. Well, I suppose that suits Antonia’s purposes better. So be it.’
He got to his feet and walked over to the barrel. Magnus and Ziri moved away to give him room. ‘I would appreciate it if you’d allow me the courtesy to do this myself; I think we would
all feel a lot better that way. If I need help towards the end use one hand lightly; you won’t need force, my strength is gone.’ He plunged his head under the water and held the sides
of the barrel firmly; the muscles under the loose, pale flesh on his forearms tautened with the strain of keeping his head submerged. A sudden reflex as his lungs filled with water caused his body
to convulse and his head sprang back. Choking and spluttering, Poppaeus forced it back under. Corbulo cast a regretful look at Vespasian and walked over to the barrel. Another spasm from the dying
man brought his head back out of the water again, his eyes bulged and his mouth was drawn back in a bare-toothed, silent scream; water spewed from his convulsing lungs. With a monumental effort of
will he plunged back under; Corbulo rested his right hand on his head. Poppaeus’ feet started to kick and his arms flailed but he remained submerged. His thrashing limbs gradually lost their
force until, apart from the odd twitch as the nervous system shut down, they became still.

Poppaeus was dead.

There was silence in the room as they stared at the lifeless body slumped over the barrel. Corbulo withdrew his hand.

‘Fuck me, that took some guts,’ Magnus mumbled eventually, breaking the spell.

‘He was a dis-dis-gusting traitor who planned to usurp power from its rightful place,’ Claudius affirmed. ‘He doesn’t d-d-deserve respect.’

Vespasian, Corbulo and Pallas looked at the stuttering, slobbering potential heir to the Julio-Claudian line.

Claudius’ eyes narrowed, perhaps reading their minds. ‘G-get on with it,’ he ordered, ‘Narcissus can’t keep Kosmas talking for too long.’

Magnus moved towards the body. ‘Come on, Ziri, help me get his tunic off and string him up.’

Poppaeus’ body swung upside down, naked on the rope in front of the blazing fire. Water was collecting in the roof of his mouth; it overflowed in trickles through his
loose lips onto his face, filling his nostrils, and then dripped from his bald pate into a large puddle beneath him.

‘Right, that should be enough time; you hold him firm, sir,’ Magnus said to Vespasian.

Vespasian knelt and unwillingly placed his hands on Poppaeus’ clammy, skinny back.

‘Hold his mouth open, Ziri,’ Magnus ordered as he placed his hands on either side of the ribcage. He began to pump with hard, regular squeezes. A gush of water suddenly erupted from
Poppaeus’ mouth, spraying over Magnus’ face and tunic; he kept pumping as the flow lessened until it stopped completely. ‘That should do it. Now we take him down and turn him onto
his belly.’

Carefully they lowered the body face down on to the floor and undid the rope, removing the linen towels protecting his ankles. Magnus gave the back a few more squeezes to remove any residue
still stuck in the windpipe.

‘Now we dry him and dress him,’ Pallas said once Magnus was satisfied that all the water was out.

Replacing the tunic and belt was easy but no one had foreseen the difficulty involved in draping a toga onto a dead body. Eventually, with Magnus and Ziri holding the lifeless mannequin upright,
Vespasian and Corbulo managed to set the toga to Pallas’ satisfaction as Claudius lurched to and fro reminding everyone, unnecessarily, that time was pressing.

‘Get his arms over your shoulders and follow me,’ Pallas ordered Magnus and Ziri as he opened the door.

‘I never seen such madness,’ Ziri told Magnus as he hefted the body up, ‘not even at circus yesterday when you all started—’

‘Yes, yes, all right, Ziri,’ Magnus said, manoeuvring the body through the door.

Vespasian and Corbulo took a quick look around the room to make sure that none of Poppaeus’ possessions remained and then followed out into the garden.

‘I’ll w-w-wait for you here,’ Claudius said. ‘It’s the next bit that I’m looking f-forward to.’

‘I think that the crippled bastard is enjoying this,’ Corbulo complained as he and Vespasian slipped through the garden gate into a stable yard overshadowed by the huge bulk of the
brick-built Servian wall of Rome at its far end.

Poppaeus’ covered litter was next to the steps. Pallas pulled back the curtains and indicated to the mound of pillows at one end. ‘Put him this way round with his head on the
cushions.’

Magnus and Ziri heaved the body into the litter. Pallas then arranged it so that it appeared that Poppaeus was reclining on his right elbow. Vespasian and Corbulo helped him to stuff pillows
around the torso, wedging it in position.

‘Arrange his clothes,’ Pallas said once satisfied with the pose, ‘I won’t be long.’

By the time Poppaeus’ toga looked natural Pallas had returned carrying Capella’s chest.

‘How did you get that off Kosmas?’ Vespasian asked, amazed.

Pallas gave a rare smile. ‘I didn’t, it’s an exact copy that I had made when you left me the original; the same locks and seven fake land deeds inside.’ He placed the
chest next to Poppaeus and closed the curtains, tying them shut. ‘Magnus, go and get the bearers from the kitchens; put the fear of the gods into them so that they rush, we don’t want
them looking inside the litter. Then follow them round to the front and stand in front of the only bearer who has a clear view of the steps, ready to open the litter curtains slightly when I give
you the nod. Ziri, get the gate open.’

Magnus and Ziri hurried off; Pallas led Vespasian and Corbulo back into the garden where Claudius was waiting.

‘Now to complete the deception as we discussed yesterday. Remember, we walk through the atrium talking loudly about the elections as if Poppaeus is in our midst,’ Pallas reminded
them as they walked through the garden. ‘As we near the door Narcissus will bring Kosmas out of his study so that he will see us from the rear. The key to it is for each of us to say the name
Poppaeus a few times and laugh a lot; but try to keep it sounding natural.’

As they passed the table Pallas picked up Poppaeus’ walking stick and propped it up against the chair that he had sat in.

‘B-but my dear Poppaeus,’ Claudius almost shouted as they entered the atrium, ‘I can see no reason for me to support young Lucianus, he’s a b-b-buffoon.’

Pallas burst into laughter and Vespasian followed his lead. Corbulo’s aristocratic reserve held rigid and he remained silent.

‘Oh, well said, Poppaeus,’ Pallas guffawed, ‘you are so right.’

‘Will you support my brother this year in the praetor elections, Poppaeus?’ Vespasian asked, getting into the spirit of the ruse.

‘His brother is another buffoon, don’t you think, P-P-Poppaeus?’

They all gave another burst of laughter as they passed the impluvium.

‘I would be honoured if you would support me this year, Poppaeus,’ Corbulo blurted as Vespasian heard Narcissus’ study door open.

‘I missed that, Poppaeus,’ Pallas said, ‘what did you say?’ He gave another burst of laughter to cover the missing reply. ‘You are truly the wisest man in Rome,
Poppaeus, it has been an honour to meet you.’

They passed through the vestibule and out through the open front door into the street with another round of laughter. Vespasian looked behind and saw Kosmas scurrying to catch up, clutching the
real chest.

‘P-P-Poppaeus, it’s been a pleasure d-doing business,’ Claudius said as they walked down the steps in a tight group towards the waiting litter; Magnus stood blocking the line
of sight of the rear nearside bearer. ‘I shall see you in the Forum presently.’

‘Allow me to help you in, Poppaeus,’ Pallas said, nodding at Magnus who pulled the curtain slightly open. Pallas took it with his left hand and passed his right hand up along the
inside as if a head were rubbing against it as Kosmas came racing down the steps; Narcissus followed just behind him.

‘Your stick, Poppaeus? Of course I’ll send Kosmas back for it. Kosmas, your master has left his stick in the garden,’ Pallas said, letting the curtain go and turning to the
secretary. ‘Here, let me help you while you go and fetch it.’ He took the chest under one arm and opened the curtain again, exposing Poppaeus’ legs for the secretary to see and
placed the chest next to them as Narcissus walked around to the other side of the litter.

‘Quickly, Kosmas,’ Vespasian snapped, ‘Poppaeus is in a hurry, he has an urgent appointment in the Forum.’

‘I didn’t know about that,’ Kosmas said, looking confused.

Pallas stuck his head into the litter. ‘Of course, Poppaeus, I’ll tell him,’ Pallas said, reappearing. ‘The Forum Romanum, by the Rostra, as fast as possible,’ he
ordered the bearers before turning to Kosmas. ‘He says to meet him there with his stick.’

Kosmas shrugged and hurried back inside as the litter was lifted and moved quickly off down the street exposing Narcissus, on the far side, standing with his back towards the house. Vespasian
and Corbulo’s eyes widened in astonishment as he turned to face them; he was holding Capella’s chest.

‘Quick, take this around the back,’ Narcissus said as he handed the chest to Magnus, ‘we wouldn’t want our friend Kosmas to see it as he comes back out.’

Magnus had just enough time to clear around the corner as Kosmas came scuttling back out with Poppaeus’ stick.

‘Master,’ Narcissus cried, putting his hand to his forehead, ‘your book!’

‘Of course, Narcissus, thank you; where would I be without you?’ Claudius responded with equal melodrama. ‘Kosmas, wait a few moments while I find the first four volumes of my
History of the Etruscans that I’d promised to lend your master.’

The hapless secretary glanced down the empty street and then back at Claudius who was already walking back inside with Narcissus; his shoulders drooped and he trudged back up the steps.

Vespasian had to suppress an amused grin at the way he had been played. ‘He won’t be able to swear to anything other than Poppaeus left in a rush and had him running back and forth
for everything that he’d forgotten,’ he observed.

‘That was the objective,’ Pallas said, ‘but his part’s not over yet; Claudius and Narcissus will delay him a while longer and then we’ll follow him down to the
Forum and watch him react to Poppaeus being found dead.’

‘Wouldn’t the bearers have seen Narcissus take the chest from the other side of the litter?’ Corbulo asked, still in a slight daze from the fast moving events.

‘Only the man on the far side at the back could have seen it but Narcissus reached in as they bent to pick up the litter and always kept his back to that bearer. Anyway, no questions
should be asked about the chest as the false one will be found along with the dead Poppaeus in the litter.’

Kosmas’ arrival with Narcissus cut short their conversation.

‘My dear Kosmas,’ Narcissus crooned, placing a pudgy arm around the wiry secretary’s shoulders, ‘it has been a pleasure seeing you again. We secretaries should get
together more often.’

‘Yes, thank you, Narcissus, we should. I must hurry.’

‘Of course you must. I shall see you soon.’

Kosmas bowed his head to Vespasian, Corbulo and Pallas and hurried off down the street with his master’s stick and four cylindrical, leather book containers stuffed into his bag.

‘We’ll follow him, Narcissus,’ Pallas said as the secretary disappeared around the corner, ‘and make sure that Asiaticus does his bit.’

‘We’ll meet tomorrow, Pallas. Gentlemen, farewell.’

As Vespasian turned to go he felt Narcissus’ hand touch his shoulder. ‘By the way, Vespasian,’ Narcissus whispered in his ear, ‘if you’re thinking of paying a visit
to the Cloelius brothers while you’re in the Forum you’d be wasting your time; I had that bankers’ draft cancelled with them.’