False God of Rome (29 page)

The mob outside, in the Forum Romanum, was in full cry, celebrating the despised old Emperor’s death and the accession of their new hope, Caligula; but there was near
silence in the packed Senate House as Quintus Naevius Cordus Sutorius Macro entered, in military uniform, holding a scroll-case. He was flanked, outrageously, by four armed Praetorian Guardsmen
also in uniform rather than wearing their customary togas, worn when on duty within the city. The looks on most senators’ faces attested to what they felt about such an overt display of
Praetorian power over the increasingly enfeebled Senate.

‘He’s making the point that this time the Guard has chosen the Emperor,’ Gaius whispered to Vespasian over the muttering of their unhappy colleagues, ‘and we have to
ratify it or face their swords.’

Gnaeus Acerronius Proculus, the Senior Consul, remained seated on his curule chair as the small party clattered up the centre of the House. ‘The Senate calls upon Quintus Naevius Cordus
Sutorius Macro to brief it on the health of our beloved Emperor, Tiberius. Is the rumour true?’ Proculus called, taking the initiative in an attempt to reassert senatorial authority.

‘Of course it’s true, as you well know, Consul,’ Macro growled, ‘and I’m here to tell—’

‘Conscript Fathers,’ Proculus cut in, ‘the Praetorian prefect has brought us the most grievous news: confirmation that our Emperor is dead.’ He began to wail
theatrically.

The whole Senate followed his lead; cries of woe and anguish filled the House, drowning out Macro’s attempts to make himself heard until, humiliated, he was forced to wait impotently to be
allowed to speak.

Vespasian and Gaius joined in the protestations of grief, wholeheartedly enjoying the look on Macro’s face. ‘I don’t know how wise a move that was,’ Vespasian shouted in
Gaius’ ear, ‘but it was well done and most amusing.’

‘In as much as goading a lion is amusing,’ Gaius replied. ‘But if he was trying to wrest some authority back from the Guard to the Senate then it was certainly a good
start.’

As the expressions of grief continued a pair of dark eyes locked with Vespasian’s from the other side of the House; with a jolt he realised that Corvinus was back in Rome and had taken his
seat in the Senate.

‘I propose a ten-day period of mourning to start from this moment,’ Proculus eventually called out above the din. ‘All trials will be suspended, no sentences will be carried
out and all public business, including that of this House, will cease. After that time we will ratify Tiberius’ will and vote Gaius Caesar Germanicus all honours according to his station. The
House will divide.’

‘The House will listen to me!’ Macro bellowed.

‘The House will divide, prefect. You wouldn’t want it said that you stopped the House voting a suitable period of mourning for an emperor, would you?’

‘Fuck the period of mourning, Consul, I will be heard. The Emperor Gaius has sent me to give you Tiberius’ will and tell you to nullify it.’

Proculus looked suddenly unsure. ‘But surely it names him as Tiberius’ heir?’

‘It names him as the co-heir along with Tiberius Gemellus; it cannot be left like that, it’s a recipe for civil war.’

‘On what grounds can we change an emperor’s will?’

‘On the grounds that he was mentally incapable when he made it; and if that’s not enough for you, do you hear that?’ Macro gesticulated towards the noise coming through the
door; there was now a violent ring to it. ‘That is the sound of the people wanting to be ruled over by one man, not by one man and a boy. My men have been circulating among the crowd telling
them the terms of the will and they don’t like it; I can guarantee that none of you will get out of here alive until you change it. And while you’re about it I suggest that you vote the
Emperor all the titles and honours that you feel will please him; after that you can vote on what the fuck you like.’ Macro threw the scroll-case at the Senior Consul, turned and marched
smartly out with his escort.

Proculus’ shoulders sagged; his attempt to reassert the Senate’s authority as the legitimate power in Rome had come to a humiliating end. He knew that none of his colleagues would
risk the wrath of the mob. He got wearily to his feet. ‘I propose that this House nullifies Tiberius’ will and votes Gaius Caesar Germanicus as his sole heir and therefore the only
Emperor.’

Tears streamed down Caligula’s face; his voice was high with emotion, straining with grief. ‘In his modesty he refused the title of “Father of the
Country”; he refused to be worshipped as a god, preferring instead to take his reward for his selfless service in the love that his people bore him for his just and benign rule.’

‘I can’t help but wonder if he is really talking about Tiberius,’ Gaius muttered to Vespasian out of the corner of his mouth.

‘If he is, it makes a nice change,’ Vespasian replied, ‘that’s almost the first time that he’s mentioned him.’

They had already stood through nearly two hours of Caligula praising his father Germanicus as well as his great-uncle Augustus and thereby reminding the people of Rome of the stock that he came
from and securing in their minds his right to be emperor. Now it seemed that he had finally got on to the subject that he was meant to be eulogising, although, judging by the looks on the faces of
the other senators standing with them on the steps of Pompey’s Theatre in the Campus Martius, Vespasian could see that his uncle was not the only person having difficulty in trying to equate
the new Emperor’s words with the character of his predecessor.

Standing on a high dais, Caligula carried on his emotional eulogy, surrounded by actors wearing the funeral masks of Tiberius’ ancestors. Next to the dais stood the unlit pyre upon which
was set the bier that supported the corpse; it had been smuggled into the city under cover of night, partly to protect it from the mob but mainly so that nothing distracted attention from the
political aim of the day: that the citizens of Rome accept Caligula as their Emperor.

The Campus Martius was heaving with people come not to hear the palpable nonsense that Caligula was spouting but to see the dazzling young Emperor himself, resplendent in purple laced with gold
embroidery and crowned with a wreath of gilded laurels. When he had entered the city earlier that day they had hailed him as their saviour and shouted out affectionate greetings and called him
their star, their pet and beloved son of the great Germanicus come to usher in the new golden age of Rome. The phrase had resonated in Vespasian’s mind as he had looked on with a growing
sense of dread mixed with a vague hope that perhaps this adulation would spur Caligula on to rule with temperance and prudence, keeping his vices private and his affability public.

After another quarter of an hour of unrestrained drivel about Tiberius’ virtue, sobriety and sense of justice – with a brief foray into the truth by way of praise for his scholarship
– Caligula finally drew to a close with a prayer of thanks to the gods for granting Tiberius such longevity, and regret – shared by no one else in the vast crowd – that his time
had now come to meet the Ferryman. As his final words died away the pyre was lit and the professional mourners renewed their wailing and rending of garments with a fervour that amused the mob that
had only a few days previously been calling for the hated Emperor’s body to be cast without ceremony into the Tiber.

Flames quickly consumed the dry wood, coaxed on by bags of oil within the pyre, sending a heat shimmer and trails of smoke up into the crisp, early spring air. Priests and augurs scanned the sky
for bird-signs, hoping to see an eagle do something auspicious that they would interpret, after careful consultation with the young Emperor, in a way that best suited the politics of the transition
of power. But none came and nor could they fabricate one, since the event was being witnessed by such a large crowd, all of whom were also searching for omens.

As the bier caught light and the corpse began to sizzle, Caligula descended from the dais and, flanked by the Consuls and praetors and preceded by twelve lictors, made his way towards
Pompey’s Theatre, through the crowd who now cheered their new hero with an enthusiasm fuelled by the final consumption of the old Emperor’s body. Caligula basked in their adoration,
dispensing largesse and tickets for the funeral games to be held after the mourning period was ended.

‘We’d better go in,’ Gaius muttered, turning to follow the other senators into the theatre to wait to be addressed by their new Emperor.

‘As to the titles and honours that you have voted me, I will allow them all except “Father of the Country”, you can vote me that at a later date; and I shall
postpone becoming Senior Consul until June. However, you will vote my grandmother Antonia the title of “Augusta” and my three sisters all the privileges of the Vestal
Virgins.’

The senators, already almost hoarse from acclaiming Caligula as he had entered the theatre, cheered their assent to these orders.

‘Do you think that last measure was meant to be ironic, Uncle?’ Vespasian quipped out of the corner of his mouth. Gaius knew better than to smile at the joke.

As Caligula continued his address, Vespasian surreptitiously scanned the faces of the senators; most of them had screwed their faces into sombre expressions of acceptance as they listened to
their new Emperor’s demands, unable to find fault with any of them. As his gaze wandered to the end of a line those two dark eyes met his again and he felt the hatred that burned within
them.

‘Finally,’ Caligula announced by way of conclusion, ‘I will halt all treason trials; it is unimaginable that anyone would harbour a treasonous thought against an emperor so
loved by his people. To this end I will burn all the papers containing evidence against members of this House that Tiberius had collected. I will do this in order that, no matter how strongly I may
some day desire to harbour malice against any one of you for voting for my mother’s and my brothers’ deaths, I shall nevertheless be unable to punish him in the courts.’

This brought the loudest cheer of the meeting; the relieved senators felt themselves forgiven for their collusion, by way of opportunistic denunciations of members of Germanicus’ family in
an attempt to curry favour with Tiberius and Sejanus as, for separate reasons, the two men had pursued the destruction of so much of Caligula’s family.

Caligula let them applaud his magnanimity for a good while before signalling for quiet and carrying on. ‘But seeing as you have deprived me of a brother to share my consulship in June I
shall have to look elsewhere for a colleague, and the most suitable one that I can think of is my uncle, Claudius.’

There was a stunned silence; the thought of Claudius stuttering and drooling his way through all the ancient rituals of the Senate was appalling to all those present.

‘I understand your confusion, Conscript Fathers,’ Caligula sympathised, with a barely concealed look of amusement on his face. ‘Claudius is only an equestrian and not a member
of the Senate.’ His eyes hardened. ‘So I shall make him one immediately. The Consuls, praetors, aediles and quaestors may have the privilege of accompanying me to Augustus’ House
where I shall take up residence. That will be all.’ He turned and walked quickly towards the exit with the senior magistrates scrambling in an undignified manner to catch up.

As the young Emperor drew close to where Vespasian stood, ready to take his place along with the other magistrates, his dark-rimmed sunken eyes fell on him; with a radiant smile Caligula
beckoned him to join him at the head of the procession.

‘My friend,’ Caligula said as Vespasian fell into step next to him, ‘I have been so looking forward to seeing you; what fun we shall have now.’

‘I’m honoured, Princeps,’ Vespasian replied, feeling the disapproving looks of the more senior magistrates upon him.

‘I suppose you are. I shall have to get used to my friends being honoured by my favour.’

Having not seen Caligula close up for almost six years he was surprised to notice that the hair on the top of his head was thinning and wispy; he felt his eyes drawn to it. Caligula caught his
look and the cheerful expression on his face disappeared in an instant.

‘That is the last time you stare at my
full
head of hair,’ he warned coldly. A warm grin suddenly replaced the icy glare. ‘Tonight you dine with me; I’ve invited
my grandmother, you can help me deal with her. I believe that she’s going to try and give me advice and tell me what to do. I think that would be most unwise of her; don’t you
agree?’

‘If you feel that it would be unwise then I would agree with you, Princeps,’ Vespasian replied guardedly.

‘Oh, stop that Princeps nonsense in private with me, Vespasian, we’re friends. Now walk with me to the Palatine and tell me about the lovely Caenis.’

Vespasian swallowed hard.

‘Over five hundred million denarii, can you believe it?’ Caligula exclaimed as the imperial party reached the top of the Palatine, leaving the cheering masses
below. ‘Just lying there in the treasury, doing nothing. The old miser was just sitting on it.’

‘It’s always good to have a reserve,’ Vespasian pointed out, still mightily relieved that Caligula’s attention span was so short that he had tired of the subject of
Caenis after no more than a couple of stumbling sentences. ‘He was able to donate all that money for the rebuilding of the Aventine, for example.’

Caligula frowned. ‘Yes, what a waste giving it to people who can well afford to have their houses burned down; I’ll find a way to get it back off them, don’t you worry about
that. But just think what I could do with all the rest. We shall have games every day and I shall build, Vespasian, build.’ He pointed to Augustus’ grand house, towards which they were
heading, and that of Tiberius next to it. ‘I shall make these two feeble little dwellings into one huge palace fit for an emperor and his sisters, and I shall fill it with the best furniture,
art and slaves from all over the Empire. And conquests, Vespasian, I shall make glorious conquests and celebrate Triumphs the like of which have never been seen. The Senate will be envious of my
power and glory and will mutter and plot behind my back but will flatter me with titles to my face and I will mock them and humiliate them for their obsequiousness. They will hate me as they did
Tiberius, but unlike him, I shall fill the city with the spoils of a hundred nations and fill the circus with thousands of captives to be slaughtered for the pleasure of the people, and they will
love me and keep me safe.’