Rome's Lost Son (31 page)

With theatrical aplomb the dashing, current heir to the Purple presented the huge prizes to the triumphant Blue charioteers, basking in their glory as if he himself had driven the winning team. From the back of the box, the boy with whom Claudius, in his befuddled mind, planned to replace the glamorous poseur looked on unnoticed by the crowd as his rightful position was unashamedly usurped.

As Nero finished presenting the final prize of the day to the victorious Blues both his mother and Pallas conferred with him. He glanced at Claudius, then over to the senators’ enclosure and then gestured, with studied melodrama, for quiet; almost a quarter of a million people obeyed the request.

‘People of Rome,’ he declaimed in a voice that was husky and far from strong. ‘My father,’ he paused and indicated with a flourish the bewildered sot oblivious to what was happening as he struggled to read the dots on the dice of his latest throw, ‘invites you all to feast at his expense this evening. Tables have been set up throughout the city and will be supplied with food and drink for four hours. He wishes you the joy of the Augustalia!’ Standing side-on, Nero held one hand to his heart and extended the other out and up and then turned slowly to take in the entire screaming crowd. With a flick of his wrist and a downward motion of his arm, he silenced them and turned to the senators’ enclosure. ‘As a personal favour to him, my father requests the company of all senators of Praetorian or consular rank to join him for an intimate dinner at the palace. He expects you there at your earliest convenience.’

Vespasian swore to himself now that his first meeting with Caenis in nearly three years would have to be postponed.

Nero turned back to the crowd and struck a heroic pose, hands on hips, one foot forward, head held high and eyes gazing valiantly into the distance as his adoptive father was helped to the exit, leaving Paelignus, for once, staring at two large piles of winnings, one silver and the other gold.

‘I can’t imagine that he was in any state to make that invitation,’ Gaius observed, watching Claudius being restrained as he lurched to embrace his natural son as he passed.

‘No, Uncle,’ Vespasian replied, ‘it was Pallas and Agrippina who made it.’

Gaius looked over to Agrippina who now held her son’s right arm high in the air as if he had won a race. ‘Oh dear, dear boy, oh dear.’

CHAPTER XVIIII

‘N
-N-NONE OFF YOUSH
shup-p-p-ported me!’ Claudius muttered, returning to his favourite topic of the evening and pointing a trembling finger around the palace’s vast triclinium, built by Caligula. ‘N-n-none of yoush wanted a cr-cr-cripple for your Emperor.’

Not one of the hundred or so senators present bothered to gainsay him; instead they picked in embarrassed silence at the delicacies set on the tables before them and tried not to notice the fact that their Emperor had wet himself.

Agrippina laid a soothing hand on Claudius’ arm and plied him with yet more drink as slaves padded about bringing in fresh dishes and clearing those either empty or cold.

Nero, on the couch to Claudius’ right, took no notice of his drunken adoptive father, preferring instead to alternatively feed titbits to his wife and be fed the same by his slightly older friend, Marcus Salvius Otho.

Vespasian and Gaius reclined to the Emperor’s left, sharing their couch with Pallas; both trying to think of any small talk with which to bridge the uncomfortable near-silence now shrouding the room as Claudius took slow, methodical sips of his refilled cup until it was dry. The feast was in its fourth hour and no one, apart from Nero, could have claimed to be enjoying themselves.

‘Where’s Narcissus?’ Vespasian eventually asked, turning to Pallas.

‘He’s gone to his estate near Veii to try to help relieve his gout.’

‘Voluntarily?’

‘Agrippina did suggest that it might be
very
good for his health, if you take my meaning, as Magnus would say.’

‘Indeed he would and I do.’

Vespasian cast his eyes around the sombre gathering of Rome’s élite as Claudius slurred on, spiralling down into introspective self-pity as only a man well into his cups can do. Again he noticed Galba was next to the Vitellius brothers, reclining on the same couch, all three of them looking openly disgusted at Claudius’ appearance. As Vespasian began to wonder again just what Galba and the Vitellii were doing together, a pair of pale eyes, which seemed vaguely familiar, caught his gaze; they belonged to a huge man reclining on the couch placed next to Galba’s. The man raised his cup and drank to Vespasian; not wanting to appear rude, Vespasian returned the toast unable to work out where he knew the face from. His hair, clipped short, and clean-shaven face accentuated a vast, bony head, supported by a bull neck that in turn protruded from a powerful torso.

‘Who’s that?’ Vespasian asked Pallas out of the corner of his mouth as he lowered his cup.’

‘Hmm?’ Pallas looked up. ‘Oh, don’t you recognise him? Try adding long hair and moustaches.’

It took Vespasian a couple of moments. ‘Caratacus?’

‘Tiberius Claudius Caratacus, citizen of Rome, recently awarded the rank of praetor and now looking no different from any other Romanised barbarian.’

Caratacus smiled over to him as the recognition of his old enemy spread over Vespasian’s face.

‘He’s a particular favourite of Nero’s,’ Pallas explained, whispering. ‘He likes to have him around to remind everybody of his magnanimity in recommending his pardon. Caratacus is also—’

The arrival of another course interrupted the Greek as Claudius, roused from his melancholy by the smell, blurted, ‘Ah, mushrooms! At lasht something I can trusht.’ He downed the contents of his cup in celebration and then held it out to Agrippina to refill.

The company laughed sycophantically at the poor attempt at wit and then busied themselves in making appreciative noises in anticipation of the tasty dish. Conversation suddenly escalated as all began discourses on the safe topic of mushrooms and their preparation.

An elderly female slave placed a large bowl, with care, on the table in front of the Emperor and Empress, adjusting its angle slightly once it was down. Claudius looked at it with wine-stained drool oozing from his mouth as Agrippina dipped her fingers in and took a small specimen from her side of the dish and savoured its aroma. ‘They’re good, my dear,’ she said before placing it in her mouth.

Claudius watched his wife eat, his eyes struggling to focus.

Agrippina swallowed and smiled at her husband. ‘Delicious.’

Claudius grabbed one from his side of the bowl and chewed on it with gusto as Agrippina helped herself to another; all around the room people tucked into the dish and the atmosphere relaxed now that the Emperor seemed to be more content.

Claudius heaved out a huge belch and then took another couple of slugs of wine before choosing the largest and juiciest of the mushrooms on his side of the bowl and held it up to Agrippina, slurring what Vespasian took to be a phallic joke, judging by the Empress’s dutifully coy reaction. Claudius put the head to his lips and licked it suggestively and then pushed it slowly into his mouth before withdrawing it. Uncharacteristically, Agrippina simpered, but her eyes remained hard, focused on the mushroom. She rubbed Claudius’ thigh and whispered something to him; her mouth then pouted and her head tilted in the affirmative with the promise of a treat to come.

Claudius bit the mushroom in half, slavering on its juices. He swallowed and stuffed the remainder in as Agrippina recharged his cup even though it was not quite empty. A thunderous burp announced the disappearance of the last mouthful; it was quickly washed down with the full contents of the cup. Agrippina immediately refilled it, spilling some over Claudius’ unsteady hand; conversation throughout the room had grown more animated.

Vespasian sipped his wine and nibbled on a mushroom as Gaius, next to him, tucked into their bowl with undisguised relish; Pallas, to his other side, tensed, his hand, white-knuckled, clutching the edge of the couch. Vespasian looked to see what had startled him.

Claudius’ body spasmed, his face a slimed rictus; the contents of his shaking cup slopped over Agrippina who laid a soothing hand on his cheek. The palpitations ceased, his face relaxed and he slumped down, his chest heaving for breath.

Silence spread like a wave throughout the room as people realised that the Emperor had collapsed. Nero stood and looked down at Claudius in wide-eyed, open-mouthed horror with the back of his right hand on his brow like some tragic actor seeing the lifeless body of a lover.

‘My husband has drunk his fill!’ Agrippina announced looking down at the prone form next to her. ‘He has, after all, drunk enough to sink Neptune himself in the last few days.’

Nervous laughter greeted this bald statement of fact, indicating that no one present believed for one moment that it was an alcohol-related incident; however, everyone knew that they would be able to swear to this cover story.

Agrippina turned to an elderly slave woman whom Vespasian recognised as the same woman who had served Claudius his mushrooms. ‘Fetch a bowl and a towel.’ The woman bowed and padded off as Agrippina got to her feet, a picture of unworried calm. ‘I shall have my personal physician attend him to apply an emetic.’ She clapped her hands and four bulky slaves appeared from the shadows around the edge of the room and surrounded Claudius’ couch. ‘I suggest that we curtail our revels; goodnight.’

No one disputed this, although all felt that revels was too strong a word to describe the evening.

‘Not you two,’ Pallas said as Vespasian and Gaius rose to leave, ‘there should be witnesses to the Emperor’s sudden and catastrophic change of health. Stay here and compose your speeches for the Senate tomorrow.’

Vespasian sat down on the edge of the couch and looked around the room; it was emptying of senators apart from six others: Paetus, Mucianus, Corvinus, Galba and the Vitellius brothers. Vespasian now understood why they had been seated together: Pallas had drawn on a cross-section of the Senate to secure Nero into power; a consensual conspiracy with support
from all sides would be the most plausible of witnesses to Claudius’ ‘sad and untimely death’.

Gaius evidently realised this too. ‘Oh dear, dear boy, oh dear.’

‘The Emperor has most certainly overconsumed, causing a disproportionate amount of phlegm in his humours; he must vomit some more.’ The bearded Greek physician looked up from his patient satisfied with his diagnosis.

Claudius lay, breathing heavily, on the couch; a pile of vomit, as foul-smelling as it was colourful, was next to his slack mouth.

‘What will you give him, Xenophon?’ Agrippina asked with a voice laden with concern.

‘Nothing; the best thing to do is to tickle the back of his throat.’ Xenophon rummaged in his box and brought out a goose feather; he moved Claudius’ head away from the vomit.

‘Clear that up,’ Agrippina ordered the waiting, elderly female slave.

The woman came forward with a towel and a bowl; she placed the bowl on the couch next to Xenophon and began to scoop up the vomit with the towel.

Xenophon waited, idly playing with the feather, rubbing its tip around the bowl. With the vomit collected the woman placed the full towel into the bowl and took both away.

Xenophon tilted Claudius’ head towards him and opened the jaw. Very delicately he inserted the feather deep down into the throat and wriggled it around; Claudius suddenly convulsed but Xenophon kept the feather in. With a second convulsion the feather and another full slop of vomit were expelled. Nero shrieked as if he had never seen someone vomit before; he put a protective arm around his wife and Otho put a protective arm around him. Claudius seemed to breathe more easily.

Xenophon repeated the procedure and the Emperor vomited again; Nero shrieked again.

‘That should do it,’ Xenophon said. ‘He should be moved to his bed now.’

‘Thank you, doctor,’ Agrippina said as if a huge weight had been lifted. She signalled to the slaves, who lifted Claudius from
the couch. As they bore him away he suddenly spasmed a couple of times and cried out in a strangled cry before his arms flopped down beside him, touching the floor.

Agrippina screamed and rushed to his side; Xenophon followed as Vespasian and the rest of the senators watched the dumb-show. Nero howled at the gods, reaching up with his right hand in desperate supplication. Xenophon grabbed Claudius’ wrist, checking for a pulse and then put his fingers to the side of his neck. After a few moments he looked at the Empress and shook his head slowly.

Agrippina drew herself up to her full height and with the most regal expression on her face turned to the witnesses. ‘The Emperor is dead; we shall prepare for the succession.’

Nero stood, his hands half-raised and his eyes staring from beneath arched brows as if miming shock. ‘But Mother, I’m not ready for such a burden.’

Behind her in the shadows the slave woman showed a hint of a smile and slipped away as Burrus and Seneca appeared with an escort of Praetorian Guardsmen. ‘Come, Princeps,’ Burrus said, addressing Nero; a half-smile of triumph flickered briefly across Agrippina’s face.

Nero fell to his knees, his hands clasped between his legs. ‘Oh, to be worthy of that title. Where would you take me?’

Seneca held a hand out and helped Nero up. ‘We shall escort you to the Praetorian camp where you can await the Senate’s confirmation of power.’ He turned to Pallas. ‘Is everything in place?’

Pallas looked at Vespasian and the other senators who had just witnessed the completely deniable public assassination. ‘Yes, Seneca; Galba will summon the Senate soon after dawn and Vespasian will lead their call begging Nero to accept the heavy burden of the Purple.’

Vespasian parted with Gaius at the latter’s front door at the eighth hour of the night and headed, despite the lateness of the hour, to Caenis’ house. He was admitted immediately by the huge Nubian doorman and was surprised to find lamps still
burning and the household still up as he walked through the vestibule.

‘The mistress is in her study,’ Caenis’ steward informed him with a deep bow. ‘She said that you were to go straight in.’

Vespasian thanked the man, walked to the last door on the right-hand side of the atrium and opened it; light flooded out.

Caenis looked up from behind her desk; it was covered with scrolls. Crates of scrolls and wax writing tablets were piled all around the room. Without a word she jumped up and ran to him, throwing her arms about his neck as he lifted her off her feet. With their lips glued firmly together he walked her back over to the desk and lay her down, scattering scrolls left and right. Still without saying a word they ripped at each other’s clothing until they were unimpeded and then, with no pause for any intricate delicacies, began the urgent business of pleasuring each other.

‘Narcissus had them sent over just before he left Rome,’ Caenis said in answer to Vespasian’s question about the scrolls, none of which remained on the desk. ‘They contain his entire collection of information on senators and equites as well as his correspondence with all his agents throughout the Empire.’

Vespasian kneeled up on the desk and looked around the study, which resembled a well-used storeroom. He shook his head in amazement. ‘This is invaluable. Why did he trust you with it?’

Caenis sat up and kissed him. ‘Because, my love, I wrote a lot of these whilst I was his secretary; he concluded that he’d be giving away fewer secrets if I looked after them for him than anyone else.’

‘Look after them?’

‘Yes; he knew that they would be stolen if he left them in his apartments at the palace after Agrippina advised him to leave Rome; he didn’t have time to hide them properly so he arranged to have them sent here in secret. He asked me to keep them safe either until he comes back to Rome or until his execution, in which case I’m to burn them to prevent them falling into Nero’s or Agrippina’s hands.’

‘Or Pallas’?’

Caenis raised a conspiratorial eyebrow. ‘That could be up for negotiation.’

‘So you won’t burn them?’

‘I’ll burn most of them; it’ll be too dangerous to keep it all. But you’re assuming that Narcissus will be executed.’

‘Agrippina won’t let him live now she’s had Claudius murdered.’

Caenis took the news calmly as she stood and began to try to bring some sort of order to her dress and coiffure. ‘Already? That was quick; Narcissus thought he’d have another half a month or so.’