Rome's Lost Son (33 page)

As the proposal was seconded by Paetus and a vote was called and passed, almost unanimously, Vespasian felt Corvinus’ eyes boring into him and the malice that they conveyed; he was, most certainly, breaking his oath to conduct himself as a dead man in Vespasian’s presence. However, that did not surprise him as, if he had guessed correctly, it was not the first time that Corvinus had broken that oath.

CHAPTER XX

N
ERO LEANT ON
Otho’s arm, trying to draw breath; he threw his head back, his sunset locks flowing with the motion, as he pinched his temples with the thumb and ring-finger of one hand. Eventually he inhaled, gasping, and Vespasian wondered how much longer the Prince of the Youth would be able to keep up this show of overwhelmed surprise.

Vespasian glanced around the atrium of the Praetorian prefect’s quarters in the Guard’s camp, outside the Viminal Gate. Agrippina, Pallas, Seneca and Burrus waited patiently as if such a ghastly display of overacting, which would put even the most melodramatic actor to shame, was a normal way to react to something totally expected; however, none of them would meet Vespasian’s eye.

‘I must compose my speech.’ Nero’s voice, husky at the best of times, was gravelled with emotion.

Seneca stepped forward and pulled a scroll from the fold of his toga. ‘Princeps, you already have.’

Both Nero’s hands came up, his thumbs touching the tips of his middle fingers, delight now upon his face. ‘Ah! So I have.’

Seneca handed the document over. ‘I’m sure it’s a masterwork, Princeps.’

‘It is, it is,’ Nero affirmed as he read through it.

‘Your skill with words is unsurpassed.’

‘Apart from musical talent; and if I were to put the two together …’ Nero looked up to the ceiling, his eyes wistful, and then returned his attention to the scroll.

All stood in silence as Nero finished perusing the speech. ‘I shall answer the Senate’s call and come at once, Senator Vespasian.’

‘You honour us, Princeps.’

‘But what to wear? What to wear, Mother?’

Agrippina smiled at her son, reaching out and stroking the ginger down on his cheeks. ‘Your steward has a selection of suitable attire ready for your inspection in your rooms.’

‘Mother, you think of everything.’ Nero kissed her on the lips and then grabbed Otho’s arm again. ‘Come, Otho, you shall help me decide; I mustn’t keep the Senate waiting.’

Vespasian watched the chosen Emperor almost skip from the room and wondered just for how long his antics would be tolerated; but he surmised that the innate sycophancy of the senatorial and equestrian classes would mean that his behaviour would have to deteriorate to the levels of Caligula before the whisperings would start. He then got a taste of what was to come as Agrippina turned to Burrus and, with a cold smile on her lips and malice in her dark eyes said, in almost a purr, ‘Send a turma of Praetorian cavalry to bring Narcissus back to Rome.’ As Burrus saluted and turned to go she added, ‘And remove Callistus from his position as secretary to the Law Courts; on a permanent basis.’

The killing was about to begin.

Four hours later, after Vespasian had sent repeated messages back to the Senate assuring them that Nero was coming once he had finished changing, the senators rose to their feet and applauded the Golden Prince after he had, with great verbosity and many shows of reluctance, accepted their pleas. Tears of gratitude were evident in many an eye in imitation of the tears rolling down Nero’s cheeks, as he slowly rotated with both hands pressed to his heart so all understood just how acutely he felt the emotion. Resplendent in golden slippers, a purple tunic embroidered with gold thread, a wreath of laurels worked from thin foil of the same metal and bracelets studded with all manner of precious jewels, Nero showed his modesty by sporting a plain white citizen’s toga. Of his humility all could be certain as Nero approached the Consul and, kneeling before him, pleaded to be allowed to address the Senate once again.

Fighting against a look of bemusement that kept on flickering over his face, Marcellus gave the floor to the new Emperor. Nero drew himself up to his full height, which was average, and passed his pale blue eyes over his audience, before arranging himself into the classic orator’s pose with his left arm across his midriff, supporting the folds of his toga, and his right down by his side, his hand clutching a scroll. Once he was happy with his stance, he heaved a couple of sobs and then cleared his throat of the heavy emotion before launching into a speech that within a few paragraphs had surprised everyone by its fair-mindedness and conservatism. All could see it bore no resemblance to his character and yet none wanted to disbelieve what they were hearing.

Nero affirmed the authority of the Senate, hoped for the consensus of the military, avowed that he had no animosities, brought with him no wrongs to be righted nor any desire for revenge and promised that he would not be the judge of all law cases and, also, that there would be no bribery within his household. As Nero talked on into the afternoon, Vespasian’s mind turned to his revenge. He scanned the lines of senators, each looking as if the weak, husky voice addressing them was the most beautiful sound in creation, and soon found the object of his hatred. Paelignus again almost jumped from his stool as he felt Vespasian’s gaze upon him and then turned into the full venom of his stare. As Nero worked himself up to a rhetorical climax, referring often to his scroll, Vespasian bathed in the thought of Paelignus’ humiliation and then death until, having peaked with the announcement that after Claudius’ funeral the following day he would meet with the Armenian delegation waiting in the city and, in one move, restabilise the Roman East, the Senate rose and cheered the Golden Prince who was now their Emperor.

The Junior Consul stood and motioned for silence. ‘Princeps, we have all been moved by your words that have so finely expressed the principles of just governance. I would propose that we should have your speech inscribed on silver tablets to be read out every time new consuls come into office as an example to all. What does the House say?’

With a unanimous cheer, accepting this inspirational way of honouring such a fine piece of rhetoric, the Senate hailed their Emperor. The cheering and applause went on and on as Nero graciously accepted it, again and again, with lavish hand gestures and expressions of modesty until, no doubt fearing for his dinner being ruined, the Junior Consul brought it to an end. ‘We look forward to taking our oaths to you tomorrow morning, after the funeral of your father. Until then we thank you for your time and will offer up prayers to all the gods of this city to hold their hands over you.’

Nero was too overcome to be able to reply; he walked with a quivering lower lip to the open doors of the Senate House. There, on the threshold, stood his mother, banned from entering the building because of her sex; Burrus stood behind her with a waiting guard of Praetorians. Nero threw himself into Agrippina’s arms and they embraced as if both were in rapturous joy.

‘What is the password of the day, Princeps?’ Burrus asked as the couple released one another.

‘The only password possible, Burrus,’ Nero replied, gazing at Agrippina. ‘Excellent mother.’

Burrus saluted and signalled to the guards to move aside as Nero walked forward to a thunderous ovation from the people of Rome, gathered in their thousands in the Forum. The Senate filed out behind Nero to share in the acclaim that the Golden Prince was receiving. Vespasian joined them, with Gaius, and watched the undeserved outpouring of love by the people, wondering for how long the words that Seneca had put in Nero’s mouth would stick there.

‘You shouldn’t have done that, bumpkin,’ a voice said in his ear.

Vespasian did not turn around. ‘I thought you were meant to be dead, Corvinus.’

‘I think that you noticing me alive in the Senate House this morning nullifies my oath.’

Vespasian still refused to look at Corvinus. ‘Seeing as you have miraculously come back from the dead, tell me, Corvinus, where are you living in this life? I seem to remember that in your last life you lived near my brother; that’s how you inveigled your way into
his confidence and found out the whereabouts of Clementina so you could take her to Caligula. Are you still there?’

‘On the Aventine? Yes. What’s that—’

‘East Aventine?’

‘Yes.’

Vespasian spun round and fixed Corvinus with a look of naked hatred. ‘You haven’t been dead to me at all, have you, Corvinus? You tried to have me killed and make it look like I was a victim of a brotherhood takeover. After I had Pallas spare your life, I consider that to be extremely ungrateful behaviour.’

‘It’s a humiliation to be in the debt of a man as low-born as you.’

‘How did you know I’d be there in Magnus’ tavern at that time, Corvinus?’

Corvinus sneered, turned on his heel and walked away.

‘What was all that about, dear boy?’ Gaius asked, almost shouting over the growing tumult.

‘That, Uncle, was about a bastard who refuses to stay dead. I can see that he’s going to need a little help next time.’

It seemed to Vespasian that Nero would soon have the whole of Rome constantly shedding floods of tears as he watched the weeping Emperor, with Britannicus and Octavia Claudia following, bearing the casket containing Claudius’ ashes to Augustus’ mausoleum the following morning. Set on the bank of the Tiber on the north of the Campus Martius, the circular marbled building was capped with a conical roof that supported a statue of the great man who had commissioned it; it was the final resting place of all Rome’s Emperors and most members of their family. As Nero passed under the ring of cypress trees and then on through the gate guarded by two pink granite obelisks, Vespasian reflected that yet another member of the Julio-Claudians had failed to live out their natural life; even Augustus was rumoured to have been poisoned by his wife Livia so as to ensure that her son Tiberius inherited, and here was history repeating itself, although this time it had been a feather rather than a fig which had been the poisoned vessel.

The funeral party disappeared into the gloom of the interior and the people howled out their grief, not for Claudius’ demise, but for their new Emperor’s loss. They cared not for Britannicus nor for Octavia Claudia; they only had eyes for the dazzling Golden Emperor, as he now had become in their minds. They mourned with him now as they had mourned with him throughout the morning while he had eulogised Claudius from the podium next to his funeral pyre. Surrounded by actors wearing the funeral masks of the imperial family, he had praised Claudius for his scholarship, his extension of the Empire, his legal aptitude, all in the very vaguest of terms, careful that the words he used would not make it impossible to better each of Claudius’ achievements in short order. Claudius’ vices and afflictions had been forgotten, as had been his natural children, previous wives, powerful mother, Antonia, and grandmother, Livia. Nothing had been said that could overshadow or reflect badly on Nero and Agrippina. She sat to one side of the podium, on a dais, at the head of the women of Rome’s élite, Flavia and Caenis to the fore.

And the people had loved Nero; they had loved him because he made them do so by his seemingly open personality and his ability to express his emotions. But those who knew him and those who had seen him up close understood, like Vespasian did, that was just an act, a veneer.

And so, as the Senate and the people of Rome took their oath to the new Emperor, once he had emerged from the mausoleum with his duty to his predecessor done, those who appreciated the truth of the matter repeated the ritual formula with apprehension, wondering just what the false exterior concealed and hoping that, whatever it was, it would do them no harm. However, some, Vespasian included, had paid attention to what Nero’s natural father, Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus, had said upon being congratulated on the birth of his son: that a child of his and Agrippina would have a detestable nature and would be a public danger. It was with this knowledge and the firm belief that the Empire could not stand another Julio-Claudian who fitted that description that, once the ceremony had finished and Nero had been cheered off, Vespasian walked towards the
Greens’ stables to meet Magnus and Lucius, smiling to himself and thinking of ways to keep safe during what would be, to say the least, an unpredictable reign.

‘Well, that seemed to go very well, I’d say,’ Magnus said as he, Lucius and Vespasian walked across the rectangular exercise yard, lined with stables and workshops, at the heart of the Greens’ stable complex. He looked with admiration at the horses being exercised, either singly or in teams of two, three or four. ‘Eusebius seems to be a very reasonable man.’

Vespasian found it hard to completely agree with that observation. ‘It’s a fairish price,’ he said grudgingly.

‘A fairish price? The Greens pay for the cost of five horses’ upkeep and training and you get to keep sixty per cent of their winnings; I’d say that is beyond fair, never mind fairish.’

‘I wanted seventy-five.’

‘You wanted ninety when you arrived here and, had me and Lucius not have explained that a figure like that would just make you look stupid, you would have been slung out on your arse as a time-waster; in the nicest possible way that a senator can be slung out on his arse, obviously.’

‘Obviously. But now the deal’s done I think I’m going to enjoy it.’

‘Then you had better make good your promise to Malichus,’ Magnus reminded him, ‘otherwise there’ll be nothing but bad luck following your team. It normally takes three or four months for a team to settle in so you should have it done by February; they won’t race before then.’ He clutched his right thumb between the fingers of his right hand and spat as a precaution against the evil-eye cursing the team that he hoped would make him a fortune on their first outing.

‘I’ll do it in the next few days while Pallas is pleased with me and Nero’s in a beneficent mood. But first I need to go to the Forum and watch our new Emperor try his hand at eastern diplomacy.’ Passing out through the stable’s gates he left Lucius a small token of his gratitude and, with Magnus, headed across the Campus Martius, past the Flammian Circus to the Porta
Fontinalis, in the shadow of the Capitoline Hill, where the Via Flammia entered the city.

‘How dare you block my way!’

Vespasian instantly recognised the voice emanating from within a crowd obstructing the Porta Fontinalis.

‘I’ve been summoned by Agrippina to pay my respects to the new Emperor.’