Vespasian: Tribune of Rome (14 page)

Recognising the danger rushing towards them at a fearsome pace the three chasing drivers split formation in the hopes that the directionless tearaways would pass between them, but the loose team shied and veered to the left, straight into the path of the middle one. Eight horses met head on with a crunch of breaking bones and shattering timber. The driver catapulted over the whinnying mass of horseflesh as it floundered in a twisted heap and
landed with a heavy thud on the churned-up arena sand. He lay still. Howls of appreciation rose from the transfixed spectators.

Vespasian looked over to the imperial enclosure as the fifth dolphin dipped to see Tiberius patting Asinius on the back, congratulating him on an excellent spectacle. Beyond him Antonia was dictating a letter to Caenis; how she could concentrate through such excitement amazed him but, he supposed, the affairs of state could never wait.

‘That was fantastic,’ Sabinus cried as yet another gang of slaves armed with knives rushed on to disentangle any of the horses worth saving and put the rest out of their misery.

‘My Gentius is going to win this, you’ll see.’ Vespasia was looking triumphant as the two leaders rounded the narrow turn for the second to last time.

The two lead drivers, covered in dust and sweat, battled with each other down the near track. Both were tiring now and each knew it. The grim determination on their sand-spattered faces hardened into grimaces as they approached the wide bend for the last time and heaved their teams around; a mistake now and all that they had fought for in the last six circuits would be lost; there were no prizes for coming second.

The roars of the spectators echoed around the Seven Hills of Rome as the sixth dolphin tilted and the final lap began. Caenis was no longer next to her mistress and Vespasian strained to see what had become of her over the heads of the senators around him. Failing to get a clear view of the goings-on in the box he turned back to the race.

Euprepes, driving his team on with the fury of a man desperate to win, just held the lead a hundred paces from the last corner. Gentius, realising that he had no chance to overtake him on the outside and then outpace him to the finish, looked over his left shoulder. The Red Celt was almost a length directly behind the
leader; it was enough of a gap to aim for. Checking his speed slightly he pulled his team to the left into the space between the two chariots, forcing the Celt to slow. The corner was fast approaching and Gentius urged his team on so that their front legs were almost on the lead chariot. Euprepes, fearful that if he braked too hard Gentius would crash into him and take them both out, was forced to take the turn faster than was prudent. His team scrambled around the bend losing cohesion as they fought to keep their footing, sending his chariot skidding out to the right. Gentius pushed his team inside the Blues, hugged the curve and accelerated away into one final dash.

Any in the crowd who had sat down were now back on their feet again yelling their teams on. With a half-length advantage Gentius rode his team for all that they were worth whilst Euprepes whipped his exhausted animals mercilessly – but to no avail. Gentius shot straight past the last turning post and the seventh dolphin fell. He punched the air in triumph and headed off for the lap of honour. The Whites had won the first race and their supporters screamed their support for the hero of the moment.

Vespasia was ecstatic. ‘Thirty denarii to me, that’s as much as you three men lost between you,’ she gloated. Gaius and Titus took it well but Sabinus, who could never bear losing, was furious.

‘That Euprepes should be strung up by his balls for losing like that, he had the race won.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Gaius said. ‘He went too fast from the start; his team were finished.’

Gentius stopped his chariot by the steps that led up to the front of the imperial box. To the rapturous ovation of the crowd he climbed up and received his palm of victory and a large purse from a very pleased Asinius; it had been a good start to the day.

The crowd settled back down to watch the jugglers and gymnasts who would fill in the time whilst the track was cleared of
dead horses and broken chariots ready for the next race. Vespasian looked back over at the box but Caenis was nowhere to be seen.

‘If you’re looking for that girl,’ Gaius whispered in his ear, ‘you’re looking in the wrong direction, dear boy, she’s over there.’

Vespasian jerked his head around and sure enough there, coming through the same entranceway that they had used, was Caenis. She reached the bottom of the steps and Vespasian held his breath as she turned right and headed along the gangway towards where they were sitting. Unable to believe his eyes she stopped in front of his uncle and, keeping her gaze on the floor, handed him a parchment note. Gaius took it and quickly read its contents before handing it back to the girl.

‘Tell the Lady Antonia we would be delighted.’

Caenis bowed and, without raising her eyes, turned and left. All eyes were on Gaius, who had a bemused look on his face.

‘Well?’ Vespasia asked.

‘Most extraordinary,’ Gaius said. ‘It would seem that the good lady has seen fit to invite myself and the boys to dinner.’

‘When?’ Vespasian blurted.

‘Tomorrow, dear boy. A great honour; but what can she possibly want with you two?’

V
ESPASIAN WAS WOKEN
by the movement and murmuring of the house slaves as they lit lamps, kindled the fire and set a table ready for breakfast. The smell of freshly baked bread and the anticipation of seeing Caenis easily persuaded him out of bed.

In the atrium he found Gaius seated next to the lararium eating his breakfast whilst having his sandals put on.

‘Good morning, dear boy,’ Gaius boomed, rubbing a clove of garlic on to a hunk of bread. ‘I trust that you slept well.’ He dunked his bread into a bowl of olive oil on the table beside him and took a large bite.

‘Thank you, Uncle, I did,’ Vespasian replied, noticing gratefully that the young lad at Gaius’ feet was wearing a loincloth. ‘I hope that you did too.’

‘Very well indeed, dear boy, very well,’ his uncle replied, ruffling the hair of the slave boy kneeling at his feet, who, having finished with the sandals, smiled coyly at his master, bowed and left. ‘Sit with me and have some breakfast, there’s bread, olives, water, oil and some cheese. Would you like wine in your water?’

‘No, thank you, Uncle, this will be fine,’ Vespasian said sitting down.

‘As you wish, as you wish.’ Gaius took another bite of his bread and looked at Vespasian thoughtfully as he chewed on it. ‘Tell me, Vespasian, which path would you wish to follow?’ he asked. ‘The Emperor has as much use for good administrators as he does for good generals.’

‘But I thought that to climb the cursus honorum one served in both military and civilian positions in order to understand how the two are linked,’ Vespasian replied, slightly confused by the question.

‘Indeed you do and, as you rightly imply, they are interchangeable. However, there are various degrees of civilian and military. Look at it this way: if you were Caesar, would you send a man to be governor of a restless frontier province like Moesia when his only experience with the legions was four years as a military tribune with the Seventh Macedonica supervising road-building and latrine-digging in Dalmatia, and two years as legate of the Fourth Gallica sampling the heady joys of Antioch where, because of a recent peace treaty with the Parthians, the most martial obligation was to inspect the legion once a month on pay day? Of course you wouldn’t, not unless you particularly disliked the man and were prepared to lose a province and two legions getting rid of him. Much easier just to order him to commit suicide at home in his bath, don’t you think?’

‘Of course, Uncle,’ Vespasian replied.

‘This man might however make a suitable governor of somewhere like Aquitania where road-building is all the rage and there is no legion to inspect.

‘Now, a man who served as a military tribune with the First Germanica in lower Germania fighting the Chatti or some other equally bloodthirsty tribe and then served as legate of the Fourth Scythica, curbing the raiding of the Getae and securing the northern border, is the man who gets to be Governor of Moesia and with it the chance of military glory and all the financial rewards that go with it. So, Vespasian, you see the difference. Which path do you want to follow?’ Gaius asked again.

‘I would choose to be the second man, Uncle. In boosting my personal standing and dignitas I would raise the prestige of my family.’

‘You would also attract the attention of the Emperor and those around him, who jealously guard their power by maintaining his. Neither he nor they relish seeing any other man gain too much personal glory; so beware of serving Rome too well, Vespasian. After all, what does an Emperor do with a successful general?’ Gaius paused and tore off another hunk of bread before offering the loaf to his nephew. ‘The first man, however,’ he continued, swirling his bread around the oil, ‘does indeed go to Aquitania, a province run by the Senate, not the Emperor, and spends a very convivial year there building roads to his heart’s content and quietly enriching himself off the fat of the land by taking good-sized bribes off the locals for medium-sized favours.’

‘But surely that’s wrong,’ Vespasian interrupted.

‘Why?’

‘Well, he’s abusing his position of authority in order to enrich himself.’

‘My dear boy, where have you been?’ Gaius guffawed. ‘He’s doing no such thing; he’s using his position of authority in order to re-enrich himself. Do you know how much it costs to rise in this city with bribes, public good works, holding games, feasts and all that sort of thing, in order to buy popularity with the Senate and the people? Fortunes, dear boy, fortunes; and if you are not lucky enough to be born with fortunes, what then? You borrow, and borrowed money needs to be paid back, with interest. You won’t get paid in Rome’s service. Oh, no, what we do for Rome we do for love.’ Gaius looked hard at Vespasian to see if this had gone in and then carried on. ‘So the first man comes back to Rome covered in gold. He is hardly noticed as he settles back down in his own home with a chest full of denarii. He poses no threat to the Emperor or those around him, because he has commanded no troops.

‘The second man also comes home, but he is covered in gold and glory; he receives triumphal ornaments from a grateful Emperor
and the suspicion of all those who surround him. No quiet semiretirement for him; oh, no, the Emperor wants all potential threats to his power kept close, so they can be observed, controlled.’ Gaius paused and looked again at his nephew. ‘Now, my boy, do you still wish to be the second man?’

‘Yes, Uncle,’ Vespasian replied, ‘because at least he has the satisfaction of knowing that he did everything that could possibly do to serve Rome and further his family’s honour.’

‘Where as I have not?’

‘What?’

‘Oh, Vespasian, didn’t you guess? I am the first man,’ Gaius cried, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘No, no, don’t feel bad; I made my choice as you must make yours. I chose anonymity, which, incidentally, is the reason why I kept my provincial accent. The patrician élite look down on it and therefore don’t see you as so much of a threat.’ He looked his nephew in the eye. ‘This evening you will meet one of the most powerful women in Rome; if you impress her she may use her considerable influence to set you off on a dangerous path. I want you to be aware of the consequences of coming to her attention and being in her debt; the powerful do not play lightly with us lesser mortals.’

The time could not pass fast enough for Vespasian as he contemplated seeing Caenis later; or slow enough, as he remembered the intimidating prospect of making conversation with Antonia. Caenis had not looked at him again during the racing, until a brief glance as she left with her mistress at midday. This had been enough to prevent him from concentrating on the spectacle for the rest of the day, which had passed in a blur of noise, speed and dust.

The allotted hour eventually came. Titus and Vespasia saw them off.

‘Remember to only speak when spoken to,’ she reminded them. ‘A quiet, polite guest is far more likely to be invited back than a garrulous, overbearing one.’

Gaius led the brothers down the Quirinal and up to the exclusive slopes of the Palatine. The houses here were bigger than any Vespasian had ever seen; some were two storeys high and had long marble stairways leading up to grand entrances secured by gilded doors. Each house was set in its own area of tree-lined garden, spacing them out far more than on the Quirinal and giving the area an almost park-like feel to it in the late-afternoon sun.

Gaius stopped at a huge single-storey house that, although tall and grand in style, was less ostentatious than the rest. Its windowless walls were painted a plain white, and it lacked the extravagant entrance and any extraneous decoration.

Gaius knocked. The viewing slot in the door scraped open and two dark eyes briefly surveyed them. A very healthy-looking young doorkeeper immediately opened the door to let them in without a word. They stepped into a high, wide atrium where a dark-haired, well-built, bearded man in his late twenties, dressed in a light blue Greek tunic, was waiting.

‘Good day to you, masters,’ he said, bowing low.

‘And to you, Pallas,’ Gaius replied, who was always impressed by the young steward’s manners.

‘You will be dining imminently; be so good as to follow me.’

He led them through the atrium; its spacious interior had a polished pink and white marble floor and was decorated with elegant statues and busts of both painted marble and bronze. Expensive-looking items of furniture stood against the walls and by the central pool; carved wooden couches with ivory inlays were set around marble tables standing on golden lion’s paws or griffin legs. Wide corridors led off the atrium on either side, leading to formal reception rooms, a library and a suite of private baths.

They passed out into a chill, cloistered garden whose carefully manicured bushes and shrubs, which had been neatly tended over the winter, waited for the spring to encourage them to blossom into a feast of colour. At the far end Pallas knocked on shiny black-lacquered panelled door.