False God of Rome (24 page)

Sabinus sat down and grabbed a cup of wine. ‘Antonia called me to her house yesterday and asked me to meet with her and Herod Agrippa today to threaten him with impounding his grain in
Egypt. Of course I couldn’t refuse.’

‘I thought that you would be pleased with a chance at revenge on Herod,’ Vespasian said, unable to see why Sabinus was so agitated.

‘You gave her the idea?’

‘Yes, it seemed a safer way than writing to the Alabarch.’

‘But I was going to write anonymously; Herod would never have known that it was me. If he does he’ll expose me for what I’ve done and I’ll be facing a capital
charge.’

‘What’s he got on you, dear boy?’ Gaius asked.

‘The day I saw Pomponius he asked me to sell a stockpile of grain that he’d speculated in and give the money to his heirs. He told me that if anything was surer than his death it was
that grain would be going up in price this year. He even told me who would risk buying it; but I didn’t sell it.’

‘Oh, you idiot!’ Vespasian exclaimed. ‘You went and speculated in grain as well, you bought it, didn’t you?’

‘Well, it sounded like an easy way to make money. I’d just come back from the East with a decent amount of cash, enough to buy the votes in last year’s aedile elections and
sponsor some games to raise my profile for the upcoming praetor elections, but then I would have been left with almost nothing.’

‘So you poured the whole lot into Pomponius’ grain.’

‘His heirs got their money and I had the chance to make something out of the deal. It was just going to be for a year while the price rose. How the fuck did I know that I was going to be
made the grain aedile? As soon as I was appointed I sold it as quickly as possible, but I still made a healthy profit on it.’

‘A grain aedile profiting on a grain deal; that really is a capital offence,’ Gaius agreed.

‘Who did you sell it to?’ Vespasian asked, dreading the answer. ‘Or is that a stupid question?’

Sabinus’ shoulders sagged. ‘Herod Agrippa; how else would he know?’

Gaius’ jowls wobbled in alarm. ‘Why to him of all people?’

‘Because Pomponius had suggested him and I knew him; he was the obvious choice despite what I felt about him.’

‘Who else knows?’

‘Just the Cloelius brothers in the Forum; they transferred the money to me and drew up the bill of sale, which I still have but they’ve got a copy and so has Herod. However,
Herod’s been using it to blackmail me; one of the two grain ships that survived the storm was in fact part of his Egyptian stockpile that he bought from Claudius. He’s brought it over
to sell on the black market at a huge profit. I know where it is in Ostia but if I impound it, as I should, he’ll make the bill of sale from Pomponius’ grain public.’

‘But then he’ll be just as implicated in grain speculation.’

‘Yes, but he’s not the grain aedile; I would certainly be executed.’

Gaius rubbed the back of his neck and inhaled through his teeth. ‘I fear that assessment is unfortunately correct. So you want me to negotiate a way out of this for you with
Antonia.’

Sabinus nodded unhappily.

‘We’d better get going, then.’

‘Yes,’ Vespasian agreed, looking at his brother disapprovingly, ‘let’s get this day over with.’

Claudius was in a high state of agitation as Narcissus showed Vespasian, Corbulo and Pallas into his study. The fact that they were half an hour late, owing to Antonia
detaining Pallas once she had been apprised of what Sabinus wanted to tell her, had not helped his nerves.

‘H-H-Herod was very susp-p-picious. I don’t think he b-b-believed me.’

‘What did you tell him?’ Pallas asked, placing Capella’s chest down on the desk.

‘That you were here on legal business of Antonia’s,’ Narcissus replied, saving them all a stammering explanation. ‘He accepted the reason far too easily for my liking. I
know he knew it was a lie; being an inveterate liar himself, he can spot them easily. I think that we should abort this.’

‘We can’t,’ Vespasian insisted. ‘Poppaeus will be here soon expecting to do the deal; if he goes away with nothing he’ll become suspicious and if he leaves with the
deeds we won’t be able to stop him giving them to Macro.’

‘I could just g-g-go out, as if I’ve forg-g-gotten,’ Claudius suggested.

Vespasian, Corbulo and Pallas glanced at each other and then at Narcissus who lowered his eyes, embarrassed by his master’s pathetic idea.

Claudius pressed on, unaware of what a fool he was making of himself. ‘And then I could write t-to him to apologise, and sug-g-gest that we do it next month, when Herod has forg-gotten all
about it.’ He gave a triumphant look as if he had just solved the most difficult problem with a solution of stunning brilliance and finesse.

There was a brief, awkward silence.

‘That is worthy of consideration, master,’ Narcissus responded with such a degree of respect that Vespasian almost believed him.

‘But unnecessary, noble Claudius,’ Pallas assured him. ‘Your mother is at the moment taking steps to, how should I put it? Isolate Herod for the foreseeable future.’

‘How?’

‘That is no concern of ours at the present, only Herod’s. Now I suggest that we go about our business. Narcissus, my friend, you show Magnus and Ziri to the other room and
we’ll wait in the
triclinium
as planned while the noble Claudius greets his clients.’

An hour later they were sitting in silence in the spacious triclinium. The plates of bread, olives, ham and boiled eggs on the table in the middle of the dining room lay
untouched.

‘This is starting to play on my nerves,’ Corbulo said, getting up to look through the wooden grille in the door that opened onto the garden. ‘Claudius must have finished with
his clients by now.’

Vespasian joined him and looked out to where two chairs had been set either side of a wooden table ready for the meeting with Poppaeus. A slave scuttled into the garden, placed a jug and two
silver cups on the table and then disappeared off towards the gate that led to the stable yard at the back of the house.

As the slave closed the gate behind him Narcissus came into the garden with Capella’s chest and placed it on the table. Claudius followed, clutching an armful of scrolls. He sat down and,
unwinding a scroll, started to read. His constant twitching and the shaking of his hands added credence to Narcissus’ earlier assertion that his master was less than adept at subterfuge.

‘That idiot is going to ruin this,’ Corbulo hissed as Narcissus went back into the house.

‘Let’s hope that Narcissus will do the talking,’ Vespasian replied, thinking that Corbulo had a point. Then the blood drained from his face as he realised that they had all
overlooked a possibility. ‘Shit! What if Poppaeus doesn’t bring his secretary?’ He spun round and looked at Pallas.

‘The illusion can still be maintained so long as everybody does exactly what I say.’

Vespasian’s nerves were starting to fray but he steadied himself with the belief that Pallas and Narcissus knew what they were doing; all he had to do was to help Corbulo kill Poppaeus. He
would keep his mind focused on that.

Footsteps coming from the atrium diverted his attention back through the grille.

‘My master awaits you out here, proconsul.’ Narcissus’ voice oozed with deference as he led Poppaeus and a tall, wiry man with a sharp face and lank, greasy hair into the
garden.

Vespasian had not seen Poppaeus up close for more than nine years and was amazed by how the little man had aged. His spine had rounded and he leant on his stick, making him even more diminutive.
The skin on his face was thin and slack so that it hung in loose folds. His hair was gone. He was no longer the general who had shown such bravery on the wall in Thracia under a hail of arrows and
slingshot; he was a frail old man.

‘This is going to be disgusting murder,’ Corbulo muttered.

Vespasian did not need to be told; he was feeling wretched. He turned back to the garden.

‘My dear Pop-p-p-’

‘Poppaeus, C-C-Claudius!’ Poppaeus snapped, hobbling towards the table. ‘Let’s get this over quickly; I’d better do the talking.’

‘Of c-c-course.’ Claudius’ eyes narrowed briefly and for the first time Vespasian caught a glimpse of the hatred that he harboured for people who mocked him.

‘Kosmas, the marker,’ Poppaeus ordered, sitting without invitation with his back to the grille, just five paces away.

The wiry secretary unslung a leather bag from his shoulder and gave it to his master as Narcissus produced the two keys to unlock Capella’s chest.

‘This is the debt marker for the fourteen and a half million denarii you borrowed from me,’ Poppaeus said, pulling a scroll from the bag and handing it to Claudius. ‘Show me
the deeds.’

Narcissus pushed the chest towards him and Poppaeus began to examine each of the seven scrolls within, one by one.

Pallas joined Vespasian and Corbulo at the grille. ‘As soon as the deal is signed we move into the atrium,’ he whispered.

Poppaeus read the last scroll and then put it back in the chest. ‘They’re all in order.’

Narcissus handed the two keys to Kosmas who closed the lid and locked it. He placed the keys in his bag and took out a stylus and a pot of ink.

‘Your signature, P-Poppaeus,’ Claudius requested, handing the marker to Narcissus.

Vespasian’s heart was thumping.

Narcissus spread the scroll on the table; Kosmas dipped the stylus in the ink and offered it to his master. Poppaeus signed with the diligence of a man whose eyesight was failing and then passed
the scroll and stylus over to Claudius who signed it with a surprisingly steady hand. The two secretaries then witnessed the signatures making the document legal.

‘Follow me,’ Pallas said to Vespasian and Corbulo, leading them out into the atrium.

‘That’s our business concluded,’ Vespasian heard Poppaeus say, ‘I’ll bid you good day.’

‘There’s another matter that I would like to discuss with you, concerning the upcoming elections,’ Claudius replied with remarkable fluency. ‘It’ll take no longer
than a cup of wine.’

There was a pause; Vespasian heard the sound of wine being poured and the jug set back down on the table.

‘Alone,’ Claudius insisted.

‘Very well, but be quick. Kosmas, take the chest and wait for me outside.’

‘A cup of wine in my study perhaps, my dear Kosmas?’ Narcissus purred.

Pallas, Vespasian and Corbulo stood waiting by the far end of the
impluvium
as Narcissus ushered Kosmas, clutching the chest, in from the garden. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said,
‘my master will not keep you long, he is with the proconsul Poppaeus.’

‘It will be an honour to offer the proconsul our greetings as he leaves,’ Pallas replied as Narcissus led Kosmas away with barely a glance towards the waiting group.

Pallas moved forward as the footsteps retreated. Vespasian followed with Corbulo; his mouth was dry and his stomach knotted. From the far end of the atrium they heard the door to
Narcissus’ study open and then shut.

‘Whatever happens, don’t let him cry out and don’t bruise him,’ Pallas whispered as they stepped into the garden.

Corbulo leapt forward and had one hand over Poppaeus’ mouth and the other under his arm before the old man was aware of a threat from behind him. Vespasian stooped down to grab his ankles
and they lifted him from his chair, knocking the table; Pallas caught the wine jug just before it toppled off.

‘This way,’ Claudius said, rising quickly to his unsteady feet and leading them to a door at the rear of the garden.

They manhandled their struggling captive into the room; Pallas closed the door behind them. Magnus and Ziri stood in one corner by a full barrel of water; a rope on a pulley hung from a hook in
the ceiling in front of a blazing fire that provided the only light in the room. The air was fuggy and the windows shuttered. They immediately began to sweat.

‘What is the meaning of this outrage, Claudius?’ Poppaeus demanded as he was dumped unceremoniously onto the floor.

‘This is what happens to people who try to make a fool out of me.’

‘Then you have a long list to deal with,’ Poppaeus spat contemptuously, rising to his feet and looking around. ‘Corbulo!’ he exclaimed as his weak eyes got used to the
gloom; then his gaze rested on Vespasian. ‘And you, I know you; you’re Asinius’ protégé who disappeared after that bloodbath in his tent. Vespasian, isn’t
it?’

‘Yes, Poppaeus.’

‘This is about more than just buying land deeds off an idiot—’ A sharp slap cracked across his face.

‘Don’t mark him, master,’ Pallas shouted, grabbing Claudius’ wrist to prevent the reverse swipe.

‘I will not tolerate being called an idiot,’ Claudius fumed, struggling to release his hand.

Poppaeus wiped a drop of blood from his lip, ignoring Claudius’ outburst. ‘What can I offer you, gentlemen? Or is this personal and beyond money?’

‘It’s way beyond money, Poppaeus,’ Corbulo replied. ‘You tried to have us killed along with two cohorts of your recruits in the most dishonourable manner.’

Poppaeus smiled; a drip of sweat rolled down his reddened cheek. ‘So that has come back to haunt me, has it? I don’t suppose telling you that it wasn’t personal and that what
we were doing was for the greater good would make any difference?’

‘How can that have been for the greater good?’ Vespasian exploded.

‘Because, young man, Rome must have strong, clear government. If you accept that we can never go back to the pure Republic without risking civil war every generation then we must have an
emperor. But just look at what we have now; Rome needs to rid herself of this remote, mad Emperor and his ridiculous family. Who’s going to be emperor after Tiberius? Him?’ Poppaeus
asked, not even bothering to look at Claudius.

‘You were supporting my claim at one time,’ Claudius insisted.

‘Only because you would have been the easiest heir to get rid of and replace with Sejanus.’

‘But now he’s dead you’re supporting Caligula so that Macro can use his wife to buy Egypt, take over the East and split the Empire in two; how is that strong, clear
government?’ Vespasian demanded.