False God of Rome (49 page)

‘She should be safe enough there.’

‘Let’s hope so. Come on, we should go in and see which poor sod the Emperor’s going to publicly cuckold tonight.’

‘So how do you know about me stealing the breastplate?’ Vespasian asked as they began walking towards the palace doors. ‘I only got back today and I gave it straight to
Caligula.’

‘Pallas.’

‘Pallas? How did he find out?’

‘Oh, he knows everything now that he lives here in the palace. Caligula ordered Claudius to move in so that he could humiliate him on a daily basis; Pallas is part of his household now so
he came too.’

‘And Narcissus?’ Vespasian asked, thinking about the gold in his uncle’s house.

‘Yes, and Narcissus,’ Sabinus confirmed, looking sideways at his brother. ‘Did I detect a note of concern in your voice?’

‘I’d just rather not see him at the moment, that’s all.’

‘Well, you won’t this evening, he’s down at the Bay of Neapolis. Caligula put Claudius in charge of getting all the ships for his bridge but then demanded that he stay in Rome
so that he could carry on humiliating him; Claudius handed over the practicalities to Narcissus.’

Vespasian was shocked. ‘A freedman with the power to commandeer ships! That’s outrageous.’

Sabinus grinned. ‘Just imagine how Corbulo feels about it; he’s got to work with him. He’s been charged with building the road across the bridge and getting running water to
it.’

‘Running water on a bridge?’

‘Oh, it’s not just a bridge going from one end to the other; it’s got peninsulas attached to it with accommodation furnished in the manner that Caligula feels is suitable for a
god: triclinia in which two hundred people could easily recline, atriums with fountains, even a couple of bath houses.’

‘All that in two months!’ Vespasian exclaimed as they entered the atrium with its ragged queue of urban poor.

‘The industry of Rome has worked on nothing else, I’m told.’ Sabinus leant closer to Vespasian and whispered in his ear. ‘It’s a phenomenal waste of money but
I’m really looking forward to seeing it.’

‘You’re going to travel down there just to have a look?’

‘You will as well; Caligula’s ordered every senator to escort him down to the bay and witness his triumph.’

The gardens to the rear of Augustus’ House were stepped on two levels, clinging to the edge of the Palatine and overlooking the arched facade of the Circus Maximus. Along
the low balustrade of the upper level, dining tables had been arranged in such a way that all those reclining at them would have a good view down to the second level where two stages had been set.
Although it was still at least three hours until the late, summer dusk, torches, in tall brass holders, burned beside each stage and all around the gardens’ perimeter as well as at intervals
among the tables. Brightly coloured linen canopies littered the lawn of the upper garden under which the Emperor’s dinner guests stood or sat drinking chilled wine and talking in the animated
manner of people ill at ease but trying to conceal it.

Vespasian and Sabinus stood at the top of the steps leading down from the house and admired the beauty of the scene before them: the colour, the elegance, the soft evening light.

‘It would be a pleasure to be here if one knew for certain that one would leave alive, would it not, gentlemen?’ a voice behind them commented quietly.

The brothers turned, both smiling at the truth of the statement.

‘Pallas,’ Vespasian said with genuine pleasure, ‘how are you? Sabinus tells me that you live here now.’

Pallas looked grave. ‘I think that you’ve answered your own question, Vespasian: I live here.’

‘It’s as bad as that, is it?’

Pallas pointed down into the garden to where some guests were laughing with evidently feigned hilarity at a man in their midst. He stood with his hands outstretched, except he had no hands, just
cauterised blackened stumps; his hands were tied to a piece of rope and hung around his neck along with a sign.

‘The sign says: “I stole from the Emperor”,’ Pallas informed them.

‘And did he?’ Sabinus asked.

‘A small strip of decorative silver had fallen off a couch and he was taking it to the steward to be mended when Caligula saw him with it; life here has become very arbitrary.’

‘Life has always been arbitrary.’

‘Granted, but generally within the parameters of the law; our new god seems to have forgotten about the law. My patron, Claudius, however, loves the law; think about that,
gentlemen.’ Pallas patted them both on the shoulder and walked away.

‘Don’t get involved,’ Vespasian warned Sabinus as they descended the steps.

‘I’ve no intention of doing so,’ Sabinus replied, taking two cups of wine from a slave and handing one to his brother, ‘I intend to stay alive. However, it’s
comforting to know that we have a good friend close to the only obvious heir to the Purple.’

A fanfare of
bucinae
blared over the garden and all conversation stopped as everyone looked with sycophantic longing towards the main doors of the house at the top of the steps. A horse
trotted out and looked around in a semi-curious equine fashion. From behind it came a shout of ‘Hail Incitatus’.

The dinner guests responded immediately. ‘Hail Incitatus! Hail Incitatus!’

Having never paid homage to a horse before, Vespasian found it a struggle to keep a straight face as he joined in with an enthusiasm fired more by the absurdity of the situation rather than any
great respect for the beast being lauded.

The chant quickly turned into ‘Hail Divine Caesar!’ as Caligula, flanked by Clemens and Chaerea, appeared next to his favourite subject, dressed soberly – Vespasian thought,
considering some of the costumes that he had seen him wearing – in a purple toga edged in gold and crowned with a golden laurel wreath.

‘This evening,’ Caligula declaimed, ‘we are here to honour not only me but also my good friend, my trusted ally, my comrade, the man who brought the breastplate of Alexander
back from Egypt to me: Titus Flavius Vespasianus. Tomorrow at noon we can begin our progress down to the Bay of Neapolis where I shall ride in triumph across my greatest creation. Come forward,
Vespasian, and receive my thanks – you shall be a praetor next year.’

Vespasian walked slowly back up the steps to a beaming Caligula, who held his arms open to him. As he reached the penultimate step he was enfolded in a purple embrace and kissed on each cheek to
the applause of the people below.

‘Only a man like this,’ Caligula declared, turning Vespasian around to face the audience and putting a hand on each shoulder, ‘could I trust to go to Egypt, the source of so
much of Rome’s wealth. No senator has visited it for four years, not since Tiberius’ astrologer, Thrasyllus, warned him of the imminent return of the Phoenix, heralding a great change
and made a prophecy about it. Did you see the Phoenix while you were in Alexandria, Vespasian?’

‘No, Divine Gaius,’ Vespasian replied truthfully.

Caligula looked triumphant. ‘Of course not, because it has flown. Last year, three years after its rebirth, it was seen leaving Egypt flying east; Thrasyllus’ prophecy was not
fulfilled. You are blessed, my sheep, because the change heralded by the Phoenix is that Rome is ruled by an immortal god; I will rule for another five hundred years until the Phoenix is sighted
again. Until then I open Egypt back up to any member of the Senate who has good reason to travel there.’

This was greeted with a loud cheer from the many senators who had dealings with the Emperor’s private province.

‘And now we shall eat; Vespasian shall have the great honour of reclining on my right.’ He moved past Vespasian and began to descend the steps.

‘Divine Gaius,’ Chaerea said in his high-pitched voice, following him down, ‘what is the watchword for the night?’

Caligula stopped and laughed. ‘I love his sweet voice!’ He turned and put his middle finger to Chaerea’s lips, parting them slightly and then wiggling them provocatively.
‘Such a sweet voice deserves a sweet watchword, does it not?’

Sycophantic cries of agreement compounded the Praetorian tribune’s humiliation.

‘In which case the watchword is Venus; the sweetest of gods for the sweetest of men.’

Caligula turned and skipped daintily down the steps to the raucous laughter of his guests. Vespasian saw the anger burning in Chaerea’s eyes but otherwise his face remained impassive.
Clemens’ hand went to his sword hilt as he watched his junior colleague control himself. Finally Chaerea saluted and matched stiffly away.

Magnus would not have lost his bet, Vespasian reflected as he tried to swallow a mouthful of perch while watching yet another beheading on one of the stages below. In a strange
juxtaposition the other stage contained a group of dancers performing to the soft melody of two flutes.

‘Something for everyone,’ Caligula enthused, feeding an apple to Incitatus whose head nuzzled between him and Vespasian. ‘Art or death, take your pick and enjoy.’

‘P-p-personally I’ll t-t-take death, Divine and Supreme G-G-Gaius,’ Claudius stammered, watching the blood spurt from the severed neck with relish; his arousal was plain for
all to see and the pretty, fair-skinned girl reclining next to him had edged as far away from him as good manners would allow. ‘I could never understand the p-p-point of dancing.’

‘That’s because there’s no point in you dancing, cripple,’ Caligula observed, ‘your legs would buckle underneath you.’ He fell about laughing far more
uproariously than the observation deserved; his dinner companions had no option but to join in.

‘Your d-divine insight is faultless,’ Claudius said through his own laughter.

‘So let’s prove the point; go and dance with them, Uncle.’

Claudius’ slack-lipped mouth fell open and his bloodshot eyes flicked around the table appealing for help; it was not forthcoming, not even from his pretty companion, who looked away with
a faint smile of regret edging her moist, pale lips.

‘Go!’ Caligula hissed with quiet menace; malice played in his eyes.

Realising that he had no choice but to humiliate himself in front of the whole company, Claudius got to his unsteady feet and lurched off down the steps to the lower garden.

‘This will be highly amusing,’ Caligula affirmed. ‘I’ve made him run, skip, jump and crawl but I’ve never made him dance.’ He turned to Claudius’
attractive companion. ‘Can you make him fuck, Messalina, or are you putting that horror off until your wedding night?’

Messalina joined in the communal laughter but the mirth did not reach her cold, dark eyes, which Vespasian felt glare at him as he pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.

Claudius shambled onto the stage and began a series of jerky jigs and pirouettes, waving his arms in an ungainly manner while the confused dancers carried on their graceful routine around him.
On the stage next to them four chained lions began to devour the corpse of the decapitated criminal. Behind them the sun sank below the Circus Maximus.

‘Look at him,’ Caligula said through his mirth, ‘if we didn’t happen to have a god in the family he could have become emperor. If that had been the case, then I think
that Thrasyllus’ prophecy would have been fulfilled.’

‘What was his prophecy, Divine Gaius?’ Sabinus enquired as down below Claudius collapsed into an undignified heap to the amusement of all present.

‘He prophesied that if a member of the senatorial order witnessed the Phoenix while it was within the boundaries of the Kingdom of Egypt he would go on to be the founder of the next
dynasty of emperors.’

Vespasian almost choked on his wine. ‘So if a senator saw it flying over Judaea, for example,’ he asked innocently, ‘it wouldn’t count?’

‘He was very specific; it had to be within Egypt itself, that’s why we refused permission for senators to travel there for so long.’

Vespasian nodded thoughtfully, missing Sabinus’ questioning look.

Caligula leant back to stroke Incitatus and then turned to Clemens. ‘Incitatus says he’s tired and wishes to sleep; like me he’s excited about tomorrow. Clear all the residents
out of the houses within a quarter of a mile of his stables and post guards to make sure that no one makes any noise; I want him well rested for the journey.’

‘A sensible precaution, Divine Gaius,’ Clemens said without a hint of irony, getting to his feet.

Caligula followed him. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see Incitatus out; he’ll be greatly offended if I didn’t.’ He kissed the horse on the lips.
‘Isn’t he beautiful? Perhaps I should make him a consul; he would be a fine colleague for me next year, much more suitable than the horse-faced idiot I’ve already chosen.’
With another fond kiss he led his special guest off.

‘What was it about the Phoenix prophecy that made you ask that question?’ Sabinus asked once Caligula was out of earshot.

Vespasian looked at his brother with an amused grin. ‘According to that old charlatan, Thrasyllus, I’ve narrowly missed being the founder of the next imperial dynasty.’

‘You said that you didn’t see the Phoenix.’

‘I didn’t in Alexandria but almost four years ago in Cyrenaica I did; I witnessed its rebirth. But Cyrenaica’s not Egypt so the prophecy can’t apply to me.’

‘It used to be a part of the Egyptian Empire, I remember someone telling me that in Judaea.’

‘A province of Egypt, not a part of the kingdom itself. Even so, I was in Siwa, which is an oasis out on its own in the middle of nowhere.’

Sabinus looked at Vespasian intently. ‘When Alexander conquered Egypt he went to the Oracle of Amun in Siwa, it was a part of the kingdom then. It’s only us who have put it in
Cyrenaica for administrative reasons; historically, it has always been a part of Egypt.’

Vespasian’s eyes opened wide and then he shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. ‘No, no. I was taken to the Oracle of Amun after I saw the Phoenix. The Oracle spoke to me
and it didn’t tell me that I was going to start an imperial dynasty; it didn’t tell me anything really, it just said that I had come too soon and that next time I should bring a gift to
match the sword that Alexander had left there.’