Masters of Rome (31 page)

‘I prefer not to be reminded of that, Uncle.' The murder of Poppaeus that, at the request of Antonia, he and Corbulo had committed with Magnus' help, twelve years before, was not a memory that Vespasian felt proud of.

‘Of course you don't but it has to be remembered that killing Poppaeus left Claudius extremely rich. Everyone involved in the act, either directly or indirectly, has benefited in various ways. Pallas and Narcissus are now the two most powerful men in the Empire, Corbulo wasn't executed for being the half-brother of Caligula's Empress, you earned Narcissus' gratitude and with it furthered your career and saved Sabinus' life, and Asiaticus helped Claudius invest that unexpected windfall and in the process has become fabulously wealthy.'

‘Wealthy enough to purchase the Gardens of Lucullus?'

‘Exactly; and wealthy enough to improve them in a lavish manner. Now, being a good friend of Claudius' he took care to ingratiate himself with Messalina, promoting her business in the Senate last year when he was consul for the second time and offering her the use of his beautiful gardens whenever she feels like it. But, of course, that's not enough for her; she wants them for herself now. She tried to make him sell them to her and when he refused she told him that the best that he could hope for now was to give them to her.'

‘That's a nasty threat.'

‘Yes, very sinister. Asiaticus has declined the offer and has declared that he would rather die than give up his gardens – which, I pray, will not be necessary.'

‘They must be very beautiful to risk so much.'

‘Oh, they are, dear boy; and you'll see them this evening – Asiaticus is holding his dinner there.'

CHAPTER XII

V
ESPASIAN BREATHED IN
deeply the lush scents of a garden in full bloom. Enclosed by a high wall and set on the southwestern slope of the Pincian Hill, just beyond the Quirinal Gate, north of the Campus Martius, the Gardens of Lucullus offered the perfect retreat from the noise and bustle of the streets of Rome. Here, Vespasian noticed, the loudest sounds to be heard were the cicadas' relentless creaking and the patter of water flowing from the fountains that stood in the centre of each of the many themed areas of the gardens laid out around the villa, which was accounted to be one of the most luxurious in Rome.

‘Claudius has used rather a clever trick to enable him to put on the Secular Games,' Gaius informed Vespasian as they walked up a red-peony-lined path made of a fine mosaic illustrating the various forms of flora and fauna to be found in the gardens. A couple of other guests walked leisurely before them. ‘He reckoned on them being held every hundred and ten years as in the traditional Etruscan method of calculation rather than every hundred years as Augustus did when he revived them. It probably means that we'll end up with two cycles, one every hundred years and another every hundred and ten, as no emperor would want to turn down the chance of holding such a prestigious event. However, Claudius has made himself very popular with the masses for his bit of false accounting and I haven't heard any mumblings against it in the Senate. In fact, I've hardly heard anything in the Senate as opinions have become rather dangerous things to own since Messalina has persuaded her husband that every senator harbours treasonous thoughts.'

‘How has Messalina treated Flavia?'

‘Strangely enough, they get on very well and Flavia is as close a thing to a friend that a harpy like Messalina could have. Flavia, of course, has no idea of the potential danger that she's in and spends her time flaunting her exalted position as the Empress's companion to every other woman in Rome. I can't say that's gone down too well; you know what they're like.'

Vespasian grunted, well able to imagine Flavia behaving like that.

‘I think that you'll find this will make up for not seeing Flavia this evening.'

Vespasian breathed in deeply again, enjoying the warm evening sun on the back of his head and neck, and found himself agreeing with his uncle: it was much better than a reunion after six years with a wife who was liable to be in a foul temper. ‘I do feel a bit guilty about delaying seeing Titus and Domitilla, though.'

‘Nonsense, dear boy; you've never met Domitilla and Titus was just over a year old when you left so he won't recognise you. What difference are a few more hours going to make?'

‘None, I suppose; but I am nervous about seeing Titus again.'

‘Don't worry about him, he worships the memory of his father. Flavia, your mother and Caenis have all seen to that.'

Vespasian felt a certain relief as he admired a Pan-themed area to his left, surrounding a fountain of the goat-legged demi-god spurting water from his pipes into a pool in which grew the reeds from which the pipes were made. His imminent reunion with his son had been playing on his mind: the boy was almost eight and would already have his own character and opinions; if he was to mould the child he would have to make a big impact on him to make up for the lost time.

A shrill cry erupting from close by cut through Vespasian's thoughts; he turned to see a bird, bigger than a cockerel but with similar legs and feet and with a long neck of intense blue plumage upon which was perched a tiny, crested head coloured blue, black and white. As Vespasian looked at the creature it cried again and then spread its magnificent tail feathers into a huge semi-circle, framing its body with colour: light and dark blues, turquoise, pale green and soft yellow-browns. Each feather was
of a differing length but tipped with the same bright design that was like an eye with a dark blue iris within a turquoise, rather than white, sclera. ‘What's that?'

‘I don't know what it's called but Asiaticus had three pairs of them imported at great expense from India, I believe. It's only the male that has such a striking tail; the female is drab in comparison.'

‘They make a horrible noise.'

‘Yes; I'm sure that they would taste far better than they sound,' Gaius opined as they passed through the warm shade of an apricot orchard, the descendants of the original trees imported from Armenia by Lucullus when he laid out his gardens over a hundred years before. As they cleared the last of the fruit-laden trees filled with songbirds celebrating the waning sun, the villa came into view: single storey with sloping terracotta-tiled roofs leaning upon elegant, towering columns painted yellow and red to contrast the umber and golden hues that adorned the walls. It was the height of refined taste and Vespasian understood why Asiaticus would rather die than give up this paradise – as they would say in Parthia – so close to the stews of Rome.

‘Vespasian, it is good to see you back in Rome,' Decimus Valerius Asiaticus said, clutching Vespasian's forearm with a huge hand as he and Gaius mounted the steps to the marbled terrace in front of the villa. ‘When I got your uncle's message that you were here I was only too pleased to offer my hospitality.'

‘It's good to see you again too, proconsul,' Vespasian replied with genuine feeling, whilst suppressing surprise at Asiaticus' appearance: he had lost all his hair since he had last seen him, which made his round, ruddy face with its pudgy nose and broad mouth seem even more Gallic now that it lacked a civilised Roman hairstyle. Despite having been consul twice, he now looked like what he essentially was: an old Gallic chieftain in a toga. ‘And it's a great honour to able to admire what has to be the most beautiful place in the whole of Rome.'

‘But beauty always has a price, Vespasian, and in this case the price could be as high as my life.'

‘Surely Messalina won't go that far,' Gaius put in, taking his turn to grasp his host's well-muscled forearm, whilst Vespasian took two cups of chilled wine from a passing slave. ‘She can't be seen to have you killed and then steal your property.'

‘Why not? Emperors have always done that in the past so why not the Empress? What does she care how she looks to others? Everyone knows that she's the biggest whore in Rome – mostly, like me, from experience – so why not add thief to whore?'

‘And murderer?' Gaius asked, taking his drink from Vespasian with a nod of thanks.

‘No, she won't go that far. She's going to force me to take my life instead; in fact she's already started the slanderous whisperings to her husband that will finish me, which is why I've started sending a lot of my wealth back to Gaul. That extortionist, Publius Suillius Rufus, is preparing capital charges against me – and he doesn't even know how ironic one of the accusations is.' He leant in closer so as not to be overheard by his other guests on the terrace. ‘He's going to accuse me of adultery with Poppaea Sabina.' He tried but failed to force down a guffaw, causing more than a few heads to turn in his direction. ‘Can you imagine it? I'm being accused of ploughing Poppaeus' daughter after I was part of Antonia's conspiracy, along with you, Vespasian, to murder him. Isn't that rich? It's almost as if Poppaeus is having his revenge from beyond the grave.'

Vespasian smiled despite being once again reminded of that ignoble deed. ‘But that's not a capital crime.'

‘Not in itself it's not; he's also preparing a case accusing me of passive homosexuality. Me, of Gallic descent, taking it up the arse like some Greek after two cups of wine! Ludicrous! But he's been clever; he's claiming that whilst I was in Britannia with the reinforcements that Claudius brought, I let common legionaries do that in return for exempting them from the more arduous duties of the camp.'

‘But corrupting legionaries is still not a capital crime – although it's a humiliation to be accused of it.'

‘I agree. But a few days ago I heard, from my good friend Pallas, what I was really going to be accused of. That's why I
rushed back from my estates at Baiae so that I can be arrested in Rome in front of witnesses – which I fully expect to happen this evening.'

Gaius' jowls wobbled as he clenched his jaw nervously. ‘Arrested here, this evening; what makes you say that?'

‘Pallas sent me word that Messalina has paid Sosibius – who is Britannicus' tutor and therefore has unfettered access to the Emperor when he comes to see how his son is progressing at his lessons – to tell Claudius that I was the unidentified man who helped assassinate Caligula.'

Vespasian felt himself go pale and snatched a quick, sideways glance at his uncle whose jowls were now in a state of constant motion.

Asiaticus picked up on his unease. ‘What, Vespasian? It's always been known that there was another conspirator whom Herod Agrippa and Claudius himself both saw just prior to Caligula's murder. Claudius never saw his face and Herod glimpsed it only fleetingly.'

‘It's not that,' Vespasian replied quickly. ‘My son, Titus, is being educated with Britannicus; I don't like the idea that his tutor is so … er …'

‘So what? Of course he's Messalina's to command, she's Britannicus' mother so he's beholden to her for his very influential job.'

Vespasian managed to conceal the relief that he felt at Asiaticus swallowing his not entirely untruthful excuse. ‘Of course he is.'

‘With all the other conspirators executed and Herod Agrippa dead from a pleasingly vile disease – when was it, three years ago? – there's no one left who could identify me as the man or not. Which means there is no way that I can
dis
prove it was me.'

‘But neither can they prove it was you.'

‘They don't need to; Sosibius has sworn to Claudius that he heard me boasting about it and Claudius believes it because he's recently become obsessed with uncovering who was the masked man who so nearly killed him. It's a perfect charge and, backed up by Suillius' lesser ones spells my death as surely as if I had
been caught in the act of assassinating an emperor. The only thing that can save me is if it became known exactly who this mystery man was. So come, gentlemen, and enjoy what may be my last night not under a sentence of death.'

Vespasian took a pork, leek and cumin sausage from the platter on the table in front of him and chewed on it without the enthusiasm that its well-balanced flavours deserved. The meal had been exemplary, so far; the musical entertainment gentle and unobtrusive; the surroundings magnificent and the view from the terrace over Rome, with the sun setting behind it, unparalleled. But none of this could assuage his unease at the thought that Claudius was now obsessed with trying to identify the man who had helped to kill his predecessor.

Apart from himself and the close members of his family, Vespasian was aware of only four people of consequence alive in Rome who knew the masked man had been his brother, Sabinus; he had taken part in the assassination to avenge the brutal rape of his wife, Clementina, by Caligula. Magnus and a couple of his crossroads brethren also knew, as it was in their tavern that Sabinus, wounded in the violent aftermath of the killing, had sought refuge; they could be trusted, but what of the four? The first, Caenis, he could rely on implicitly; she would never betray Sabinus. But then there were Claudius' three freedmen: they had promised to cover up Sabinus' part in return for his and Vespasian's efforts to secure their newly elevated patron in his position by retrieving the Eagle of the XVII Legion; this they had done and they had been rewarded by Sabinus being made legate of the XIIII Gemina and all mention of his role in Caligula's death being dropped. But that had been six years ago and Vespasian was all too aware that promises, however iron-clad they may seem at the time, could rust away as easily as the metal from which they symbolically gained their strength.

He carried on picking at the ever-changing plates of food in front of him, whilst half-heartedly joining in the conversation around his table. Torches were lit around the terrace and throughout the gardens and the whole complex was bathed in
shimmering firelight, giving the open blooms and lush foliage an artificial, gilded hue that, contrasted with the deep shadow of night, made it seem that Lucullus had sown his garden with seeds of fertile gold. That so much cultivated beauty could reside in one small area and yet be unable to repel the ugliness that surrounded it was an irony that Vespasian appreciated with a hardened heart and a resigned sigh as he watched Rufrius Crispinus, the Praetorian prefect, lead an unnecessary number of his men up through the gilt garden to fulfil Asiaticus' prediction.