Rome’s Fallen Eagle (6 page)

‘He owes me a couple of large favours but I assume that cancels one of them out.’

Claudius nodded at his freedman as Pallas stood back up, having given his advice, and then struggled to his feet to indicate that the impromptu audience was at an end. ‘I shall retire to bed now; you will attend me tomorrow at the second hour and lead me to the Forum where you will announce your unanimous decision to endorse the will of the Guard; then you will swear
allegiance to me in the Senate House. I expect all of you to be there. Now go!’

Claudius was helped down from the dais by Narcissus; Callistus and Pallas tried to outdo one another in courtesy by offering the other the honour of being next down the steps before descending together. The senators and the Urban Cohorts broke out into a series of ‘hail Caesars’, whilst the Guard, in two swift motions, sheathed their drawn swords and then snapped to a resounding attention.

Claudius disappeared into the ranks of his now very wealthy Praetorians and the senators turned to go.

‘Well, that went as well as we could have expected,’ Gaius observed.

Vespasian grimaced. ‘I don’t think that we can expect too much favour from the new regime. We should have gambled, like Geta and those others, and got here to offer our loyalty before we were forced to. Once the Guard supported him it was inevitable, as Herod Agrippa said.’

‘I’m so glad that you appreciate my wisdom,’ a voice oozed from just behind Vespasian’s ear.

Vespasian turned and looked into the cold smile on Herod Agrippa’s face.

‘Claudius’ freedmen appreciated it too; so much so in fact that they’re going to recommend to Claudius that he confirms me in my kingdom and makes a couple of very lucrative additions to it. Would you like to know why?’

Vespasian shrugged. ‘Do we need to?’

‘You don’t need to, but it just might interest you all the same. You see, not only have I helped Claudius secure his position for the present, thereby making his freedmen very influential; but I’ve also advised Narcissus and Pallas on how to hang onto their power by instituting a new precedent to discourage the Guard from making a habit of changing emperors. Did you see your friend Clemens in his rightful place as Praetorian prefect next to the Emperor? Or for that matter his tribunes, Cassius Chaerea and Cornelius Sabinus? No, of course you didn’t.’

Vespasian was unimpressed. ‘They signed their own death warrants by killing Caligula.’

‘Of course, although Claudius unwisely wanted to spare them, reward them even; especially after they claimed to have done some deal with Narcissus and Pallas, brokered by that weasel Callistus. Naturally Narcissus, Pallas and Callistus have denied all knowledge of this because, as you have just intimated, it wouldn’t do to have people assassinating emperors and surviving. However, my refinement was to take it a step further.’ Herod Agrippa paused for a moment of self-appreciatory reflection. ‘The second Praetorian prefect, Lucius Arruntius Stella, who wasn’t part of the plot, has also been arrested. I suggested to Narcissus and Pallas that perhaps it would be a good thing if, in future, the prefects realised that an important element of their duties is to keep an eye on their colleagues. Narcissus and Pallas thought that was an excellent idea and so Stella is going to be executed along with all the conspirators.’ Herod Agrippa thrust his face closer to Vespasian’s and looked at him with mock innocence. ‘And by the way, I intend to make sure that it will be
all
of them.’

CHAPTER II

C
AENIS LAID HER
head on Vespasian’s chest and traced the outline of his well-toned pectoral muscles with a slender finger, working her way slowly down his stomach. ‘It’s an empty threat, my love; there’s no way that Herod Agrippa can link you to Caligula’s assassins.’

Vespasian kissed her full, black curls, savouring their sweet scent, and then stared up at the dim, whitewashed ceiling of their bedroom. They lay in the house that Antonia, Caenis’ former owner, had gifted her, along with her manumission, on the day she opened her veins. The first rays of dawn seeped into the room as, outside, a dove cooed – a soft, reassuring sound. He took a deep breath and sighed. He had not had any sleep in the few short hours they had been in bed: too troubled about what Herod Agrippa had meant. ‘Sabinus is married to Clemens’ sister; that links me strongly to him. Perhaps Herod is just speculating.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Vengeance for Antonia having him imprisoned six years ago; it was Sabinus who read out her evidence to the Senate.’

‘Then he should take his revenge on Sabinus.’

‘Sabinus is hundreds of miles away; perhaps he feels that his younger brother will do.’

‘That’s not revenge, it’s just malice.’

Vespasian grunted with satisfaction as her hand moved even lower, massaging and kneading gently. ‘I also witnessed his humiliation in Alexandria and told the then prefect of Egypt, Flaccus, about his illegal stockpile of grain.’

‘How would he know that it was you who told Flaccus? Besides he’s had vengeance for his lost grain two years ago; it was his damning letter to Caligula supporting the Alexandrian Jews’
embassy complaining about Flaccus that got him executed. No, my love, this is nothing but an empty threat.’ She began working her hand more vigorously whilst playing on a nipple with the tip of her tongue.

Vespasian found himself relaxing for the first time since his confrontation with Herod Agrippa. ‘Now that Caligula is finally dead,’ he murmured, stroking her hair, ‘it will be safe for you to go out in public.’

‘Perhaps I prefer staying in.’ Caenis’ attention left his nipple and she began to kiss her way down his chest.

Vespasian pushed back the blankets and adjusted his position. In the thin dawn light her smiling, blue eyes gleamed as she looked back up at him, working her way ever lower.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her progress.

‘Mistress?’ a voice quietly called.

‘What is it?’ Caenis replied, not attempting to hide her irritation at the interruption.

‘There’s a man here to see the master.’

‘Can’t it wait?’

‘No, he says it’s urgent.’

Caenis looked back to Vespasian. ‘Sorry, my love, perhaps we should reconvene later.’

Vespasian smiled ruefully. ‘It wouldn’t have taken long.’ He swung his legs over her and sat on the side of the bed. ‘Tell him I’m coming,’ he called out, grinning at Caenis; she giggled. ‘What’s this man’s name?’

‘He said to say it’s your friend Magnus, master.’

‘Didn’t interrupt anything did I, sir?’ Magnus asked with a look of false concern on his battered, ex-boxer’s face as Vespasian sauntered into the atrium fastening his belt.

‘As a matter of fact you did; something rather enjoyable.’

‘I expect most things that go on in that room are enjoyable.’

Vespasian smiled at his friend. ‘Only if Caenis is involved, which she was.’

‘Yeah well, I’m sorry to have curtailed her involvement, however deep it was, if you take my meaning?’

‘I do and you’re wrong, we were involved in a different way.’

Magnus’ eyes widened with delight. ‘Ah, a nice early morning wash, how kind of her. Well, your ablutions are going to have to wait for later. We’ve got to get round to your uncle’s house.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m afraid we’ve got a big problem, sir; it’s Sabinus.’

‘Sabinus is in Pannonia.’

‘I wish that he was, but I’m afraid he ain’t. I’ve just left him; he’s here in Rome.’

A look of dismay crept over Vespasian’s face; now he understood the true meaning of Herod Agrippa’s words.

‘At your Crossroads Brotherhood’s tavern!’ Gaius boomed in horror. ‘What in the name of all the gods is he doing there? He’s meant to be in Pannonia.’

Magnus shrugged. ‘Yes, but he’s not, sir. He turned up a couple of hours ago, weak and wobbly as a drunk Vestal from loss of blood from a nasty wound to his thigh.’

‘How did he get that?’

‘I don’t know; he’s been dropping in and out of consciousness since he arrived. I called the doctor we use in these situations – he don’t ask too many questions – and he’s cauterised the wound and stitched it up. He says that with food and rest he should be fine in a few days.’

Gaius slumped down into a chair by the fire in the atrium’s hearth and reached for a calming cup of hot, sweet wine. ‘The young fool took part in the assassination, didn’t he?’

Vespasian paced nervously to and fro. ‘Why else would he be here in Rome without telling us? And if he was trying to keep his part in it secret, then he’s failed. Herod Agrippa knows, I’m sure of it, and, as we know, he bears no love for Sabinus.’

Gaius took a sip of his wine. ‘Then we need to get him out of Rome as soon as possible.’

‘Where to, Uncle? If he’s condemned he can’t go back to his legion in Pannonia and they’d find him on one of our estates. He’s safest at the moment with Magnus. What we need to do is ensure that he’s not condemned.’

‘And how can we do that?’

‘By taking advantage of the new system of government. You saw it in action last night; it’s Claudius’ freedmen who rule him.’

‘Of course!’ Gaius looked relieved for the first time since being dragged from his bed to hear the bad news. ‘I’ll send a message to Pallas to say that we need to see him as soon as possible after the ceremony this morning. We’ll find out then whether we can still count upon his friendship.’

The people of Rome turned out in their hundreds of thousands to witness their new Emperor receive the oath of allegiance from his now loyal Senate and the Urban Cohorts. That they had regularly laughed at him previously and mocked his malformed body as he was publicly humiliated by his predecessor was now conveniently forgotten by most of the masses crowding in and around the Forum Romanum and along the Via Sacra. However, neither Claudius nor those surrounding him had overlooked the ridiculing of the past, and so the entire Praetorian Guard was stationed along the procession route. They were dressed in full military uniform rather than in togas – their normal attire when on duty within the boundaries of the city – as a reminder to the citizens that it was military power that had elevated Claudius and it was military power that would keep him in his position, and that power was not to be mocked. The sensibilities of the Senate and People of Rome had taken second place to the need to preserve the dignitas of the new Emperor; anyone suspected of making fun of him was dragged away for a thorough lesson in how quickly a man could develop a limp and start drooling uncontrollably.

Resplendent in freshly chalked, gleaming white togas bordered by a thick purple stripe indicating their rank, the Senate led the procession. Their numbers had swelled back up to over five hundred as those who had left the city the day before had hurriedly returned in the hope that the Republican sympathies they had expressed would be forgotten – or at least overlooked – by the new Emperor once they had sworn loyalty to him. The senators walked with slow dignity, looking neither left nor right,
holding their heads high and with their left arms crooked before them supporting the folds of their togas. Each eligible magistrate was accompanied by the requisite number of fasces-bearing lictors to add to his stature. Military crowns, won whilst serving in the legions for acts of bravery, were worn by every man entitled to them.

Preceded by twelve lictors, Claudius was borne in an open sedan-chair by sixteen slaves at shoulder height so that all could see him. Behind him, travelling recumbent in a horse-drawn carriage, strewn with cushions and garlanded with flowers, came his wife, Messalina, heavily pregnant but brought out of her confinement for the parade. Her daughter, Claudia Octavia, travelled with her; only eighteen months old, she seemed bewildered by the occasion.

Following them, marching in slow-time, crashing their hobnailed military sandals down hard on the paving stones to the blaring of
bucinae
, came the Urban Cohorts.

Surrounding Claudius and Messalina were three centuries of the German Imperial Bodyguard, sauntering rather than marching, with their hands on the hilts of their swords behind their flat oval shields and keeping their pale blue eyes fixed on the crowd. Long-haired, full-bearded, be-trousered and each over six feet tall, their barbarian looks presented a striking contrast to the otherwise ordered and very Roman pageant.

The multitudes chanted and cheered themselves hoarse, waving brightly dyed rags or racing-faction colours in the air as the slow procession passed. They lined the streets, crowded the steps of temples and public buildings, balanced on the bases of columns, clung to the pedestals of equestrian statues or heaved themselves up on to window ledges; small children sat on their fathers’ shoulders whilst their more nimble elder siblings scaled any vantage point too small or precarious for an adult.

It seemed that every one of the common people of Rome, free, freed or slave, was there to welcome the new Emperor, not because they particularly disliked the old one or that they particularly liked Claudius; it mattered not to them who was in charge. They had come because they still remembered the games,
largesse and feasts that accompanied Caligula’s accession and they wished to earn, through their rapturous support of the new incumbent, a repeat or maybe even a surpassing of that profligate display of generosity. There was, however, a sizeable minority in the crowd with longer memories; they hailed Claudius not in his own right but as the brother of the great Germanicus, the man whom many wished had succeeded Augustus to the Purple.

Claudius, for his part, sat as composed as he could in his chair. He acknowledged the ovation of the crowds with jerking waves and sudden nods, occasionally dabbing his chin with a handkerchief to stem the flow of the drool that, along with his nervous tic, was far more pronounced, betraying his excitement at receiving, for the first time in his fifty-two years, public acclamation.

Messalina ignored the crowd. She kept a firm arm around her small daughter and with her other hand gently caressed her swollen belly. She stared straight ahead towards her husband with a self-satisfied expression on her face.