Rome's Lost Son (35 page)

Vespasian looked at Gaius as the people screamed their love for their Golden Emperor; he smiled. ‘Now he’s united them with common enemies both here and abroad, Uncle. He’ll secure his position and then we shall see how he handles absolute power.’

‘I’m sure we will, dear boy; let us pray to the gods of our houses that
we
don’t get to see too closely.’

‘I’ve found it!’ Caenis said, handing an unrolled scroll across the garden table to Vespasian. ‘It’s all there: the clause, the amount of the bequest and then the original valuation of Paelignus’ father’s estate as registered in the will at the House of the Vestals. It specifies its actual size in terms of land, goods, chattels and cash. Narcissus must have had this stolen.’

‘Or paid the Vestals for it.’ Vespasian read through the scroll, smoke from the bonfire occasionally wisping into his eyes. ‘But this doesn’t tell us how much was paid to the imperial treasury.’

‘It doesn’t need to. All bequests made are logged and filed at the treasury; you just have to get Pallas to cross-check what was received from Paelignus against what’s in that record.’

Vespasian looked at the valuations, did some mental arithmetic and then whistled. ‘I make the total value about twenty million denarii, which means that Claudius should have got ten but only received a quarter of that. Paelignus swindled the Emperor out of seven and a half million. That’ll do nicely.’ He slapped the scroll down on the table.

Caenis pointed to the rest of Narcissus’ records that they still had not read through. ‘Do you want to carry on looking through?’

Vespasian glanced at them and then across at the bonfire consuming the rest. ‘Burn them, my love. I’ve got what I need on Paelignus and we’ve got a few other useful things too. If we keep too much, it might become apparent to somebody just exactly what Narcissus did with his records.’

Caenis signalled to her steward to carry on feeding the fire. ‘How are you going to explain to Pallas how you come to have an original valuation that had been lodged with the Vestals?’

‘I won’t; and I also won’t be giving it to Pallas, as it would seem to me that his time is coming to an end. I’ll use this to buy favour with Seneca. For this he’ll be more than happy to get Nero to grant Malichus his citizenship and then, I imagine, he’ll come to an arrangement with Paelignus that he pays the balance of what he owes to him in return for his silence on the matter.’

‘I thought you wanted him dead.’

‘I do, but it might be amusing to ruin him first; see how he likes a couple of years with nothing, just as I had.’ He got to his feet, smiling at the thought. ‘Have your people pack your bags, my love; we’ll leave for my Cosa estate tomorrow after I’ve seen Seneca.’

CHAPTER XXI

‘I
GOT BACK
to Rome just before the Ides of October,’ Vespasian said without any preamble as Hormus showed Laelius into the tablinum, ‘and here we are two days before the Ides of February. Why has it taken four months for you to come and pay your respects to me, Laelius?’

Laelius stood before the desk, looking uncomfortable and sweating slightly despite the chill of a February dawn. He rubbed his hand over his now completely bald pate and essayed an ingratiating smile. ‘I have only just heard of your return, patronus, as I’ve been away on business.’ He spread his hands and shrugged as if it were unavoidable.

‘For four months over the winter, Laelius? Bollocks! You’ve been in the city and I know it.’

‘But you were touring your estates.’

‘Ah! In order to know that you must have been here. Anyway, I got back from my tour in the New Year. I’ll tell you why it’s taken four months to visit me: it’s because, with the bad winter they’ve been having in Moesia, it’s taken four months for my letter to get to my brother and then for the news to get back to you that he’s cancelled your chickpea contract and dismissed your son in disgrace. Is that nearer the mark, Laelius?’

Laelius cringed and twisted his hands.

‘And all the time that I was away you didn’t pay me the twelve per cent that you promised me from your business even though I kept my part of the bargain and had your equestrian status restored and got your son a post as a military tribune.’

Laelius hung his head. ‘I’m sorry, patronus; I believed you to be dead. I’ll pay you everything I owe and raise your percentage to fifteen if you can have your brother restore the contract to me.’

Vespasian turned to Hormus. ‘Is Magnus still here?’

‘Yes, master.’

‘Ask him to come and join us.’

As Hormus left the room Vespasian gave Laelius a friendlier smile. ‘It’s not the contract or the money that you owe me that I wish to discuss at the moment.’

‘What do you want, patronus?’

‘How many people do you call patronus, Laelius?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Don’t you?’ Vespasian mused as Hormus came back in with Magnus. ‘Magnus, Laelius is having trouble understanding me; would you help him to focus his attention?’

‘My pleasure, sir.’ Magnus grabbed Laelius’ right arm and pulled it high behind his back.

‘Have I got your full attention now, Laelius?’

Magnus forced the arm up a bit more and Laelius nodded vigorously, grimacing with pain.

‘Good. Now, the last time I saw you I granted you a favour, did I not?’

Another vigorous nod.

‘And yet once that favour was done you took the earliest opportunity to cultivate a new patron. What was his name, Laelius?’ Vespasian raised his eyebrows at Magnus who applied even more pressure.

‘Corvinus!’

‘Corvinus,’ Vespasian repeated in a reasonable tone; he was enjoying this. ‘And for how long have your been courting Corvinus?’

‘I don’t understand, patronus!’

Vespasian’s eyes hardened and he pointed at Laelius’ shoulder. Magnus grabbed it and twisted Laelius’ arm further up his back; there was a loud tearing sound and a pop. Laelius screamed.

‘Would you like Magnus to dislocate the other one for you?’ Vespasian asked pleasantly. ‘And he will, if you don’t tell me just for how long you’ve been in Corvinus’ pay.’

‘Five years, patronus.’

‘I think that we can drop the pretence of you calling me patronus, don’t you? Now, the last time you left this room someone
came in for an interview straight after you: do you remember him?’

Laelius whimpered, holding his damaged shoulder. ‘No, patronus.’

‘The other one, Magnus, now!’

Magnus reacted in a flash and within moments Laelius had fallen screaming to his knees with both arms hanging useless at his side.

‘It’s the elbows next, Laelius. Do you remember who came in after you?’

‘Yes, but I don’t remember his name.’

‘Agarpetus; he was Narcissus’ freedman here to organise a meeting between me and his patron. And you listened at the curtain, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Laelius sobbed.

Magnus’ expression changed as he understood the implication; murder shone in his one good eye.

Vespasian held up a hand to stop his friend. ‘What did you do with what you heard, Laelius?’

‘I told Corvinus.’

‘Told Corvinus? Now why would you do that?’

Laelius looked up at Vespasian, his eyes pleading for his life. ‘Because he paid me to tell him anything interesting that I heard while I was in your house.’

‘Do you know what he did with this information?’

Laelius shook his head.

‘Tell him, Magnus.’

‘He had the East Aventine Brotherhood attack the South Quirinal Brotherhood.’

‘That’s exactly what he did,’ Vespasian agreed. ‘In an effort to have me killed; but, instead, quite a few of Magnus’ brothers lost their lives. I imagine the South Quirinal would like to see justice done.’

‘Very much so; but they wouldn’t be anxious to see justice done quickly, if you take my meaning?’

‘Oh, but I do, Magnus, I do.’ Vespasian was now enjoying this even more than he had anticipated he would when he had made
the connection between Corvinus knowing when he would be in Magnus’ tavern and Laelius. That had been over a month before and since then he had been savouring the prospect of Laelius coming to plead for his chickpea contract. ‘But you are no longer a member of that brotherhood so it’s not really your argument any more. We wouldn’t want murder committed for no reason, would we, Laelius?’

A flicker of hope showed in Laelius’ eyes. ‘No, patronus.’

‘So when will be the next time you see your former brethren, Magnus?’

‘In the Circus Maximus in an hour or so to watch your team race for the Greens for the first time.’

‘Now that is convenient. Laelius lives in Red Horse Street just off the Alta Semita.’

‘I know it well, sir, so do Tigran and the lads.’

‘And once you’ve told Tigran and the lads that Laelius was responsible for the deaths of a few of their brethren and their temporary eviction from their tavern, how long do you think it would take them to find Laelius’ house?’

‘My guess is that for the pleasure of revenge for something like that they would forgo the racing and be there within a half-hour.’

Vespasian made a show of doing some arithmetic. ‘I would say that you’ve got precisely an hour and a half to get out of Rome, Laelius. Goodbye.’

Laelius looked wide-eyed at Vespasian and then realised that he was indeed letting him go. He stood, grimacing at the pain in his shoulders, and then ran from the room with his arms flapping uselessly beside him.

‘Follow him, Hormus, and don’t let anyone open the door for him; let him try and work that out for himself.’

‘Are you really going to give him a chance, sir?’

Vespasian shrugged. ‘Do you think that the lads won’t get him?’

‘Of course they’ll get him, even if he runs to Corvinus.’

‘Well, then, after what he did, he deserves to live his last few hours, or days, in terror of the inevitable.’

‘What do you want to do about Corvinus? I could get the lads to torch his house for him.’

Vespasian contemplated the offer briefly. ‘No, but thank you, Magnus, it was a kind offer; he’s so rich that it would hardly inconvenience him at all. I’ll think of something suitable in due course.’

Magnus grinned. ‘I’m sure you will. In which case, I think it’s time we went to the circus, sir.’

‘So do I, Magnus; and now that Seneca has persuaded Nero to grant Malichus his citizenship I think the gods will look kindly on my team. I’ve a feeling that this is our lucky day.’

Magnus grinned. ‘I believe you may be right; after all, it’s already started off so pleasantly.’

The sight of Caratacus being admitted to the imperial box reminded Vespasian that he wanted to share, over dinner, their reminiscences of four years of fighting each other. But as the Britannic chieftain was greeted by Nero, who was enthusing about the scale model of the Circus Maximus and comparing its details to the real structure surrounding them, Vespasian returned to his inner battle and looked down at the purse in his hand, struggling with himself and his inability to part easily with money.

‘I’ve put ten aurii on them, dear boy,’ Gaius, sitting to his right, informed him, holding up the wooden bet marker that he had just received from the bookmaker’s slave with whom he had placed the bet.

Vespasian was appalled. ‘That’s five times the annual salary of a legionary, Uncle. What if they lose?’

‘Then I shall blame you because they’re your horses. But if I win, then I’ll get eight times my bet because no one fancies the Greens’ third chariot with a team that has never raced before.’

Vespasian looked back down at his purse and weighed it in his hand. Despite the fact that he had driven his team himself a few times in the Flammian Circus and was well aware of their prowess, he was still finding it very hard to lay his first ever bet.

Flavia, seated to his left, snorted in derision. ‘You’ll have as much chance of getting him to place a bet on his own horses, Gaius, as you would of getting him to pay for your upkeep if you made the mistake of marrying him without a dowry. Fortunately
I didn’t make that error.’ She smiled in a goading manner and brandished her bet marker. ‘Fifteen denarii of
my
money on
your
horses, dear husband.’

Vespasian was taken by just how much his wife was becoming like his mother; given another few years, he surmised, she would stand a good chance of being just as cantankerous. He felt relief that he had forbidden Vespasia Polla to accompany him and Flavia back to Rome, after they had visited her in Aquae Cutillae for the Saturnalia, ostensibly on account of her frailty and the cold; in reality it was because of their souring natures rubbing each other. Dealing with two such women on a daily basis had been intolerable; whereas the month that he had spent with Caenis at Cosa had been very tolerable indeed.

Titus leant over his mother and rubbed Vespasian’s arm, bringing him back to his present dilemma. ‘Come on, Father, it’s just a bit of fun; I’ve put down five denarii.’

‘Five! Where did you get that from?’

‘It’s part of my allowance.’ Titus cocked an eyebrow before adding, ‘Quite a large part seeing as you’re the one who sets the level of it.’

Vespasian did not take offence at his son’s remark; he knew that, although it was an exaggeration, there was more than a grain of truth in it. He sighed, pulled a coin out of his purse and handed it to the waiting bookmaker’s slave. ‘One sesterces on the Green number three chariot. What will I get if I win?’

‘Two denarii plus your original stake, master,’ the slave replied, taking the bronze coin. With great ceremony he placed it in his bag before recording the wager in his ledger and then handing the numbered marker to Vespasian.

As the slave walked off to report back to his master, based with the other bookmakers at the rear of the senators’ enclosure, Titus handed him a silver denarius. ‘That’s for managing to keep a straight face.’

Vespasian punched the air and screamed incoherently as the leading three chariots skidded, in clouds of dust, out of the turn into the last of the seven laps, almost level. Only the Red
supporters in the circus remained seated as their three chariots lay in mangled wrecks scattered around the track. The Blues, Whites and Greens, however, had jumped to their feet to urge on their teams for the last desperate effort. But those who were yelling the loudest were the people who had put their money on the outsider: the unknown Green team. The team had caused a stir around the circus during the parade before the race; supporters of all factions had marvelled at the quality of the Arabs. Even the Emperor, who was no mean judge of horse-flesh, had been impressed and had interrupted showing off his new set of finely carved ivory chariot models to Caratacus, seated with him, and summoned Eusebius, the Green faction-master, to the imperial box. Vespasian had felt Nero’s eyes rest upon him a couple of times as they discussed the team.

But now Vespasian was lost in the excitement of the race as the three leading chariots shot down the straight on the other side of the spina to the delirious roar of a quarter of a million people. The
hortatores
, the single horsemen who guided each chariot through the dust, wreckage and chaos of the race, reached the turning post at the far end of the spina for the last time and, signalling frantically at a party of track slaves, trying to rescue a trapped Red charioteer from his shattered vehicle, to take shelter within the tangle of wood and thrashing horses, made the turn and then pulled aside to leave the final straight clear for the three remaining teams.

With the White on the inside, taking the slower but sharper turn, the Blue and the Green charioteers whipped their teams to speed them around the outside at the fastest possible pace, negating the White’s advantage of taking the shorter route. As the three chariots levelled out they were almost in a line and with no more turns to go it was all about fitness and pace. And as the roar of the Green supporters, seated mainly on the left-hand side of the great entrance gates, increased to storm-like proportions, it was obvious which team had the most of both those qualities; qualities that Vespasian knew very well from his amateur efforts with them.

But now they were in the hands of a professional.

With seeming effortlessness the four Arab greys lengthened their stride and almost glided away while the White and Blue drivers, their leather-strapped chests heaving with the exertion, slashed their four-lashed whips over the withers of their teams to no discernible effect. The Green supporters howled their joy as the seventh dolphin tilted and the Green charioteer raised an arm in a victory salute.

‘They weren’t even at full stretch by the end!’ Gaius yelled in Vespasian’s ear. ‘That could be the best team in Rome at the moment.’

Vespasian beamed at his uncle, his thoughts focused on all the prize money that was now a very real possibility as a Praetorian Guardsman pushed his way along the row to them. With a perfunctory salute he delivered his message: ‘The Emperor commands you and your son to join him for dinner after the last race.’ Without waiting for a reply the man moved off.