Emperor of Rome

by Robert Fabbri

‘They both had these on them, sir, hidden in their robes.’ The decurion held out two vicious-looking curved-bladed knives.

  ‘Sicae,’ Vespasian said, recognising the weapons instantly and knowing exactly what they signified. He looked down at the prisoners, both lying strapped onto a table. They were young, with full black beards; their faces were burned by the sun whereas their bodies were pale having always been covered. One’s arm was still bleeding from shredded skin and the other’s ankle was mangled and punctured with many teeth marks. The dark, piercing eyes of fanatics gazed back up at him with unconcealed hatred. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll get anything out of them even if we chop all the bits off them, one by one.’ He took hold of the nearest man’s circumcised penis and looked at it in curiosity. ‘Such barbarism.’ He turned back to the decurion. ‘No, I think this calls for a different sort of questioning; have my pet Jew brought here along with Magnus and his dogs.’

  The decurion gave the order for Yosef to be found as Vespasian smiled coldly at the prisoners. ‘Ask them, whilst we wait, decurion, where they were going to and whence they came.’

  The decurion shrugged, evidently aware that questioning without inducement was a waste of time. He framed the question in Aramaic and repeated it several times as the Jews stared back at him with dumb insolence.

  ‘Show them a blade,’ Vespasian ordered.

  ‘The decurion did as he was told, taking a sica close to each man’s face, threatening their eyes and nicking their ears, but this produced no outward signs of fear in the Jews.

  ‘No matter,’ Vespasian said, ‘I’m sure we won’t have to wait long.’

  It was Magnus who arrived first, a few moments later; Castor and Pollux sniffed the air and immediately started growling as they recognised the scent of their two victims from earlier. The Jews looked sidelong at the beasts, their fear of them real in their eyes.

  ‘That’s better,’ Vespasian said, ‘that should put them off their guard.’ There was a knock on the door. ‘Enter.’

  Yosef, still manacled, was escorted in by a guard.

  ‘Ah, Yosef ben Matthias,’ Vespasian said, slowly enunciating each name as clearly as he could.

  The effect was instant: a stream of Aramaic invective poured from the gorges of the two prisoners, their outrage at being put in the same room with such a traitor clear.

  Yosef stepped back, taken by surprise by the verbal abuse.

  ‘What are they saying to you?’ Vespasian asked.

  Yosef looked down at the two men as they spat their hatred at him. ‘They are saying that Shimon bar Gioras will punish me for my treachery and that I have already been excommunicated and will be shunned like a leper or a woman taken in sin. No Jew will ever come voluntarily within seven paces of me unless it’s to kill me; I am rejected and I will soon be dead.’

  ‘So they are Shimon bar Gioras’ followers,’ Vespasian mused as the tirade continued. ‘That is interesting seeing as he’s still holding out on Masada. I wonder what they are doing so far from him? Ask them, Yosef. Magnus, I think Castor and Pollux should give them a little encouragement.’ With his head he indicated to the men’s genitals as Yosef asked the question.

  Magnus encouraged his hounds up onto their hind legs with their forelegs resting on the tables; drool dripped from loose lips and low growls accompanied their close, nasal perusal of the areas in question.

  The two Jews raised their heads to stare, petrified, at the two beasts slavering so close to their crotches.

  ‘Repeat the question, Yosef.’

  As he did so, Vespasian nodded at Magnus, who clicked his fingers in front of Pollux’s muzzle as he sniffed at a penis; the dog snapped its teeth, narrowly missing the shrivelled organ. A stream of Aramaic spewed from the terrified Jew; his eyes remained fixed on the hound as it continued to inspect his genitalia, bestowing the occasional lick.

  ‘Well?’ Vespasian asked when the Jew became silent, his chest heaving with fear as his comrade looked over at him in disgust.

  ‘Shimon has come down from Masada, a few days ago, leaving Eleazar ben Ya’ir and his followers garrisoning it. He has marched on Jerusalem; Yohanan and his army came out to meet them and they fought an inconclusive battle. Yohanan has withdrawn back behind the city’s walls and Shimon has turned south to invade Idumaea to punish them for what their army did in Jerusalem last year.’

  Vespasian looked down at the Jew; his eyes flicked between Pollux and Magnus and then looked up at Vespasian, pleading. ‘He doesn’t seem to be lying but point out to him that he hasn’t answered my question, Yosef: what are they doing so far from Shimon?’

  ‘They were coming to Caesarea to assassinate me,’ Yosef translated after a brief conversation. ‘Shimon wants to make an example of me; he wants to show the Jews that anyone who has dealings with Rome will die, without exception.’

  ‘Does he now?’ Vespasian smiled to himself. ‘Then I would have thought he should order his own murder seeing as he seems to be doing Rome a great many favours. Attacking Jerusalem and now Idumaea, that’s very helpful to Rome. It’s completely justified my policy of having just a loose blockade around Jerusalem and letting them get on with it by themselves without interfering. What an obliging people these Jews are. Ask him when this battle was.’

  ‘He says that it was yesterday; they rode all night to get here.’

  ‘Were there many casualties?’

  ‘About ten thousand in all, from both sides.’

  Vespasian shook his head in amazement. ‘They kill each other as quickly as we kill them.’

  ‘It’s amazing that there are any left,’ Magnus observed, pulling his dogs away from the prisoners. ‘What shall we do with these two?’

  Vespasian looked at Yosef and then held out one of the Sicarii. ‘They were coming to kill you, Yosef, for betraying your people; this is your decisive moment: use the blade on yourself or on these two. If you kill yourself I will let these men go so that they can tell the Jews that you repented in the end; if it is you who walks out of this room then I shall know that you are completely loyal to me.’

  Yosef looked at the two prisoners strapped to the tables and then at Vespasian; with a slight inclination of the head he took the knife.

  Vespasian walked from the room with Magnus and the dogs; the decurion closed the door behind them.

  It did not take long before the door reopened and Yosef walked out with his guard; the decurion followed.

  Vespasian glanced at the decurion, who nodded, showing him the bloodied knife; he wiped it, placed it back in its sheath and handed it to him. Vespasian tucked the knife into his belt and then looked with approval at Yosef. ‘So, you have made your choice and I shall reward you with your freedom. Guard, take off his chains.’

  The guard took a large ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the manacles and the leg-irons; they clunked to the ground.

  Vespasian took Yosef by the shoulders. ‘You are now my freedman; I will prepare the necessary papers to show that you are a freed citizen of Rome by the name of Titus Flavius Josephus.’

  ‘Hormus!’ Vespasian called as he entered the atrium of the palace. ‘Hormus!’

  His senior freedman scuttled out from his study, a smaller room off the atrium next to his master’s far more spacious working space. ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘I need you to make out the manumission document for Titus Flavius Josephus,’ Vespasian said, pointing at his new freedman.

  If Hormus was surprised he did not show it. ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘And then write a brief note to Titus, in Tiberias, summoning him to see me immediately; I want him here by the day after tomorrow. Bring them both to me for signature when you’ve finished.’

  ‘Yes, master. And, master?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Three messengers have arrived from Rome; they have the Emperor’s mandate.’

  ‘Finally. Where are they?’

  ‘The mistress is entertaining them in the courtyard garden.’

 
‘Now we get to see exactly where I stand with the new regime,’ Vespasian said to Magnus as he turned to go.

  Magnus tugged at Castor and Pollux’s leads to prevent them from following Vespasian. ‘Well, I hope you’re still standing after you’ve found out, if you take my meaning?’

  Vespasian did; he had been waiting a long time for this message, too long for comfort.

  ‘I advise you to do exactly as we say, general, or the lady will be taking her last breaths through a gash in her throat.’

  Vespasian stopped still as he looked at the Praetorian centurion holding a dagger to Caenis’ throat, clamping her mouth shut with the other hand. Two Praetorian Guardsmen stood at their leader’s shoulders; both had a slave lying dead at their feet. ‘What do you mean by this?’ Vespasian kept his voice calm, despite the turmoil that surged within him.

  The centurion’s eyes were killer-cold. ‘Stay still and receive the Emperor’s orders and she will live.’

  The two Guardsmen walked towards Vespasian, drawing their swords with a ringing flourish; Vespasian saw his death approaching. ‘Is this the Emperor’s orders? Am I not, at least, allowed the mercy of suicide?’

  ‘No, he was quite clear upon that point. Neither you nor Clodius Macer, the Governor of Africa, were to be given that benefit … Ahhgg!’ He pulled his hand away from Caenis’ mouth, blood dripping from a deep bite to the forefinger.

  ‘Defend yourself, my love!’ Caenis screamed, struggling in her captor’s arms. ‘I’m dead whatever happens.’

  The two Guardsmen paused to look back at their officer; a snarling black streak thumped into one spilling him to the floor. Vespasian grabbed the sica from his belt and threw himself towards the centurion as another blur hurtled past him.

  Caenis screamed again; blood appeared on her throat but Castor’s jaws closed over the centurion’s face and he brought his dagger away from her flesh to defend himself and she dropped to the floor. Without thought, Vespasian plunged his blade, just below the scale armour, into the centurion’s groin as he fought the hound savaging his face. All three toppled back to the ground, crashing onto the body of one of the dead slaves as shrieks came from behind them mixed with the bestial roars. Forcing his knife further in and up, Vespasian twisted it, with a hatred never before felt, as the centurion howled his pain to the gods. In a final act of violence, the centurion raised his blade and brought it flashing down as Vespasian rolled away; with a butchering thump and a canine screech it clove into Castor’s shoulder. The beast arched back, its maw clamped firm, tearing off the centurion’s face as if pulling the mask from an actor. Vespasian pushed himself up to see Caenis, lying, holding her throat with blood seeping through her fingers. Silent was his scream as he looked down at her paling face.

  ‘Behind you!’ Caenis croaked.

  Vespasian turned and just dodged the sweeping blade of one of the Guardsmen as Magnus despatched his mauled comrade, strangling him with bare hands, tears flowing down his face as he looked at the lifeless body of Pollux. Vespasian grabbed the Praetorian’s arm as the stroke went wide, spinning his body as he did and bringing the arm round behind the Praetorian’s back; with a sudden brutal motion he forced it up, popping the shoulder. The man shrieked and dropped his blade. Vespasian forced him down to his knees, pushing on the dislocated shoulder; he stooped and grabbed the discarded sword. It was with a savage joy that he pressed the tip into the junction of neck and shoulder and, without pause, plunged it deep into the man’s vital organs and then pushed the twitching body forward in disgust.

  Vespasian pulled himself up and staggered, sobbing, over to Caenis. He knelt by her side and stroked her cheek, not knowing what to say or do.

  ‘I’ll be fine, my love,’ Caenis said, rubbing her throat. ‘It’s just a flesh wound. Castor hit him just as he was about to do it; he saved my life.’

  Vespasian’s sobs turned into choking tears of relief as he touched the wound and saw that it was not fatal; he put his arms around Caenis and cradled her as he looked over to where Castor lay, whining pitifully.

  ‘I’ll help you, boy,’ Magnus said, walking up to his wounded dog and sitting down next to it. He took Castor’s head in his hands and laid it in his lap, stroking the cheek with a bloody hand; the centurion’s face slopped to the floor. ‘I’ll help you, boy.’ He reached out and pulled the centurion’s dagger from Castor’s shoulder, tears tumbling down his face. ‘I’ll help you; you can join Pollux now, boy.’ Magnus leant over to kiss his dying pet and sank the dagger deep into Castor’s heart. With one spasm, Castor went still and Magnus collapsed over his body, convulsing with grief.

  ‘I heard the swords ringing as they were drawn,’ Magnus said as Vespasian came back into the garden, having left Caenis in her room being seen to by the doctor. ‘I had a nasty feeling about the whole thing anyway, so I just hung back to listen.’ He looked down at the bodies of his two dogs and sighed, shaking his head in disbelief, misery carved into his face. ‘The sound is unmistakable so I just let the boys go and …’ Magnus could not go on.

  ‘And you saved mine and Caenis’ lives,’ Vespasian said, placing a soothing hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  ‘I didn’t,’ Magnus replied, looking between Castor and Pollux’s corpses, ‘they did.’ He glanced down at the faceless body of the centurion and stamped down on his featureless head repeatedly. ‘Bastard! Goatfucker! Cocksucker! What did they ever do to deserve that, eh? They never hurt anyone.’

  Vespasian knew that was not strictly true but refrained from saying so as he pulled Magnus away from the corpse of the man that Galba had sent to kill him.

  Hormus came out into the garden with Josephus.

  ‘Burn the bodies here, privately, Hormus,’ Vespasian said, indicating to the three Praetorians, ‘and then take the remains in a sack and throw it into the sea. Make sure that none of the household see you doing it; I don’t want any evidence that they were here at all. If anyone should ask what the burning flesh smell is then let it be known that poor Castor and Pollux died of an illness and we’re cremating them here in the garden.’

  ‘Very good, master,’ Hormus said, looking around at the carnage. ‘And what about the two slaves?’

  Vespasian had forgotten about them. ‘Did they have any family?’

  Hormus bent down to identify them better. ‘No, they were both garden workers, no privileges.’

  ‘Good, burn them too and get a couple of replacements. I want it to seem as if nothing happened; those Praetorians were never here and if you hear that any of the slaves know they were, get rid of them.’

  ‘Yes, master.’ Hormus turned to Josephus. ‘Order the steward to lock all the slaves away until we tell him otherwise. No one is to come near the garden. I’ll start getting some wood together.’

  ‘Come on,’ Vespasian said to Magnus as the two freedmen went about their tasks, ‘let’s build a pyre for your two boys and show them the respect they deserve for sacrificing their lives for Caenis and me.’

  It was a mournful little group that gathered around the dogs’ pyre at the further end of the courtyard garden. Caenis, her neck bandaged and the colour returned to her face, held Magnus’ hand as he thrust a torch into the oil-drenched wood upon which lay the stiffening corpses of Castor and Pollux.

  Vespasian stood back, watching the flames grow as his mind raced, wondering what his next move should be. The Emperor had sent men to kill him; it was a stark reality. But why? And was he the only one to incur Galba’s displeasure? And then he remembered that the centurion had said that the Governor of Africa, Clodius Macer, had also been targeted and he wondered how many more governors were to be assassinated. Mucianus, perhaps, or Tiberius Alexander or, indeed, both of them; he would send urgent messengers as soon as he was finished here, he decided.

  The fire caught and the dogs’ fur burst into flames and soon Castor and Pollux were slowly being consumed as Magnus looked on with unrestrainable tears coursing down his cheeks.

  When it was done, they walked
back into the palace past the smoking pit where the bones of the Praetorians and the slaves hissed with steam as Hormus tipped water over them to cool them sufficiently to collect, and on into Vespasian’s study.

  Taking a pitcher of wine from the sideboard, Vespasian poured three cups and passed them round, unwatered. ‘I need a drink and then we have to think about what to do.’

  ‘So, just act as if this never happened?’ Magnus said. ‘Is that really what you’re suggesting?’

  ‘I think that it’s the only way that I can safely proceed,’ Vespasian said, pouring himself a third cup of wine. ‘If we pretend that the assassins never reached here, I won’t have to defend my honour by rebelling against the man who sent them. I can’t afford to do that now, it’s too early; the West is still strong.’

  ‘He’s right, Magnus,’ Caenis affirmed. ‘If Galba hears that his assassins arrived and were thwarted, he will keep on sending more. So Vespasian’s only options would be either to run to Parthia and, no doubt, be sent back to Galba by Vologases so as to avoid a diplomatic incident, or to take his legions and attack the West to remove Galba in a war where Vespasian would be seen as the aggressor. He would not stand a chance; no matter how unpopular Galba is, most of the western legions would back him.’

  ‘Doing nothing buys me at least a couple of months before Galba realises that something went wrong, and if half the rumours coming out of Rome are true, a lot could change in that time.’

  ‘What about the ship they arrived on?’ Caenis asked after a short while thinking the scheme through.

  ‘Torch it at its moorings in the harbour.’

  ‘And the crew?’

  Vespasian shrugged. ‘If they survive, it would be a while before they could get back to Rome. The chances are that they didn’t know what the Praetorians’ mission was anyway.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right: we act as if this never happened.’

  ‘You try telling that to Castor and Pollux,’ Magnus said with more than a trace of bitterness.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m so sorry, Magnus,’ Vespasian said, topping up his friend’s cup. ‘I’ve a feeling that you are going to have to forgo your revenge for the time being. Indeed, you may not get the chance to have it at all.’