‘Are you prepared this time?’ a voice asked.
Vespasian could not tell whether it was real or existed solely in his head; whichever of the two he knew that it was the voice of the god and must be answered. ‘I believe so, Amun.’ Again he could not tell whether he had vocalised or imagined these words.
‘You have matched the gift; you may ask your question.’
Smoke swirled around the mouth of the statue yet all else remained still; there was no other sign that the god had really spoken.
Vespasian squeezed his eyes closed and drew a deep breath. ‘Who should succeed me, my eldest son or the one whom I deem to be the best man?’
There was a silence, deeper than Vespasian had ever known, that stretched through a dozen or more slow beats of his heart, before the flames flickered again. ‘The two are one.’
‘Perhaps; but if I choose my son Titus, will his younger brother not plot against him so that he can take the prize? And that won’t end until one kills the other.’
Again a silence in which, this time, even the smoke stood motionless. ‘The younger son will always take that course of action, whoever you choose to succeed you unless you choose him; and that you must never do for he has ruthless and undeserving ambition and overbearing, preening pride. Already he is acting above his station and will resent being pulled back down.’
‘Then what is my path?’
‘You cannot kill your younger son, for Rome will see that as a return to the days of Nero and you will fall. Neither can you banish him, for pride and ambition will force him into reckless attempts at escape that will kill him as surely as you putting a knife in his heart, and, again, you will be seen as the father who killed his son. Nor can you overlook your eldest son, in the cause of family harmony, as he, too, has great ambition and pride but his is deserved; he will challenge whoever takes what he considers to be his by right of birth and war will be unavoidable. And yet you must go forward.’
‘Then I must doom one of my sons to death by the hand of the other.’
‘You must take up the duty that has fallen into your hands; this moment has always been foretold but what you should do now is not what you think.’
‘I shouldn’t go back to Rome as soon as possible?’
‘By coming here, you have avoided making the mistake that both Galba and Vitellius made: getting to Rome whilst it was still in turmoil. This year you hold the East: stay and secure it; let Rome come to you and ask, plead even, that you return. Next year, with the grain the East produces, you will return to the West as a saviour as opposed to a conqueror. Now go; do not defy the will of the gods because you fear to spend your sons. The power that guides fate, our power, the power of the gods, is great, as was demonstrated to you with the army of Cambyses, so take what the gods offer you and think not of the consequences.’
Vespasian opened his mouth to ask another question but the smoke was rapidly inhaled into the mouth of the statue and the lamps began burning with their original intensity. He blinked and breathed deeply and then rose to his feet for he knew that the audience was over; his course was now set and he was helpless.
*
‘Well?’ Magnus asked as Vespasian turned away from the altar.
‘Well what?’
‘You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.’
‘Didn’t you hear anything?’
‘It was as if Time’s Chariot stood still, my love,’ Caenis said stepping out of the shadows. ‘I couldn’t tell you how long we have been in here; it may be but a hundred heartbeats or a hundred hours; but what is sure is that we heard nothing and all we saw was you motionless before the altar.’
Vespasian remembered the same phenomenon happening the last time he had been here; the priest had told him that the words of the god were for him alone. ‘The god spoke to me; at least, I think he did.’
‘Well?’ Magnus asked again, this time with more insistence.
‘Well, he didn’t give me any cause to feel at ease.’
‘What did you ask him?’
Vespasian shook his head. ‘That’s between me and Amun. But what I can say is that I must embrace my destiny despite whatever personal or familial consequences there may be.’ Vespasian’s normally strained expression became painfully stressed as he contemplated those consequences.
‘Are you all right, my love?’ Caenis said, cupping his face in both hands.
‘I will have to be as there is nothing I can do to avoid the inevitable; there is no other path to take other than the one that I’m on; the one that I was set on from the moment of my birth. I’m swept along by the tide of fate and my personal wishes are secondary and so therefore I have no choice but to keep going and pray that Titus stays safe.’
Magnus frowned in confusion. ‘Titus?’
‘Yes, Titus.’
Caenis’ countenance darkened as she understood Vespasian’s dilemma. ‘Of course, my love; I’m amazed that we didn’t see that earlier. We completely overlooked the consequences of Domitian not being your successor.’
‘Ahhh.’ Magnus mused as it too dawned on him. ‘That is a nasty thought; that little shit has never been one to stand back and let others overshadow him. He has very different priorities and won’t be afraid to have a stab at making rather a sharp point, if you take my meaning?’
Vespasian grimaced at the image. ‘I’m afraid I do, Magnus.’
Caenis sucked on her bottom lip. ‘So what can you do about it?’
‘That is something that I will have to decide next September when I get back to Rome.’
‘Next September?’ Magnus said. ‘I don’t know if I’ll last until then. Why not go as soon as the sea-lanes open in spring?’
‘Because I was advised to let Rome come to me whilst I stay here to secure the East.’
Caenis nodded her approval. ‘I think that would be sensible, my love; once Vitellius is either retired or dead, the Senate will have no choice but to support you. Let them send a delegation to plead with you to come to Rome so that you’re seen as the Emperor who takes the prize that was offered him and not one who seizes it. Mucianus and Sabinus can run the city in your name until then.’
Vespasian looked down at the statue of the god, now no more than an inanimate carving and yet still an object to inspire awe, for, in a moment of clarity, he had realised the true benefit of doing the god’s bidding. Now he understood why it had been so important for him to return here for he had just been prevented from making a serious political error in returning to Rome before the situation there was settled. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘but more to the point it will be Mucianus who has to deal with the dissenters and outspoken supporters of Vitellius, not me; admittedly he’ll be doing it in my name but I won’t be seen as being directly responsible for my enemies’ deaths or banishments. Mucianus will clean up the Senate; he will be the one to take the unpleasant decisions, not me. If I wait until late next year, once everything has settled down in Rome, then I’ll be able to return to the city with no blood on my hands, and I’ll be returning because the Senate has asked me to and no one will have cause to resent me. My position will be far more secure that way than if I were to do the dirty work myself.’
‘I came as soon as I could, master,’ Hormus said without any preamble, as he was admitted into Vespasian’s private quarters in the Ptolemaic palace of Alexandria. ‘It’s taken me nineteen days as my ship nearly foundered in a storm off Crete and we had to wait there for six days for the weather to improve.’
Vespasian kept his head back, resting on the back of the chair as Caenis scraped her razor up his oil-slick chin, shaving him close and comfortably. ‘How did you find a trierarch willing to take you in the first place at this time of year?’
‘I told him that we were to be the first to bring you the news of the Senate debating the letter you sent them and vote to recognise you as sole emperor.’
Caenis quickly pulled her razor away from Vespasian’s throat; he sat up with a jerk. ‘Vitellius?’
‘Is dead, master; eleven days before the calends of January, thirty-three days ago. The Senate met the next day and voted you most of the titles that Nero had possessed. I went north the following day and reported the events to Mucianus and then travelled with his army down to Rome. We arrived on the calends and he is now running the city using your ring as authority. I left two days after that.’
‘Thank you, Hormus; you’ve served me well.’ Vespasian took a damp towel from Caenis and rubbed the excess oil from his face. ‘Most of the titles, you say?’
‘Yes, master; I have brought a copy of the law, the Lex de Imperio Vespasiani.’ He handed Vespasian a scroll.
Vespasian handed the towel back to Caenis and unrolled the scroll; he took some time digesting the contents. ‘This is not nearly as thorough as I need. I must be seen as being no different from the previous Emperors, I must have the same powers and I want them to be set out for all to see and understand. Who promulgated this half-hearted piece of legislation?’
‘Mucianus is guiding the Senate in their decisions …’ Hormus let the sentence hang.
Vespasian looked at Caenis. ‘Now we shall see just how far we can trust him.’
Caenis wiped her razor clean of stubble. ‘He’s always going to try to keep something back for himself; who wouldn’t in his situation?’
‘A consulship, no doubt.’
Hormus shook his head. ‘No; in your absence, master, he had the Senate confirm you and Titus as the first two consuls of this year and has left it to you to decide how long you stay in position and who should take over as the suffects.’
Vespasian’s surprise was clear. ‘He does seem to be showing restraint.’
‘Not in every aspect, master; he said to tell you that he has sent a couple of centurions to Africa to kill the Governor, Lucius Calpurnius Piso, in order to secure the province and its grain.’
‘That makes sense; I wrote to both him and Calpetanus Festus, the legate of the Third Augusta, demanding their acknowledgement; I received a letter from Festus a few days ago assuring me of his support and that he was going to get the legion to swear the oath to me. Piso did not reply. What evidence did Mucianus have against him?’
Hormus shrugged. ‘He didn’t say, master; he just told me to tell you that Piso was to die and he was sure that you would be very pleased to hear it.’
‘At least you didn’t order the killing, my love,’ Caenis said, placing her razor back in its box.
‘Yes, that is something. Who else has died, Hormus?’
‘Vitellius, obviously, and his seven-year-old son.’
Vespasian grimaced at the news and again felt relieved that he had not been the one to give the necessary order, for the boy had to die.
‘Julius Priscus, the prefect of the Praetorian Guard, was commanded to commit suicide; and Piso’s son-in-law, Calpurnius Galerianus, was taken for a ride out of the city and er … persuaded to do the same. About another dozen lesser men also died before I left.’
‘Mucianus is getting a lot of blood on his hands.’
And that was what Vespasian had been dreading ever since returning from Siwa to Alexandria in November where news of Antonius Primus’ defeat of the Vitellian forces, at the second Battle of Bedriacum, had awaited him. This had been followed by the news that the entire Batavian auxiliary cohorts, under Gaius Julius Civilis, had taken to the field, ostensibly in Vespasian’s name. He had written to the Senate immediately demanding that they recognise him as sole emperor.
After hearing of the Batavian revolt and of Antonius Primus’ victory Vespasian had been frustratingly lacking in news due to the inhospitable qualities of the winter sea. Throughout the remainder of November, December and the first part of January two questions had played upon his mind: firstly whether Civilis was being opportunistic; Vespasian did remember him as being a prefect of one of the Batavian cohorts that had been attached to the II Augusta during the invasion of Britannia, and remembered liking and respecting him. If Civilis was genuine in his support for him then Vespasian would show his gratitude; but if he was not, he would be one of the first things to be dealt with once Vespasian had secured power. Either way, he had comforted himself with the thought that it was a useful distraction to have rumbling on along the Rhenus and would take troops away from Vitellius which he could ill afford to lose.
But what of Vespasian’s troops? That was the second question that he had regularly turned to. That Antonius was marching on Rome, he could guess, but how quickly and with what precautions? As to Mucianus’ whereabouts there had been no word and he could but assume that he was racing to catch up with Antonius in order to prevent the impetuous and ambitious general taking overall control of Rome. For two months he had waited and heard nothing; the silence from the West had rung in his ears and his inability to affect the course of events scared him and irked him in equal measure. He had begun to consider ignoring the god’s advice and making preparations for a return to Rome as soon as the conditions permitted. But now, finally, the news that he had waited so desperately for had arrived; now he knew for sure that he was emperor, recognised by all. He also knew that his fears were being realised and that Mucianus was not holding back in his assertion of power; people were dying in Vespasian’s name but not by his direct order and for that, at least, he was grateful.
‘And what of Sabinus and Domitian?’ Vespasian asked, having contemplated Mucianus’ behaviour for a few moments.
Hormus paused, his eyes looking down at the fine mosaic that he was standing on. ‘Domitian has been voted a praetor with the status of a consul.’
‘A what? That’s ludicrous for a boy his age; whose idea was that? Sabinus would never have let that happen, surely.’ Vespasian stared at Hormus, waiting for his reply. The freedman said nothing; his eyes remained lowered. Vespasian felt his heart lurch as the realisation of the truth hit him. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’
Hormus swallowed and raised his eyes so that they just met his master’s. ‘Yes, master; he tried to hold the Capitoline for you, waiting for Mucianus and Antonius to arrive. Vitellius’ men stormed it and took it, burning down the Temple of Jupiter in the process. Domitian escaped but Sabinus was captured; he was killed on Vitellius’ orders.’
Vespasian felt Caenis’ hands rest on his shoulders, comforting him at the same time as restraining him. But he had no need of restraint and much need of comfort as images of his brother flashed through his mind: the beast who had tormented him as a child; the sneering young man who had returned from four years’ service under the Eagles to belittle and humiliate him at every available opportunity. And then it had slowly turned around, beginning with their confrontation at the Oracle of Amphiaraos where Sabinus had admitted that he was scared of being eclipsed by his younger brother; and so had come the gradual acceptance over the years that this was to be so that culminated in Sabinus’ appearance the previous year, bearing the breastplate of Alexander, urging Vespasian to grab the destiny that would, indeed, eclipse him, the older brother. And now that brother was dead, dying to ensure that his younger sibling would be the one to bring glory to the family; an unselfish gesture from a man Vespasian now realised that he had loved very much.
It was from deep within his core that the first sob erupted, almost choking him; a second and then a third and, before Vespasian was able to control himself, he had tears rolling down his cheeks and his chest was heaving erratically. How long he remained in a state of tunnelled grief he did not know for all he could focus on was his loss. Gradually he pulled himself back from the depths and began to master himself, becoming once more aware of the world around him: of Hormus standing before him looking uneasy in the face of his master’s deep grief; of Caenis, her hands kneading his shoulders in an attempt to take the tension of that grief from his body.
It was with a couple of deep breaths that Vespasian mastered himself and looked directly at his freedman. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Vespasian swallowed yet another sob and slapp
ed the arm of his chair. ‘So they exposed his body on the Gemonian Stairs?’
‘Yes, master,’ Hormus replied, his throat dry from long usage.
‘And his head?’
‘Paraded through the streets on a spear.’
‘And Vitellius did nothing to prevent this outrage because my brother refused to … well, of course he refused to.’ Vespasian again slapped the arm of the chair, rose and headed to the doors opening on to the terrace with Caenis supporting his arm. ‘But what was the point of killing Sabinus when Vitellius must have known that Antonius was camped at the Mulvian Bridge and would enter Rome the following day? Sabinus’ life could have brought that idiot his own.’
‘He wasn’t in control, master,’ Hormus said, following Vespasian out. ‘He was weak; he had tried to abdicate but his followers wouldn’t let him for fear of what would happen to them.’
‘I’ll kill every one of them,’ Vespasian hissed, ‘every one!’
‘That’s why it’s best that you are not there, my love,’ Caenis said. ‘Had you gone into the city spitting vengeance all about you, you would soon have been perceived as a tyrant and your head would have ended up on a spear.’
‘As did that of Vitellius,’ Hormus said.
‘Did it? Good.’ Vespasian’s voice was cold. ‘Did he put up a fight at the end or was he his normal fat and slovenly self?’
‘Antonius’ army easily defeated the ragtag remains of Vitellius’ troops which had been bolstered by armed citizens and gladiators; he pushed them aside at the Mulvian Bridge and swarmed into the city. There was fierce street fighting with the four Praetorian Cohorts still in Rome supporting Vitellius as emperor. I came in with Antonius, having been sent to him by Mucianus with a plea that he should delay the attack on Rome until he had caught up as he was only a couple of days behind.’
‘But Antonius refused,’ Vespasian said, picturing the situation.
‘Yes, master; he saw that the city was virtually undefended and didn’t want to share the glory.’
‘What glory is there in the rape of Rome?’
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