‘A bit? He openly ridicules you and accuses you of being a tyrant.’
‘Exactly, thus proving that I’m not. No tyrant would allow someone to openly accuse him of being so and let him live. Helvidius Priscus is doing me a great favour and making himself look ridiculous at the same time.’
‘All the same, you should have him executed, or banished at the very least.’
‘Then I really would look like a tyrant.’
‘Does that matter as long as we keep a firm grip on power?’
‘No one who rules by fear has a firm grip on power, Domitian. Power is like water: you can easily hold it in your cupped hands but if you try to grab it in your fists it runs away. I’m keeping my hands cupped.’
Domitian looked sidelong at his father and shook his head, disbelieving.
Vespasian thanked Mars that he had an older son in Titus but, again, as he did so, his unease as to what Titus was doing began to gnaw within him and he resolved to try to bring the matter to a head. ‘Domitian, I need you to do me a favour.’
‘What is it, Father?’
‘It’s your brother.’
‘What about him? Are you afraid that he’s going to steal the East?’
‘You should be concerned about that too, Domitian, seeing as it affects you just as much. Where will you stand if he does divide the Empire?’
‘Then I’ll be your sole heir.’
‘And you think that I will survive the division? If I preside over that, it won’t just be Helvidius Priscus who will be speaking out against me. What is the West without the East? That’s what they will ask. Take the richest provinces away and how will we cope for tax revenues and grain? Who will govern them, senators from Rome? I think not; so will Titus set up an alternative Senate in Alexandria and, in which case, who will it comprise of? Will families who have lived in Rome for generations move to Egypt so they have a chance of those lucrative posts? No, Domitian, the consequences of what your brother is contemplating would mean that you would be the sole heir of an assassinated emperor, and I would say that was not a very happy position to be in.’
Domitian’s eyes narrowed as he followed through the logic in his head. ‘But that would be terrible for me; I’d be dead.’
‘More than likely.’
‘You must stop this, Father.’
‘How? If I write to Titus expressing my fears, I’ll be admitting that I know what he’s thinking of doing, which will force him to carry through the action because he’ll think, rightly, that I can no longer trust him. Whereas—’
Domitian had no trouble finishing Vespasian’s sentence. ‘Whereas if I were to write to him telling him that you’re concerned for what might be on his mind and I explain to him the full consequences of his action for his whole family, then he can still return without there being a breach of trust between you.’
Vespasian put his arm around his younger son’s shoulders. ‘Well done, Domitian.’
‘I’ll help on one condition.’
‘I don’t think you’re in the position to make conditions.’
‘That you give me permission to marry Domitia Longina.’
Vespasian took a deep breath. ‘Well, what harm can it do now? All right, you have my permission.’
‘I’ll go and write the letter immediately.’
‘That would be very helpful.’
‘Having surveyed the whole site, Imperator,’ Marcus Patruitus said as he and Vespasian looked out over the artificial lake that was the centre-piece of the grounds of the Golden House, ‘this is the best place to build your amphitheatre. The lake is five hundred feet square and twenty feet deep, so already we have the basis for the foundations and the dungeons, thus making a huge saving already.’
Vespasian liked the man immediately. ‘Very good, Patruitus.’
‘And then, of course, we don’t have to clear the site, saving even more.’
‘Good, good.’
‘On top of that, the lake is fed by an underground aqueduct so the infrastructure is in place to flood the arena; again, another huge saving.’
Vespasian rubbed his hands together, pleased with the prognosis. ‘Excellent. When can you start work?’
‘As soon as I have the manpower, Imperator.’
‘There is a shipment of Jewish prisoners awaiting distribution in the slave-pens down in Ostia. My lanistas are choosing the best for the games that I’m holding next month; the rest are for my Triumph, but you can make use of them before and after. But I warn you, they are the more fanatical of the Jews and may not take too kindly to being forced to work.’
Patruitus smiled, dismissing the notion. ‘Don’t worry, Imperator; I’ll nail a few up to encourage the others. They’ll soon get the hang of it.’
‘Yes, well, don’t crucify too many, I want a decent number left to parade to the people.’
‘I’ll be sparing with them.’
‘Good.’ Vespasian looked out over the lake, trying to envisage the great construction that would soon stand there. ‘When will the model be ready?’
Patruitus thought for a few moments. ‘I’ll have it at the palace in four days’ time.’
‘What do you think, Magnus?’ Vespasian asked as they inspected the beautiful scale model of what was to become the Flavian Amphitheatre; six feet across its longest axis and five on the shorter, it stood four feet high, its arches and seating all painstakingly sculpted; on the sand were figurines of gladiators so that the scale could be appreciated as it stood in the middle of Vespasian’s study.
Magnus put his eye to an arch and squinted along the corridor within. ‘It’s nicely done. I can really see how it’s going to look; and you say that it’s going to be flooded?’
‘When required, yes.’
‘Well, that should do it.’
‘Do what?’
‘Keep your name alive after you’ve had your rendezvous with the Ferryman. The Flavian Amphitheatre; that sounds good. I wouldn’t mind wagering that it gets known as just the Flavian.’
Vespasian allowed himself to imagine the idea. ‘It will be one of the sights of the world. When it’s done I’m going to have that colossal statue of Nero moved to stand next to it.’
‘You don’t want a colossal Nero standing next to your amphitheatre.’
‘No, of course not; I’m having the head removed and replaced with that of a god.’
‘Which one?’
‘I haven’t decided yet; either Mars or Apollo, I should think.’
‘Well, be careful who you choose as you don’t want a colossal god to hijack the name and it becomes the Marsian or some such thing.’
Vespasian smiled at his friend and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘I wonder if you’ll ever see the positive side of anything?’
‘Now, now, sir; I was just saying, that’s all. Naming something is all very well but it’s the nicknames that stick, the names that the people give, they’re the ones that last.’ Magnus looked away biting his lower lip and scratching the back of his head. ‘I don’t know whether I should tell you this or not, sir.’
‘What, Magnus?’
‘Well, it’s a bit of a difficult subject, nicknames, if you take my meaning?’
‘You mean, what people call me?’
‘It’s not so much what they call you, it’s more what they call something else.’
‘Why should that worry me?’
‘Well, they use your name.’
‘Vespasian? What for?’
‘Well, since you brought that piss tax in they’ve started to say: “I’m going for a Vespasian” or refer to the public piss-houses as “Vespasians”.’
Vespasian threw his head back in laughter. ‘And there we were worried that my name might not live on, but a thousand years from now people will still be pissing in a Vespasian. I consider that to be quite an honour.’
‘What are you finding so amusing?’ Caenis asked, walking into the room.
Vespasian got his mirth under control. ‘My urine tax ha
s caught the public imagination, my love; I am now an object into which they piss.’
Caenis did not look impressed. ‘I think you deserve a little more respect than that.’
‘And I think that it’s a mark of affection; something that I’m pleased to have so soon in my reign.’
‘If you’re happy with it then so be it.’ Caenis proffered a scroll.
‘What’s that?’
‘That, my love, is what you asked me for; it’s the document that grants the town of Aventicum municipality status in recognition of its hospitality to your parents when your father set up his banking business there.’
Vespasian took the scroll and perused it. ‘Just before he died my father said to me that if I’m ever in a position to grant the town this status he would consider it a favour to him if I would. I didn’t know what he was talking about; I put it down to the ramblings of old age. But of course, he knew what my destiny would be because he had seen the signs at my birth.’ He took the document across to his desk and picked up a pen; dipping it into the ink pot, he signed at the bottom. ‘The good people of Aventicum are probably not even aware that their former banker is the Emperor’s father,’ he observed as he held a stick of sealing wax to a flame. ‘This will come as a big surprise.’ The melted wax dropped onto the scroll. ‘This is a debt that I enjoy paying.’ He pushed his signet ring into the wax and fulfilled his father’s dying request.
It had been a long morning of killing and still the people of Rome felt the need for more as they cheered themselves hoarse every time one of the Jewish prisoners was despatched. Forced to fight, with the alternative of being eaten alive by wild beasts, the once-proud fanatical defenders of Jerusalem shed their blood for the delectation of the people they had so implacably opposed in almost every aspect of life. But giving oneself up to the blade without a fight was not an option as the brother-inarms opposing you would be subject to that mauled death on the circus sands; likewise any act of self-murder was punished with brethren dying in the maws of beasts. And so, it was for mutual benefit that the Jewish captives fought with such ferocity and valour the length and breadth of the Circus Maximus, dressed as gladiators but without the specialist training, fighting in pairs or groups with the lucky ones receiving a clean death after a crowd-pleasing contest.
Vespasian, seated in the imperial box, in the exact same place he had seen Tiberius on his first full day in Rome as a youth of sixteen, played his part as sponsor of the games as the blood flowed and the crowd roared. He stood, resplendent in purple and wreathed in laurel, and pointed to a captive whose efforts he considered to be inadequate. ‘Take him to the beasts!’ Although unheard over the quarter of a million-strong crowd, his gesture was clearly understood and the intensity of noise escalated. Screaming, the miscreant was hauled off to the beast-pen, fenced off with iron bars at the far end of the Circus, and without ceremony was pushed through the gate.
With a flurry of fur, claws and teeth, the starved black cats dismembered and disembowelled the prisoner whose fading eyes’ last sight was of a feline killer gnawing on his severed arm. The intensity of the dozen or so conflicts along the length of the track rose as none wanted to share the same fate.
‘Let me condemn the next one, Father,’ Domitian, seated to his left, requested, his face twisted cruel with killing-joy and his arousal evident.
‘If you wish.’ Vespasian pointed to a Thracian and retiarius combat on the far side of the spina. ‘Keep an eye on that trident-man; I think he lost his net deliberately and he seems to be pulling some of his thrusts.’
‘How much longer are you going to stay, my love?’ Caenis, seated to Vespasian’s right, asked, her voice barely concealing her boredom.
‘Until the end, and I’m afraid that you have to stay with me; we want the people to see just how much we enjoy pleasing them.’
‘I’m trying to look as pleased as possible but it’s started to make my jaw ache.’ She smiled, broad and false, and rubbed the offending part of her face to prove the point.
Vespasian turned to the Praetorian centurion commanding the guards at the entrance to the box. ‘Send a man to find out how many more prisoners there are to go, centurion.’
Snapping a smart salute, the centurion barked an order at one of his men as a man was shown in through the door.
Vespasian felt his heart jump and relief flood through him; he got to his feet and took both of the extended, proffered hands.
‘Here I am, Father,’ said Titus. ‘Here I am.’
‘I came straight to Puteoli, rather than to Brundisium,’ Titus said by way of explanation. ‘That’s why you had no advance warning. I wanted to get here quickly.’
‘And forego the triumphant progress all the way from Brundisium to Rome,’ Vespasian mused, ‘being greeted as a returning hero in every town along the way; feasted and eulogised. You must have been in a great hurry; why would that be?’
Titus looked down at the track as a murmillo shot a straight jab to the throat of his opposing secutor. ‘You know well, Father, why I had to hurry.’
‘Did you stop enjoying yourself in Egypt all of a sudden?’
‘Don’t toy with me, Father. I heard what you had done and needed to reach you as soon as I could to get you to reverse the decision.’
‘What decision?’
Titus looked momentarily confused and glanced at his brother and then back to his father. ‘That you had written me out of your will and that Domitian was your sole heir.’
Vespasian had to admire his younger son’s device. ‘Who told you that?’
‘I had a letter from Domitia Longina telling me that Domitian had boasted to her that that was the case and asking me if it were true and I was going to stay out in the East. She said that she needed to know before she accepted Domitian’s proposal of marriage.’
Vespasian turned to Domitian. ‘Did you know about this letter?’
‘No, Father.’ The lie was perfect.
‘Had you made this boast?’
‘No, Father.’
‘Don’t you lie to me, boy.’
‘Well, I may have said something of the sort when it looked as if Titus was going to grab the East.’
Vespasian did his best to look incredulous. ‘Grab the East? Where did you get that nonsensical idea from? Not me, certainly.’
Domitian shrugged.
For once feeling pleased with his younger son and knowing that self-interest would prevent Domitian from telling the truth, Vespasian turned back to Titus. ‘There, you see; it was just in your brother’s mind and nothing to do with me.’
Titus frowned. ‘So you didn’t suspect me of going back on my word to you, Father?’
‘Suspect you? Of course not; I just assumed that you were dealing with the business of selling the slaves back to the Jews and having a bit of a rest with Berenice. Where is she, by the way?’
‘She went back to Tiberias. I wanted her to come with me but she said that she couldn’t be witness to me celebrating a Triumph over the Jews.’
‘Good; that’s one problem out of the way.’
‘So none of this is true then; I’m still your heir and retain your trust?’
‘Of course you do, Titus; why should you think otherwise? In fact, to show you just how much trust I place in you I’m going to make you the prefect of the Praetorian Guard.’
‘Me? But that post always goes to an equites.’
‘And I’m going to change that as I plan to change the Guard by reducing it back down to nine cohorts of five hundred men of our choosing. We need to consolidate our power and by having you in command of a smaller, loyal Guard means that there is one less threat.’
Titus digested that for a few moments before nodding and looking Vespasian in the eye. ‘You’re right; thank you, Father.’
But with one glance at Domitian, Vespasian could see just what his younger son thought of the power that his forged letter had brought to his sibling.
CHAPTER XIX
‘ONE FA
MILY; ONE extended family!’ Helvidius Priscus ranted, his face ruddy, with a hand above his head, forefinger pointing at the Senate House roof. ‘One extended family has gathered to it all the power that should, according to the ways of our ancestors, be shared amongst the senatorial and equestrian classes. In announcing next year’s consuls six months before the end of this year the Imperator has shown himself for what he really is.’
‘And what am I, Priscus?’ Vespasian interjected, his patience straining under the constant attacks that he had been subjected to since making Titus prefect of the Praetorian Guard.
‘A power-hungry monster who revels in self-aggrandisement, and to prove my point you’re not satisfied with your Triumph tomorrow, so you’re also taking yet another consulship next year along with the prefect of the Praetorian Guard.’ He turned to Titus, seated next to Nerva in the front row of the lines of senators. ‘Who has ever heard of such a thing: a consul being also the prefect of the Praetorian Guard? It’s an outrage. And then to make matters worse the suffect-consuls are Titus Flavius Sabinus, Vespasian’s nephew; Marcus Ulpius Traianus, related by marriage; and then, for the third time, Caius Licinius Mucianus, a former bum-boy of his.’
Vespasian jumped to his feet, all magisterial dignity gone. ‘That is quite enough, Priscus. Withdraw that assertion.’
‘Certainly; I withdraw “former”.’
Vespasian restrained himself from charging across the floor of the House to strangle his constant adversary. ‘You know exactly what I mean, Priscus. Withdraw!’
‘Or what? Or you’ll have the senior consul evict me from the chamber?’ He looked at Domitian, chairing the Senate. ‘The senior consul,’ he sneered. ‘Senior? He hasn’t even reached his twentieth birthday and you mock the institution of the consulship by not only making him consul twenty-three years early but also making him “senior”! Don’t you see just how foolish it makes you look?’
‘No, Priscus; as your Emperor, voted by this House, I have been given the power to nominate whoever I wish to be consul and it behoves my younger son to be given the dignity of the rank, whatever your petty jealousies make you think.’
‘Jealousies! How can one be jealous of a tyrant?’
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