The Last Caesar

by The Last Caesar (retail) (epub)

  So it was with a happy heart that I made my way over a ridge and saw the Agricola estate sprawling before me. Of course it was far less grand than Galba’s official residence, and more spartan than my own estate in Vicetia, but Julius had never had quite the same taste for the comforts of life, like a Cato of old, even if he got a comfortable staff role while I had to rough it with the legions.

  I urged on my weary nag, paid for by Galba thank you very much, and my mind began to turn to thoughts of enjoying my old comrade’s hospitality. The ancient stone walls were the same as ever, cut from the same murky rock that abounds in this part of Gaul. And as ever the gate was barred. Julius hadn’t broken the habit since his days with the legions of keeping the entrance to his camp shut at all times. Thankfully it was a warm spring day, and I hadn’t travelled all that far from Massilia to get there, so I was in no great rush to get inside. I called up so that I might be let in. Silence.

  I called again; still no answer. I began to feel a mite uneasy. Even the laziest janitor would have stirred himself by now. My horse was impatient, and pawed at the ground with a front hoof, obviously itching to get me off his back and attack some hay. The long silence was unnerving me, and I was wondering what on earth could have happened in this, one of the most loyal parts of the empire.

  At last, a voice floated over the walls and made its way down to me.

  ‘What do you want?’ it called. The voice was weak and cracked, and I supposed it belonged to old Petros the janitor.

  ‘Is that you, Petros?’ I shouted. ‘I want to come in, you old fool!’

  ‘You’ll have to give me your name first, sir. I’m afraid my eyes aren’t what they used to be.’

  ‘It’s me, Caecina Severus. I’m here to see your master.’

  Well, that was fairly obvious, but I remembered that Petros had been a bit slow on the uptake, and needed chivvying along if you wanted him to do anything before your own hair started to turn grey.

  ‘Master Caecina! My master will be pleased,’ the slave cried out. I was all ready for the doors to swing open, at long last, but Petros had yet another obstacle for me. ‘But first you’ll have to give me the password.’

  ‘Password! What do you mean, password?’

  ‘I don’t know how else to explain it, Master Caecina. I need the correct password. I’m afraid my master is extra cautious these days.’

  Fuming by this stage, I bawled out, ‘How in the name of Hades will I know a password that’s been made since my last visit?’

  ‘The master has prepared a clue for his loyal friends. Would you like me to tell you?’

  ‘No, I thought I’d just rot here until I look as decrepit as you, Petros. Of course I do!’

  ‘I am sorry, Master Caecina. Orders are orders. The clue is: Who was Penelope’s chief suitor while Odysseus was away from Ithaca?’

  That did it. Julius knew I detested Homer. I had put up with enough nonsense from this slave, and demanded he open the door or I would have the skin flayed from his scrawny hide. Amazingly, I heard the bolt screech as it was drawn back, and the doors slowly began to open. Red-faced, I rode in, dismounted, and cast my eyes around the courtyard looking for the impudent slave. ‘Petros! Come out here, I’m going to crush your spine!’

  A strong, baritone voice boomed down to me from above. ‘I would ask you to reconsider, Caecina. Useless as a eunuch in the bedchamber he may be, but I’m rather fond of him.’

  There, standing on the gatehouse parapet, was Gnaeus Julius Agricola, my comrade and oldest of friends. I was speechless.

  ‘You can shut your gaping mouth, Caecina, it’s only me.’

  ‘But… I thought…’ I stammered.

  He let out a roaring laugh, and wiped tears from his eyes. ‘I’ve wanted to play that trick on you for years!’

  * * *

  My friend started pouring me a cup of wine as I sat down, at long last within the villa itself. ‘So tell me, what is the newly appointed quaestor of Hispania Baetica doing at my humble abode, just a few months into his posting?’

  ‘Long story or short story?’

  ‘The shorter the better.’

  My friend had never been one for mincing his words, so I leapt straight in. ‘How would you react if Nero’s reign came to an end in a matter of months?’

  Julius had been taking a swig of his wine, but suddenly spluttered and sprayed a fair amount on to my tunic. He looked at me, dumbstruck, his bushy eyebrows threatening to meet his hairline.

  ‘So you’d be happy then?’ I asked mischievously, wiping the worst of the wine off my front.

  First looking over his shoulder to see if there was anyone in earshot, he said, ‘How do you think you’re going to get rid of Nero all on your own?’

  I laughed at that. ‘Come on, Julius, think. How could I hope to overthrow Nero by myself? You make it sound as though it’s my plan.’

  ‘Who sent you then, and what does all this have to do with me?’

  ‘It’s simple. All you have to do is make sure that if the future emperor comes through this part of Gaul, he is well received.’

  He looked suspicious. ‘That depends on who he is.’

  ‘Galba.’

  ‘Galba? But he’s ancient!’

  ‘Precisely,’ I said. ‘It’s because he’s so old that he hopes the people will see that he’s no tyrant, and will accept him as their next emperor. Until he chooses a successor, that is…’ I gave him a slight wink at that.

  I realize that from the above conversation you might think my friend was surprisingly slow on the uptake for a future general of Rome. In his defence, you don’t have to be cunning to lead the legions, but at least be honest, brave and dependable. My friend Julius had those qualities by the bucketload. Nonetheless I did find it very amusing to watch the implications of what I’d just said sink in. He would never be a good conspirator, Julius, but you would be hard pressed to find a more loyal friend.

  ‘So it seems that after enduring your presence all these years it might actually do me some good!’

  ‘If the gods are willing…’

  My companion grinned, showing a full set of gleaming teeth. I made a mental note to try his rustic lifestyle one day; he was looking very trim, even though we’d left the army several years beforehand.

  ‘So how long will I have the pleasure of your company for?’

  ‘Not long,’ I replied. ‘I have to be heading north soon.’

  ‘Why north? Surely you’re bound for Rome? I’ve heard rumours of trouble brewing up there.’

  ‘Like a rebellion?’ I enquired, looking as innocent as I could.

  ‘Maybe. Julius Vindex up at Lugdunum isn’t best pleased with Nero, from what I hear… oh, I see! You’re going to talk to Vindex, aren’t you?’

  I said nothing but instead slowly clapped my hands, applauding my friend’s dazzling intellect, and I got the rest of the wine in my face for my troubles. We laughed, and Julius got up to fetch another pitcher of wine, as well as a cloth for my face. We whiled away the hours in soldiers’ gossip, catching up on each other’s news. I was sorry to hear that his mother was away at her estate in Italy, as I would have liked to see her again, even if she had called me a feckless idiot from time to time. Our fathers had been good friends and neighbours in Rome. However, my father had died of a fever when I was five, and Julius’s father was put to death by Caligula the very year Julius was born. Our bereaved mothers took comfort from each other’s company, and consequently Julius and I saw each other almost every day, and later shared the same tutor. Yes, I had no better friend in the world than Julius.

  * * *

  ‘There is something important that I want to ask you, Caecina,’ he said.

  ‘Oh? So important that you’ve left it until we’ve polished off two pitchers of your wine?’

  ‘Have you thought at all about who your son might marry?’

  ‘I haven’t, actually. He’s only eight, but I suppose I’ll have to think about a betrothal soon.’ I had an
idea where this was going, but I didn’t want to make a guess and hideously embarrass my friend if I was wrong.

  ‘Caecina, we’ve been friends a long time now, and I wondered if you might consider… well, Domitia and I thought it would be nice if…’

  ‘Where is Domitia, by the way?’ I slurred.

  ‘Oh, she’s been visiting a friend. We’re meeting her in town tomorrow. But that’s not what I wanted to say. What I wanted to suggest was…’

  ‘Julia?’ I guessed.

  Julius didn’t say anything, but just nodded. This was a very important moment, as Julius was suggesting that we tie our families together in an alliance. My son and his daughter, betrothed. Julius was not just my oldest friend, but he had one of the finest military minds Rome has ever seen. As I sit here writing these memoirs, he is about to launch an invasion of the wild north of Britannia, for almost no other reason than that he can. Some marriages, like mine, are for money. Some are made for politics, bringing two dynasties together, or merely as political bargaining counters. We both knew each of us would be great in his own way. Julius had no interest in politics; at heart he was still the same boy with the treasured toy soldiers that we had both played with. But a good general could also be a great politician, and Galba had dangled the prospect of a glittering career in front of me. What could we not achieve together?

  I let the awkward silence hang a little longer, before breaking into an inane grin and saying, ‘I couldn’t think of a better match!’

  ‘You agree?’ Julius seemed surprised. ‘Wouldn’t you like to run it by Salonina first?’

  ‘Of course I agree. It’s a fantastic idea, and Salonina will think so too. Come on, let’s have another drink!’

  * * *

  After much drinking, some singing and more drinking, I eventually reminded Julius that I had been travelling for near on a week, and needed to go to bed. He led me to one of the guestrooms; well, I say led, we had both had far too much wine by this stage and he was in need of a steady arm himself. Anyway, we made it to my room, he wished me good night, and said that I was free to help myself to breakfast when I eventually rose, or lunch if I preferred. Gratefully, I slumped down upon the bed, clothes and all, and drifted off to sleep.

  IV

  After days of non-stop travelling, a bed under Julius’s roof was a very welcome change. Bear in mind that Galba had not been putting us up in his palatial seat, but in some grubby merchant’s house in the city. To have a goosefeather pillow was utter luxury, and I was understandably reluctant to leave my cosy room the next morning. I also had a vicious hangover.

  I can still remember a light knock, two tremors that reverberated around my skull, and a slave letting me know that breakfast was served. Grabbing the nearest thing to hand, a small pot I think, I groaned at the slave to let me die in peace and flung the thing at the door, which was a mistake. The shattering of the pot and the shards hitting the floor sounded like a galley dashing itself upon the rocks. Next thing I knew, a wave of cold water washed over me. Coughing, spluttering and drenched, I was ready to strangle whoever had doused me, but I found myself looking up at Julius. He was holding a still-dripping pitcher and beaming widely.

  Slowly getting to my feet, I spoke very quietly, for obvious reasons. ‘You do realize that these are my only clothes?’

  Julius chuckled. ‘I’m sure I can find you something half decent. Come and have some breakfast.’

  Not amused, I squeezed the worst of the water out of my clothes and followed him towards the kitchens. I ought to explain that though any self-respecting gentleman would not dream of entertaining and feeding his guests in the kitchens, Julius was the rustic sort, and seeing as how I was a close friend, he knew I didn’t need to go through the rigmarole of proper etiquette between the host and his guest. So I sat myself down at the table and helped myself while Julius went to see what clothes he could find.

  Not feeling particularly hungry (the life of the legions does a good job in training your stomach not to need too much food, which is just as well), I took a hunk of bread and some fruit, and ate my fill, stopping only when I’d watered my insides as well as my outsides had been wetted. Glancing over the rim of the cup, I saw Julius come in, holding a dirty bundle.

  ‘What in Hades’ name is that?’

  ‘This is the only thing that will fit you. It’s your fault for outgrowing me!’ He dropped the edges of the bundle and out spilled the crumpled folds of a working smock, the sort of thing the grubby slaves who work the land wear. I was at least a head taller than my friend, but I wasn’t going to give up that quickly.

  ‘You’re sure there’s nothing… well, cleaner?’

  ‘Unless you want me to have a sort through Mother’s dresses, this is the best that my humble home has to offer you.’ And with that he flung the dirty thing towards me. I made an effort to catch it, but forgot that I was still holding almost a cupful of water, and got the smock wet too.

  Laughing, Julius said, ‘If you want to come to town with neither of those clothes on, by all means. Though I think the good ladies of Forum Julii might be offended, if they looked hard enough!’

  I did not deem that last remark worthy of a comeback, and silently carried on with my breakfast.

  ‘Touched a nerve, have we? You’ll live,’ Julius smirked. ‘If you feel up to a trip into town, you can put the kit on and it’ll dry off on our way. I need to restock on food anyway, and now I have a big lump to feed we’ll have to take the cart. We’ll give you ten minutes, then we need to leave, otherwise we’ll miss all the best goods at the market.’

  * * *

  The cart trundled over the cobbles towards the little market town at a modest pace. As it was market day, all the world and his carthorse were off to the forum to buy, sell or barter. While one of his household slaves kept a hold of the reins, Julius couldn’t help looking over his shoulder at me, fiddling with the dirty smock that he had forced upon me, smirking, and looking back to the road again. Meanwhile I was having my first proper look at this little outpost of civilization that he had decided to live in. Of course this part of Gaul had been relatively civilized for centuries. Massilia, one of the biggest ports in the area, had been an ally of Rome back in Hannibal’s time, and the Greek colony’s influence still had some visible traces. But still, this was Gaul, beyond the Alps, and I had difficulty in understanding why Julius spent so much time here.

  Of course the most sensible politicians had vacated Rome, as the emperor’s paranoid imagination could create plots out of thin air. Abroad was anti-social, but safe. But while I had managed to secure sunny Baetica, Julius had a perverse liking for the wild lands. He had revelled in the cold, wet lands of Britannia, and had always leapt at the chance to go exploring the godforsaken island. He had also chosen to serve his quaestorship in Asia, and though he had all the culture and luxury of the Aegean coast to wallow in, instead he spent most of his time campaigning up in the mountains against pockets of rebels. You see how my friend had always been the one to find adventure where there was none, while I sought to make my time away from Italy as comfortable as possible? And yet it was I who found myself embroiled in circumstances so extraordinary that they helped turn me from the hero of Britannia into a man despised by society.

  But I am getting too far ahead. My friend brought the cart to a halt near the shrine to his namesake, the Divine Julius who had brought wealth to the old Greek port by linking it with his road to Hispania. Domitia was waiting for us there. She was a gorgeous woman, Domitia. Blue eyes so deep you could drown in them, luscious blonde hair, and a face that was brightened by an infectious smile which spread even wider when she saw me.

  ‘Caecina, what are you doing here?’

  ‘And hello to you too,’ I said, jumping down from the cart. I spread my arms wide. ‘Come here.’

  She stepped into my warm embrace. She and Julius had been married for six years now, and in that time she had become like a sister to me. That smile beamed at me. You would never know i
t from her demeanour, but the couple had lost a son the year Julia was born. They masked that sadness well, and a happier couple I have never seen.

  ‘So why are you here?’ she asked.

  ‘Call it a surprise visit.’

  ‘I talked to Caecina about Julia last night,’ Julius said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I think it’s a wonderful idea, Domitia,’ I began. ‘But don’t get too excited; the wedding won’t happen for another ten years, and who knows if you’ll be worthy enough to marry into my family.’

  Domitia looked questioningly at her husband.

  ‘He’s only teasing, darling. Caecina looks set to have a shining career ahead of him, all being well.’

  ‘Then who’s to say we won’t have changed our minds either? Julius is running for praetor this year,’ Domitia countered.

  ‘Praetor, eh, Julius? You might outrank me; what a horrifying thought!’

  He playfully cuffed me round the head. Then he took Domitia’s arm in his and led the way.

  We spent a pleasant half-hour or so pottering around the marketplace. Julius made a show of examining everything before he bought it: was the bread crusty enough, how ripe was the fruit, that sort of thing. Eventually we had loaded up the cart and were getting ready to head back to the villa when a clatter of hoofbeats, too fast to be another merchant’s cart arriving in town, made me turn to see why someone was in such a hurry. The rider, dirty and unkempt as though he had spent long in the saddle, urged on his horse and manoeuvred it through the crowd towards the centre of the forum.