The Four Emperors

by David Blixt

The younger Domitia was staring. “You've had a vision?”

  Sextilla pulled a disgusted face – who were these foolish children, with their visions and their strange foreign gods? But Caenis merely smiled. “No, I do not follow Isis, and am not prone to visions. But I have enough experience of these things to see what is inevitable. One cannot create so much anger and fear in the world without being touched by it. I do not know if Nero's life will be long or short. But I guarantee you he will die a miserable and terrible death. For in one way, you are wrong. The gods can often be cruel, true. But in the end they are always fair.”

  Corbula dissolved into tears again, but Caenis could tell that Domitia Longina took a cold comfort in these words.

  As Caenis consoled the sisters, her eyes fell upon their slaves waiting at the far end of the room. One in particular caught her eye, a little Jewess, young and pretty but for a slackness of the skin along the left side of her face. Her eyes were lowered, but it was plain the girl was listening. There was a mind in there, even possibly a purpose. Like her mistress, there was substance beneath that weak exterior.

  A former slave herself, Caenis was sympathetic, but practical. Someday the girl would be freed, and could do as she liked. But the lever that moved the world was heaved by slaves. No use lamenting it. The little Jewess would have to wait.

  * * *

  Titus Flavius Sabinus walked around Quirinal Hill for the fifth time, avoiding the steps leading to his father's home. He needed to think.

  So far this was not a banner year. Denied a chance to go to war, he had returned to Rome and devoted himself to the practice of law, defending several clients in petty cases. These had resulted in some minor praise and a little money earned sub rosa (a noble advocate was not allowed payment for his services, though 'gifts' were acceptable), but no notoriety, no fame, no spark. He was not at the right age to run for any office. How am I to make a name for myself?

  Wryly he thought, Perhaps I should indulge the same passion as Clemens and join a theatre! He shivered. Actors were a perverse bunch.

  Yet, for all his attempts at mirth, at the back of his mind lived the Oracle's words. Alone, unsung, all but Forgot. In spite of every tenet of his Stoic beliefs, he longed to fight back against the prophecy, make a great name for himself. Typical, he thought reprovingly. I can accept that all lives are predetermined, so long as mine is great.

  But now a kind of greatness lay at hand. Along with the news about Corbulo and Nero's visit with the Oracle (not to mention Nero's new lover!), a letter had arrived for Sabinus direct from Nero Caesar himself. Reading it over, Sabinus had shared the contents with no one – certainly not his father! Instead he had taken the air, pacing the via alta semita, racking his brain for an answer.

  Nero's letter was friendly, even full of praise. Unhappy with the progress of his Golden House, and remembering what a dedicated and meticulous aedile he'd been, Nero was offering Sabinus the job of overseeing the construction.

  Sabinus understood the nature of this offer, of course. He had been summoned to Delphi, whereas Nero had been rebuffed. Thus some might deem Sabinus to have been raised higher in the estimation of the gods than Nero Caesar. This offer was an attempt to make Sabinus subservient to Caesar once more. Who cared what the Pythia had said? The man she had honoured was now honouring Nero. That would right the pecking order of the Roman world.

  Yet Nero's offer was not stingy. A lavish amount of money was involved. Would that be a palliative to absolute disgust Sabinus felt towards the project itself? Or must he, in good conscience, turn down Nero's offer? Offending the Princeps was a thing never done lightly. One had only to look as far as Corbulo.

  As he stalked Rome's streets, Sabinus did not neglect to greet any client that crossed his path. Preoccupied as he was, he fulfilled his role as patron, listening to his clients' problems and asking after their families. Fitting behavior here, at the base of the Quirinal. The original home of the Sabine people (whom Romulus invited to that unfortunate supper), this hill still bore the name of the Sabine war god, Quirinis. Few people paid attention to Quirinis these days. But the Latin word for citizen was Quirite, and the old Sabine god of war had transformed into the Roman god of citizenship and duty.

  Duty was troubling Sabinus now, his duty to Caesar weighed against his duty to his family and himself. Rome was made of her families. If family did not prosper, neither did Rome.

  If only I had someone to talk to! It was times like this that Sabinus missed his wife. In the fifteen years since her death, Sabinus had never been tempted to remarry. Not once. Clemensia had been a font of practical advice, not one of these feather-headed Roman ladies who gabbled on and on and served no purpose.

  Perhaps it was this thought of women, or perhaps it was merely chance that had him passing the Viminal side of the Quirinal at that moment. But his eyes happened to fall upon a particularly elegant house, and some impulse drove him to cross the road, knock on the door, and ask to see Antonia Caenis. Here was one person he could talk to, surely! Clever, but an elderly woman, and therefore not part of man's world. The perfect confidant. She did not accept most male callers. But he was the nephew of her beloved. There was no scandal could be had from that.

  “Forgive me for not sending word…” Entering her sitting room, Sabinus was talking before he heard the wail of feminine voices. Seated with Caenis and old Sextilla were Domitia Corbula and Domitia Longina, the daughters of the dead general. “I apologize, I'm interrupting.” Sabinus did not have to feign embarrassment as he began to retreat.

  “Oh no, Titus Flavius,” declared Domitia Longina, putting on a brave face. “Stay, please. You simply must!” Her sister was sobbing, but nodding all the same.

  Imagining his own father's death, his problems suddenly seemed quite petty. Sabinus took the elegant couch that lay across from the women in their upright chairs, his head towards Caenis. “I was grieved to hear of the death of Gnaeus Domitius. He will be missed in the Senate, and even more by the legions.”

  The elder Domitia continued to weep, though she kept peeping through her fingers at Sabinus. Domitia Longina was shaking, her jaw clamped shut, but managed to refrain from behavior that would unman him. Sextilla was vociferous in her denunciation of Nero Caesar as a tyrant and homicide.

  Sabinus noted with approval that Caenis was more circumspect in her criticism of the Princeps. Uncle Vespasian owed his war to Nero, and no good could come from her being openly scornful of him. Yet she kept the conversation rolling by raising the least salacious piece of gossip she owned. “I understand the Senate has capitulated and agreed to let Caesar use the fire-fighting pool for his own pleasures. Titus Flavius, is this true?”

  “Indeed. He calls it his Lake. As his Golden House grows, he has surrounded it with pastoral delights – grassy knolls, game preserves, artificial waterfalls and fish ponds, porticos and aviaries. A lake completes the picture.”

  “You've been part of the building?” asked Sextilla. The reproof was clear in her tone.

  “I was one of the plebeian aediles when the project was started, lady. But I've had nothing to do with it since.” Sabinus fixed Caenis with a glance that indicated he had more to say, but was restrained by her guests.

  Caenis suddenly threw her hands up. “Oh, I entirely forgot! I promised the girls I would visit this afternoon. Vespasian's two grand-daughters,” she explained to her other guests. “My dears, why not go to Sextilla's house. No one will trouble you there, and I'm sure it would be no bother. Then come back tonight for supper. I'll have the cooks whip up something soothing. Sextilla?”

  Sextilla looked pained, but rallied. “Of course. Girls, come with me.”

  Caenis rose. “Titus Flavius, would you be willing to walk me over to the house of Cerialis Rufus?”

  As the sisters were draped in their mourning shawls and departed with the stern Sextilla, Sabinus too noted the Hebrew slave girl attending Longina. Gorgeous, save for the slackness in the left cheek and droop of that eye. He wondered ho
w she had come by it. She was too young for a stroke. Perhaps a defect of birth.

  When they were alone, Sabinus offered his arm to Caenis and they walked in the direction of Cerialis Rufus' house. “Whatever is on your mind, I trust we may speak in the street,” she said. “It cannot be as important as all that, or you would have been more formal.”

  “Entirely unimportant!” sighed Sabinus. “I'm sorry to have taken you away from your friends.”

  “I prefer male company.” Caenis smiled. “In fact, so do they. You were fortunate they were grieving, otherwise you would have been the whole center of their attentions. Often they come in the company of Verulana. I doubt you would have escaped her alive.”

  “Her reputation precedes her. Are the Domitias like that?”

  “The younger one, at any rate. You might like the elder one. But you're not hunting for a bride at the moment, I'm sure. What's troubling you?”

  Sabinus quickly related Nero's offer. “My question is this – should I accept Nero's offer? Or do I hold out hope for a post in the second year of my uncle's war?”

  Caenis considered for some time. “I think, Titus Flavius, you should take Nero's offer.”

  “I see. May I ask why?”

  “If the fighting continues as it has, there is little glory to be had. Siegework is dull, and only the general and the senior legates are mentioned in dispatches.”

  “But surely a great city like Jerusalem will provide plenty of chances…”

  “Yes, I'm sure it will. When it happens.” She gave him a significant look.

  Sabinus' brow furrowed. She's telling me that Jerusalem is not the target for next year either. As much as Nero wants this war over, Vespasian intends to subdue all of Judea first, then spend the third year tackling Jerusalem. Just as the oracle foretold.

  Which means I should take Nero's offer, build his damn eyesore, earn a fortune, and request a legateship for the year after next. Then I can return and seek the consulship. Which means I'll have to stand for praetor this fall…

  Misinterpreting his silence for disappointment, Caenis tried to buck him up. “Do not forget, the great Julius Caesar is remembered as much for his brilliant sieges as his battles. The Gallic War lasted ten years. And my Titus Flavius is well-suited for a siege. Where other men's patience drain away, he won't budge until each city falls.” She smiled affectionately. “He's too mulish to do otherwise.”

  “He certainly is. Tell me – does his decision have anything to do with the piece of the prophecy I told you?”

  “Yes, and no. I think my Titus Flavius had already decided to spend next year pacifying the rest of Judea before turning his attention to Jerusalem. The Pythia just convinced him he was right.”

  Sabinus smiled wanly. “Chicken and egg.”

  She grinned back. “The way of gods and oracles are often mysterious, and beyond mortal understanding. But since you have raised the subject of the Oracle, please allow me to offer an unsolicited piece of advice. You have remained commendably mum about it. Your reticence does you credit, but you must know it is the subject of much gossip. If I were you, I'd let a few facts fall – nothing important, and it doesn't have to be true. But it would be well to fill the void. If you don't, then the rumour-mongers will.”

  Sabinus knew his trip to Delphi was talked of, but hadn't known how to quell speculation. “That's excellent advice, and I'll take it. Thank you. If there's anything I can do for you in return..?”

  They arrived at the door to Cerialis' house. “Actually, Titus Flavius, I would be grateful if you could join me in seeing your cousins. The girls are desperately lonely, and with both their fathers and their grandfather in Judea, they have no proper male influences in their lives.”

  Sabinus bowed. “Consider my pledge given.”

  Entering the household under the basilisk stare of the nurse Phyllis, Sabinus met the girls in question. Titus' daughter, the three year-old Julia Titi, was already showing signs of being a true beauty, having exchanged her father's squat face for a perfect oval framed by curling ringlets. The only trace of her father was the chin and nose that curved towards each other.

  Vespasian's other grand-daughter was Flavia Domitilla, the only offspring of Cerialis and Sabinus' late cousin, Vespasia. Five years old, this girl had more of the nose and chin, and like her grandfather she wore a perpetual look of concern. But she also had her father's pale skin and red hair, making her a unique-looking child – half-Aphrodite, half-Gorgon. Not entirely unattractive, but unsettling nonetheless.

  Caenis said, “Girls, allow me to introduce your cousin.”

  Flavia looked up. “Does he have his own name? Or is he just another boring Titus Flavius?”

  Sabinus stiffened at the girl's rudeness. Caenis shot him a look that said, See what I mean?

  “I am Titus Flavius Sabinus Junior. And as your grandfather is also a Titus Flavius, perhaps you should use the name with more respect.”

  “But no one else has his cognomen,” protested the girl. “Vespasianus! There are no other Vespasians!”

  “My father is a Vespasianus,” protested little Julia Titi.

  “He doesn't use it,” said Flavia dismissively.

  “Flavia values originality,” said Phyllis proudly. “Just like her uncle Domitian.”

  Sabinus chose to ignore the nurse, who was clearly fostering this behavior. “Then, little Flavia, you will like my younger son. His cognomen is Clemens, after his late mother. The first of that name in the history of our family. Would you like to meet him?”

  She said she would, finally remembering to curtsy. Julia Titi followed suit, and then started pestering Auntie Caenis for a sweet.

  Caenis is quite right, thought Sabinus. These girls need a man in their lives. Otherwise they'll end up like Corbulo's daughters. He decided to bring Clemens back the very next day.

  * * *

  There was a meeting of the Senate set for that afternoon, the last before all the senators scattered to escape the swampy summer season in Rome. Caenis kissed Vespasian's nephew on the cheek as he departed, then continued to play with the girls for another hour before taking her own leave, an act which put the children into tears. Caenis had already established herself as a fixture in the household. She meant to prepare these young ladies for their future lives as wives to important Roman men. As soon as they were of marrying age, they would be useful assets.

  That night she threw a modest dinner for the two Domitias, Verulana, and Sextilla. It was uncomfortable, but the younger women were able to distract themselves with talk of the handsome Sabinus who, Caenis let slip, was about to become very rich. After all, Domitia Corbula was a widow, and he a widower. If the girl's father had not just been so spectacularly thrown from Nero's favour, Caenis might have arranged the match herself. But with the taint of Delphi still on him, best not link Sabinus to Corbulo just at this moment. Perhaps at some future date…

  When her subdued guests at last departed, Caenis sat down at her desk and began to write. If her days were spent with little girls and her evenings filled with the company of grown women, her late nights were spent penning every detail to Vespasian. She made sure to send a letter every seven days, hoping that by the time each missive reached her love, the information was still relevant.

  Clucking her tongue as the ink faded, Caenis dipped her goose-quill in the pot and resumed her latest report.

  By now you will have heard of the death of Corbulo. I do not know what to say about it, other than the fact that 'Axios' is all anyone can say. It sits very ill, I can tell you. The Senate is about to adjourn for the summer season, and men are retiring to their country homes, keeping their tongues inside their teeth and fearful to speak a word that might filter back to Caesar's ears. When they do speak, they limit themselves to aphorisms – it's the tallest trees that are cut down, and so forth. So do not grow any taller, Titus Flavius!

  Yet there is mirth in Rome! It was brought on the same ship that reported Corbulo's death. Comedy and Tragedy so
often go together. And it is a Comedy, in the strictest sense, as it has to do with a marriage.

  Caesar is still in Greece, celebrating the games at Olympia. But it is not his athletic aspirations that have brought a smile to every Roman face. No, rather the city is atwitter with what is quickly becoming known as the Scandal of Nero's Wives…

  She related the story of the saltatrix tonsa now known as Sporos, then moved on to the news from the provinces, and how Vespasian's campaign was being greeted by the Senate's couch generals. Then she summed up again what the Pythia had told Sabinus, just in case that letter had gone astray. She concluded:

  As the Pythian prophecy shows her favour, I have promised Sabinus that he will be a legate in three years, when Jerusalem falls.

  Most important between then and now is the advancement of your sons. I have several eligible young women interested in marriage. Could you arrange for Titus to fight in some grand-sounding engagements? Truly, Titus Flavius, I do not tell you how to conduct your war! I mean only that a military reputation for Titus would go a long way to assuring he is elected quaestor in his year. And the right wife would help as well.

  Aglaus knocked on her door. “Yes?”

  “Domina, forgive me. You have a message from Titus Flavius Sabinus Junior.”

  “Oh?” She took the wax tablet, the words carved in his own hand.

  Two calls in one day would be a bit much. Just thought you should know that the Senate has confirmed Caesar's appointment of a new governor for Syria. Gaius Licinius Mucianus. He'll get there in September. Ave, et cave.

  'Hail, and beware' indeed. Thanking Juno for the timely warning, she wiped the wax clean and then quickly added a postscript to her letter:

  I have news, which I've heard only just this minute, that affects you nearly. Caesar has at last found a governor of Syria to replace the disgraced Cestius. None other than Gaius Licinius Mucianus. Do you know him at all? As his name suggests, he is a Licinius only by adoption. He was born a Mucian, and looks just like them – short, dark, and pouty. An appreciator of games and the arts – of all things Greek, in fact – his promotion was inevitable. He'll arrive in September.