Rome's Executioner (Vespasian)

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘Yes, we’ll take a couple of Magnus’ lads to—’

  Sabinus popped his head around the door. ‘Father, Vespasian, Ataphanes is dying, he’s asking for us.’

  The freedmen’s lodgings were at the far end of the stable yard where, along with the estate office and the estate steward’s quarters, they ran along the whole wall; they had escaped the worse ravages of the fires.

  Titus led his sons through the chaos of three wagons being loaded with the family’s possessions and on into the freedmen’s common mess room, where meals were served and the men drank and played dice in the evenings. At the far end was a long windowless corridor with the doors to the men’s individual rooms down the side facing on to the stable yard. Titus made to enter one and then paused; although as the master of the household he had the right to go anywhere he pleased without asking he thought to honour a man who had served him for six years as his slave and a further ten as his freedman: he knocked.

  The door opened and Chloe peered out. Surprise that the master should have knocked showed on her wrinkled, sunburnt face, which always reminded Vespasian of a walnut shell.

  ‘Masters, come in,’ she wheezed, bowing her head. ‘Master Vespasian, it’s good to see you conscious. How is the shoulder?’

  ‘It’s stiff and it aches but it’ll be fine. Thank you for what you did for me last night, Chloe,’ Vespasian replied, taking her hand in genuine affection. She had sewn up many cuts and dosed him with all sorts of potions a child, and he had come to think of her as a part of the immediate family.

  ‘You were lucky that it hit nothing vital,’ she said, beaming at him. The few teeth that remained to her were yellow or black. ‘I was able to clean and cauterise the wound. Not, alas, like poor Ataphanes; the arrow pierced his liver and he bleeds inside. He doesn’t have long.’

  Vespasian nodded and stepped into the small whitewashed room. To his surprise, Artebudz was standing by the only window; behind him, in the stable yard, the business of loading the wagons continued apace.

  Ataphanes lay on a low bed. His once-proud, sculpted Persian features seemed flaccid and grey. His breathing was laborious. He opened his eyes – they had a yellow tinge to them – and he gave a weak smile.

  ‘I am grateful that you have come, masters,’ he whispered.

  ‘The master knocked,’ Chloe piped up from the door; she was well aware that she was talking out of place but wanted Ataphanes to be aware of the fact.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said to Titus, ‘you do me honour.’

  ‘No more than you deserve after the long years of service to my family,’ Titus replied, taking his hand. He squeezed it gently and then looked quizzically at Artebudz.

  ‘I’m Artebudz, sir. Your son won my freedom for me; I owe your family a debt of gratitude.’

  ‘This is the man that shot me, master,’ Ataphanes informed Titus weakly. ‘It was a great shot; far better, Ahura Mazda be praised, than mine at Vespasian.’ He spluttered a faint laugh; blood appeared on his lips. ‘But my squat Scythian friend, Baseos, missed altogether. I have had my last archery competition with him and I won.’

  ‘Though, luckily for me, not with a bull’s-eye,’ Vespasian said, feeling his shoulder.

  Ataphanes nodded and closed his eyes. ‘I have two favours to ask of you, masters.’

  ‘Name them,’ Titus said.

  ‘First, that you do not cremate my body but rather expose it for the carrion fowl to devour on a tower of silence as is the custom of my people who follow the teachings of the prophet Zoroaster.’

  ‘That will be done.’

  ‘Thank you, master. My second request isn’t so easy. I have saved a good deal of money, in gold; it’s in a box under my bed, along with a few personal possessions that I want my family to have. I had planned to use it to return to my homeland one day, but now that’s not to be. I would ask you to return it to my family with a letter telling them of my life; I’ve had no time to write one. They can read Greek.’

  ‘Gladly, Ataphanes, but how will we know where to send it?’

  ‘My family are from Ctesiphon; we are spice merchants. Being the youngest of five sons there was no place for me in the business so I was sent to pay my family’s feudal dues and serve in the army of our Great King. And here I am and shall remain. My family did a great deal of trade with the Jews of Alexandria; I would have thought that they still do.’ Ataphanes paused to catch his breath; his chest heaved irregularly. ‘There was one Jewish family in particular – they had received Roman citizenship two generations before from Julius Caesar, the man’s name was Gaius Julius Alexander. He would know where to send the money.’

  Ataphanes’ breathing became increasingly sporadic.

  Titus looked down at him, concern in his eyes. ‘No one of our class is allowed into Egypt without permission from the Emperor himself. How can we trace that family without going there?’

  Ataphanes opened his eyes with a huge effort and whispered: ‘Write to the alabarch, he’ll know. Farewell, masters.’

  He was gone. Artebudz stepped forward and closed his staring eyes.

  They stood a moment in silence.

  ‘Get the box, Sabinus,’ Titus said after a while. ‘I’ll have Pallo get some men to deal with the body; we’ve got our other dead to cremate, the pyres are ready.’

  Titus walked out, leaving the brothers looking at each other.

  ‘What’s an alabarch?’ Sabinus asked.

  ‘Fuck knows. We’ll worry about that later. Come on, get the box and then we’ll talk with Secundus after the funerals.’

  Sabinus bent down and felt around under the bed. He pulled out a plain wooden box, one foot cubed; there was no lock on it, just a catch. He opened the lid. The brothers gasped; it was a quarter full of not just gold coins but also nuggets and jewellery.

  ‘How did he get all this?’ Sabinus asked, picking up a handful and letting it drop.

  ‘He saved everything your father ever gave him for his work,’ Chloe said. There were tears in her eyes. ‘Once a year he would go to Reate and buy gold.’

  ‘But that’s more than ten years’ worth, surely?’ Vespasian exclaimed. ‘Father’s not that generous.’

  ‘Baseos always gave him most of his money. He said he had no need of it; he had everything that he needed here and if he ever did go back to his home what good would so much money do him in the grasslands of Scythia? He thought it better to give it to his friend, who’d have some use for it.’

  Sabinus grunted. ‘I suppose that makes some sort of sense,’ he said, heaving the heavy box up. ‘In future I’ll go out of my way to befriend Scythians.’

  He walked out. Vespasian followed him, struggling with the concept that someone could have no need or desire for something that had always been very close to his heart: money.

  With Titus officiating, the rest of the dead had been cremated on two pyres outside the stable-yard gates: one for the estate’s dead and the crossroads brother, Lucio, and one for the others. A coin for the ferryman had been placed in all their mouths, including, much to Vespasia’s disgust, Livilla’s men’s.

  Vespasian now stood next to his father by the hastily constructed wooden platform, supported by four eight-foot poles, upon which Ataphanes had been laid. The estate’s freedmen and Artebudz were gathered behind them. Baseos, who was weeping freely, held Ataphanes’ bow, which he was keeping in memory of his friend. When Vespasian had asked him if he wanted to have any of his money back the old Scythian had said that he could get more food with Ataphanes’ bow than he could buy with all his money; he seemed very content with the transaction so Vespasian had let the subject drop.

  As no one knew the Zoroastrian funeral rites Sabinus had decided to use the Mithraic, the religions being in some ways related. He said prayers to the sun for the dead man’s soul, whilst holding aloft a green ear of wheat. He then sacrificed a young bull and did some strange hand gestures above the fire before throwing the heart into it. It seemed all very weird and foreign, yet
at the same time the sacrifice was familiar.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Vespanian asked his brother as they walked back through the stable-yard gates. It was the eighth hour of the day; the business of loading was almost complete and the mules were being harnessed to the wagons; Pallo had told them that they would be ready to leave in under an hour.

  ‘If I told you I’d have to kill you and then kill myself,’ Sabinus replied without a trace of irony. ‘If you want to know you have to be initiated into the lowest grade: the Ravens.’

  ‘How can I know if I want to be initiated if I don’t know a thing about the religion?’

  ‘Faith, brother.’

  ‘Faith in what?’

  ‘Faith in the Lord Mithras and the Sun God.’

  ‘And what am I supposed to believe about them?’

  ‘That they will guide your spirit and cleanse your soul in the transition from one life to the next.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘The mysteries are revealed gradually as you are initiated into the different grades.’

  ‘What grade are you?’

  ‘I’m a Soldier, the third grade. It’s not until you reach the seventh that all is revealed, then you become known as “Father”. But seriously, if you’re interested I can arrange for you to be initiated.’

  Vespasian found it odd that a religion could be so hierarchical that its secrets were kept by the few from the many, who were required just to have faith and follow blindly. He guessed that it must be something to do with power and control, which was why, he surmised, that it was becoming popular within the army.

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks, Sabinus. I prefer the old gods whom you just have to appease in order to ask practical favours of: like bring me victory or a good harvest or death to an enemy; tangible stuff, not worrying about your spirit or your soul, whatever that may be.’

  ‘The old gods too have their mysteries, which, I’m led to believe, are very similar to those of Mithras.’

  ‘Then why have you chosen to follow this new god?’

  ‘All religions are essentially the same if you delve deeply into them; it’s a matter of choosing the one that best expresses the truth to your inner self about life, death and rebirth.’

  ‘Well, I’m very happy just worrying about life; whatever happens after, if indeed anything does happen, can look after itself.’

  ‘As you wish, brother.’

  Their theological musings were brought to a close upon finding Clemens, who was remonstrating with a young stable lad about the tightness, or lack of it, of his saddle’s girth.

  ‘I’d swear that the little idiot was trying to kill me,’ he said indignantly to the brothers, having given the boy a sharp cuff around the ears and sent him to redo his work.

  ‘Where’s Secundus, Clemens?’ Sabinus asked. ‘We want to ask him a few questions before you take him back to Antonia.’

  ‘He’s in one of the storerooms. I’ll show you, but you’ll be lucky to get anything out of him. I’ve already tried.’

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t use the right sort of persuasion,’ Vespasian replied as Clemens led them away.

  ‘It seems to us,’ Vespasian said reasonably, ‘that you have a very clear choice, Secundus: talk to us and you’ll receive the Lady Antonia’s protection; or say nothing and Antonia will inform Macro that you have betrayed not only her but him, and the unpleasant death that he promised, for both you and your wife, will be forthcoming.’

  ‘You leave Albucilla out of this,’ Secundus snarled. His pronounced mono-brow was creased over his narrow, pale-blue eyes. His high cheekbones and square jaw showed signs of bruising.

  ‘I’m afraid that she’s very much a part of it,’ Vespasian replied smoothly, ‘and has been ever since you prostituted her to Livilla and Sejanus.’

  ‘I didn’t prostitute her. What she does is of her own volition.’

  ‘So it’s of her own volition, is it,’ Sabinus drawled, ‘that she repeats to you all the interesting snippets of information she could only have learnt whilst being crushed between her two new clients? Who does what to whom, I wonder?’

  Secundus leapt from his chair at Sabinus but was immediately restrained by Vespasian and Clemens. A sharp punch to the solar plexus from Sabinus’ right fist took the wind out of him and he dropped to the floor.

  ‘Now listen, Secundus,’ Vespasian continued reasonably, ‘you and your wife have played a dangerous game, which is now over. Antonia can very easily have a nice little maternal chat with her daughter Livilla, even though they loathe each other, and mention a few of the things that Albucilla has passed on to you, which you have, in turn, shared with Macro. Just imagine what Sejanus will do when he finds out that there is a spy in his bed? I don’t know about you, but I think I’d prefer to take the unpleasant death that Macro promised rather than the lifetime of agony that Sejanus would doubtless offer you and your dear wife.’

  Secundus had regained his breath; he looked up at Vespasian with a mixture of resignation and loathing. ‘What do you want and what can you offer me?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s better; I knew that you’d see sense. I admire ambition in a man but only if it is tempered by some degree of loyalty – something you don’t seem to possess at all. I suggest that you acquire some; the Lady Antonia and Macro may well reward you for it by keeping you and Albucilla alive and safe. As to what we want, it’s very simple: tell us why you went to Sejanus and what you’ve told him.’

  Secundus struggled to his feet. ‘May I sit back down?’

  Clemens retrieved the chair for him. Secundus sat down, wiped the sweat from his forehead and rubbed his bruised chest.

  ‘So,’ Sabinus said, ‘start talking.’

  Secundus looked miserably around him. He knew that he had no choice and took a deep breath. ‘I’ve always been loyal to Macro,’ he protested, ‘but when he started to conspire with Antonia against Sejanus I began to worry that I might have backed the wrong chariot. Sejanus is a formidable enemy and I feared that Macro could well be destroyed by him and that I would go down with him. However, Antonia is not to be underestimated either and if I was seen to be disloyal to Macro and therefore her, I would also suffer if she won the struggle.’

  ‘But you didn’t want to risk being on the losing side,’ Sabinus said with a thin smile.

  Secundus shrugged. ‘Well, it’s always better not to be. I don’t know anyone who’ll tell you different because they tend to be dead. Anyway, I told my wife about my concerns and she came up with the idea that she should seduce Livilla and then hopefully Sejanus and in that way it wouldn’t matter to us who won the power struggle as we would have a foot in each camp.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Vespasian mused.

  Secundus ignored the jibe. ‘Once she had managed to inveigle her way into their bed she started passing on bits of information about Antonia that I gave her under the pretence that she’d got them from one of the Praetorians guarding Caligula with whom, she told them, she was also having an affair.’

  ‘Who?’ Clemens asked suspiciously.

  Secundus looked at him with a sneer. ‘You.’

  Clemens’ fist lashed out. ‘You little bastard!’

  Secundus ducked and avoided the blow. ‘What else could she have said? They wouldn’t have believed that she was having an affair with a mere ranker; it had to be the captain of the guard. In that way I could pass on what I found out about Antonia’s plans from the messages that I carried between her and Macro without betraying him.’

  ‘So Sejanus doesn’t know that Macro is working with Antonia,’ Vespasian said, placing a calming hand on Clemens’ forearm.

  ‘Of course not. I’m not stupid – if Albucilla told Sejanus that, he’d have Macro murdered and Antonia would guess that it was me that betrayed them. I know what she’s like, I wouldn’t last a day, however far and fast I tried to run.’

  ‘So what have you passed on to Sejanus?’ Sabinus demanded, stepping threateningly close to Secundus.


  ‘Mainly small things, the things that Clemens would know: like the names of people I saw coming in and out whilst I was waiting to see her. The main thing that I passed on was about the arrival of the prisoner. You see, I knew that Antonia was trying to bring a witness to Tiberius to testify against Sejanus because I was there at the meeting with you, Pallas and Macro.’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ Vespasian butted in, turning to Sabinus. ‘You never told me that you had a meeting with Macro.’

  ‘You never asked,’ Sabinus replied dismissively.

  ‘How was I to know to ask you that question? I thought that we agreed to tell each other everything of relevance.’

  ‘Look, it doesn’t matter. I accompanied Pallas when he approached Macro on Antonia’s behalf. Secundus was there as Macro’s bodyguard, and that’s how I recognised him last night. Now carry on, Secundus.’

  Secundus raised his mono-brow at the brothers. ‘When Antonia told me to tell Macro that what she was waiting for would arrive soon I guessed that it was this witness. Albucilla passed that on and Sejanus set a watch on the port and all the gates into the city. Albucilla told me that Sejanus was furious that his men couldn’t see the man’s face because he was hooded.’

  ‘So Sejanus has no idea who this witness is?’ Sabinus pressed.

  ‘No, or where he comes from. I couldn’t have Albucilla tell him that he was being fetched from Moesia because why would Clemens be a party to that sort of information? It would have made Sejanus suspicious and he might have got rid of her, in more ways than one. I needed her in that bed because I was getting information that pleased Macro; it was she that found out that Caligula was going to be summoned to Capreae.’

  Vespasian admired the man’s duplicity, subtlety and nerve. He had indeed played a dangerous game, and had played it well, and would have guaranteed himself being on the winning side whoever won, had he not ended up being captured in the act of murder. ‘Why were you sent to kill our parents?’ he asked.