False God of Rome

by Robert Fabbri

  Vespasian mounted the steps as the sun slipped behind the Aventine Hill throwing Rome into shadow. He rapped on the door; the viewing slot snapped back and two eyes appeared. ‘Titus Flavius Vespasianus and Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo request an interview with the Lady Antonia.’

  The slot closed and the door opened immediately; the doorman let Vespasian and Corbulo into the vestibule, leaving Magnus, Ziri and the brothers outside with the chest. As they walked through into the imposing and exquisitely furnished atrium a familiar voice came from across its vast length.

  ‘Masters Vespasian and Corbulo, how good to see you again,’ Pallas, Antonia’s Greek steward, said in his faultless Latin. ‘I trust that the natives of Creta and Cyrenaica weren’t too tiresome.’

  ‘They were as belligerent as one would expect, Pallas; and it’s very good to see you again too,’ Vespasian replied with a smile.

  Corbulo grunted his acknowledgement.

  ‘You are too kind, masters; I am honoured that you should be pleased to see me, a mere freedman.’

  ‘There’s nothing mere about…freedman, did you say?’

  Pallas pulled his right hand from behind his back and placed a pileus, the conical felt cap that marked a freedman, on his head. ‘Indeed, sir. My mistress was good enough to give me my freedom soon after you left for your province; I am now Marcus Antonius Pallas, a freed citizen of Rome.’

  ‘My congratulations, Pallas.’ Vespasian proffered his forearm to the Greek for the first time in their acquaintance.

  Pallas clasped it in a firm grip. ‘Thank you, Vespasian. I will always remember with gratitude the respect, far beyond that due to my servile rank, that you, your brother and uncle have showed me in the past.’

  Corbulo muttered a perfunctory felicitation to which Pallas responded with a slight inclination of his head.

  ‘Now, gentlemen, I will see if the Lady Antonia is able to receive you.’

  ‘We would like a formal meeting, if that would be convenient, Pallas?’ Vespasian requested, somewhat nervously. ‘What I have to discuss with her is of a very delicate nature for all concerned. Magnus and some of his brothers are outside with an item that I must bring to the Lady’s attention.’

  Pallas raised an eyebrow but otherwise his face remained neutral. ‘I see.’ He clapped his hands twice. ‘Felix!’

  A Greek appeared from the far end of the room and walked with self-assured poise towards them. Vespasian looked at him curiously; apart from a deep suntan he was the exact image of Pallas when he had first met him nine years previously.

  ‘Felix, there are some men outside, see them round to the stable yard and get them some refreshment. They should wait there until they are summoned.’

  ‘Yes, Pallas,’ Felix replied, heading to the front door.

  ‘Follow me, gentlemen.’ Pallas walked off towards Antonia’s formal reception room.

  ‘Is he your brother, Pallas?’ Vespasian enquired.

  ‘I cannot deny it.’

  ‘How long has he been in Antonia’s household?’

  ‘He arrived here just recently, but the Lady Antonia has owned him for most of his life. He was the steward of her household in Egypt and she’s brought him here to take over my position, once I’ve trained him up in the etiquette of Rome.’

  ‘What are you going to be doing, then?’

  ‘I’m afraid that that’s between the Lady and me, Vespasian,’ Pallas said as they entered the beautiful high-ceilinged reception room, littered with expensive but tasteful furniture and sculptures from all over the Empire. He gestured to Vespasian and Corbulo to sit. ‘Wait here, gentlemen, I will send you some wine while I relay your request to my Lady.’

  Night had fallen and the room was now ablaze with scores of oil lamps; their fumes hung in the air veiling the ceiling, depriving it of their light.

  Vespasian and Corbulo had waited for more than an hour, the wine jug and two cups on the low table between them stood empty. However, the time had passed reasonably quickly as Corbulo brought him up to date with the machinations of the various factions in Rome, slanted, of course, from his own conservative, aristocratic perspective.

  ‘I find the presence of that oily little New Man, Poppaeus Sabinus, back in Rome an affront to my honour,’ Corbulo was saying. ‘It was bad enough that Antonia wouldn’t let me implicate him in Sejanus’ plot and thereby have my revenge on him for trying to get me killed in Thracia…’

  ‘And get me killed as well, Corbulo,’ Vespasian reminded him.

  ‘Yes, indeed, and you, but now he’s back here it’s intolerable; he seems to be working with Macro, bringing charges against anyone to whom he bears a grudge, even if they’re from families of the highest order. There have been over twenty of them. Pomponius Labeo was arraigned just after you left last year on a charge of maladministration of his province during the three years that he took over Moesia from Poppaeus.’

  ‘The slippery little shit.’

  ‘Indeed. Now you can say what you like about Pomponius’ personal habits but I found him to be an honourable man and a decent legate of the Fourth Scythica.’

  ‘So what happened with his case?’

  ‘You mean you don’t know?’

  ‘I only just got back to Rome today, I don’t know any of the news, other than what you’ve just been telling me while we’ve been waiting.’

  ‘Ah yes, of course.’ Corbulo paused and drew breath. ‘Well then, I’m sorry to have to tell you,’ he carried on with a look as close to concern on his rigid face as he could muster, ‘that Poppaeus hounded him and his wife Paxaea to suicide last year.’

  Vespasian was visibly shocked. ‘The little bastard. How? Why? The charge against him was just maladministration, that doesn’t carry a death sentence.’

  ‘It was at first but then Poppaeus discovered that Pomponius had been speculating in grain. He told Macro who informed the Emperor and Tiberius took up the charge himself; he doesn’t take kindly to grain speculators. After that Pomponius had no choice but to take his life in order to ensure that his property wasn’t confiscated. As to why, that’s easy: because of Pomponius reporting to the Senate that Poppaeus allowed his army to acclaim him “imperator” and did nothing to stop them. Poppaeus has been living in fear of Tiberius’ vengeance ever since, which, unfortunately, has never been forthcoming.’

  ‘Quite the reverse, in fact – he was reinstated as Governor of both Moesia and Macedonia in my last year in Thracia.’

  ‘Quite so, quite so, but that was at Sejanus’ suggestion; he kept Poppaeus safe from Tiberius while he was still alive, but since his downfall no one can understand why Poppaeus led such a charmed life – until he returned to Rome in the summer of last year…’

  ‘When it turned out that he was working with Macro,’ Vespasian said, finishing Corbulo’s sentence.

  ‘Oh, you heard?’

  ‘Yes, you just told me.’

  ‘So I did.’

  ‘Gentlemen, I am so sorry to have kept you waiting.’ Antonia appeared in the doorway causing them both to jump to their feet.

  ‘Domina,’ they said in unison, bowing their heads.

  ‘I hope that I haven’t inconvenienced you?’

  ‘Not at all, domina,’ Vespasian replied as she walked towards them with Pallas following, ‘it is I that am inconveniencing you.’

  ‘With a rather strange request from somebody whom I consider to be a friend.’

  ‘I’m sorry to ask this, domina, but I hope that you will understand when I explain what brings me here.’

  Antonia stopped in front of him, her piercing green eyes bored into his; he felt the potential menace that lurked behind them and quailed. The nervous look on his face caused her to raise her eyebrows and then smile. ‘The land deeds of the properties that Narcissus has been buying up in Egypt on behalf of my son, Claudius?’

  Vespasian’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘And you are worried that not reporting this act of treason to the proper authorities would be con
strued as treason on your own part?’

  Vespasian nodded.

  ‘And so you brought my dear friend Corbulo as a witness of the most unimpeachable character and requested a formal meeting so that you could keep a copy of the minutes?’

  ‘Yes, domina,’ Vespasian managed to mumble. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘It’s what I would have done, had I been in your position.’

  ‘I mean, how did you know about the land deeds?’

  ‘Because since I discovered that there may be more to my idiot son than meets the eye I’ve made it my business to know everything that goes on in his household. How I know is something that I may divulge later.’ She turned to Pallas. ‘Is the Consul here yet, Pallas?’

  ‘Yes, domina, he and dinner await you in your private room.’

  ‘Excellent. Have Magnus bring the chest there. Gentlemen, we should eat.’ Antonia turned and walked towards the door.

  Glancing at Corbulo, who shook his head slowly and tutted, Vespasian followed her, feeling totally out of control of the situation.

  ‘Decimus Valerius Asiaticus, may I present Titus Flavius Vespasianus; Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo I believe you already know,’ Antonia said as they entered her private domain where the Senior Consul for the final six months of the year stood waiting, admiring the intricately glazed bay window that dominated the room.

  Asiaticus turned and nodded a brief greeting to Vespasian and Corbulo before addressing Antonia. ‘Lady Antonia, may I ask what is so urgent that I am summoned from my dining table?’

  ‘Consul, I do apologise; I hope that my cook has created some dishes that will make up for your spoilt supper. Gentlemen, shall we recline? Consul, please take the couch to my right; the two younger gentlemen to my left.’ She settled onto the middle one of the three couches set around the low walnut-wood table, leaving the men in no doubt that it was an order, not an invitation.

  Pallas clapped his hands and three slave girls, each carrying a pair of slippers, appeared from the serving room next door; they took the men’s togas and swapped their sandals for the slippers and then retreated as two more went around the diners washing their hands and spreading napkins out on the couches before them.

  Vespasian hoped that he had managed to hide his disappointment at Caenis not being present to attend to her mistress.

  Once they were all settled with full cups of wine and the gustatio had been set out on the table Antonia dismissed the slaves and Pallas took up his customary position by the door.

  Antonia spooned a small portion of anchovies onto her plate. ‘Gentlemen, we shall fend for ourselves without anyone to wait upon us. Consul, I owe you an explanation.’ She paused to make sure that the three men were following her lead and helping themselves. ‘When Vespasian arrived here late this afternoon asking for a formal meeting and bringing the esteemed Corbulo along as a witness I made an educated guess as to what it was concerning. Pallas, ask Magnus to bring in the chest.’ The steward stuck his head around the door to pass on the order to an underling outside as Antonia continued. ‘I immediately understood his fears and so sent for you.’

  Vespasian now realised the cause of the long wait.

  The door opened and Magnus entered with Capella’s chest.

  ‘Put it on the table, Magnus, and then go and find some supper for you and your companions.’

  Magnus mumbled something incomprehensible and left the room, leaving the four diners staring at the chest.

  ‘Vespasian, I know that this is not a formal meeting – that would be impossible to grant in the circumstances – but as you are now reporting your discovery to the Senior Consul as well as myself I believe that it should cover you from any charge of treason.’

  ‘Yes, domina,’ Vespasian replied, in awe, as ever, of Antonia’s ability to read his mind.

  ‘Treason, Lady?’ Asiaticus was alarmed.

  ‘Yes, Consul, treason,’ Antonia confirmed, taking a sip of her wine. ‘Treason committed by my useless and idiotic son whom you, for some reason that eludes me, consider to be a friend. But no matter. Vespasian, open the chest.’

  Vespasian got to his feet and slid the keys from around his neck and, placing them into the locks, lifted the lid.

  Asiaticus and Corbulo both strained their necks to see what was inside.

  ‘Those, Consul,’ Antonia said without bothering to look, ‘are the deeds to seven very large grain-producing estates in Egypt. They were purchased secretly, over the last three years, on behalf of Claudius by an agent of his freedman, Narcissus.’

  ‘But that’s…’

  ‘Treason, Consul, I know. No one, not even I, may buy property on that scale in Egypt without the permission of my brother-in-law, the Emperor.’

  Asiaticus looked at her aghast and drained his cup; his appetite had disappeared in an instant. ‘But what do you intend to do about it, Lady?’

  ‘That, Consul, is what you are here to discuss. Pallas, would you pour some more wine for my guests? Meanwhile, Vespasian can tell the Consul how he came into possession of this thing.’

  When he had finished his short account of the events, Antonia gave Vespasian an appraising look, nodded her head and ordered the next course to be served. He had not left out any of the details concerning either Capella or Flavia – apart from his personal motives – as he had realised that Antonia already knew the story, though how, he could not guess.

  Once the slaves had left them with two roast suckling kids in a honey and cumin sauce, Antonia turned to Asiaticus. ‘So the question is: why has Narcissus gone to all that trouble to get the deeds to Rome when he could quite happily have kept them in a secure underground safe in any of his patron’s new properties in Egypt?’ She asked in a manner that suggested to Vespasian that she already knew the answer.

  ‘It does seem a lot of effort to go to, not to mention the risk of them being discovered by Tiberius’ agents or even lost.’

  ‘Which they were.’

  ‘Yes indeed, Lady, which they were. I can only assume that they are worth more to Claudius here than they would be in Egypt, but why, I don’t know.’

  ‘Nor did I, until recently.’ She paused to carve off a few slices of tender meat from one of the kids and waited for her guests to do the same. Finally content that everyone around the table had sufficient and were at least picking at the succulent dish, she continued. ‘You may not be aware, Consul, that my grandson Gaius Caligula is conducting an affair with Macro’s wife, Ennia?’

  The look on Asiaticus’ face confirmed his ignorance. ‘But I thought that he was getting married in Antium; the Emperor will be arriving there for the ceremony at the close of the festival of Apollo.’

  ‘That’s true, but my Gaius is a very busy little boy and, despite his coming wedding, has found the time to become infatuated with this harlot. It started when Macro moved her to Capraea last year; a strange thing to do, to say the least, unless he was deliberately pandering her to Gaius. I couldn’t understand what Macro stood to gain by this so I watched and waited, saying nothing to Gaius about it in my letters as he’s become increasingly dismissive of my advice and now tends to take the opposite course of action to that which I recommend. I was rewarded for my patience a couple of months ago when I received this. Pallas, if you please?’

  Pallas walked over to the desk at the far end of the room and retrieved a scroll that he handed to his mistress.

  ‘This was sent to me by Clemens, the captain of Gaius’ guard. His loyalty to my grandson is matched by his distrust of Macro. It is a copy of a document, signed by Gaius, in which he swears to make Ennia empress when he inherits the Purple. In return for Macro’s loss and also as a reward for ensuring that he does become emperor he promises to make him prefect of Egypt.’

  Corbulo could not contain his outrage. ‘He’s sold his wife to gain a position of power! That’s unthinkable.’

  ‘No, Corbulo, that is modern day politics,’ Antonia responded, ‘wouldn’t you agree, Consul?’

  ‘In
deed I would. It seems that our Praetorian prefect has learnt from his predecessor’s mistakes.’

  Vespasian smiled; he suddenly understood the beauty of Macro’s strategy. ‘He knows that he can never become emperor, as attempting to do that cost Sejanus his life, so he’s going for a smaller prize.’

  ‘Smaller yes,’ Antonia agreed, ‘but in terms of wealth and power, huge; enough for him to use as a stepping-stone for what I believe to be his ultimate ambition: to imitate my father, Marcus Antonius, and divide the Empire in two by seizing the eastern provinces.’

  There was a stunned silence; all thought of eating had now evaporated as Antonia’s three guests contemplated how this could be achieved and what consequences it would have for the stability of the world as they knew it.

  ‘I believe that some more wine would be in order at this point, Pallas,’ Antonia requested.

  With their cups refilled Antonia continued her analysis to her spellbound audience.

  ‘Let us assume for a moment that Gaius does give Macro what he wants and it is not an idle assumption; my little Gaius may have many faults but lack of generosity is not one of them, he desires to be loved and is naïve enough to think that he can buy that love. Macro would then be in control of the wealthiest province in the Empire, a province that is defended by two legions and is, to all intents and purposes, a peninsula. An army cannot cross the desert to its west, as you now well know, Vespasian; the southern border is the edge of the Empire and to the north and east is sea. So other than a highly risky seaborne invasion the only way to attack Egypt is from the northeast, through Judaea and the collection of petty kingdoms and tetrarchies that surround it, using the only other four legions in the region, based in Syria. So to secure Egypt, Macro would only have to ensure that the Syrian legions were busy elsewhere; which he did last month with a move of far-thinking political dexterity.’

  Asiaticus’ eyes widened. ‘The Parthian embassy,’ he said slowly, ‘brilliant.’

  ‘Yes, it was admirable,’ Antonia agreed, visibly pleased that the Consul had the political acumen to keep up with her reasoning.