Vespasian was taken aback by this open insult to the Emperor by one of his Governors. ‘You can’t talk about the Emperor in those terms, especially not in front of a senator.’
‘And who’s going to tell him? You? Well, go ahead, I don’t give a fuck.’
Vespasian drew himself up. ‘As a member of the Senate I outrank you, so I demand that you give me the breastplate.’
‘You may be a senator and I only a mere equestrian but here in Egypt I rule, and I’m telling you that unless the Emperor wants Rome’s grain supply cut off for the rest of the summer while I put down two rebellions, he can ride across his pathetic bridge wearing something else. And you can tell him I said so.’
‘He’ll have you replaced, brought back to Rome and executed.’
‘He was replacing me, with Macro, but when he ordered him to kill himself he decided to reconfirm me in my appointment. I was hoping when I saw you that you were bringing my imperial mandate but that seems to have slipped the Emperor’s mind; but no matter, I’m sure that it will arrive soon. But even if he does change his mind and decides to recall me I won’t be going back to Rome. We may be a thousand miles away but I’ve still heard the stories. Caligula’s mad, he even had his cousin executed for coughing; there’s no way I’m going to set foot in Rome while he’s emperor.’
‘You can’t stay here, surely?’
‘Of course I wouldn’t, the world is a big place and being prefect of Egypt is a very lucrative position; I have the money to go anywhere.’
Vespasian was about to contest the point but then thought better of it and decided to change the subject. ‘I have some personal business to attend to that will take a few days and would appreciate being accommodated during that time.’
Flaccus smiled in a conciliatory manner. ‘In that matter at least I can be of service, senator. I will have a suite of rooms placed at your disposal; you’ll find it very spacious here. I hope that you will dine with me this evening; my wife and I have a few other guests.’
‘Thank you, prefect, I’d be delighted,’ Vespasian replied less than truthfully but disinclined to upset the man who seemed so secure in his province that he could defy an emperor.
‘Is there anything else?’
‘Yes, where can I find Thales the banker and also the Alabarch?’
Flaccus’ face clouded over. ‘Thales is in the Forum every day from dawn and the Alabarch lives next to the Jewish temple by the Canopic Gate, but why do you want to see him?’
Vespasian briefly explained about getting his father’s late freedman Ataphanes’ gold back to his family in Parthia.
‘Well, you can trust him to do that, provided he gets his percentage,’ Flaccus said.’Dishonesty is the one charge I would never level against him; but he’s a wily politician – don’t allow him to use you for his own ends. The Jews have been making a lot of demands recently: full Alexandrian citizenship, the right to live outside the Jewish Quarter and the removal of the Emperor’s statues from their temples to name a few; he’ll get you involved if he can. Now, you’ll have to excuse me as I have someone waiting to see me whom I hope will be a great help in dealing with those Jews.’ Flaccus smiled coldly before walking Vespasian to the door. ‘I shall see you at dinner, senator. If you wish to go out I’ve ordered your escort to accompany you everywhere. They will be waiting for you at the gate; it’s the only way in or out of the palace.’
‘We’re just going to have to break in and steal it, then,’ Magnus said as they sat, drinking chilled wine, on the terrace of Vespasian’s second-floor suite watching the sun go down over the Great Harbour.
‘We can’t do that,’ Vespasian replied appalled.
‘Well, have you got any better ideas? How about going back to Caligula and saying that Flaccus wouldn’t let you take it?’
‘And whose neck’s going to be right in front of him when I do, mine or the prefect’s?’
‘Exactly. So have you got any other ideas?’
Vespasian took a consoling sip of wine. ‘No.’
‘Then we’re left with mine.’
Vespasian got up, walked to the marble balustrade and leant on it, deep in thought; Magnus joined him.
‘If we’re going to do that,’ Vespasian said after a while, ‘we’ll have to make it look like nothing has happened, otherwise the whole Greek population will rise up.’
‘You think that we should get a replica and do a swap?’
‘Exactly; and we’ll need to get in and out of the palace without anyone noticing.’
Magnus looked down at the fifty-foot drop to the water. ‘That’s the quickest way, straight down.’
‘We’ll need a boat.’
‘Well, I wasn’t planning on swimming.’
‘Then we’ll need to get past the guards, into the mausoleum and out again.’
‘We’ll do a recce.’
‘With our escort?’
‘Why not?’
‘Flaccus will find out.’
‘So? We’re just seeing the sights, aren’t we?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘What we will need is someone local who knows what the security arrangements are like inside the mausoleum at night and who can also provide the boat.’
Vespasian thought for a few moments. ‘Felix?’
‘Can we trust him?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Is there anyone else we could trust?’
‘Antonia trusted him.’
Magnus paused and then nodded. ‘We can trust him. How do we find him?’
‘He said that the Alabarch always knows where he is.’
‘So you’ll ask him tomorrow?’
A knock at the door interrupted their planning. They looked into the suite and saw Ziri open it to a very attractive slave girl.
‘Sir,’ Ziri called out to them, ‘she says that she’s here to escort you to dinner.’
‘Very well.’ Vespasian looked at Magnus; he was eyeing the girl. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Do you think that you could find your own way down to the triclinium?’
Vespasian raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m sure I could.’
‘Then I reckon that I’ll be in all evening, if you take my meaning?’
After a few wrong turns Vespasian eventually found his way through the labyrinthine palace to a long, high and wide corridor, lined with statues; at its end there was a doorway from which emanated the sound of animated conversation. Following the voices, he passed by the statues admiring every one; they were life-like representations of each of the Ptolemaic dynasty, both male and female, starting with its founder, Alexander’s general, Ptolemy Soter. Each of the men was dressed in original, full military uniform: helmets, muscled cuirasses, greaves and swords, all of great antiquity, had been buckled onto them. The women wore silken gowns, which fluttered slightly in the breeze, and their heads were adorned with lavish wigs. The stone limbs not covered by clothing had been painted in flesh tones and the faces were finished with realistic detail.
As he neared the end of the line he paused in front of the second to last, Cleopatra VII, and stared at the face that had beguiled first Julius Caesar and then Marcus Antonius. It was not classically beautiful, her nose was long and pronounced and her chin and mouth boyish, yet there was a sensuality in her appearance that he found very attractive; she had obviously been a striking woman.
‘Still staring at women, quaestor? Or should I just say “senator”?’
Vespasian spun round to see a woman silhouetted in the doorway.
‘At least that one isn’t trying to get you to listen to her.’
‘Flavia! What are you doing here?’
Flavia Domitilla walked forward into the light of the corridor. ‘I’ve been here since I escaped from the riots in Cyrene. What about you?’
Vespasian gaped at her, she had not changed, and, judging by the blood rushing around his body, nor had his desire for her; she was still his idea of a proper woman. ‘I’m here on the Emperor’s order
s,’ he managed to get out, feeling light-headed as he caught her scent, inflaming him even more.
Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated; she took another step towards him and smiled enticingly. ‘Moving in high circles, are you? How fascinating; you must tell me about it at dinner.’ She took his arm and led him through the door; he followed willingly, enjoying the soft touch of her hand on his skin.
‘Ah, Flavia, you’ve found our senator, how very clever of you. Now we can eat.’ A dumpy little round-faced, smiling woman, in her late forties, with a twinkle in her eye, bustled towards them. ‘Senator Vespasian, I’m Laelia, the prefect’s wife.’
Vespasian gently squeezed her proffered fingers. ‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I apologise if I’m late.’
‘I sent a girl for you, did she not turn up? I’ll have her whipped when I find her.’
‘No, no, please don’t. She did arrive but there was um…there were some matters that needed attending to in my suite so I left her there to deal with them and made my own way.’
‘Well, no matter, you’re here now. Seeing as Flavia found you she wins the prize of reclining next to you. The other women will be so envious.’
‘She’s just doing that to make sure her husband keeps his hands off me,’ Flavia whispered in his ear as they followed Laelia towards the other five guests and Flaccus congregated around the low dining table.
Vespasian shivered involuntarily at the closeness of her mouth to his face, savouring the sweetness of her breath. ‘Does he try that often?’
‘Yes; sometimes I let him succeed.’
‘Why? You could say no.’
‘I’ve been here for over three years now, how else do you think I’ve survived without a man to provide for me?’
CHAPTER XVIII
VESPASIAN WAS WOKEN by a knock on his bedroom door.
Magnus stuck his head round the corner. ‘I’ve ordered a chair to be…ah! I’ll leave you to it.’ He beat a hasty retreat.
Vespasian turned on his side and looked at Flavia; she opened her eyes.
‘When he says “it” I assume he means me?’ she said with a yawn.
‘He could have meant the act itself.’
‘That would be a preferable interpretation, but I’ll only believe you if you prove it to be the correct one.’
Vespasian smiled and kissed her while running the tips of his fingers down over her breasts, across her flat belly before easing them in between her legs. Flavia moaned softly as she had done for most of the night as she had sucked on his mouth and his nipples and his penis between bouts of intense sexual activity; he had made love to her in a way that he had done to no other woman except Caenis.
Vespasian had decided to bed her the moment that he saw her again; and the feeling had seemed to become very mutual, especially once he had explained to her that he had found Capella and had brought him back out of the desert; he had not let her down. She had not seemed too distressed at the news of Capella’s savage death and was genuinely surprised to learn that he had not been trading for camels. Vespasian did not, however, tell her what Capella had really been doing, and when she had pressed him on the subject he had just alluded to imperial business and it was better if she did not know; which, indeed, it was. Admiring his high connections, which she had evidently found irresistible, she had started to work her charms on him to the full, quite unnecessarily but much to Vespasian’s enjoyment and the other guests’ embarrassment. When the dinner broke up Flaccus appeared most aggrieved and a triumphant-looking Laelia did not even bother to ask Flavia if she wanted her litter called.
The orange glow of the newly risen sun filtered through the shutters and Vespasian was spent; he climbed off Flavia and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I should be going; I’ve got business to attend to.’
‘What sort and how much?’ Flavia asked, resting her head on her hand.
‘Private and a lot.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No; you just be here when I get back.’
She sighed and lay back down on the pillow. ‘I can’t see that as being a problem.’
‘Dinner was successful by the looks of it,’ Magnus commented as Vespasian appeared from his bedroom.
‘Very,’ Vespasian replied while Ziri began to drape his toga around him.
‘Well?’
‘Well, we’ll go to see the Alabarch first and then on to the Forum to Thales and then try and find Felix.’
‘I know what we’re going to do; I meant: well, who is she then?’
‘You won’t like it.’
Magnus thought for a moment and then slapped his palm on his forehead. ‘Venus give you the strength to resist her: Flavia!’
‘A small world, isn’t it?’
‘Too small; you’re just about to cash a draft for a quarter of a million – she’ll have that off you in no time.’
‘Not if I marry her.’
‘The last time you thought about that a whole load of people ended up dead. Why don’t you just be content to have her as a bed-toy while you’re here?’
‘Because I’ll be twenty-nine this year and I need to have sons; my parents write of hardly anything else in their letters.’ Vespasian examined the folds of his toga draped over his left arm; he nodded with satisfaction. ‘That’s perfect, Ziri, you’ve finally mastered it.’
Magnus frowned. ‘So you’re going to take her back to Rome?’
‘I’m not going to live here.’
‘She might not want to come.’
‘Oh, she’ll come; it’ll be the best offer she’s had since she got here. Anyway, how was your evening?’
‘Much the same as yours, but without the long-term commitment to a very expensive woman.’
‘How come you both got a fuck last night and I didn’t?’ Ziri asked resentfully.
‘Because, Ziri, you’re a slave,’ Magnus said, clipping him lightly around the ear, ‘and besides, I haven’t noticed any camels around the palace. Now stop moaning and go and get Sir’s box.’
Optio Hortensius and his men were waiting for them at the palace gates, sitting in the shade of an outsized sedentary statue that reminded Vespasian of the image of Amun in the temple at Siwa but was, according to the Greek inscription, a representation in the Egyptian style of the first Ptolemy.
‘You can guide us to the Alabarch’s house near the Canopic Gate, optio,’ Vespasian said, getting into the chair that Magnus had ordered, ‘seeing as we’re saddled with you.’
Hortensius saluted and his men fell in.
‘You could make yourself useful and give us a guided tour as we go,’ Magnus said with a grin.
Hortensius ignored the jibe.
‘Don’t antagonise him,’ Vespasian muttered, as they passed through the palace gate and into the enclosed Royal Harbour, ‘he may prove useful.’
‘I can’t remember the last time that anyone in the Twenty-second Deiotariana did anything useful; the legion hasn’t seen proper action for ages.’
Clearing the Royal Harbour they entered the city itself and passed by the side of the old Macedonian barracks, two storeys high and now used for housing legionaries on duty within the city – the Roman military camp being situated outside the eastern walls. Turning left they walked along the length of its drab, two-hundred-pace, square-windowed facade, with their escort clearing the way through the crowd, and then turned right, into the Jewish Quarter.
Immediately there was a change of atmosphere; it was still busy but there was a sullenness in the air and, as they walked down the middle of the street, Vespasian noticed many a resentful glare at not only the legionaries but also at the thick, purple senatorial stripe on his toga. He kept his head held high and, disdaining to look either left or right, progressed with all the dignity befitting a Roman senator in a part of the Empire that belonged to the Senate and people of Rome.
As they got deeper into the quarter the people began to move aside less willingly and their escort were forced to draw their sw
ords as a warning and occasionally push a more stubborn obstacle out of the way with their shields.
‘Maybe it weren’t such a bad thing to be given a guard,’ Magnus said from behind his right shoulder, ‘we don’t seem to be too popular.’
They carried on for half a mile past rows of Greek-style houses – two-storeyed and built around an oblong central courtyard with a couple of small windows and a plain wooden door in the whitewashed facade – before turning east onto the Canopic Way. Nothing in Rome had prepared Vespasian for this sight: three and a half miles long and sixty paces wide, lined with temples and public buildings for all its length, it ran from the Canopic Gate in the eastern wall straight as an arrow’s flight to the western wall and out into the Necropolis. Vespasian tried not to stare like some hill-farmer – which, he reflected, he was.
The going became easier as the width of the street and the more multicultural make-up of the pedestrians played their parts. Between the buildings to his left and right Vespasian noticed, out of the corners of his eyes, small areas shaped like the Circus Maximus with one open end, seating up to a hundred people, mainly Greek, listening to a speaker at the curved, far end. As they approached the fourth area the noise emanating from within was not what one would expect of a group of students listening to a philosophical debate.
Getting closer Vespasian could see that the audience was not only Greeks but Jews and native Egyptians as well. They were all involved in a fierce shouting match with scuffles breaking out and the two sides were not split by racial divides; a minority of Jews were taking issue with the majority of the audience – which included many of their race – who seemed to be supporting the main speaker, a short, balding man standing at the far end trying to make himself heard. Vespasian almost did an undignified double-take as he recognised the bow legs and imperious voice of the speaker shouting over the arguments: Gaius Julius Paulus.
‘What the fuck’s he doing here?’ Magnus exclaimed as he too noticed Paulus.
‘What he seems to do best, by the looks of it,’ Vespasian replied. ‘Causing fights and spreading discord.’
‘Loathsome little shit!’
‘This is the house of Alexander the Alabarch, senator,’ Hortensius informed Vespasian as they approached a large house on the northern side of the street – the edge of the Jewish Quarter. It was Greek in style but built with a grandeur that fitted in with the Canopic Way’s architecture. ‘Me and my lads will wait for you out here, senator.’
False God of Rome Page 30