False God of Rome

by Robert Fabbri

  Vespasian looked in horror as his team ploughed into a family, sending a howling infant flying up into the air as its parents and elder siblings, with shrill curtailed screeches, disappeared beneath his ponies’ hoofs, to reveal another set of faces, petrified with fear, taking their last look at a bewildering world. On either side of him, Sabinus and Corbulo were causing equal carnage, while behind them, the cavalry, also unable to stop suddenly due to the weight of numbers to their rear, fanned out left and right and hurtled into parts of the crowd as yet untouched but trying desperately to escape.

  In among the pandemonium of broken limbs and cracked skulls, Vespasian managed to bring his terrified team to a halt; his incredulous slave ran along the pole and jumped down between the necks of the rearing beasts, grabbing their bits and pulling their heads down, stilling them. All along the line a gradual loss of momentum telegraphed itself back through the main body of cavalry still on the bridge and the column slowly came to a halt. The pressure eased on the crowd who were able to stampede towards the bottlenecked streets leading away from the harbour, trampling the weakest underfoot with the abandon of those who just want to live at any cost.

  From amidst the tangle of crushed and broken bodies Caligula emerged on foot, leading his team and laughing hysterically. The wheels of his chariot bumped over the dead and the injured, of whom he took no notice. ‘Back to the bridge, my friends; we shall offer a sacrifice to my brother Neptune in thanks for the smooth sea without which this glorious victory would not have been possible.’

  Vespasian and Sabinus looked at each other, horror stamped on their faces and shame burning in their hearts. Horror at what they had taken part in and its consequences and shame at being gulled into believing, at first, that it was a magnificent and exciting feat, a prelude to greater things to come, and taking part in it with such fervour.

  There was nothing to be said as their slaves, still shaking their heads in disbelief at what they had witnessed, turned their teams, which remained wide-eyed with fright, away from the long pile of mangled bodies and remounted the chariots. All around them on the quayside and back along the bridge the Praetorian cavalry were trying to regroup from the chaotic aftermath of the charge and form into the regimented lines that they so prided themselves on.

  Caligula, however, was not interested in military precision; as soon as the Celtic chariots were turned behind him he leapt onto his quadriga and whipped his team forward into the disorganised Praetorians, who had no option but to part and make way for their Emperor. Those still on the quay had little trouble doing so but as Caligula mounted the bridge, pressing his team ever forward, the cavalry struggled to make room for him in the closer confines of the relatively narrow road. Not wishing to be the trooper who delayed the Emperor, each man in his path pulled his mount forcefully to one side, pushing the horse next to him to produce a domino effect that sent whinnying horses and their riders tumbling or jumping off the side of the road and onto the decks of the ships, thankfully, only four feet below. Vespasian and the other charioteers followed Caligula through the shambles until he burst through the rearmost ranks and onto a clear road where he whipped his team into a canter and headed off, straight towards the carriages and infantry.

  Vespasian’s ponies were blown as they reached the central point of the bridge where the causeway to the largest peninsula curled off to the south. Caligula had arrived there well before them but at the same time as the carriages, judging by the overturned vehicles still attached to screeching horses both on the road and to the decks on either side. He had abandoned his quadriga and, having unhitched Incitatus, he and his favoured horse were now leading the senators and their wives on foot along the curved, one-vessel-wide causeway at the end of which stood what looked to be a temple, complete with columns and steps on every side. In the harbour formed by the causeway and around the temple platform scores more small boats were moored, but unlike those in the first harbour these were manned and their furled sails were raised or their oars were already set in their rowlocks.

  Vespasian, Sabinus and the rest of the charioteers hurriedly dismounted and ran to catch up.

  ‘Ah, dear boys, I was waiting for you,’ Gaius called out from beneath a parasol held by Aenor; the other boy was doing his best work with a fan to keep his master cool in the growing heat. ‘How was it? It looked spectacular from the other end.’

  ‘It was murder, pure murder!’ Vespasian spat, gratefully taking a water-skin from Magnus. He took a deep draught and passed it to Sabinus, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘And now we’re to give thanks to Neptune for allowing Caligula to slaughter half the population of Puteoli.’

  ‘He only slaughtered half?’ Magnus questioned. ‘He must be losing his touch.’

  Vespasian scowled at his friend and stalked off down the causeway.

  Flanked by eight of his German Bodyguards and Incitatus, Caligula stood in front of the temple, his arms covered in the blood of a bullock. ‘Fearful of my power, my brother Neptune has gratefully accepted the sacrifice so as not to cause me offence,’ he announced to the massed ranks of senators and their wives crowded onto the temple peninsula. The temple itself, Vespasian had noticed, was not a proper building but constructed of canvas cleverly painted as marble, with tree trunks, likewise coloured, as columns. ‘Seeing as he is so evidently terrified of me, we have nothing to fear from him, so before the victory feast we shall all take to the sea. To the boats, my sheep, to the boats!’

  Leading his bodyguard he strode to the edge of the platform and jumped down into an eight-oared, flat-bottomed boat of a sleek design; his Germans got in after him and manned the oars.

  ‘I suppose a little boating before dinner could be convivial,’ Gaius commented as Vespasian, Sabinus and Magnus helped him down into a small sailing skiff crewed by a foul-smelling, weather-beaten old man and his grandson. He made himself comfortable in the bow with Aenor with his parasol and the other boy with his fan in close attendance. The brothers and Magnus settled amidships, while the grandson pushed off and the old man unfurled the triangular leather sail; the boat slipped slowly on the light breeze out into the bay.

  As they embarked in various craft, the mood among the senators and their wives, who had not witnessed the slaughter at Puteoli, was jolly as most took Gaius’ view that some pre-dinner boating would indeed be convivial. Before long over a hundred small vessels, under either oars or sail, were bobbing around on the smooth water between the temple and the bridge upon which the Praetorian infantry and cavalry had formed up in long, dark lines. Those who had been unable to find a berth or thought that their constitutions were not up to braving Neptune’s element, strolled along the causeway, admiring the pretty scene and waving to friends who had been luckier or braver than themselves.

  Caligula’s boat skitted around, turning left and then right, while he stood in the stern holding the steering oar, whooping madly. As he passed close to the Flavian party, Vespasian noticed him cock his head and look quizzical as if he suddenly did not know where he was. He sat down and looked at his German rowers. ‘Ramming speed!’ he ordered with a shrill shout. The lead oarsman responded immediately and his rhythm was taken up by his heavily muscled fellows. The boat accelerated forward towards a cluster of slow-moving sailing boats.

  Unaware of the threat coming towards them the vessels did nothing to alter course. Within moments Caligula’s boat was upon them and its solid wooden prow cracked broadside into the hull of the nearest, overturning the flat-bottomed boat with remarkable ease, spilling its occupants into the sea. Caligula’s boat carried on at speed as with two hands he adjusted his steering oar so that it smashed into the next small craft with the same effect. On he went for another two successful rams as panic spread around him. Suddenly he turned the boat and aimed it back the way he had come.

  Passing by his floundering and spluttering victims he took his steering oar from its housing and, two-handed, cracked it down onto their heads, laughing maniacally, as the unfortunat
es, both male and female, sank unconscious below the surface. ‘My brother Neptune deserves some dinner guests too, give him my regards,’ he shouted after them as his boat ploughed on, still at ramming speed, directly towards the Flavians’ small craft.

  For a shocked moment they watched it approach and then all turned to the old man who, judging by the terror in his eyes, had seen it too. With no chance to manoeuvre quickly out of the way due to the light wind the old man sat paralysed, staring at the oncoming threat. It was pointless shouting at him to do something, there was nothing that he could have done; instead they grabbed on to anything solid and prepared for impact.

  It came moments later with a shuddering jolt.

  Vespasian hit the water as the boat rolled over. He had the presence of mind to dive deeper so as to avoid the thrashing of Caligula’s oar. He counted to thirty before considering it safe and then kicked for the surface. He and Sabinus appeared at almost the same time and quickly looked about. Magnus suddenly bobbed up.

  ‘Where’s Gaius?’ Vespasian shouted.

  All three of them looked around in panic; from behind the capsized boat the old man and his grandson appeared, both swimming strongly. Gaius was not in sight; Vespasian dived. Although neither a strong nor natural swimmer, desperation lent force and co-ordination to his limbs and he swiftly descended, passing the body of Aenor with blood seeping from an oar-wound to his head. The water was clear and he soon saw the bulk of his uncle struggling weakly, his eyes bulging with the pressure of holding his breath, but being dragged down by the weight of his toga. He kicked out for him; Sabinus and Magnus both followed. Grabbing Gaius’ arm he began to haul him up, while Magnus and Sabinus struggled to undrape his toga. As the garment finally came free, Vespasian felt the drag lessen, but at that moment Gaius gave him a look of agony and copious bubbles of air escaped from his nose and mouth; he convulsed as his lungs filled with water.

  Between the three of them they managed to propel Gaius to the surface; as they drew explosive breaths Gaius remained still, his lips pale and his eyes closed.

  ‘Get him ashore quick,’ Vespasian yelled at his companions.

  The old man and his grandson came to their aid and with their strong strokes they dragged Gaius the twenty paces or so to the causeway as fast as they could.

  There were many willing hands to help lift the heavy body out of the water as behind them Caligula continued to terrorise the pleasure craft.

  Once Gaius had been hauled onto the road, Vespasian turned him onto his stomach letting his head loll down over the edge; water seeped from his mouth. ‘Magnus, remember what you said when we were dealing with Poppaeus? You have to wait a while before you get the water out of their lungs because they can come back to life.’

  Magnus’ face lit up. ‘You’re right, sir,’ he said, getting astride Gaius’ waist and placing his hands on the back of his ribcage.

  Vespasian and Sabinus knelt on either side.

  ‘Ready?’ Magnus said. ‘Now!’ Six hands squeezed the chest in unison. ‘Now!’ Then again. ‘Now!’ And again.

  For half a dozen pumps they carried on until a gush of water erupted from Gaius’ mouth; after another couple of pumps came a second, greater, spurt followed by a choking gasp. A single pump more resulted in a lesser expulsion but the ensuing rasping breath caused Gaius’ eyes to open. With a massive spasm he heaved out the contents of his sea-water-filled stomach and then took a series of congested gasps as the last of the water sprayed from his lungs. Magnus gave him a couple more pumps and then got off him.

  After a few moments Gaius was able to breathe quickly and shallowly but with difficulty. He looked back up at Vespasian uncomprehendingly. ‘I drowned, I remember.’

  ‘Well, you’re alive again now, Uncle. Perhaps Neptune was worried about how much of his dinner he would have to share with you.’

  A look of dismay spread over Gaius’ face. ‘My boys?’

  Vespasian shook his head slowly then looked out towards the harbour to where, just next to their capsized boat, two small bodies floated, face down, in the sea.

  Whether Caligula tired of providing dinner guests for his brother god or whether he became concerned that if he provided many more his victory feast would be sparsely attended was uncertain, but soon after Gaius’ recovery he came ashore and ordered everyone to repair to the huge triclinium erected on a peninsula to the north of the bridge.

  He was in a cheerful mood as he and Incitatus walked down the causeway, playfully pushing back into the water the occasional senator trying to clamber out of a boat; but, flanked as he was by his Germans, no one dared touch him. The brooding presence of the Praetorian Guard, still formed up on the bridge, doubly ensured his safety. The Emperor was the only reason they existed, so the rank and file owed him absolute loyalty and any attempt to assassinate him in such an exposed area would be met with swift and calamitous vengeance: the Senate would be completely annihilated. And they knew it; as did Caligula.

  In recognition of this fact, Caligula delivered a long speech of congratulations to his loyal troops on their stunning victory over the town of Puteoli and promised them a bounty of a year’s wages when they returned safely to Rome. There was no question of them not ensuring his safety after that.

  By mid-afternoon Caligula was leading the Senate down the isthmus to the victory feast. Vespasian and Sabinus walked close behind him with Gaius, still weak from his ordeal and grief but not daring to leave, limping along, supported by Magnus.

  ‘Ah, Sabinus,’ Caligula called back, pausing to wait for the Flavians to catch up. ‘I think that the time for your surprise is upon us.’

  Sabinus kept his face rigid. ‘You honour me, Divine Gaius.’

  ‘I know. But I need men I can trust for my year of conquest; I can’t do everything myself, you know.’

  ‘If you say so, Divine Gaius.’

  ‘I do. I will need the Ninth Hispana for my expedition to Germania next year so I’m getting rid of the timid imbecile who’s currently commanding and appointing you as its legate; you served with it as a tribune, I believe.’

  Sabinus looked at his Emperor with a mixture of astonishment and gratitude.

  Caligula burst into cold laughter. ‘The relief of being honoured and not abused; I knew that I’d enjoy the look on your face after days of apprehension.’

  ‘I never doubted you, Divine Gaius. How can I repay you?’

  Caligula slapped a hand on Sabinus’ shoulder as they approached the high wooden doors of the triclinium. ‘I didn’t know that until yesterday. Now I believe a way will present itself; perhaps sooner than you think.’

  Chaerea was waiting to report to Caligula as the doors were swung open by a couple of slaves.

  ‘The watchword, Chaerea,’ Caligula said, pushing him aside, ‘is “Eunuch”.’

  Vespasian saw the same hatred burn in the Praetorian tribune’s eyes as he passed into the interior but that was soon forgotten as he gazed around and suddenly realised that, although the day had been chaotic and haphazard, run according to Caligula’s whim, this part had been timed to absolute perfection. The chamber was as vast as it was magnificent; constructed in the same fashion as the temple with painted wooden columns supporting the roof, it had a feeling of space and airiness. At its far end were doors leading to further rooms; in front of these, a group of musicians plucked on lyres and blew soaring notes on pipes. All around its marble floor, scores of tables surrounded by couches were set at regular intervals; but what made it so breathtaking was that cut into the ceiling above each table were small square holes, so positioned that only at this exact time of day would the sun shine down and perfectly hit each table, illuminating only them and not the couches that surrounded them.

  ‘Perfect!’ Caligula cried to Callistus who stood, next to Narcissus, with his head bowed just inside the door. ‘Callistus, you’ve done well; I’m minded to reward you with your freedom.’

  Callistus raised his head; his face showed no sign of gratitude at his impend
ing manumission. ‘As you wish, Divine master.’

  ‘Everything is as I wish.’ Caligula turned to Narcissus. ‘I wish you to see to the comfort of our principal guests, the rest can just recline where they like.’

  ‘Of course, Divine Gaius,’ the Greek crooned as Caligula brushed past him towards a group of ladies, one holding a baby, waiting by the table of honour at the far end of the room to greet him. They were escorted by Clemens, Claudius and, of all people, Corvinus.

  Narcissus caught Vespasian by the arm as he passed and whispered in his ear. ‘Congratulations on acquiring your new wealth. I haven’t told the Emperor yet; we’ll keep it just between the two of us for now, shall we?’ He patted him on the shoulder and went off to supervise the senators flooding in through the doors.

  ‘What did that oily freedman want?’ Sabinus asked, still visibly glowing with pride at his promotion, as they followed Caligula across the floor.

  ‘Nothing much; just a veiled threat implying that my life is in his hands should Caligula start running out of money.’

  ‘A distinct possibility should we have another day like this, dear boy,’ Gaius said weakly.

  Vespasian looked at the golden platters piled high with exquisite delicacies that slaves had begun to set on the tables as the senators and their wives began to take their places. ‘Someone has to stop this.’

  Gaius slumped down on a couch. ‘I have to admit that if I felt stronger I would do it myself.’

  ‘Don’t worry, sir,’ Magnus assured him, ‘that feeling will soon pass and your self-preservatory instincts will take over again.’