Rome's Lost Son

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘I’ve met the bastard.’

  ‘Well, you should have killed him.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Anyway, he’d been in Corinth in Achaea spreading his poison and offending the local Jews, who apprehended him in a scuffle and asked the Governor to deal with him.’

  ‘Gallio?’

  ‘Yes; but he couldn’t find anything wrong with upsetting the Jewish population so ruled in favour of Paulus and let him go.’

  ‘The idiot.’

  ‘I know. Paulus has arrived here in Judaea and has met with the other supporters of Yeshua and they seem to have sorted out their differences to a certain extent; at least that’s what my agents within the movement tell me. Apparently Yeshua’s brothers and nearly all of his closest associates have agreed that Paulus can take Yeshua’s message to the uncircumcised, as they call them; although they haven’t been able to agree on whether they should eat with non-Jews or at least with people who do not keep their dietary laws.’

  ‘If you’ve got agents within the movement, why don’t you use them to arrest the ringleaders? At least get Paulus.’

  Felix looked at Vespasian with wistful regret. ‘I’ve got close to him once and I’ll keep trying. The trouble is that they move around and are very secretive but we have had a couple of successes; you passed one of them as you entered the city. But they’re still gaining strength all the time and now they’ve started to spread their poison further afield; it’s becoming clear that it’s wider than just the Jews.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Sabinus is having trouble with it in Macedonia and Thracia and it would seem that Izates, the King of Adiabene, is also a convert.’

  Felix did not seem surprised by this news. ‘I’m sure; it’s spreading all the time and we haven’t the power to stop it because they can whisper their lies and convert people faster than we can kill them.’

  ‘It’s already reached Rome; my slave has heard it spoken of by fellow slaves. In such a crowded city, it will spread like fire.’

  ‘It is, according to my agents. Paulus has written to his growing number of Roman followers saying that he plans to visit them on his way to Hispania.’

  ‘Hispania?’

  ‘I know; throughout the Empire. That’s how grand their ambitions are.’ Felix grabbed Vespasian’s forearm and looked him right in the eye. ‘I’ve tried to warn my brother in my letters to him of the seriousness of their threat and their blind fanaticism. For example, a couple of years ago they cut down a condemned man from his cross in Philippi.’

  ‘Yes, I remember, I was there when it happened; he must have been almost dead.’

  ‘Then it might surprise you to know that Paulus’ followers claim that not only is the man alive but he has made a full recovery.’

  ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Is it? These people believe it isn’t.’

  ‘What proof do they have?’

  Felix tightened his grip on Vespasian’s arm. ‘Proof? Who needs proof when you’ve got faith? If this does spread throughout the Empire, it would have the potential to destroy all that is good. I know these people, having tried and condemned hundreds of them; they don’t care for their lives and people who don’t care for their lives are dangerous fanatics. When you see Pallas, impress upon him the need to take this threat seriously before it’s too late.’

  Vespasian was surprised by the vehemence of Felix’s appeal and the look of worried concern in his eyes. ‘Yes, I will, Felix. I’ve seen enough of it to share your concerns; I’ll make sure that he understands the danger.’

  ‘Thank you, my friend; it’s for all our sakes. The sooner we act the better.’

  ‘And the sooner I get back to Rome the better.’ Vespasian looked out over the variety of vessels moored in the port as the sun touched the surface of the sea. ‘When do you think I’ll be able to take a ship?’

  ‘I’ve already given orders to look for a suitable one.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t need anything fancy; just a seaworthy ship that will get me back swiftly.’

  ‘It’s not you that I was thinking of; I was assuming that you wanted to take the gift that Malichus, that rogue out in the desert, sent you.’

  Vespasian had half-forgotten about the promised gift in return for Vespasian’s help with his citizenship. ‘Well, I suppose so; but why does it need a special ship?’

  ‘Because you wouldn’t want to damage them; I’ve never seen more beautiful Arab stallions.’

  PART IIII

  ROME, OCTOBER AD 54

  CHAPTER XVII

  ‘SO WHERE ARE you going to keep them?’ Magnus asked as he and Vespasian watched the five stallions being led at dawn down the gangplank of the wide-bellied trader in which they had made the journey from Caesarea to Claudius’ new port on the northern bank of the Tiber estuary. Built around a central, manmade peninsula, supporting the biggest lighthouse in the world after the Pharos in Alexandria, the modern port could hold double the amount of ships than its older, fouler-smelling rival, Ostia, on the southern bank of the estuary. Equipped with tall cranes and lined with warehouses, the quay bustled with activity as trading ships from all over the Empire were offloaded of the essentials that would keep the Roman mob fed and docile and the luxuries that kept Rome’s élite contented.

  They had hauled-to just up the coast overnight and had entered the magnificent, circular construction in the half-light before dawn. But despite it being his first time in the new port, as the sun rose, Vespasian only had eyes for his horses. ‘You keep on asking me that,’ he replied, admiring the beasts’ condition after twenty days at sea.

  ‘And you keep on avoiding giving an answer.’

  ‘That’s because you keep on trying to persuade me to give them to your beloved Greens.’

  ‘Not give them but loan them. What else are they for other than racing? Look at them, they’re magnificent.’

  And they were magnificent; Vespasian could not deny that, nor, for that matter, could anyone with an eye for horse-flesh. Five Arabian Greys: dished profiles, arched necks, level croups and high carried tails; they were beautiful and drew looks and comments of admiration from everyone on the crowded quayside watching them disembark. The stallions, for their part, seemed to realise that they were the objects of much attention and responded by tossing their heads and snorting while regarding the onlookers with their intelligent dark eyes, their high-stepping hoofs clattering down onto the stone quay lined with recently built brick warehouses.

  ‘Malichus even gave you five,’ Magnus went on, his expression increasingly anxious, ‘so that you’ve always got a spare.’

  ‘I don’t gamble, Magnus.’

  Magnus winced in frustration, clenching his fists by his side. ‘How many times must I tell you: it’s not gambling! You don’t have to bet on them; all you have to do is watch them win.’

  ‘And what do I get from that?’

  ‘I’ve told you, we can work something out with the Greens. My mate Lucius, one of your clients, well, he’s quite high up with the Greens now. You can get him to organise a meeting with the faction-master and come to some financial arrangement. Then the horses can live at the Greens’ stables on the Campus Martius, you can visit them whenever you like, take them for a spin around the Circus Flaminius now and again if you want, and meanwhile the faction pays for their very expensive upkeep and you share the profits of their prize money when they win. Not to mention the stud price of five champions; you’ll make a fortune from that. I can’t see what the problem is.’ Magnus threw his arms in the air in frustration as he had done many times during the voyage; it had been a daily subject of conversation as they spent their time watching the two slaves who had come with the gift taking care of their charges.

  Vespasian kept his face solemn although inwardly he was laughing; he had already decided to have a conversation with Lucius the following day, at his first morning salutio upon his return. Ever since Magnus had suggested the idea of loaning the horses to the Greens, Vespasian had been in
favour of the notion, if only because the expense of looking after five such valuable creatures would be met by someone else. However, to help pass the time he had not shared his agreement with Magnus and his friend’s attempts at convincing him had grown more desperate by the day. When Vespasian had suggested, innocently, that Magnus should perhaps make enquiries of the Whites, Reds and Blues to see if they would be interested and so have a bargaining point to get a better deal – should he eventually decide to race them – his friend had almost screamed in horror and his good eye had stared at him with almost the same blank, uncomprehending expression as his glass one. ‘I’ll think about it,’ Vespasian said, using his stock conversation closer that had served him well over the voyage. ‘I’ll see you later.’ He pulled up the hood of his travel cloak partially concealing his face, and followed the horses down the gangplank, leaving Magnus looking with yearning at the five stallions, shaking his head incredulously; no doubt, Vespasian thought, calculating how much money he could win by betting on them the first time they raced.

  Keeping his head bowed so as to be unrecognisable, Vespasian slipped into the crowd, leaving Magnus and Hormus to bring the luggage and the horses while he went ahead, incognito, so that news of his arrival back in Rome would not be generally known until after he had spoken to his uncle.

  ‘Vespasian!’ Flavia blurted in shock as her husband walked into the atrium of their house in Pomegranate Street on the Quirinal Hill, halfway through the third hour of the day. She covered her open mouth with both hands before running and flinging herself, in a very un-Roman-like fashion, at the man she had not seen for almost three years. ‘I thought that you were dead, we all did, until Pallas told us a couple of months ago that you were in Ctesiphon.’

  Vespasian held his wife close, marvelling at just how pleased he was to see her. He signalled with his head that the two waiting slaves should leave the room. ‘There was a time when I thought I was dead too. How are you, Flavia?’

  Flavia pulled away and looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears; suddenly they hardened and she brought her right palm across his face in a brutal slap. ‘How do you think I am after you go missing for such a long time? You didn’t even write!’ Another slap stung his cheek and Vespasian was forced to grab both his wife’s arms to restrain her.

  ‘Calm yourself, woman. Of course I didn’t write; I was in a cell for two years that wasn’t equipped with letter-writing materials.’ He pulled her back to him and felt the sobs shuddering up from deep within her. He stroked her hair and murmured soothing words in her ear as Flavia let out the anguish of the past few years, drenching his tunic with her tears.

  ‘Are you going to leave me on my own for years on end again, husband?’ Flavia asked as she began to pull herself together.

  Not being possessed of foresight, Vespasian could not say, although he rather thought that the answer was affirmative. ‘How are the children?’ he asked to change the subject.

  Flavia wiped her eyes on his damp tunic, leaving black smudges of kohl, and attempted a smile. ‘Little Domitilla is as all small girls should be: mischievous and dutiful in equal measure. She’ll just want to hold your hand all the time. Domitian may notice you but only if you give him something; but make sure it’s just for him as he’s a three year old with no concept of sharing. It’s Titus, though, who’s going to be so pleased to see you; for the last year when he gave up all hope of you being alive he … well, he wasn’t good. Britannicus was a great comfort to him and he spent most of the time with him at the palace; he’s there now, I’ll send him a message telling him to come here.’

  ‘Tell him that I’ll be at my uncle’s house.’

  Flavia kissed him on the mouth, biting his bottom lip. ‘Are you going to stay here tonight?’

  ‘I’ll be back later, my dear; but I need to have a long conversation with him before I do anything.’ He smiled down at Flavia. ‘But I don’t have to go for an hour or so, not until Magnus has arrived.’ Returning the kiss with a suggestion of more passionate ones to come, Vespasian led his wife by the hand towards their bedroom.

  ‘I’ve sent a message to my mate Lucius at the Greens’ stables telling him that you’re back,’ Magnus said matter-of-factly, as if it was the most natural thing to do.

  ‘Oh yes?’ Vespasian kept his voice disinterested as they walked the couple of hundred paces to Gaius’ house at the commencement of the fifth hour of the day.

  ‘Yeah, I thought he should know that his patron was back so that he didn’t miss the salutio tomorrow morning.’

  ‘That was very thoughtful of you, Magnus; although it was unnecessary as my clients have been attending my uncle whilst I’ve been away.’

  Magnus looked sidelong at Vespasian, grunted and then walked on in silence. ‘There was hardly enough room in the stables behind your house,’ he suddenly blurted out after a few more paces. ‘Not for all five of them anyway, the slaves told me.’

  Vespasian was well aware of this as he had visited the stables when the stallions had arrived, once he had finished attending to Flavia. ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine in there. If it is a bit cramped I could always move a couple into my uncle’s stables, or Caenis’ for that matter.’

  Magnus gave another sidelong glance, this time more nervous. Vespasian pretended that he had not noticed it as they arrived at Gaius’ front door. He gave it a loud knock; the viewing slat slipped back, followed a moment later by the door being opened by a youth of outstanding beauty with long blond hair and a very short tunic.

  Having never seen this young slave of Gaius’ before, Vespasian named himself and sent the lad off to fetch his master. ‘Uncle Gaius must be doing rather well for himself if he can afford something that good-looking,’ Vespasian mused as they followed the door-boy through the vestibule and on into the atrium.

  ‘He’s always had a good eye for a boy,’ Magnus affirmed, watching the retreating boy’s buttocks move beneath the tunic that only occasionally concealed their entirety. ‘Just as well Hormus isn’t in his household otherwise he’d have to be sharing them.’

  The boy knocked on Gaius’ study door, then opened it and announced Vespasian’s arrival.

  ‘Dear boy,’ Gaius boomed, waddling out from his study and into the atrium, ‘I’m so pleased to see you; we had all but given up hope.’ He turned to the door-boy. ‘Tell the cook that there’ll be two more guests for lunch; and have wine and honeyed cakes brought out to the garden.’

  ‘Two more guests, Uncle?’ Vespasian said as he subjected himself to Gaius’ flabby embrace. ‘Who else is here?’

  ‘Just me,’ Pallas said, walking out from Gaius’ study. ‘When I heard that you’d arrived in Rome I guessed that this would be the first place you would come, despite my brother writing to me to say that he’d given you my message.’

  ‘I confess that I’m very pleased to see you alive, Vespasian,’ Pallas said once the four of them were seated in the last remaining patch of shade in the courtyard garden.

  ‘I don’t suppose Agrippina shares your enthusiasm,’ Vespasian replied, still angered by Pallas’ presence, which prevented him from gaining an advance insight from his uncle into the state of Rome’s politics; neither the gentle patter of the fountain in Gaius’ lamprey pond nor the sound of birdsong floating on the warm air did anything to soothe him.

  Pallas helped himself to a cake. ‘She has yet to hear the news; but I doubt she will care one way or the other as she feels, at the moment, that her position is absolutely secure.’

  ‘I’ve never known anything to be absolutely secure in Rome,’ Gaius observed through a mouthful of cake, ‘least of all one’s position.’

  ‘Claudius is due to address the Senate this afternoon after he’s finished celebrating the Meditrinalia in honour of this year’s new wine vintage. Agrippina and I fully expect him to confirm Nero as his sole heir as, since he married his stepsister, he is much more than just the Emperor’s adopted son. It may not have pleasant consequences for his natural son as Nero will r
emain the only possible heir to Claudius until the day before the Ides of February next year.’

  Vespasian frowned. ‘How can you be so specific?’

  ‘Because that is the day when Britannicus turns fourteen, the earliest possible time that he can come of age and therefore be a real threat to Agrippina’s ambitions.’

  ‘And your ambitions too, surely, Pallas?’

  Pallas inclined his head to concede the point. ‘So, obviously she … we have a timetable.’

  ‘Does that mean what I think it means?’

  ‘I don’t think that we want to know exactly what that means,’ Gaius put in quickly, giving Vespasian a worried look; he fortified his nerves with another cake.

  Pallas studied Vespasian over the rim of his cup as he took a sip of wine. ‘I believe it does,’ he said eventually, placing the cup back down on the table.

  Pallas looked at Magnus and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I’ll just, er … go and wait inside,’ Magnus said, getting to his feet.

  ‘Thank you, Magnus.’ Pallas waited until Magnus had left the garden, which he did at speed. ‘What we’re doing is for the good of Rome.’

  ‘Believe what you like, Pallas,’ Vespasian said, somewhat more tersely than he meant to, mainly because he knew that in supporting the Nero faction he was giving tacit consent to murder.

  ‘I do believe it.’

  ‘But assassination is still murder.’

  ‘And who are you to condemn murder?’

  Vespasian smiled wryly. ‘I’ll never be allowed to forget killing Poppaeus.’

  ‘Murder stays with you for life; but it wasn’t Poppaeus I was alluding to, it was Caligula’s and your brother’s part in it that you helped to cover up. You didn’t condemn him for killing an emperor, why should you condemn me? Especially when the emperor in question is now so constantly drunk that it’s almost impossible to get any sense out of him at any time of the day.’