‘You treacherous bastard!’
‘I learnt from the best, Narcissus.’
A loud voice cut through their exchange. ‘Tiberius Claudius Narcissus!’
Vespasian turned towards the direction of the shout to see Burrus stomping through the gate accompanied by a Praetorian centurion holding a sack. Narcissus recoiled as if he had been punched.
Burrus stopped in front of the litter. ‘Get out!’
‘I am a Roman citizen and have the right to appeal to Caesar.’
‘He knows that and he told me to tell you that you are more than welcome to exercise that right and he will be very happy to commute the sentence from decapitation to death by wild beasts; it’s up to you.’ Burrus drew his sword. ‘Centurion!’
The Praetorian centurion dipped his hand into the sack and pulled out a severed head by its ear.
‘Your erstwhile colleague decided not to exercise his right to appeal,’ Burrus informed Narcissus as he stared in horror at the bloodless face of Callistus. ‘If it’s any consolation, Nero did express regret at being able to write as he signed your death sentence.’
Narcissus stiffened; it was as if he had found a new strength in his helplessness. ‘So the most I can hope for is a clean death.’ He stepped out of the litter, calmly accepting his fate.
‘We’ll burn them thoroughly, Narcissus,’ Vespasian assured him.
‘You’re right; it will be for the best. If I were a betting man, my money would be on you to survive, Vespasian. And who knows to where a long life might lead.’ He walked forward and knelt before Burrus, extending his neck. ‘There is nothing else to say, my life is at an end.’
It was swift and clean. The sword caught the sun as it was raised and flashed when Burrus sliced it down. With a communal intake of breath from the crowd and a brief grunt from Narcissus, it cut though skin, flesh and bone, in a shock of blood, the edge so honed that Burrus’ arm hardly juddered as the blade swept Narcissus’ head from his shoulders to roll to the feet of the four Praetorians lounging against the tomb. The body stayed kneeling, rigid, for a few moments, disgorging its contents in great spurts as the heart pumped on, weakening with each contraction. The thigh muscles soon gave out and the husk of what had once been the most powerful man in the Empire slumped forward, dead at the entrance to the city that had given him, an ex-slave, his freedom, wealth, influence and, now, bloody execution.
‘Take him away!’ Burrus ordered the four Praetorians.
Vespasian stared at Narcissus’ face as his head was picked up; his eyes were still open. He remembered how the Greek had forced Sabinus to execute Clemens, his own brother-in-law, as part of the bargain that would spare his life; he smiled at the neatness of the retribution and then, as the head was carried away, his eyes rested on the tomb that had, up until now, been obscured by the Praetorians. He stared at it for a few moments and then broke into a laugh.
‘What the fuck are you finding so funny?’ Magnus asked.
Vespasian pointed at the tomb and read the inscription. ‘Valerius Messalla.’
‘So?’
‘Even from beyond the grave that harpy still gets her revenge on Narcissus for ordering her execution. Agrippina wouldn’t allow her to be buried in Augustus’ mausoleum so she was put in her family tomb. Narcissus was executed next to the last resting place of Messalina.’
Magnus blew through his teeth. ‘Sometimes you have to give the gods credit for their sense of humour.’
‘I suppose this is Pallas’ way of doing for Nero what he and Narcissus did for Claudius with the invasion of Britannia, dear boy,’ Gaius concluded as they watched the deputation from Armenia approach the raised tribunal in the Forum Romanum where the Emperor waited, seated on his curule chair, to give his first public judgement of his reign; Pallas, Seneca and Burrus all stood next to the tribunal ready to offer advice to their charge. ‘A proper invasion of Armenia, rather than the half-hearted ones we’ve had so far.’
‘It’s what Tryphaena planned,’ Vespasian agreed. ‘Except that I doubt that her nephew Radamistus has managed to cling on to power if Vologases has done what he intended.’
As the delegation of ten bearded and betrousered Armenians approached Nero, bearing rich gifts, there was a stirring in the crowd. From the opposite end of the Forum, surrounded by Vestal Virgins, came Agrippina. There was a gasp from all who could see her. Her hair was piled high upon her head and flashed and sparkled with jewels; her purple stola flowed down to her ankles and shimmered as if made of silk. But it was not these details that caused the shocked intake of breath: her palla was pure white, chalked white, and had a broad purple stripe, in imitation of a senatorial toga, and in her right hand she held a scroll as if she was about to give a speech. Behind her walked a slave with a curule chair.
‘She’s going to place herself next to the Emperor and receive the delegation as if she were a man,’ Vespasian said as the magnitude of Agrippina’s ambition became apparent.
‘Oh dear, dear boy, oh dear.’ Gaius’ jowls and chins wobbled in outrage at the thought of a woman being so forward. ‘That would be the end: women making decisions in public; unthinkable.’
Seneca and Burrus evidently held the same opinion; they called up advice to Nero as Agrippina came nearer and nearer. Pallas then joined the two advisors, giving what appeared to be a contrary opinion and, after what seemed to be a short but heated debate, he was rebuffed by the Emperor, who rose from his seat and inclined his head to Seneca and Burrus.
As Agrippina approached the tribunal, Nero descended the few steps and met her at the bottom. ‘Mother! How good of you to come and support me.’ He embraced and kissed her, making a great show of filial affection to warm the hearts of the crowd. ‘Over here would be the best place for you to watch from.’ He held her elbow in a firm grip and steered her away from the steps as Seneca indicated to the slave with the chair to place it down by him, next to the tribunal. Agrippina, with a fixed smile on her face, allowed herself to be seated with much courtesy by Burrus as Pallas stepped back, disassociating himself from the struggle for precedence. Agrippina’s eyes flashed first at her son, as he remounted the tribunal, and then at Seneca and Burrus.
‘I think Agrippina has just declared war on her son and his two advisors,’ Vespasian observed to his uncle.
‘I saw the look too, dear boy, and that’s a struggle that a woman cannot win; not even that one. I think Pallas’ days are numbered.’
Vespasian nodded slowly. ‘Yes, it really is Seneca’s time now.’
‘I’m pleased that we have finally got the chance to meet,’ a voice said as Vespasian contemplated the best way to approach Seneca.
He turned and saw a huge man now standing next to him. ‘Caratacus!’
‘I have not presumed to invite you for dinner, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, being ranked only as a mere praetor and you of consular rank.’
Vespasian took his old adversary’s proffered arm and grasped it firmly; it was as if he was clutching an oak branch. ‘I must apologise to you, Tiberius Claudius Caratacus, for neglecting to pay my respects but as I’m sure you’re aware …’
‘You have only been back for a few days and they have been eventful. It’s a sad time for us all.’
Vespasian was surprised by the statement; he could not tell whether Caratacus was referring to Claudius’ death or Nero’s ascension and decided not to respond one way or the other. ‘I’m sure we have much to talk about concerning the conquest of Britannia.’
‘A conquest that is far from over.’
‘So I believe; it should make for an interesting dinner conversation.’ Nero got to his feet to officially welcome the Armenians; Vespasian lowered his voice. ‘I shall be making a tour of mine and my brother’s estates soon. I should be back after the Saturnalia at the end of December, we shall dine then.’
Caratacus inclined his head. ‘It’ll be my pleasure, Vespasian,’ he said before disappearing back into the crowd.
The speeches had been long
and formal and the people’s interest had waned as the sun had fallen and the crowds had thinned out to the point that it had become noticeable. With an eye to the possibility of completely losing his audience, Nero interrupted the latest in the line of Armenian delegates in the middle of an impassioned speech about his country’s love of Rome and Rome’s new Emperor and hatred for all things Parthian, which, considering his eastern attire, was raising more than a few eyebrows.
As soon as it was clear that Nero was about to speak the background chatter that the Armenian delegates had been forced to fight against immediately died down. The Golden Emperor got to his feet and graciously indicated to the Armenians to rise from their bellies, from which position they had voluntarily made their cases. For quite a while Nero made a great show of contemplating everything he had heard, scratching his downy beard, rubbing the back of his neck with a pained expression on his face and then gazing into the middle distance over the heads of his adoring audience, seeking inspiration from afar.
‘I have made my decision,’ he eventually announced. ‘This golden age shall have peace and I shall soon be able to close the doors of the Temple of Janus. But before that happens we shall have war!’ He stood with one hand in the air and the other on his hip, the soldierly image of a general addressing his troops, and the crowd roared their approval. He silenced them with a swipe of his raised hand. ‘I shall prosecute this war in a firm and positive way and not in the haphazard, half-hearted manner of my father, who despite his many qualities could not be considered martial.’ As the crowd cheered their agreement to this point Nero signalled to Burrus to hand him up his sword. Nero held it aloft. ‘I will give Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, our most competent general in the East, full powers to resolve the Armenian question and beat the Parthians back to their homeland. He shall report only to me and shall have the benefit of my advice.
‘And so I shall deal with our external problems, safeguarding the sanctity of Rome’s borders; but whilst doing this I shall also address an internal infestation: I have been told that there were a few, this morning, who refused to take their oath to me, your Emperor. These people, I have been informed by Lucius Annaeus Seneca, do not acknowledge me as the supreme authority in the Empire but, rather, some crucified criminal called Chrestus. Find them for me, people of Rome; root them out and bring them to me for judgement and sentence. Together, my people, together we shall fight our enemies within as well as without and together we shall be victorious.’
Vespasian looked at Gaius as the people screamed their love for their Golden Emperor; he smiled. ‘Now he’s united them with common enemies both here and abroad, Uncle. He’ll secure his position and then we shall see how he handles absolute power.’
‘I’m sure we will, dear boy; let us pray to the gods of our houses that we don’t get to see too closely.’
‘I’ve found it!’ Caenis said, handing an unrolled scroll across the garden table to Vespasian. ‘It’s all there: the clause, the amount of the bequest and then the original valuation of Paelignus’ father’s estate as registered in the will at the House of the Vestals. It specifies its actual size in terms of land, goods, chattels and cash. Narcissus must have had this stolen.’
‘Or paid the Vestals for it.’ Vespasian read through the scroll, smoke from the bonfire occasionally wisping into his eyes. ‘But this doesn’t tell us how much was paid to the imperial treasury.’
‘It doesn’t need to. All bequests made are logged and filed at the treasury; you just have to get Pallas to cross-check what was received from Paelignus against what’s in that record.’
Vespasian looked at the valuations, did some mental arithmetic and then whistled. ‘I make the total value about twenty million denarii, which means that Claudius should have got ten but only received a quarter of that. Paelignus swindled the Emperor out of seven and a half million. That’ll do nicely.’ He slapped the scroll down on the table.
Caenis pointed to the rest of Narcissus’ records that they still had not read through. ‘Do you want to carry on looking through?’
Vespasian glanced at them and then across at the bonfire consuming the rest. ‘Burn them, my love. I’ve got what I need on Paelignus and we’ve got a few other useful things too. If we keep too much, it might become apparent to somebody just exactly what Narcissus did with his records.’
Caenis signalled to her steward to carry on feeding the fire. ‘How are you going to explain to Pallas how you come to have an original valuation that had been lodged with the Vestals?’
‘I won’t; and I also won’t be giving it to Pallas, as it would seem to me that his time is coming to an end. I’ll use this to buy favour with Seneca. For this he’ll be more than happy to get Nero to grant Malichus his citizenship and then, I imagine, he’ll come to an arrangement with Paelignus that he pays the balance of what he owes to him in return for his silence on the matter.’
‘I thought you wanted him dead.’
‘I do, but it might be amusing to ruin him first; see how he likes a couple of years with nothing, just as I had.’ He got to his feet, smiling at the thought. ‘Have your people pack your bags, my love; we’ll leave for my Cosa estate tomorrow after I’ve seen Seneca.’
CHAPTER XXI
‘I GOT BACK to Rome just before the Ides of October,’ Vespasian said without any preamble as Hormus showed Laelius into the tablinum, ‘and here we are two days before the Ides of February. Why has it taken four months for you to come and pay your respects to me, Laelius?’
Laelius stood before the desk, looking uncomfortable and sweating slightly despite the chill of a February dawn. He rubbed his hand over his now completely bald pate and essayed an ingratiating smile. ‘I have only just heard of your return, patronus, as I’ve been away on business.’ He spread his hands and shrugged as if it were unavoidable.
‘For four months over the winter, Laelius? Bollocks! You’ve been in the city and I know it.’
‘But you were touring your estates.’
‘Ah! In order to know that you must have been here. Anyway, I got back from my tour in the New Year. I’ll tell you why it’s taken four months to visit me: it’s because, with the bad winter they’ve been having in Moesia, it’s taken four months for my letter to get to my brother and then for the news to get back to you that he’s cancelled your chickpea contract and dismissed your son in disgrace. Is that nearer the mark, Laelius?’
Laelius cringed and twisted his hands.
‘And all the time that I was away you didn’t pay me the twelve per cent that you promised me from your business even though I kept my part of the bargain and had your equestrian status restored and got your son a post as a military tribune.’
Laelius hung his head. ‘I’m sorry, patronus; I believed you to be dead. I’ll pay you everything I owe and raise your percentage to fifteen if you can have your brother restore the contract to me.’
Vespasian turned to Hormus. ‘Is Magnus still here?’
‘Yes, master.’
‘Ask him to come and join us.’
As Hormus left the room Vespasian gave Laelius a friendlier smile. ‘It’s not the contract or the money that you owe me that I wish to discuss at the moment.’
‘What do you want, patronus?’
‘How many people do you call patronus, Laelius?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Don’t you?’ Vespasian mused as Hormus came back in with Magnus. ‘Magnus, Laelius is having trouble understanding me; would you help him to focus his attention?’
‘My pleasure, sir.’ Magnus grabbed Laelius’ right arm and pulled it high behind his back.
‘Have I got your full attention now, Laelius?’
Magnus forced the arm up a bit more and Laelius nodded vigorously, grimacing with pain.
‘Good. Now, the last time I saw you I granted you a favour, did I not?’
Another vigorous nod.
‘And yet once that favour was done you took the earliest opportunity to cultivate a new pa
tron. What was his name, Laelius?’ Vespasian raised his eyebrows at Magnus who applied even more pressure.
‘Corvinus!’
‘Corvinus,’ Vespasian repeated in a reasonable tone; he was enjoying this. ‘And for how long have your been courting Corvinus?’
‘I don’t understand, patronus!’
Vespasian’s eyes hardened and he pointed at Laelius’ shoulder. Magnus grabbed it and twisted Laelius’ arm further up his back; there was a loud tearing sound and a pop. Laelius screamed.
‘Would you like Magnus to dislocate the other one for you?’ Vespasian asked pleasantly. ‘And he will, if you don’t tell me just for how long you’ve been in Corvinus’ pay.’
‘Five years, patronus.’
‘I think that we can drop the pretence of you calling me patronus, don’t you? Now, the last time you left this room someone came in for an interview straight after you: do you remember him?’
Laelius whimpered, holding his damaged shoulder. ‘No, patronus.’
‘The other one, Magnus, now!’
Magnus reacted in a flash and within moments Laelius had fallen screaming to his knees with both arms hanging useless at his side.
‘It’s the elbows next, Laelius. Do you remember who came in after you?’
‘Yes, but I don’t remember his name.’
‘Agarpetus; he was Narcissus’ freedman here to organise a meeting between me and his patron. And you listened at the curtain, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Laelius sobbed.
Magnus’ expression changed as he understood the implication; murder shone in his one good eye.
Vespasian held up a hand to stop his friend. ‘What did you do with what you heard, Laelius?’
‘I told Corvinus.’
‘Told Corvinus? Now why would you do that?’
Laelius looked up at Vespasian, his eyes pleading for his life. ‘Because he paid me to tell him anything interesting that I heard while I was in your house.’
‘Do you know what he did with this information?’
Laelius shook his head.
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