‘Why?’
‘I’m afraid we’ve got a big problem, sir; it’s Sabinus.’
‘Sabinus is in Pannonia.’
‘I wish that he was, but I’m afraid he ain’t. I’ve just left him; he’s here in Rome.’
A look of dismay crept over Vespasian’s face; now he understood the true meaning of Herod Agrippa’s words.
‘At your Crossroads Brotherhood’s tavern!’ Gaius boomed in horror. ‘What in the name of all the gods is he doing there? He’s meant to be in Pannonia.’
Magnus shrugged. ‘Yes, but he’s not, sir. He turned up a couple of hours ago, weak and wobbly as a drunk Vestal from loss of blood from a nasty wound to his thigh.’
‘How did he get that?’
‘I don’t know; he’s been dropping in and out of consciousness since he arrived. I called the doctor we use in these situations – he don’t ask too many questions – and he’s cauterised the wound and stitched it up. He says that with food and rest he should be fine in a few days.’
Gaius slumped down into a chair by the fire in the atrium’s hearth and reached for a calming cup of hot, sweet wine. ‘The young fool took part in the assassination, didn’t he?’
Vespasian paced nervously to and fro. ‘Why else would he be here in Rome without telling us? And if he was trying to keep his part in it secret, then he’s failed. Herod Agrippa knows, I’m sure of it, and, as we know, he bears no love for Sabinus.’
Gaius took a sip of his wine. ‘Then we need to get him out of Rome as soon as possible.’
‘Where to, Uncle? If he’s condemned he can’t go back to his legion in Pannonia and they’d find him on one of our estates. He’s safest at the moment with Magnus. What we need to do is ensure that he’s not condemned.’
‘And how can we do that?’
‘By taking advantage of the new system of government. You saw it in action last night; it’s Claudius’ freedmen who rule him.’
‘Of course!’ Gaius looked relieved for the first time since being dragged from his bed to hear the bad news. ‘I’ll send a message to Pallas to say that we need to see him as soon as possible after the ceremony this morning. We’ll find out then whether we can still count upon his friendship.’
The people of Rome turned out in their hundreds of thousands to witness their new Emperor receive the oath of allegiance from his now loyal Senate and the Urban Cohorts. That they had regularly laughed at him previously and mocked his malformed body as he was publicly humiliated by his predecessor was now conveniently forgotten by most of the masses crowding in and around the Forum Romanum and along the Via Sacra. However, neither Claudius nor those surrounding him had overlooked the ridiculing of the past, and so the entire Praetorian Guard was stationed along the procession route. They were dressed in full military uniform rather than in togas – their normal attire when on duty within the boundaries of the city – as a reminder to the citizens that it was military power that had elevated Claudius and it was military power that would keep him in his position, and that power was not to be mocked. The sensibilities of the Senate and People of Rome had taken second place to the need to preserve the dignitas of the new Emperor; anyone suspected of making fun of him was dragged away for a thorough lesson in how quickly a man could develop a limp and start drooling uncontrollably.
Resplendent in freshly chalked, gleaming white togas bordered by a thick purple stripe indicating their rank, the Senate led the procession. Their numbers had swelled back up to over five hundred as those who had left the city the day before had hurriedly returned in the hope that the Republican sympathies they had expressed would be forgotten – or at least overlooked – by the new Emperor once they had sworn loyalty to him. The senators walked with slow dignity, looking neither left nor right, holding their heads high and with their left arms crooked before them supporting the folds of their togas. Each eligible magistrate was accompanied by the requisite number of fasces-bearing lictors to add to his stature. Military crowns, won whilst serving in the legions for acts of bravery, were worn by every man entitled to them.
Preceded by twelve lictors, Claudius was borne in an open sedan-chair by sixteen slaves at shoulder height so that all could see him. Behind him, travelling recumbent in a horse-drawn carriage, strewn with cushions and garlanded with flowers, came his wife, Messalina, heavily pregnant but brought out of her confinement for the parade. Her daughter, Claudia Octavia, travelled with her; only eighteen months old, she seemed bewildered by the occasion.
Following them, marching in slow-time, crashing their hobnailed military sandals down hard on the paving stones to the blaring of bucinae, came the Urban Cohorts.
Surrounding Claudius and Messalina were three centuries of the German Imperial Bodyguard, sauntering rather than marching, with their hands on the hilts of their swords behind their flat oval shields and keeping their pale blue eyes fixed on the crowd. Long-haired, full-bearded, be-trousered and each over six feet tall, their barbarian looks presented a striking contrast to the otherwise ordered and very Roman pageant.
The multitudes chanted and cheered themselves hoarse, waving brightly dyed rags or racing-faction colours in the air as the slow procession passed. They lined the streets, crowded the steps of temples and public buildings, balanced on the bases of columns, clung to the pedestals of equestrian statues or heaved themselves up on to window ledges; small children sat on their fathers’ shoulders whilst their more nimble elder siblings scaled any vantage point too small or precarious for an adult.
It seemed that every one of the common people of Rome, free, freed or slave, was there to welcome the new Emperor, not because they particularly disliked the old one or that they particularly liked Claudius; it mattered not to them who was in charge. They had come because they still remembered the games, largesse and feasts that accompanied Caligula’s accession and they wished to earn, through their rapturous support of the new incumbent, a repeat or maybe even a surpassing of that profligate display of generosity. There was, however, a sizeable minority in the crowd with longer memories; they hailed Claudius not in his own right but as the brother of the great Germanicus, the man whom many wished had succeeded Augustus to the Purple.
Claudius, for his part, sat as composed as he could in his chair. He acknowledged the ovation of the crowds with jerking waves and sudden nods, occasionally dabbing his chin with a handkerchief to stem the flow of the drool that, along with his nervous tic, was far more pronounced, betraying his excitement at receiving, for the first time in his fifty-two years, public acclamation.
Messalina ignored the crowd. She kept a firm arm around her small daughter and with her other hand gently caressed her swollen belly. She stared straight ahead towards her husband with a self-satisfied expression on her face.
The procession eventually neared the Senate House in front of which, in an outrageous breach of all precedent, stood Narcissus, Pallas and Callistus.
Doing their best to ignore the affront, the Consuls mounted the steps and positioned themselves to either side of the open doors, ready to welcome their Emperor. The rest of the Senate spread out, in order of precedence, on the steps, leaving a path to the doors for Claudius.
The imperial chair came to a halt at the foot of the Senate House steps.
‘This should be interesting,’ Gaius commented to Vespasian as the sweating slaves stopped and made ready to lower it. It swayed slightly.
A look of panic swept across Claudius’ face and he gripped the chair’s arms.
Vespasian half closed his eyes. ‘I can hardly bear to watch; I don’t know how they got him up there but it must have been in private. I don’t think that they’ve thought about this part.’
‘Wait!’ Narcissus almost shrieked above the din. Claudius looked gratefully at him, twitching almost uncontrollably.
Narcissus mounted the steps and spoke briefly to the Senior Consul. Secundus’ face tensed, he drew himself up and glared at the freedman in outrage. Narcissus muttered a few more words and the
n raised his brow questioningly, staring with steely eyes at the Consul.
After a few moments Secundus’ shoulders sagged, he nodded almost imperceptibly; he descended the steps towards Claudius and looked up at him. ‘Princeps, there is no need for you to step down to us; we will take the oath here on the steps of the Curia.’
There was stirring and muttering all around Vespasian and Gaius. How dare a jumped-up freedman humiliate the ancient governing body of Rome thus? But no one dared step forward to complain.
‘There’s still one thing that we can take heart in, dear boy,’ Gaius muttered as preparations got under way to take the auspices. ‘However much Claudius’ freedmen seek to draw power to themselves, Claudius will always need members of the senatorial order to command his legions and govern the provinces. Narcissus, Pallas and Callistus can never take that away from us.’
‘Perhaps, but who will decide who gets those posts, them or the Emperor?’ Vespasian glanced over to where Pallas stood, but the freedman’s face, as always, remained neutral.
The auspices were taken and, unsurprisingly, the day was found to be eminently favourable for the business of Rome. The will of the Senate, that Claudius should be emperor, was heralded around the Forum to tumultuous cheering; then the oath of loyalty was administered to the Senate and the Urban Cohorts. This was followed by a proclamation that all the legions of the Empire should swear their loyalty to the new Emperor.
Then the speeches started.
By the time the final speaker drew to a long-winded close it was well past the eighth hour of the day and everyone just wanted to get home. Claudius made a short speech of thanks, announcing seven days of games to rapturous applause, and then the procession turned about and headed back towards the Palatine. The only things that had marred the proceedings had been the early, unscheduled, departure of Messalina and the collapse of one of Claudius’ chair-bearers, neither of which had surprised anyone.
The imperial cortège disappeared up the Via Sacra and the huge crowd began to disperse, talking animatedly of the coming games.
‘Another expensive time for the treasury coming up,’ Gaius reflected as he and Vespasian jostled with their peers to get down the Senate House steps.
Vespasian smiled ruefully. ‘It’ll be cheaper than buying the Praetorian Guard.’
‘But that was a sound investment as I think you’d agree, gentlemen.’ Vespasian and Gaius turned to see Pallas; he put a hand around their shoulders and added quietly: ‘But perhaps not enough to ultimately secure Claudius’ position. Walk with me, my friends.’
Pallas led Vespasian and Gaius away from the Senate House, attracting many an envious stare from the mass of senators seeing two of their number so openly favoured by one of the new powers in Rome – however far beneath them in status they considered him to be.
‘Rest assured that I would’ve found you two today without you sending me that note, Senator Pollo,’ Pallas informed them once they were out of earshot of anyone of importance.
Gaius inclined his head, acknowledging the favour. ‘That is good to know, Pallas; but please, call me Gaius in private as we are friends, are we not?’
‘We are friends, although not of equal social standing.’
Vespasian looked Pallas in the eye and added: ‘Or of equal influence.’
Pallas gave a rare half-smile. ‘Yes, Vespasian, I’m afraid that you’re right, my influence is going to be considerable; I am to be the imperial secretary to the treasury.’
Gaius was dumbfounded.
Vespasian looked at Pallas in disbelief. ‘But there is no such post!’
‘There is now. You see, gentlemen, Narcissus, Callistus and I have had plenty of warning of this change of government and time to plan how our patron could best be served. As you two are amongst the few people in Rome to know, he is of reasonable intelligence – if somewhat chaotic – but harbours both an overinflated opinion of his own talents and a dismissive view of those of others. He is therefore, more than anything, inconsolably bitter about how he has been mocked and overlooked.’
‘But Caligula made him consul,’ Vespasian pointed out.
Pallas raised a thick eyebrow. ‘As a joke; although I think everybody, especially his mother, was surprised by how well he carried it off. The point is that he’s now distrustful of everyone who has not supported him in the past, which is most people in Rome, with very few exceptions.’
Gaius slapped Pallas on the back. ‘The most notable of whom being his freedmen, I presume?’
‘Exactly, Gaius. And when the Senate refused to declare Claudius emperor immediately – an eventuality that we freedmen had foreseen – he knew for sure that he could never trust them. At that point it was easy to persuade him to implement our plan.’
‘Bypass the Senate?’ Vespasian queried as they wandered into Caesar’s Forum, dominated by a huge equestrian statue of the man who once tried to impose his will upon Rome.
‘We prefer to call it: centralising government. From now on all decisions will be made by the Emperor.’
‘With the help of those closest to him,’ Gaius added.
‘Naturally the business of running the Empire is too great a burden for one man, so that is why his loyal freedmen will assist him: myself in the treasury, Callistus in the law courts and Narcissus … well, Narcissus will be in charge of his correspondence.’
Gaius understood immediately. ‘Access to him, in other words; which means that he’ll have power over foreign and domestic policy, as well as appointments and …’ Gaius paused and looked meaningfully at Pallas, ‘and appealing to the Emperor on life and death issues?’
Pallas nodded slowly.
‘So you can’t help us with our problem?’
‘Not directly, as much as I would like to be able to, for all the courtesy you and Vespasian have shown me in the past. Narcissus, Callistus and I have agreed not to interfere in each others’ spheres of influence; and, although I can’t see that being adhered to over the years, it’s best to keep to that agreement for as long as possible. Sabinus’ life is out of my hands; you have to go to Narcissus.’
‘We could appeal directly to Claudius.’
‘That would be impossible and, besides, it wouldn’t be wise. Claudius doesn’t know of Sabinus’ part in the assassination and it would be best to keep it like that. This morning, Herod Agrippa told Narcissus and me – with far too much glee for my taste – that he now knew that the masked assassin whom he and Claudius had met in the passage was Sabinus. He’d realised it when he saw your eyes, Vespasian, in the Senate yesterday, it jogged his memory.’
‘We look so similar, why didn’t he think that it was me?’
‘Because when the assassin spoke he didn’t have your Sabine accent, so it had to be your brother as it’s well known that he disguises his origins. For obvious reasons we thought that was impossible but he was convinced. He insisted that we should find him and have him executed tomorrow along with all the rest. If we didn’t then he would go to Claudius.’
‘He could’ve just gone straight to him.’
‘That wouldn’t have suited his purposes. He’s interested in power as well as revenge; he desperately wants Claudius to trust him and leave him to his own devices in his kingdom. We are counselling against that. Herod hoped that we would refuse his demand and then he could go to Claudius and tell him that his freedmen were protecting one of his nephew’s killers, thereby making him seem a more faithful adviser than us. However, Narcissus disappointed him and agreed; I then had no choice but to do the same.’
Vespasian and Gaius looked at Pallas aghast.
‘You’re going to be responsible for having Sabinus found and executed?’ Vespasian almost shouted.
Pallas remained calm. ‘I didn’t say that, I said that I agreed to do so. I had no choice once Narcissus knew his identity; I had to be seen as co-operating with my colleague. Had Herod Agrippa just come to me, I could have made a very real threat that would have kept his mouth shut; but he di
dn’t, so we must work with the situation as it is.
‘Now, I’ve done nothing to help find Sabinus even though I can guess where he is. We know that he was wounded; two of the German Bodyguards survived their foolish attack on Lupus’ century and withdrew and waited until they saw one of the assassins leave the palace complex. They followed him, waylaying him at the foot of the Palatine. The assassin killed one and wounded the other. Callistus had the wounded man questioned; thankfully he didn’t see his face but he claims to have cut the assassin’s thigh open; Sabinus must therefore still be in Rome.’
Vespasian put his hand to his forehead. ‘I saw him! It was as we came out of the alley, Uncle; a man was hobbling away. That must have been Sabinus. I decided to go in the other direction because he was armed.’
‘It’s as well that you did,’ Pallas said. ‘Had you met there and taken him home he would be sitting in a cell by now. Now that Narcissus knows it was Sabinus, he’s had your house, Gaius, and Sabinus’ house on the Aventine as well as Caenis’ house searched this morning during the ceremony.’
‘He’s done what? How dare he!’ Gaius exploded.
Vespasian wondered anxiously how Flavia and Caenis would have reacted to having their privacy violated; he was not looking forward to having to give either of them an explanation.
‘Times have changed, Gaius,’ Pallas said quietly. ‘Narcissus dares because he has the power to do so and also because he must; there is more than just a man’s life at stake here. We cannot allow Herod Agrippa to gain Claudius’ unwavering trust. Since Caligula gave him his kingdom three years ago he has started to repair the defences of Jerusalem, making it one of the most formidable cities in the East. He has sworn to Claudius that it is to defend Rome’s interests against the Parthians; Claudius believes him and has reconfirmed him in his kingdom. But we all know that Jerusalem’s defences look west as well as east and we all know, too, what the Jews think about Roman rule. If Judaea rebels then the flames of that revolt could spread throughout the East, fanned by the Parthians who are hungry to have access to Our Sea again, denied to them since Alexander’s time. We have to undermine Claudius’ trust in Herod Agrippa so that eventually we can topple him. We can’t begin to do that if he tells him that we are sheltering one of Caligula’s killers.’
Rome’s Fallen Eagle Page 5