‘Augustus sees much more than you might think and hears even more than that; he is well aware of some of your unpleasant little hobbies, Lucius. He’s been indulgent with you and your behaviour because, so far, it has not cost him any money. But now he’s got a very popular lanista claiming that his son burnt down his premises and caused the death or escape of over half of his stock and the necessity to punish the remainder. I think that if you try to lie your way out of it then you’ll only end up increasing his anger – which I can assure you is already considerable.’ She smiled as if the thought of the Emperor’s anger excited her, although her eyes retained the cold stare with which she had transfixed Lucius. They then flashed onto me for an instant and I shivered at the strength of her will. ‘As for the barbarian, I suggest you keep away from him in future, Lucius; he doesn’t seem to me to be a very nice companion. There’s too much of the forest in him and that is something that no amount of civilising can ever eradicate. You can remove the barbarian from the wild but never the wild from the barbarian.’
Without even glancing at me again she turned and walked away, leaving us in no doubt as to the severity of our position; however, I felt oddly grateful that she had saved us from making it worse.
Lucius swallowed as he watched her go; gone was his innate patrician confidence and for the first time I saw uncertainty in his expression.
‘What will you do?’ I asked.
‘Do? I don’t know; I need to think about it.’
We sat in silence for another half an hour or so, contemplating Livia’s advice until our uneasy peace was interrupted by the arrival of the First Man in Rome. He arrived unaccompanied, dressed in a simple tunic; in his hand he held a pruning knife.
I had grown considerably since I had last seen him and now, at the age of sixteen, I was taller than this most powerful of men, even though he was wearing shoes with thick soles and heels two thumb widths high. But height meant nothing when talking to Augustus; authority radiated from his small frame in the ease that he held himself. It was as if he had supreme confidence in his every movement; even the slight twitch of a little finger was executed in such a way that it seemed to have been planned well in advance and utilised at this time because it was exactly the right sort of twitch to emphasise his thoughts. ‘What do I say to this man, Lucius?’ he asked without any preamble – small-talk was an irrelevance to him, unless, of course, he was using it to unsettle his interlocutor.
I looked at Lucius out of the corner of my eye and was shocked; his face was now a mask of innocence. He was calling Livia’s bluff. ‘What man, Father?’
Augustus smiled at his adoptive son and grandson and held his eye for a good few moments; Lucius did not flinch, his face maintaining a casual puzzled interest.
Augustus reached out and squeezed his shoulder. ‘I hoped that would be your reaction, my boy; in fact I was positive that it would be. Livia seemed to think that you had committed the outrage.’
‘What outrage, Father?’
Augustus then gave a brief account of the fire at the school, which was remarkably accurate apart from missing out our involvement.
‘So Crispus thinks that we did this just because we passed him in the Salus Gate last night.’
‘He says that you were accompanied by one of his gladiators.’
‘No, Father; I was with Arminius. Another man went through the gate just in front of us. I’d never seen him before; he’d been running and overtook us just before we passed the guards. I paid him no mind, but thinking about it now there is no reason why he couldn’t have been one of the escaped gladiators; he ran off very fast up the Quirinal once he was through.’
Augustus turned his attention to a shrubbery and began pruning dead twigs and leaves from it. ‘And just what were you two doing out on the Campus Martius at that time of the night?’
‘We were on our way back from the Temple of Flora; we’d been making a dedication to her as her festival begins in a few days.’
Augustus concentrated on his gardening for a few moments. ‘Yes, the Floralia is at the end of April; since when have you had an interest in her?’
‘I always sacrifice to her at the beginning of spring.’
‘In the middle of the night?’
Lucius shrugged. ‘We weren’t tired so we thought that we’d—’
‘Liar!’ Livia snarled, coming up behind Augustus.
Augustus carried on his pruning without looking at her. ‘My dearest, there’s no need to be so aggressive.’
‘And there is no need for you to be so gullible.’
‘Gullible?’
‘Yes, gullible.’ Livia pointed a finger at Lucius. ‘You believe everything that he told you, don’t you?’
‘I certainly don’t believe that he set fire to a ludus and caused the deaths of more than a score of gladiators and facilitated the escape of many more. Why should he want to do that?’
Livia looked at her husband incredulously and tore into him for being so easily duped by a manipulative youth. Augustus let the tirade blow over him and he continued his pruning as if he were relaxing alone. Lucius cast me a sidelong glance and I saw the triumph in his eyes as Livia, furious that her lies had failed to deceive him into admitting his guilt to Augustus, gave vent to her feelings – to no avail.
I understood, then, the value of mistrust and how it can keep you safe.
‘Have you finished yet, woman?’ Augustus asked placidly as Livia took a short pause for breath. ‘Because I suggest that you do before I lose my patience.’
The underlying tone in his voice was one of menace; cold, cold menace.
Livia opened her mouth and then thought better of continuing; she cast Lucius a glare of pure malice and then looked pityingly at her husband before walking, with surprising dignity considering her temper, from the garden.
Augustus chuckled. ‘Women, eh, boys? Such suspicious beasts; always prepared to jump and think the worst of people as quick as boiled asparagus.’
Lucius bent down and began to collect up all the loose trimmings. ‘Indeed, Father; even when it’s illogical. What could I possibly gain from burning down a gladiator school?’
Augustus contemplated the question for a few moments. ‘That’s what I wondered; it makes no sense.’ He paused in thought, clearly oblivious to the fact that the deed had been done to facilitate the release of my uncle who had been smuggled out of Rome and was now on his way back to Germania so that he could not be used as evidence against us. ‘Anyway, you seem to have annoyed Livia in some way, so I think it would probably be best for me to get you out of her sight for a while. Your brother, Gaius, is about to set off to the East to conclude a treaty with King Phraates of Parthia who seems to be under the impression that if he interferes in Armenia then I’ll execute his four half-brothers and rivals to his throne that we hold here as hostages. I’ve told Gaius to take two legions and threaten Parthia’s western provinces. Meanwhile, I’ve sent messengers to Phraates telling him that I certainly will not execute his rivals if he interferes with Armenia, even though they are hostages to Parthia’s good behaviour; however, I would consider doing so if he and Gaius can come up with a suitable treaty that guarantees Rome’s interests in Armenia. You’re sixteen now so I think that it would be only right for you to accompany your brother. We’ll have you in uniform getting military and diplomatic experience. What do you say?’
‘But, Father, I would prefer to stay in Rome.’
‘So that you can be accused of yet more mischief?’ He chuckled again and slapped Lucius’ shoulder. ‘Look, my boy; I don’t believe that you did it but that doesn’t mean that you didn’t. There is no smoke without fire – if you would excuse the pun – and you’ve been accused of many other escapades and misdemeanours that you have always denied and come up with very good reasons why you weren’t even there in the first place. This time, however, a witness and your admission put you near the scene of the crime.
‘A man should always have an eye to his possible fai
lings: perhaps I am a doting old father and allow myself to be duped by you. So for all our sakes you will join your brother on his mission to the East; it’ll be good for you. Besides, how can you be my joint heir if you don’t know the waters in which I swim?’ He looked at me. ‘Arminius will go with you so he can see the extent of Rome’s empire; you can both serve as military tribunes on Gaius’ staff.’
Lucius and I shared a look and a grin: we had got away with arson and murder and now, as a reward, we were to see the East.
CHAPTER V
THUMELICATZ CAST HIS eye over his four Roman guests as Aius rolled up the scroll and Tiburtius prepared to read from the next instalment. ‘Another dose of irony, I would think you’d agree, gentlemen: the Empress of Rome, through her malice, showing my father the importance of mistrust and the necessity to hold your nerve against anybody with a proven record of lying; and that’s just about anyone who’s manoeuvred their way to power.’
The younger brother stirred himself, snapping out of some reverie. ‘It was a calculated risk on Lucius’ part to deny everything to Augustus; he had nothing to lose. I would have done the same had I been in his position.’
Thumelicatz raised his eyebrows. ‘Nothing to lose? He was Augustus’ joint heir.’
‘Yes, but he must have been aware, even then, of the ambition that Livia had for her sons. She had persuaded Augustus to make Drusus the foremost general in the empire and, with the glory he’d already won, had he survived he, rather than his dour elder brother, Tiberius, would have been the obvious heir to Augustus if Lucius and Gaius somehow disappeared. But with Drusus now dead and Tiberius in self-imposed exile in Rhodos, she had started to plot Gaius and Lucius’ removal so that Augustus would be forced to fall back on Tiberius. Lucius calculated that if she was lying in order to frighten him into admitting his guilt to Augustus, thereby making all his other denials suspect and greatly losing favour with his adoptive father, then Augustus would believe him if he denied the accusation. However, if she wasn’t lying and Augustus knew for certain that he had been responsible for the arson then he might as well still deny it at first and then admit it later under duress as the result would be exactly the same: all his past misdeeds would be exposed and he would be less in Augustus’ eyes.’
‘So you believe that Lucius thought that Livia was trying to undermine him?’
‘Of course she was and most people suspect that it was her who was eventually responsible for both of the brothers’ deaths.’
Thumelicatz offered round his jar of pickled testicles; there were no takers. ‘My father points to that later in his narrative but he never had any evidence other than circumstantial.’
‘But that evidence is interesting,’ the street-fighter observed. ‘Who became emperor after Augustus? Livia’s elder son Tiberius because Gaius and Lucius both died young; and if half the rumours about Livia are true then I’d say that was more than circumstantial, if you take my meaning?’
‘I do,’ Thumelicatz agreed, ‘but the truth will never be known for sure. However, once again we get ahead of ourselves, Erminatz deals with those deaths later. But first we have the mission to Parthia. Tiburtius, skip the journey out there as it is mainly a description of the sites along the route; the only points of interest are the repeated arguments between Lucius and Gaius. They took a passage across to Greece and then down to Athens and from there by ship again to Antioch in Syria where they were met by two legions and their auxiliaries. From there they marched to Thapscum on the Euphrates, the border between Rome and Parthia; close to the city is an island in the middle of the river.’ He took the next scroll from Tiburtius’ hands and quickly scanned it. ‘Take it from this line: “Gaius’ folly had grown in conjunction with his authority.”’
‘Yes, master.’ The old slave took the scroll back and quickly found the place.
Even though he was only Augustus’ representative and not the Emperor himself, Gaius insisted that he would not cross to the island before Phraates; a Roman should never be forced to wait for a barbarian, he reasoned. Obviously Phraates had the completely opposite opinion and with more justification as he was a king – the King of many Kings to be precise.
‘We’ll be stuck here for ever if you don’t give in!’ Lucius shouted at Gaius as he once more refused his brother’s plea to cross to the island where the pavilions were already set up for the meeting. Gaius’ staff, arranged around the praetorium tent, the command post at the centre of the camp, looked embarrassed at witnessing such a public row between the brothers.
But Gaius was adamant. ‘I will not start negotiations from a position of weakness.’
‘The negotiations have already happened, you idiot; you’re just here to finalise them and sign the treaty in Augustus’ name so that Armenia returns to our sphere of influence. Who gives a fuck who arrives on that island first.’
‘I do.’ Gaius turned to the senior military tribune on his staff, the son of the newly appointed prefect of the Praetorian Guard. ‘Sejanus, see my brother and …’ He looked at me and sneered. ‘… his pet, out.’
Lucius Aelius Sejanus ushered Lucius and me from the tent with much courtesy and many apologies; he was ever anxious to ingratiate himself with people of status. Lucius, fuming at his brother’s intransigence, shook off Sejanus’ guiding arm and stormed from the tent.
I think that it was at this point when Lucius realised that he was the more flexible and pragmatic character of the two and, although I could never say he came to hate Gaius, in the short life that he had left he certainly began to dislike him and stopped looking up to him as an elder brother. He became open to me in his criticism of Gaius and I believe that the enemies of Rome have much to regret from the brothers’ deaths: had they both lived I think their mutual antipathy, sparked at this moment, would have grown and if they had remained Augustus’ joint heirs then that would have been a cause of civil war upon his death. But that was not to be.
For two days Gaius and Phraates stared at each other across the river surrounded by their armies. The Parthians with ten thousand horse archers and half as many heavy cataphract cavalry, a riot of colour with the gay caparison of the horses, the flags and banners and then the garish dress of the Parthians themselves, all camped in a haphazard manner, contrasted with the regimented lines and dull colours of a Roman camp and its occupants. Immediately my sympathy lay with the Parthians as I beheld a people of colour, irregularity and pride. I was reminded of my own people and their free, unordered life where a man was able to display his wealth and prowess in his dress rather than all wearing the same colourless toga or the same russet tunic of the legionaries. There, across the river, I saw individuals, the first I’d seen since coming to Rome, and my yearning to go home grew more intense. Not that Romans aren’t individuals, they just manifest it in different ways so that, to an outsider, they all seem very similar. And, as I stood looking at the Parthians, a quarter of a mile away across the river, I got to the core of the Roman character: their soldiers look the same; their elite in the senatorial and equestrian classes dress the same and follow the same career path, and although there is intense rivalry between them for status and position they all want the same for Rome and will put aside personal differences and strive together for that. So, I reasoned, if that were true then surely they could all be predicted to act in the same way given a certain set of circumstances that threatened Rome and therefore, by extension, themselves and their families; their strength in their unity and ability to act as one, the strength that makes the legions invincible if taken head on, could also be their weakness. If I could force them into a predictable course of action then I would not need to take them head-on because I could make them come to me, to a place of my choosing, to a place where they would not expect me to be. And it was with that germ of a thought, the way that had so far eluded my father on how we might be able to rid Germania of intruders, going around my head that I joined Lucius in his next piece of extravagance.
There were many boats in Th
apscum, mostly belonging to fishermen, so it was with ease that we managed to cross the river to the Parthian camp. In order that there could be no doubt that we were Roman military tribunes and not spies we both wore our bronze, muscled breastplates, greaves, military cloaks and helmets – mine was a beautiful cavalry helm with a removable lifelike mask that had been Lucius’ gift to me when we had kitted ourselves out in Rome; he had found it amusing to give me the mask, saying that it made me look more Roman because it hid my barbarian features.
‘My name is Lucius Julius Caesar,’ Lucius informed, in Greek, the Parthian guards on the jetty as our fisherman brought us gently alongside, ‘and I wish to see King Phraates.’
Ever since Alexander’s conquest, Greek has been the common language of the better-born men of the East – indeed, it is said that a man can travel all the way to far-off India and still be able to make himself understood with just the use of Greek.
The officer commanding the guards firstly looked astounded at Lucius as he jumped out of the boat and then he burst into laughter. ‘There is only one Roman the Great King wishes to meet and I can assure you, young lad, that you are not he.’
Lucius had little patience with underlings and even less with underlings whom he considered ill-mannered and patronising. With no care for the fact that he was within the enemy camp, he stepped up to the Parthian officer, who was twice his age, and, grabbing him by the beard, pulled him close so that their noses almost touched. ‘You evidently are not aware to whom you’re talking so I shall make this easy for you. I believe that your master, Phraates, is extremely fond of impaling people who displease him; when he finds out that you did not pass on the fact that the younger son of the Emperor of the Romans wanted to speak to him I think that’ll displease him immensely. Have you ever tried having anything bigger than a cock up your arse?’
The startled officer evidently had not and was not of the inclination to start experimenting with larger objects now; uncertainty played on his face as he stared at the sixteen-year-old youth who had bearded him, and calculated whether he was who he claimed to be. His men stepped forward, drawing their swords; the officer signalled for them to move back. He took Lucius’ hand and pulled it from his beard, his mind made up to cooperate with the arrogant Roman youth, despite his shattered dignity. ‘My most humble apologies, noble sir; you will understand that I had no way of knowing that you really were whom you claimed to be.’
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