‘Tomorrow, dear boy. A great honour; but what can she possibly want with you two?’
CHAPTER IX
VESPASIAN WAS WOKEN by the movement and murmuring of the house slaves as they lit lamps, kindled the fire and set a table ready for breakfast. The smell of freshly baked bread and the anticipation of seeing Caenis easily persuaded him out of bed.
In the atrium he found Gaius seated next to the lararium eating his breakfast whilst having his sandals put on.
‘Good morning, dear boy,’ Gaius boomed, rubbing a clove of garlic on to a hunk of bread. ‘I trust that you slept well.’ He dunked his bread into a bowl of olive oil on the table beside him and took a large bite.
‘Thank you, Uncle, I did,’ Vespasian replied, noticing gratefully that the young lad at Gaius’ feet was wearing a loincloth. ‘I hope that you did too.’
‘Very well indeed, dear boy, very well,’ his uncle replied, ruffling the hair of the slave boy kneeling at his feet, who, having finished with the sandals, smiled coyly at his master, bowed and left. ‘Sit with me and have some breakfast, there’s bread, olives, water, oil and some cheese. Would you like wine in your water?’
‘No, thank you, Uncle, this will be fine,’ Vespasian said sitting down.
‘As you wish, as you wish.’ Gaius took another bite of his bread and looked at Vespasian thoughtfully as he chewed on it. ‘Tell me, Vespasian, which path would you wish to follow?’ he asked. ‘The Emperor has as much use for good administrators as he does for good generals.’
‘But I thought that to climb the cursus honorum one served in both military and civilian positions in order to understand how the two are linked,’ Vespasian replied, slightly confused by the question.
‘Indeed you do and, as you rightly imply, they are interchangeable. However, there are various degrees of civilian and military. Look at it this way: if you were Caesar, would you send a man to be governor of a restless frontier province like Moesia when his only experience with the legions was four years as a military tribune with the Seventh Macedonica supervising road-building and latrine-digging in Dalmatia, and two years as legate of the Fourth Gallica sampling the heady joys of Antioch where, because of a recent peace treaty with the Parthians, the most martial obligation was to inspect the legion once a month on pay day? Of course you wouldn’t, not unless you particularly disliked the man and were prepared to lose a province and two legions getting rid of him. Much easier just to order him to commit suicide at home in his bath, don’t you think?’
‘Of course, Uncle,’ Vespasian replied.
‘This man might however make a suitable governor of somewhere like Aquitania where road-building is all the rage and there is no legion to inspect.
‘Now, a man who served as a military tribune with the First Germanica in lower Germania fighting the Chatti or some other equally bloodthirsty tribe and then served as legate of the Fourth Scythica, curbing the raiding of the Getae and securing the northern border, is the man who gets to be Governor of Moesia and with it the chance of military glory and all the financial rewards that go with it. So, Vespasian, you see the difference. Which path do you want to follow?’ Gaius asked again.
‘I would choose to be the second man, Uncle. In boosting my personal standing and dignitas I would raise the prestige of my family.’
‘You would also attract the attention of the Emperor and those around him, who jealously guard their power by maintaining his. Neither he nor they relish seeing any other man gain too much personal glory; so beware of serving Rome too well, Vespasian. After all, what does an Emperor do with a successful general?’ Gaius paused and tore off another hunk of bread before offering the loaf to his nephew. ‘The first man, however,’ he continued, swirling his bread around the oil, ‘does indeed go to Aquitania, a province run by the Senate, not the Emperor, and spends a very convivial year there building roads to his heart’s content and quietly enriching himself off the fat of the land by taking good-sized bribes off the locals for medium-sized favours.’
‘But surely that’s wrong,’ Vespasian interrupted.
‘Why?’
‘Well, he’s abusing his position of authority in order to enrich himself.’
‘My dear boy, where have you been?’ Gaius guffawed. ‘He’s doing no such thing; he’s using his position of authority in order to re-enrich himself. Do you know how much it costs to rise in this city with bribes, public good works, holding games, feasts and all that sort of thing, in order to buy popularity with the Senate and the people? Fortunes, dear boy, fortunes; and if you are not lucky enough to be born with fortunes, what then? You borrow, and borrowed money needs to be paid back, with interest. You won’t get paid in Rome’s service. Oh, no, what we do for Rome we do for love.’ Gaius looked hard at Vespasian to see if this had gone in and then carried on. ‘So the first man comes back to Rome covered in gold. He is hardly noticed as he settles back down in his own home with a chest full of denarii. He poses no threat to the Emperor or those around him, because he has commanded no troops.
‘The second man also comes home, but he is covered in gold and glory; he receives triumphal ornaments from a grateful Emperor and the suspicion of all those who surround him. No quiet semiretirement for him; oh, no, the Emperor wants all potential threats to his power kept close, so they can be observed, controlled.’ Gaius paused and looked again at his nephew. ‘Now, my boy, do you still wish to be the second man?’
‘Yes, Uncle,’ Vespasian replied, ‘because at least he has the satisfaction of knowing that he did everything that could possibly do to serve Rome and further his family’s honour.’
‘Where as I have not?’
‘What?’
‘Oh, Vespasian, didn’t you guess? I am the first man,’ Gaius cried, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘No, no, don’t feel bad; I made my choice as you must make yours. I chose anonymity, which, incidentally, is the reason why I kept my provincial accent. The patrician élite look down on it and therefore don’t see you as so much of a threat.’ He looked his nephew in the eye. ‘This evening you will meet one of the most powerful women in Rome; if you impress her she may use her considerable influence to set you off on a dangerous path. I want you to be aware of the consequences of coming to her attention and being in her debt; the powerful do not play lightly with us lesser mortals.’
The time could not pass fast enough for Vespasian as he contemplated seeing Caenis later; or slow enough, as he remembered the intimidating prospect of making conversation with Antonia. Caenis had not looked at him again during the racing, until a brief glance as she left with her mistress at midday. This had been enough to prevent him from concentrating on the spectacle for the rest of the day, which had passed in a blur of noise, speed and dust.
The allotted hour eventually came. Titus and Vespasia saw them off.
‘Remember to only speak when spoken to,’ she reminded them. ‘A quiet, polite guest is far more likely to be invited back than a garrulous, overbearing one.’
Gaius led the brothers down the Quirinal and up to the exclusive slopes of the Palatine. The houses here were bigger than any Vespasian had ever seen; some were two storeys high and had long marble stairways leading up to grand entrances secured by gilded doors. Each house was set in its own area of tree-lined garden, spacing them out far more than on the Quirinal and giving the area an almost park-like feel to it in the late-afternoon sun.
Gaius stopped at a huge single-storey house that, although tall and grand in style, was less ostentatious than the rest. Its windowless walls were painted a plain white, and it lacked the extravagant entrance and any extraneous decoration.
Gaius knocked. The viewing slot in the door scraped open and two dark eyes briefly surveyed them. A very healthy-looking young doorkeeper immediately opened the door to let them in without a word. They stepped into a high, wide atrium where a dark-haired, well-built, bearded man in his late twenties, dressed in a light blue Greek tunic, was waiting.
‘Good day to you, master
s,’ he said, bowing low.
‘And to you, Pallas,’ Gaius replied, who was always impressed by the young steward’s manners.
‘You will be dining imminently; be so good as to follow me.’
He led them through the atrium; its spacious interior had a polished pink and white marble floor and was decorated with elegant statues and busts of both painted marble and bronze. Expensive-looking items of furniture stood against the walls and by the central pool; carved wooden couches with ivory inlays were set around marble tables standing on golden lion’s paws or griffin legs. Wide corridors led off the atrium on either side, leading to formal reception rooms, a library and a suite of private baths.
They passed out into a chill, cloistered garden whose carefully manicured bushes and shrubs, which had been neatly tended over the winter, waited for the spring to encourage them to blossom into a feast of colour. At the far end Pallas knocked on shiny black-lacquered panelled door.
‘Enter,’ a commanding female voice called from within.
Pallas opened the door and respectfully addressed his mistress: ‘Domina, the Senator Gaius Vespasius Pollo and his nephews, Titus Flavius Sabinus and Titus Flavius Vespasianus.’
‘Gaius, how good of you to come.’ The Lady Antonia walked forward to take his hand. Close up she was far more beautiful than Vespasian had expected for a woman of sixty. Her dark-auburn hair was dressed high on her head in intricate weaves held in place by jewelled pins. Her skin was still smooth with only a few wrinkles around her sparkling green eyes. She wore very little make-up; her high cheekbones, strong chin and full lips needed no augmentation.
‘We are honoured to be invited, domina,’ Gaius replied, bowing his head. Antonia turned her attention towards the two brothers; Sabinus held her gaze.
‘Welcome, Sabinus; my brother-in-law the Emperor tells me that you acquitted yourself with distinction in the recent war in Africa.’ She smiled at him as he visibly glowed with pride. ‘You must have indeed performed well to have come to the Emperor’s attention.’
‘I am honoured that he even knows my name,’ Sabinus replied, ‘let alone that he should speak well of me.’
‘Credit where it is due is one of his guiding principles. He needs to keep an eye out for outstanding young officers. How else will he know whom to promote to command the legions that keep our Empire safe?’
‘Indeed, domina,’ Gaius said, ‘the Emperor is very assiduous in reading all despatches from the legionary legates. Sabinus does honour to our family to have been mentioned.’
Antonia turned to Vespasian. ‘So this is the lad who startles my maid,’ she said, looking at him with mock severity. Vespasian stared at the mosaic floor, unable to think of anything sensible to say. Antonia covered his embarrassment by gently lifting his chin with a slender hand. ‘Don’t worry, Vespasian, I’m not cross; I expect a good-looking young man such as you will cause quite a few young girls’ hearts to flutter in his time.’
Vespasian smiled at her; he had never before been told that he was good-looking. ‘Thank you, domina,’ he managed to get out.
‘Come and make yourselves comfortable whilst we wait for our other dinner companion to arrive.’
She ushered them into the room. It was dominated by an enormous bay window that to Vespasian’s amazement was glazed. The late-afternoon sun flooded through the near transparent glass, held in place by a lattice frame, beyond which a strangely distorted view of the gardens was visible. Three couches, upholstered in light tan leather and with gracefully curved walnut-wood headboards, stood on spindled bronze legs in the bay. The low table, around which they were set, was also made of walnut polished so brightly that it reflected the sun up on to the frescoed ceiling. At the far end of the room stood a large oak desk draped with maroon cloth and covered in scrolls of paperwork. On the floor next to it, in front of a pastoral fresco, was a strong box made of copper-decorated iron with sturdy-looking locks at each end.
Antonia clapped her hands; from behind a curtain to their left appeared three slave girls who waited as the men undraped their togas, then took them away for safe keeping.
There was another knock on the door.
‘Enter,’ Antonia called again.
Pallas walked in. ‘Domina, the Consul, Marcus Asinius Agrippa.’
‘Consul, you do me great honour,’ Antonia said as the surprisingly short and balding figure of Asinius stepped into the room.
‘As you do me,’ Asinius replied. His quick, dark eyes flashed around the other guests; his reaction showed that everyone that he had expected was present. ‘Senator, you are well, I trust?’
‘Thank you, Consul, never better,’ Gaius replied. ‘May I present my nephews Sabinus and Vespasian?’
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintances.’ Asinius acknowledged the brothers with a nod of the head whilst handing his toga to a waiting slave girl.
‘Gentlemen, let us recline and eat,’ Antonia said, moving over to the central couch. ‘Consul, you and Gaius on this side of me,’ she indicated to the more prestigious right-hand couch, ‘and the two young men to my left.’
Pallas pulled back the curtain and the slave girls appeared again to remove the guests’ sandals and wash their feet. They replaced the sandals with the slippers that each man had brought with him and then, once the diners had settled on the couches, spread a large white napkin in front of each of them.
The girls left with the sandals, passing a group of five more slaves bearing knives, spoons, plates and drinking bowls. Vespasian felt a surge of excitement as Caenis entered last in the group to wait on her mistress. He tried not to stare as she leant down over the table and her simple dress fell away from her chest to reveal two beautifully shaped, pink-nippled breasts, swaying gently from side to side as she placed the cutlery and crockery in front of her mistress. Vespasian felt the blood rush to his groin and was forced to adjust his position on the couch before he embarrassed himself. Antonia noticed his discomfort and, guessing the cause, smiled to herself. She looked over at Asinius.
‘Consul, I find myself in the awkward position of being a hostess with no host beside me. I would be grateful if you would take the host’s responsibility for the strength of the wine.’
‘Of course, dear lady, it will be my pleasure.’ Asinius looked at Pallas. ‘We shall start with four parts water to one part wine.’
Pallas nodded and then signalled the slaves who were waiting patiently behind each diner to fetch in the first course. Vespasian made an effort not to look at Caenis as she walked away for fear of compounding an already considerable problem and cursed himself for being infatuated by a mere slave to whom he could not even talk whilst in the same room, let alone hope to possess.
The dinner progressed in a sedately formal manner; the gustatio was followed by a dish of huge lobsters garnished with asparagus, which in turn was replaced by mullet from Corsica followed by goose liver with truffles and mushrooms and finally a roast boar with a cumin and wine sauce.
Antonia led the conversation through a range of uncontentious subjects, always allowing her guests time to express their opinions and deferring to those of Asinius should there be a disagreement. Vespasian found himself relaxing and, apart from a few glances in Caenis’ direction, was able to relax and enjoy the meal and contribute now and again, albeit slightly awkwardly, to the conversation. They whiled away the late afternoon in pleasant companionship, waited on constantly by the deferential slaves who padded noiselessly around them. By the time the dishes of pears, apples and figs were served the sun had set, lamps had been lit and a couple of portable braziers brought in to supplement the underfloor heating. The room, deprived of its main source of light, took on a more intimate feel and conversation grew more animated, due in part to Asinius reducing the water level in the wine.
Pallas, seeing that the diners had everything they needed, signalled the slaves to retire. He made sure there was no one listening in the serving room behind the curtain or outside the door, then he nodded
to Antonia and withdrew to a darkened corner to wait, unobtrusively, on his mistress’s pleasure.
Antonia picked up a pear and began to peel it with her knife. ‘Well, this has been very pleasant; but, Gaius, as I’m sure you are aware, I didn’t just invite you and your charming nephews here to discuss the recent campaign in Africa, racing and the hideous price of good slaves. There’s a far more pressing political crisis, whose beginnings we have already seen in the rise of Sejanus in the Emperor’s favour, which will, if not countered, come to a head in the coming months.’ She paused, discarded the pear skin, cut a small slice off the fruit and placed it in her mouth. ‘I think our esteemed Consul here could best outline the situation.’
Asinius nodded and let out a loud burp. ‘Indeed; and thank you for a most delicious meal.’ He took a sip of wine, savoured the delicacy of the vintage and then began. ‘When the Divine Augustus created the Praetorian Guard, after the ravages of years of civil war, it was to safeguard the city from the external threat of any mutinous legions and the internal threat of the sort of rabble-rousers that we had come accustomed to in the last days of the Republic. One thing kept it in check and that was the power of the Emperor, who in his wisdom appointed two Praetorian prefects so that neither could get too powerful. Sejanus was appointed to the post in Augustus’ last year and shared it with his father Lucius Seius Strabo. An honest man from all accounts, so honest in fact that one of Tiberius’ first actions as Emperor was to send him to govern Egypt. Unfortunately Tiberius neglected to appoint a replacement for Strabo and so Sejanus has commanded the Guard alone now for over ten years, during which time he has managed to win Tiberius’ complete trust.’ He paused for another sip of wine and then continued. ‘And now because of the unfortunate deaths of your beloved Germanicus, domina, and the Emperor’s son Drusus, he feels that he can position himself to become Tiberius’ heir.’
‘Unfortunate? Pah!’ Antonia spat, and Vespasian blinked in shock. All afternoon she had been the perfect hostess: mild, calm and attentive, but in that moment he saw the fire in her that made her the most formidable woman of her generation and not to be crossed. ‘My son Germanicus was poisoned in Syria by the Governor Calpurnius Piso, on Sejanus’ orders and possibly with the connivance of Tiberius himself, although that part I cannot prove. However, Piso’s suicide before his defence had started proves to me his guilt. As for Drusus, his wife Livilla, that treacherous harpy of a daughter that I nursed at my own breast, poisoned him, I’m sure of it, though again I have no proof. She and Sejanus are lovers; he asked the Emperor’s permission to marry her this year. Tiberius refused and forbade them to see each other. However, she is still Sejanus’ mistress but they are too clever to let that come to Tiberius’ attention.’
Vespasian: Tribune of Rome Page 11