Rome's Sacred Flame

by Robert Fabbri

  PART II

  ROME, JUNE AD 64

  CHAPTER VII

  ‘I VERY MUCH REGRET, dear boy,’ Gaius Vespasius Pollo boomed, ‘that Decianus has concocted a very viable narrative since his return.’

  Vespasian groaned inwardly at his uncle’s pronouncement, although the news did not surprise him in the slightest after six months of contemplating Decianus’ possible strategy. ‘He’s blamed me for stealing Boudicca’s silver and gold thus pushing the Iceni into revolt and making me responsible for the deaths of eighty thousand Roman citizens?’

  ‘What, dear boy?’ Gaius was momentarily distracted by the arrival of a platter of honeyed cakes brought to the table, shaded by a rigged awning in the corner of his courtyard garden, by an uncommonly attractive youth in his early teens. The smell of fresh baking blended with the scent of lavender hanging in the still air.

  Vespasian took a sip of his chilled wine, enjoying its coolness in the burning heat of an unseasonably hot June, and then repeated his assertion once the lad had left the garden and the sight of his barely concealed buttocks no longer commanded Gaius’ full attention.

  ‘Far worse, I’m afraid; far, far worse.’ Gaius helped himself to a cake and took a large mouthful. ‘Decianus has claimed that you had taken the money for yourself and that it was only his intervention that stopped you. At great personal risk, he managed to get it safely to the Cloelius Brothers and have it sent to Rome where he would have returned it to Seneca as soon as he got back.’

  ‘But that’s rubbish.’

  Gaius shrugged and consumed the other half of the cake, reaching for a replacement as he did so. ‘Of course it is and both Sabinus and the then Governor of Britannia, Gaius Suetonius Paulinus, have said as much in the Senate. But it doesn’t matter what the Senate believes – and in general they support you – what’s important is what the Emperor thinks and that is, to an ever-growing extent, in the hands of the Empress; or any other part of her anatomy, for that matter.’

  Vespasian slammed the palm of his hand onto the stone tabletop. ‘What is it that she’s got against me?’

  ‘Well, that’s the interesting thing.’ Gaius paused again for another mouthful of cake, leaving Vespasian waiting with rising impatience. He had not been in the best of moods since arriving back in Rome that afternoon, a month later than he had hoped due to his replacement’s insistence that the sea-lanes were not absolutely safe for passage until the latter part of April and so had therefore failed to arrive in Carthage until the beginning of May. And yet, Vespasian knew, Decianus had made the crossing much earlier, although how the ex-procurator had been able to afford the huge expense of hiring a ship at that time of year, he did not know.

  ‘The rumour is,’ Gaius continued as soon as his mouth was clear, ‘that Nero granted Poppaea Sabina a favour just before she married him, a favour that he was only too pleased to grant.’

  ‘Go on,’ Vespasian urged as Gaius once again crammed his mouth full of honeyed cake. Again he felt his irritation rising and had to force himself to sit still. It was a ritual that he always went through upon his return to Rome after a long absence: he would call immediately upon his uncle who would impart all the latest news and gossip to him whilst devouring a copious amount of his favourite snack. Vespasian knew he just had to wait for Gaius’ mouth to be empty enough to speak without spraying too many crumbs over the table.

  ‘Well, she asked for Pallas to be either executed or forced into suicide.’

  ‘It was her who demanded Pallas’ death?’ Vespasian could not hide his surprise. ‘Why?’ He brushed some freshly ejected crumbs from his forearm, considering just why Poppaea would wish for the death of the former imperial secretary to the Treasury, as Gaius finished his mouthful. ‘He may have been Agrippina’s lover, but once Nero had committed matricide and got rid of her he had very little influence remaining. What threat was he to her?’

  ‘Exactly, dear boy; what threat indeed? None. So therefore we have to look at the other motivation for wishing someone dead.’

  ‘Revenge.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘But what could Pallas have done to Poppaea? He had been forced out of Rome before Nero had even met her.’

  ‘Revenge has an exceedingly long memory, dear boy. Now, if I were to tell you that Poppaea has also tried to have Corbulo recalled to face treason charges for his taking command of Paetus’ legions, what would you say then?’

  ‘Me, Corbulo and Pallas?’

  ‘Bearing in mind that the Lady Antonia, Claudius, Narcissus and the former consul, Asiaticus, are all dead.’

  It did not take more than a couple of moments for Vespasian to make the unpleasant connection with one of the most shameful deeds of his life. ‘The murder of Poppaeus Sabinus!’

  ‘That’s what your brother and I think; you all conspired in her grandfather’s death. If I recall correctly, his daughter, Poppaea’s mother and namesake, came flying into Antonia’s garden, spitting and hissing, as only a woman can, soon after Poppaeus’ body had been discovered in his litter, and accused Antonia of ordering her father’s murder.’

  Vespasian never liked to be reminded of the incident that his former patroness, the Lady Antonia, the mother of Claudius, grandmother of Caligula and great-grandmother of Nero, the most powerful woman in Rome of her time, had instigated. It had been a political move necessary for securing her family’s grip on imperial power and consequently the murder had to be made to look like natural death; so they had drowned Poppaeus and then drained his body of all the water. However, Claudius, who was never known for his subtlety, had hit Poppaeus after he had mocked him and called him a fool; this had resulted in a cut lip and Poppaea had, rightly, concluded that this was a sign of a struggle and that her father’s death was not natural after all. She had correctly guessed who was behind the deed and had sworn revenge on Antonia and her associates there present in the garden. ‘So Poppaea Sabina brought up her daughter to have vengeance; but why didn’t she do it herself?’

  ‘How, dear boy? She was married to a nobody: Titus Ollius; once her father had died she had no influence anywhere. Had he not died when he did, Poppaea may well have ended up as empress so she had a lot to be bitter about. And yes, I believe that she did bring up her daughter to seek revenge on the people that she thinks deprived her of such a prize.’

  ‘That’s not a happy thought: the Empress wanting revenge for the death of her grandfather. I’ve always been afraid that such an ignoble deed would come back to haunt me.’ But then a thought struck Vespasian. ‘You and Sabinus were also in the garden when Poppaea came screaming in; why hasn’t she made any moves against you two?’

  ‘We weren’t involved, dear boy.’

  ‘How did she know that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea; I’m just pleased that she does. The real question is: how are we going to keep you safe? Seneca is out of favour and Epaphroditus resents you for forcing him to recommend you for Africa without him receiving a sesterce in return. And as for the prefects of the Praetorian Guard—’

  Vespasian waved a dismissive hand. ‘Tigellinus hates everyone – it would be pointless to go crawling to him; and Faenius Rufus is honest and would support me but lacks influence with the Emperor.’ He took another sip of his wine in contemplation. ‘Surely my getting all those citizens out of Garama must count for something with Nero?’

  ‘Ah, that’s the other thing.’

  ‘What other thing?’

  ‘The other thing that Decianus has managed to put about: he’s claimed that he took it upon himself to travel all the way to Garama to negotiate the freedom of the Roman citizens there in order to show his complete loyalty to Rome and Nero.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘And when you arrived he had already secured their release and they were all ready to leave.’

  Vespasian looked at his uncle, aghast, his hands gripping the arms of his chair as he leant forward. ‘But that’s so far from the truth as to be totally unbelievable.’

>   ‘Not if he repeats it enough.’

  ‘What would have possessed him to make such a journey in the first place? He was right in the north of the Empire and he travels all the way to beyond its southern border without going to Rome to sort out the financial mess he seems to have got himself into; bollocks!’

  ‘Of course it is; but Poppaea likes to believe it, or rather, pretends to believe it. And Epaphroditus is convinced that it’s perfectly reasonable that Decianus should have made such a journey unprompted and out of the goodness of his heart and so it must therefore be the truth. Nero just wants to know one thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Just where are his pearls?’

  ‘His pearls? I gave them to King Nayram, of course.’

  ‘I’m sure you did; but according to Decianus’ version of events—’

  ‘I didn’t even meet the king so therefore I must have kept the pearls.’ Vespasian groaned and massaged his temples with a thumb and forefinger. ‘The bastard! How can I prove that I didn’t keep them?’

  ‘It’s his word against yours.’

  Vespasian suddenly brightened. ‘And my lictors! They were there, obviously, when I presented myself to Nayram and handed over the pearls. They could swear to it, although I’ve surrendered them now I’m back in Rome.’

  ‘Let’s hope so, dear boy, because if Nero notices you this evening I think he’s going to want an explanation.’

  ‘Why should he notice me this evening? I intend to spend it with Caenis.’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Tigellinus is holding a banquet for Nero at Agrippa’s Lake and all the Senate are expected to attend; the way things are, it’s far too dangerous to upset Nero by not going as he’ll see it as a personal snub, especially as the feast is in honour of his first public appearance in a theatre.’

  Vespasian was horrified. ‘Performing in a public theatre? Surely not?’

  ‘Unfortunately so; a few days ago. He’s lost all dignity now. At least he chose Neapolis to flaunt himself and not Rome; but it can only be a matter of time before his shame is exposed here. And talking of shame and exposure, I think you ought to brace yourself for the usage that Nero makes of other people’s wives; as he considers everything in Rome to be his personal property and the entire city to be his private house. He has become very Caligulan in his outlook.’

  ‘Well, I’ve no intention of taking Flavia this evening.’

  ‘Even if you did have, you couldn’t.’

  Vespasian looked at his uncle, confused. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because, along with all the wives of the senatorial class, she’s already there.’

  It was with much trepidation that Vespasian arrived with Gaius, not long before sunset, at Agrippa’s Lake on the Campus Martius; it had been designed to be the reservoir holding the water to feed the Baths of Agrippa and, now also, the newly constructed Baths of Nero, between which two complexes the lake was situated. Gaius dismissed his escort of four thuggish-looking men, members of the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood, whose patronus, Tigran, was a client of his, with orders to return by the third hour of the night to wait to escort them back again. Passing the cohort of Praetorian Guards and a century of Germanic Bodyguards that signalled the presence of the Emperor, Vespasian beheld a lavish spectacle, for the banquet had not been prepared in the spacious colonnade around three sides of the lake, as he had assumed it would be, but, rather, on the water itself. Rafts had been built, half a dozen of them, and spaced around the artificial lake, which was one hundred and twenty paces long and sixty paces wide. Purple cloths bedecked them and dining tables, each with many couches set around, were arrayed upon them; three of the rafts were already full of reclining diners. Each raft had two boats attached to it, with a dozen oarsmen apiece, towing them gently around the lake so the diners could survey the treats languishing within the colonnades and also receive service at the open, northern end of the rectangle; here kitchens had been placed whose aromas filled the setting with the mouth-watering promise of the finest cuisine. A group of musicians, all masters of their instruments, completed the beauteous assault on the senses.

  ‘Tigellinus spent days getting the oarsmen together,’ Gaius informed Vespasian as they stood waiting to board a raft; around them, scores of other senators chatted with forced animation as if this were an event to be enjoyed despite what most, knowing their Emperor, suspected to be the truth.

  ‘How come?’ Vespasian replied, distracted by the naked whores writhing their way, in a variety of suggestive styles, through the senatorial group.

  Gaius paid them no heed, eyeing instead the oarsmen in the boats nearest to him, all of whom were made-up and coiffured with great care; flowers were laced in their hair and jewels hung from their ears and about their throats. Their attire was the sheerest of tunics. ‘They’re the finest whore-boys in the city; they’re all sorted by age and areas of expertise.’ His gaze roved over a crew in their very early teens as they shipped their oars, bringing their raft gently to land. ‘I wonder what they’re good at.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to guess; everything, I would have thought.’

  Coyness was not in the whore-boys’ repertoire and they competed against the naked whores for the senators’ attentions with lewd gestures that showed graphically what that boat specialised in.

  Vespasian grimaced in disgust; Gaius winced.

  Stepping with care onto the gently bobbing raft, an obliging steward supporting his elbow, Vespasian found it remarkably stable, even as it took the full force of his uncle’s weight, and he had no difficulty in walking to the table in the furthest corner. It was then he realised the function of the naked whores as one followed him and began to divest him of his toga; this done, she knelt before him to remove his shoes, although the lascivious light in her eyes as she glanced up at him showed that she was willing to remain in that position for a while longer, should he wish. Refusing the kind offer, Vespasian put on the slippers she retrieved from under the dining couch and reclined as she spread a napkin out before him and then wiped his hands with a warm, damp cloth.

  ‘Over here!’ Gaius shouted, waving towards the shore, glad to be distracted from the attentions of the nude female fussing over him.

  Vespasian looked over in that direction to see his brother making his way through the crowd, his status as prefect of Rome easing his passage as many deferred to him.

  ‘Oh, so you’re back,’ Sabinus muttered as he drew close to Vespasian. ‘It’s a shame you didn’t stay away a little longer.’

  ‘It’s lovely to see you too, brother.’

  Sabinus allowed his toga to be unwound. ‘No, I mean it; you should have stayed away longer.’

  Vespasian frowned at his brother’s lack of welcome. ‘Piss off, Sabinus.’

  Sabinus looked at Gaius as his shoes were removed. ‘You haven’t told him, have you?’

  ‘Now, dear boy, it’s not for me to know exactly what is going on here. Let alone speculate upon what may happen.’

  ‘May happen? Is happening.’

  ‘What is happening?’ Vespasian asked as Sabinus took a place between him and Gaius.

  ‘Look around you, brother; what do you see in the colonnades?’

  Vespasian had already glimpsed little tableaus of sexual activity within the shadowy interior of the colonnade, but as the light was fading it had been hard to make out the details. Now, however, slaves were circulating, lighting torches, and the tableaus started to glow with soft orange light, their details becoming clear. ‘Whores and their clients,’ he said in an offhand tone.

  ‘No, brother. Firstly the men are not clients because that implies that there has been some sort of financial transaction; they’re doing whatever they choose to do without paying. Secondly, the women aren’t whores.’

  As more torches were lit, Vespasian’s eyes grew accustomed to the light and he could make out the women in detail; he gasped. They wore the finest garments – those who still retained such items
– and their hairstyles were of the latest fashion and richly decorated. ‘Gods below, they’re—’

  ‘Yes, brother; they’re our wives and daughters and they’re commanded by the Emperor to refuse no man anything for the duration of the banquet, whatever his station.’

  ‘But ...’ Vespasian was going to say that Nero could not do that, yet as the words formed in his head he knew them to be false: Nero could do whatever he liked. As the raft was pulled out into the lake he scanned the various couples and groups unable to stop himself from seeking the sight he wished not to see.

  And then, of course, he saw it: there she was, Flavia, his wife, kneeling before a seated man as he held her head, his fists gripping hunks of hair, and pleasured himself at her oral expense.

  Sickness rose within Vespasian but it was not so much at the sight of his wife fellating another man, although that was bad enough, as were the thoughts of the other acts that she had already performed or would in the near future be forced into; no, it was not that: it was worse, for as he stared at his wife the man let go of her head with one of his hands and gave him a cheery wave. Vespasian looked into the hated eyes of Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus. ‘I’ll kill him! I’ll ... I’ll ...’ Vespasian jumped to his feet, causing the raft to rock, toppling a couple of goblets on the table, such was his fury; he bounded towards the water and was about to leap when he was yanked back by a fist clasping his belt.

  ‘That, brother, is exactly the sort of reaction that’s being looked for. That would have been the last defiance of a condemned man.’

  Vespasian turned to look into Sabinus’ eyes. ‘I’ll have vengeance; I will kill the cunt.’

  ‘I’m sure you will, Vespasian; but not here and not now.’

  ‘But look, he’s ... he’s ... How? How did it ... how did it ...’ Vespasian trailed off, feeling the impotence of his position. Corvinus, who had once promised to conduct himself as a dead man in Vespasian’s presence in return for Vespasian saving his life when Corvinus’ sister, the Empress Messalina, had been executed by her husband, Claudius, was now committing an outrage upon Flavia that had the sanction of the Emperor himself. There was nothing that he, Vespasian, could do. Sabinus was right, he could not dive into the lake, swim for the shore and drag Flavia away from Corvinus without specifically going against the will of Nero because Vespasian knew that in Nero’s city, Nero’s will was all; death came to those who opposed it. He could not blame Flavia for what she was doing as she was just one of hundreds of women forced into the same degradation for all to see around the lake. Many of the women he recognised as the wives or daughters of friends or acquaintances; all were involved in trysts of various descriptions and numerical variety. Some looked to be enjoying themselves, vocalising their pleasure and grinding their hips, whilst others stared blankly as they received the attentions of strangers of all ranks or even, as in Flavia’s case, rivals of their husbands intent on taking advantage of the situation for petty revenge.