False God of Rome Page 13

  ‘I have seen children executed before because they bore their father’s name and I will not see it done again.’

  ‘You haven’t got the power to stop me.’

  Vespasian grabbed Paulus by the arm and twisted him around; slamming his shield arm across his throat, he drew his pugio and stuck the point next to his kidneys. ‘I may not have the power, but I do have the will. One false move, you nasty little shit, and it’ll be your last. Festus! Eight men here to arrest this agitator.’

  A roar of protest went up from the crowd, but they did not move to intervene; the threat of the auxiliaries held them back.

  ‘You can’t arrest me,’ Paulus shrieked, ‘I have a warrant.’

  Vespasian pushed his pugio into Paulus’ skin, drawing blood. ‘Then you had better tear it up because if I can’t arrest you my dagger might just slip.’ He pulled his blade across Paulus’ flesh, slicing it.

  Paulus cried out in pain, squirming unsuccessfully to release himself. He took the scroll and slowly ripped it down the middle, then across and dropped the pieces. ‘You are as arrogant as your brother whom I had the misfortune to meet in Judaea,’ he declared contemptuously.

  ‘Your opinion means nothing to me, you’re irrelevant now.’

  ‘I am a man of great potential, quaestor, held back by the petty ambitions of people like you; I will be very relevant to you one day, I assure you.’

  Vespasian shoved Paulus into the arms of the waiting auxiliaries. ‘Take him down to the port and have him put aboard the next ship heading for Judaea.’

  Paulus glared at him with loathing and spat at his feet.

  Vespasian turned his back on him and addressed the crowd. ‘Your leader has torn up his authority and is on his way back to Judaea. All those who throw down their weapons now will live; those who don’t will die. Those already in custody will be sent to the Governor for trial with the recommendation of death and I will not negotiate on that point. My soldiers stand ready; what’s it to be?’

  Almost instantaneously the rioters started throwing their weapons to the ground.

  ‘Prefect, round them up and put them all to work dousing the fires and clearing up the damage; if anyone refuses they can join the prisoners being sent to Creta. And bring the woman and her children to me at the Governor’s Residence, and Yosef as well.’

  ‘How can I thank you, quaestor?’ Yeshua’s woman sobbed with relief as Quintillius showed her and Yosef into Vespasian’s study. She fell to her knees and kissed his feet; her two children stood shyly behind her next to Yosef.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked, bending down from his chair and lifting her chin.

  ‘Mariam, quaestor.’

  ‘Well, Mariam, what would you have me do with you?’

  ‘Allow me to take my children to safety.’

  ‘To Gaul?’

  ‘To Carthage first then in the spring I’ll make the crossing to Gaul.’

  ‘Why Gaul?’

  ‘There are very few Jews there, I won’t be recognised.’

  ‘Why do the Jewish priests want you dead?’

  ‘I can answer that, quaestor,’ Yosef offered. ‘On the third day after Yeshua died she and some of his disciples went to his tomb in order to take his body back to Galilee; they found it empty.’

  ‘Someone else took the body?’

  ‘We don’t know. Caiaphas the High Priest wanted it buried in an unmarked grave so perhaps the Temple Guards took it secretly after we had placed it in the tomb. They were waiting for it but your brother gave it to me. But perhaps he still lives. There have been a number of people who claim to have seen and spoken with him; some say that he has gone into the East.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous, the man was crucified; even if he did survive somehow he would be a cripple.’

  ‘I know.’ Yosef spread his hands, hunching his shoulders. ‘But nevertheless his body wasn’t in the tomb and he has been seen. Perhaps he didn’t die, perhaps he was resurrected as those who have seen him claim, or perhaps it’s just someone impersonating him. It doesn’t matter, the priests are hunting down everyone who can bear witness to the empty tomb or to Yeshua still being alive.’

  ‘Believe whatever nonsense you like.’ Vespasian’s mind started to turn to thoughts of Flavia. ‘You are both free to go but how and where is up to you; your ship turned back eastwards a couple of days ago according to the port aedile’s records.’

  ‘God will provide,’ Mariam said as she got to her feet.

  ‘I am again in your debt; God be with you, quaestor,’ Yosef said, walking towards the door.

  ‘I prefer to have more than one god looking after me.’

  Quintillius opened the door and let them out.

  ‘Quaestor,’ the clerk said once they were alone, ‘we found the house where Flavia Domitilla was staying.’

  ‘Excellent. Did she accept the invitation to dinner?’

  ‘She wasn’t there.’

  ‘Then go and wait until she comes back.’

  ‘I’m afraid that would prove fruitless. The landlord told us that the day after the fighting started Flavia Domitilla boarded a Judaean trading ship heading east.’

  PART II

  ROME, JULY AD 35

  CHAPTER VIII

  ‘WHAT IN THE name of Mars are they doing?’ Vespasian asked Magnus in alarm as a group of seemingly demented women came rushing towards them, across the Forum Boarium, beating themselves with branches.

  ‘Nothing in Mars’ name, sir,’ Magnus replied, restraining Ziri who had dropped the hand-cart containing their belongings and Capella’s chest in order to defend them from the oncoming screaming women. ‘They’re slaves and they do that in Juno’s name. It’s the Caprotinia; all the female slaves in the city get the day off and run around hitting themselves with fig-tree branches.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘No one’s really quite sure.’ Magnus helped a very confused Ziri pick up the hand-cart as the women rushed past. ‘I’ve heard that it was something to do with a woman prisoner in the Gallic camp during their invasion of Italia. She gave a signal from a fig tree for our lads to storm out of the city and take the hairy buggers by surprise. Anyway, who gives a fuck why they do it, the important thing is that they do and it’s always a great night; by the time they’ve finished running about beating themselves they’re extremely excited and very amenable, if you take my meaning?’

  ‘I’m sure I do,’ Vespasian said, wondering if Caenis was out whipping herself up into a frenzy and found himself quite interested by the idea.

  Another band of women, some of them baring their breasts, came howling into the Forum, scattering passers-by who laughed good-naturedly at their antics.

  Magnus licked his lips appreciatively. ‘We’re back just in time; not only do we get very enthusiastic, half-naked women, but we also get a nice few days at the circus to recover from any excesses that we might have indulged in, as the Caprotinia falls during the eight days of the Apollo Games. I love July.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Vespasian agreed, unhappy to be reminded that it was already over halfway through the year and he was only now arriving back in Rome.

  His disappointment at the disappearance of Flavia Domitilla had been compounded by his enforced extended stay in Cyrenaica; he had then been obliged to wait until June for his replacement, a sour-faced young man, who had evidently felt the posting far beneath him and had shown little desire to arrive promptly in the province. Once he had eventually been relieved, unseasonal gales had delayed his return for another two frustrating market intervals.

  Apart from a longing to see Caenis again and to forget about Flavia in her arms, his main reason for wanting to get back to Rome as soon as possible had been to hand over Capella’s chest – minus the gold and the bankers’ draft – to Antonia. Narcissus would soon become concerned enough by its non-arrival to instigate an investigation, which would in all likelihood lead to Vespasian, and he did not like the idea of being waylaid and relieved of his newf
ound wealth by hired thugs in the pay of Claudius’ ambitious freedman.

  Passing out of the Forum Boarium with the huge facade of the Circus Maximus to their right they turned left onto Vicus Tuscus, heading to the Forum Romanum. Ziri’s face, already slack-jawed with amazement since entering the city, became a picture of disbelief as he looked up at the monumental House of Augustus with its high marble walls, dominating the summit of the Palatine.

  Magnus clapped his slave on the shoulder. ‘A bit different to the arse-end of a camel, eh, Ziri?’

  ‘Fucking right, master; I never fucking seen such a fucking thing, fucked if I has.’

  Vespasian frowned. ‘You’ve got to stop him from swearing all the time, Magnus; it’ll get him into trouble.’

  ‘He’s all right; you should be impressed by how quickly he picked up Latin.’

  ‘Yes, I am; the trouble is that he’s picked up your sort of Latin.’

  ‘Who are you to talk with your country-bumpkin Sabine burr, if you don’t mind me saying, sir? At least he sounds like a Roman.’

  ‘Yes, I sound like a Roman, sir,’ Ziri said with pride, ‘I no sound like a cunt.’

  ‘Ziri!’ Magnus snapped, clouting him around the ear.

  ‘Sorry, master.’

  Having made their slow way through the festival crowds up the Quirinal Hill they eventually arrived at the familiar door of Vespasian’s uncle, Senator Gaius Vespasius Pollo. Magnus knocked and, after a brief delay, it was opened by a young and very attractive dark-skinned youth.

  ‘My uncle’s broadening his tastes, it would seem,’ Vespasian observed to Magnus once he had given the lad instructions to show Ziri around to the slaves’ entrance with their belongings, Magnus having first relieved him of Capella’s chest.

  ‘Change pleases,’ Magnus quoted as they walked through the vestibule and into the atrium.

  ‘Dear boy,’ boomed Gaius, walking out of his study, ‘and Magnus, my friend! I heard someone at the door and was praying that it would be you; I’ve been worried sick for the last few days.’ He came waddling at great speed across the mosaic floor, the ample flesh on his plump body wobbling frantically under his tunic. He enveloped Vespasian in a smothering embrace while planting a moist, rubbery kiss on his cheeks. ‘When I heard of the foul weather out at sea I was worried that you may have shared the fate of the first grain fleet of the season heading from Egypt.’ He grasped Magnus’ forearm and gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder.

  ‘What happened to it, Uncle?’ Vespasian asked, putting his hand to his face, as if in concern, in order to surreptitiously wipe off the excess saliva from each cheek.

  ‘Only two out of the thirty transports made it through, the rest were shipwrecked off Kithria; that’s why I was so concerned for you two. The humorists are saying that the only reason the storms stopped is because Neptune’s now too busy baking bread. Sabinus is having a terrible time of it: he’s the aedile in charge of the grain supply in the city and the granaries are getting low and the mob are getting angry. Thankfully, for Sabinus and the Senate, most of their anger is directed towards Tiberius for staying on Capreae and – as they see it – deserting them. But come and sit down.’ Gaius led Vespasian through the atrium towards the peristylium. ‘Aenor, bring wine, and take Magnus to the kitchen for some refreshments,’ he called to the young, blond-haired, blue-eyed German slave boy who had been hovering in the background, waiting to be of service, while his master greeted his guests. ‘And cakes, we must have honeyed cakes.’

  ‘It would seem, my dear boy, that you’re in a tricky position,’ Gaius mused, looking at the contents of Capella’s chest. ‘Your instinct to take it to Antonia for her to decide what to do about it is correct, but that could also be seen as an act of treason.’

  ‘What do you mean, Uncle? I’m not aiding Narcissus; he’s the one who’s committing treason by buying up land for Claudius in Egypt without the Emperor’s permission.’

  ‘No, you’re not aiding him, I grant you that; but neither are you exposing him as a traitor, and if you cash his bankers’ draft that could be seen as a bribe. Since the restarting of the treason trials that might be considered to be a little foolhardy.’

  Vespasian went to protest but Gaius held up his hand. ‘Hear me out, dear boy. You must remember that you are no longer a mere thin-stripe military tribune or a lowly member of the vigintiviri; you are now a senator. Your duty is to the Senate and to the Emperor, not to Antonia, who is purely a private citizen and a female one at that. Yes, she is very powerful in her own way but she is not the government or even an official part of the State.’ Gaius paused to take a sip of his wine and reach for the last remaining cake.

  The air in the courtyard garden was pleasingly cool and the wine delicate and refreshing; had his uncle not just given him cause for concern Vespasian might have found himself relaxing for the first time since Capella’s chest had come into his possession.

  ‘You’re recommending that I take the chest to the Senate or directly to the Emperor then, Uncle?’

  ‘I didn’t say that, I was just pointing out where your duty lies. Your obligation, however, is an entirely different matter and that’s why you’re in a tricky situation. If you were to go to the Senate with this thing, Antonia would never forgive you for putting her son, however much she dislikes him, in danger; she considers that to be her prerogative.’

  ‘And then I’d have her, as well as Narcissus, as an enemy,’ Vespasian groaned. He put down his cup and held his head in his hands, cursing the day that he met Flavia and his arrogance that had led him into this situation. ‘I could take it directly to one of the Consuls in private,’ he suggested after a few moments’ thought.

  ‘Good thinking but it won’t work with the Suffect Consuls that we have this half of the year. Decimus Valerius Asiaticus is Antonia’s man, he used to look after her interests in Narbonese Gaul. He owes everything to her, not least his being the first Consul of Gallic origin. Antonia would hear of it within the hour. His junior, Aulus Gabinius Secundus, is a talentless, vicious man who would use the information to cause as much trouble as he could for everyone involved. I’m afraid that I can see only one course of action for you to take and that is to steer the middle ground.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘You can’t do your duty to the Senate until it next meets in three days’ time, after the close of the festival of Apollo, so in the meantime I suggest that you fulfil your obligation to Antonia. Show her the land deeds and explain the predicament that you find yourself in, emphasising of course that your loyalty to her was the reason why you brought it to her first, and ask her if you should take it to the Senate. You never know, she might surprise you.’

  ‘What if she doesn’t?’

  ‘Then, my dear boy, at least you would have some sort of defence if the worst should come to the worst; you could truthfully say in court that Antonia told you not to take it to the Senate.’

  ‘But how could I prove that?’

  ‘Ask Antonia for a formal meeting; then you’ll get a copy of the minutes.’

  ‘But she could still deny it.’

  ‘Not if you take a witness. Unfortunately I won’t do and nor would Sabinus; a court won’t believe that we’re not just supporting your case through family loyalty.’

  ‘Who, then?’

  ‘I would have thought that that’s quite obvious: your old comrade from the Fourth Scythica, Corbulo. I know that he’s in Rome at the moment as he’s trying to get elected as a praetor for next year; he’s desperate to come above Sabinus in the poll. His father told me a long time ago that he feels that his family is obliged to us for you saving his son’s life in Thracia; I’ll call in the favour immediately.’

  ‘I can’t say that I’m too happy to be doing this, Vespasian,’ Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo told Vespasian as they approached Antonia’s house on the Palatine. ‘Especially if you won’t tell me what it’s about.’ He pointed over his shoulder vaguely at Magnus who was flanked by two of his cro
ssroads brothers, Marius and Sextus; Ziri brought up the rear. ‘I can only assume that it’s something to do with what’s in the chest that your man’s carrying.’

  ‘That’ll be Magnus, Corbulo,’ Magnus said lightly, ‘remember? You sat in my shit and I sat in yours in that cart all the way across Thracia, nine years ago, after we’d been captured by some very nasty tribesmen.’

  Corbulo wrinkled his nose at the memory of the journey and subsequent near escape from the Thracians, but refused to acknowledge that he could recollect the name of someone so beneath him after such a long time.

  ‘Pompous arsehole,’ Magnus muttered, but not entirely to himself.

  Corbulo held his chin in the air disdaining to hear the comment. Vespasian shot Magnus a withering look over his shoulder; Magnus shrugged and smiled innocently.

  ‘Believe me, Corbulo, it’s best if you don’t know what it’s about unless you have to,’ Vespasian said, trying to get back onto the subject. ‘You’re right that it’s to do with what’s in the chest. I plan to show the contents to the Lady Antonia and then we’ll discuss what to do about them in your presence. That way you won’t be put in any danger because you won’t know what we’re talking about; I just need you to witness what she asks me to do about it so that you could back me up in court if it came to it.’

  Corbulo looked down his long nose at him. ‘You’re way out of your league, Vespasian. However, I’ll do this to repay the debt that my father insists that I owe you, but that’s it – the slate is clean afterwards.’

  ‘Let us both pray that there is an afterwards,’ Vespasian muttered as they approached the tall, single-storey villa that belonged to the most formidable woman in Rome.