Emperor of Rome Read online

  ‘Forty-six days,’ Caenis said.

  ‘Forty-six days? And we go in tomorrow just before the dawn of the forty-seventh; it looks like Yosef’s prediction will come true, after all.’

  ‘I’ll make sure that it does, Father,’ Titus said, smiling with relief that his father had not proved to be obstinate in the matter. ‘I’ll take the first century of my first cohort to do the job. They are raring to avenge Urbicus, although none of them had any reason to love him personally.’

  ‘I would hope not. We can’t have the men liking their centurions, especially the primus pilus. Who’s his replacement?’

  ‘Labinus from the third century as Centurion Fabius of the second is now without his right hand.’

  ‘I expect Labinus will be anxious to get a grip on his new command; this will be an ideal opportunity for him. I look forward to hearing how it goes.’ Vespasian winked at his son. ‘You may have banned me from the night assault but I can assure you that I’ll be there when the rest of the legion come through the breach, even if I have to swallow my pride and have Magnus and Hormus carry me.’

  ‘You’ll be swallowing something all right, if you ask me to carry you,’ Magnus muttered. ‘And I can assure you that it won’t be your pride.’ He cast Vespasian a wicked grin. ‘It’ll be my pride, if you take my meaning?’

  Before Vespasian could say whether he did or not take Magnus’ meaning, the centurion commanding the guard snapped to attention in the doorway.

  ‘What is it, Plancius?’

  ‘Sir! Herod Agrippa is here, sir!’

  ‘Herod Agrippa? What’s he doing here?’

  ‘Sir! He says he’s here at your invitation, sir!’

  Vespasian had a sick feeling bubble in his stomach as he realised that he was about to have his face rubbed into his failure by the oily oriental; to refuse him admittance would be the act of a coward. ‘You’d better show him in then.’

  ‘And so, my dear general,’ Herod Agrippa oozed, ‘determined as I was to take up your gracious offer of dining with you in Jotapata, I readied myself, as you can see, in my finest attire.’ He indicated to the long robe of delicate linen, embroidered with gold and silver thread and girded by a belt of golden chain; over his shoulders, he sported a black and white patterned mantle, the work of many hours of intricate knitting. A bejewelled turban and golden-toed calfskin slippers completed the apparel. He looked with sympathy at Caenis. ‘Alas, my good lady, you can imagine my consternation when I approached Jotapata only to find myself being shot at as, despite Vespasian’s admirable confidence this morning, the town seems to remain in the hands of the rebels.’ He spread his arms in a gesture indicating his total bemusement at the situation.

  Vespasian suppressed his urge to slip a dagger between the tetrarch’s ribs; he gave his most ingratiating, false smile. ‘I’m very sorry to have put you to such inconvenience, Herod Agrippa; I’m sure it must have come as a complete surprise to find that we had failed to take the town today. Why, you are a man of such importance that I’m sure you were weighed down with so many of the affairs of state of your vast domains as to be oblivious to all that was going on around you, despite being nominally in command of a large contingent of my army.’ He indicated to the couch next to him. ‘But please, do recline and drink some wine; I’m sure my cook will be serving dinner very soon.’

  Herod’s return smile was equally as hollow and even more sickly as he took up Vespasian’s offer. ‘That is most kind of you, general. My sister has just arrived in the camp; may I send her a message to join us?’

  ‘It would be my pleasure to meet her; I shall send her an invitation at once.’

  ‘You are most kind, general. Now, tell me, as a person of little martial experience, I should be pleased to hear the insights of one so practised in the ways of war – what went wrong today?’

  Vespasian indicated to Hormus to escort the Jewish deserter, still kneeling on the floor, out of the tent. ‘And tell the cook to serve dinner as soon as he can and then bring some more wine on the way back, Hormus.’ He turned his attention back to Herod. ‘What went wrong, you ask. I’ll tell you what went wrong, Herod: nothing went wrong. In fact, it is all going according to plan as tomorrow is the forty-seventh day of the siege, the day that Yosef himself predicted for the fall of Jotapata. And knowing you Jews and your predilection for prophecies I thought that I would oblige him.’

  Dinner had been a strained affair as Herod bluntly refused to let go of the failure to capture the town that afternoon, always returning to the subject whenever possible in whatever roundabout way he could think of. Vespasian responded by either ignoring the change of subject and striking up another conversation with Caenis, Titus or Magnus, or deliberately misunderstanding Herod’s intention and apologising for not having invited him to take a personal part in the action and offering him and his men the honour of storming the breach first at dawn the following morning.

  ‘Again, I must refuse your kind offer, general,’ Herod said, with deep regret in his voice, in reply to Vespasian’s third invitation to lead the attack, this time with the reasoning that the tetrarch could take his place due to him being incapacitated by his wound. ‘I know that the army would benefit from having a man of my rank, and undoubted importance, leading it, but I fear that my paucity of military knowledge would in some way detract from my other qualities.’

  ‘Then, my dear Herod Agrippa,’ Vespasian said, his voice melodramatically earnest, ‘this would be an ideal opportunity to expand that knowledge.’

  ‘Alas, I think not; if only you hadn’t failed to take the town this afternoon, then this conversation would not be happening. Such a shame; and you were so sure that you would, weren’t you? Never mind; but it must be playing on your thoughts.’ Herod shook his head with regret and helped himself to another fillet of salted fish. ‘However, I would consider having a more forward role in the retaking of Tiberias; I believe that would be greatly suited to my talents.’

  ‘Don’t you mean your purse, Herod?’ Titus said, his face barely disguising his dislike of the tetrarch. ‘You would dearly love a chunk of the proceeds from selling the prisoners.’

  Herod’s expression was one of complete innocence as he picked at his salted fish. ‘The financial considerations have nothing whatever to do with it, my dear Titus. Tiberias was, or is, my capital. It was the destruction of my palace there that was the ignition of the revolt. All my artwork and statues destroyed because the religious fanatics that we’re dealing with take quite literally the injunction not to forge graven images. All that art and beauty destroyed in the name of religion.’

  Vespasian gave an unamused laugh. ‘All that art and beauty that you would, no doubt, wish to replace, at great expense, once you’ve rebuilt your palace at even more expense. I’m sure the proceeds from the sale of any slaves would be very welcome; especially if you’ve done nothing to deserve it.’

  ‘We can afford to rebuild our palace, General Vespasian,’ an imperious female voice said.

  All in the room looked towards the doorway to see a woman, in her late thirties, of exquisite refinement and great beauty.

  ‘Sir! She wouldn’t wait, sir!’ Plancius reported from over her shoulder.

  The woman winced at the loudness of the voice in her ear but disdained to look at its origin, so far beneath her did she, evidently, deem the centurion to be.

  ‘That’s all right, Plancius,’ Vespasian said, knowing who the new arrival was. ‘You may go.’

  ‘Sir! Yes, sir!’ Plancius snapped a salute and turned sharply on his left foot before marching away at the double.

  Vespasian looked to Herod. ‘I believe it should be you who makes the introductions, my dear Herod.’

  Herod rose to his feet, his eyes staring at the vision of womanly perfection with greed. He walked over to her and kissed her on the lips and then, taking her hand, presented her to the company. ‘This is my sister, Queen Berenice.’

  Dark-haired and pale-skinned with a full figure
and adorned with sparkling jewels and a couple of hours’ worth of makeup, she was, indeed, a vision to behold, especially as she eschewed the traditional dull and shapeless dress of a Jewess and was clad in a far less concealing manner and far more expensively than her brother.

  ‘The general, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, commander of the army of the East,’ Herod said, indicating to Vespasian.

  Pushing aside the temptation to ask Berenice just where she thought she was queen of, Vespasian inclined his head towards her. ‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Berenice. You’ll excuse me if I don’t get up.’ He gestured to his bandaged foot and neglected to say that he had no intention of getting up, with or without his wound.

  Berenice looked down her pronounced nose at Vespasian, her pale blue eyes assessing him with evident disappointment. ‘I imagined you to be—’

  ‘To be what?’ Vespasian cut in, instantly disliking this haughty faux-queen for the way she looked at him. ‘More refined, perhaps? Less of the Sabine farmer in my appearance?’

  Berenice checked herself. ‘No, general, that is not what I meant; what I meant was that—’

  ‘I wouldn’t say what you meant, my dear,’ Caenis said, getting to her feet and approaching Berenice. ‘It might be misconstrued and then we might all say that we imagined you to be more polite.’ She held out her hand, smiling with what Vespasian took to be genuine warmth.

  There was a pause before Berenice took Caenis’ proffered hand. ‘You must be Caenis, the former slave of Antonia the younger.’

  Caenis’ smile remained fixed. ‘I am, although I prefer to think of myself as the freedwoman, Antonia Caenis, wife in all but name of the most powerful man in the East. Indeed, one could almost think of him as a king, which would make me his queen. Where did you say you were queen of, my dear? As I believe your second husband, King Herod of Chalcis, died twenty years ago and then you abandoned your third, King Polemon of Pontus, soon after marrying him. You’re not married to your brother, are you?’ Gripping Berenice’s hand firmly, Caenis led her to the couch. ‘Please won’t you join us; we’re only on the third course.’

  Vespasian felt a deep love for Caenis as she helped settle the bristling Berenice on the couch next to her. He glanced over to Titus to see if he had enjoyed the demonstration as much. One look at his son caused Vespasian to start; he knew the expression written all over Titus’ face, he knew it only too well for it had been on his face one time too: it had been on his face all those years back on the day he had entered Rome for the first time. It had been the day he had first set eyes on Caenis.

  One look at Titus, slack-jawed, soft-eyed and head tilting, and Vespasian knew that, despite being at least a decade younger than Berenice, his son was hopelessly in love.

  ‘You take care, Titus,’ Vespasian said, as the first century of the first cohort of the XV Apollinaris formed up in the shadowed Via Principalis, at the beginning of the eleventh hour of the night, two hours before dawn. ‘If the deserter was lying and they are alert in there, fall back immediately. Don’t take any unnecessary risks.’

  ‘Father, stop acting like a mother hen,’ Titus replied as, behind him, Centurion Labinus and his optio silently counted their men off with the aid of a flaming torch. ‘I have every intention of coming back alive; in fact, I’ve never felt more alive.’

  The gleam in Titus’ eye told Vespasian exactly what was making his son feel so vivacious. Vespasian had watched as Titus made, at first halting and then more fluent, conversation with Berenice over the last couple of courses at dinner and how he had hung on her every word in reply, agreeing far too readily and enthusiastically with her assertions as to the progress of the war. He had noted with interest how her brother had seemed to grow more attentive to Berenice the more she favoured Titus with her attention. But most of all he had noticed the soft brush of his arm that Berenice had favoured Titus with upon withdrawing for the night and the thrill that it clearly gave him; so much so, that Vespasian had observed his son caressing the skin that she had touched on a number of occasions since. ‘She’s eleven years older than you; she’s going to be forty next year, I checked with Caenis.’

  Titus looked at his father in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that the non-queen Berenice was born eleven years before you. She has been married three times, has two grown-up sons. She’s Jewish – although, granted, not rabidly so – and is, if the rumours that Caenis has heard are to be believed, a frequent and enthusiastic visitor to her brother’s bed and is also no stranger to liaisons less close to home. He, you will note, is not married and never has been. All in all, I would say that she is the most unsuitable woman for you and I advise you to forget her.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  Vespasian put his hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Titus, I saw the way you ogled her, all doe-eyed and drooling; don’t tell me that you don’t know what I’m talking about. Cupid sent an arrow right into your heart and it’s my job to persuade you to pull it out because it will cause you nothing but grief to love that woman.’

  ‘She’s beautiful, Father.’

  ‘So are countless other, far more suitable, women; women who can give you children, an heir. Berenice is most probably too old to bear children safely and besides, even if she did, she’s Jewish and Jewishness passes down through the mother. Do you want your children to be Jewish? Just look around you, look what we’re fighting; would you want your offspring to associate themselves with all this?’

  ‘They would be brought up Roman with Roman gods.’

  ‘Ah! So you’ve already considered the matter, have you? That was quick. Well, let me tell you something: whether you bring your children up to be Roman and respecting the Roman gods is irrelevant as you will spend much of your life away from them in the service of Rome, whereas Berenice, if you are foolish enough to make her a mother to your offspring, will be with them for far more of the time and who knows what sort of poison she will drip into their ears. No, Son, you can’t trust a woman like that. And if in the unlikely event that she did return, or, more likely, pretend to return, your affection, I can guarantee that it would be for selfish reasons; she would be using you to further her own ends.’

  ‘What could she use me for, Father? I’m just a legionary legate.’

  ‘At the moment you are; but you are also the son of the commander of the army of the East at a time when the West is starting to look more and more unstable. Now you think about that when you’ve finished capturing the citadel and ask yourself this: if the West does flare up and the Emperor is deposed, how many legions could an eastern army muster if it were to join the dash for power that would inevitably follow?’ Vespasian leant on both his crutches and kissed his son’s forehead. ‘Now, go and take care of yourself. I’ll see you later when Jotapata is finally in our hands. And, if you can, take Yosef alive.’

  ‘We think he’s down there, Father,’ Titus said, pointing to the entrance of a cistern, as Vespasian hobbled towards him on his crutches, across a small agora. Breathing hard, having climbed the citadel with Magnus and his dogs and Hormus, Vespasian scented the stench of death. All around, in the dawning light, lay the aftermath of a surprise attack: bodies, some intact and some not, piles of offal, discarded weaponry, spent shot or arrows, doors and shutters hanging loose where hiding places had been breached, and all swathed in the mixture of smoke and steam from fires still burning or recently extinguished. Legionaries roamed the streets, searching for what spoils of war they could find as was their right having taken the town. The wailing of children and the cries of ravaged women filled the air as the customs of siegecraft were adhered to and the victors took their pleasure; the fact that so few women were found alive meant that their ordeals were protracted.

  ‘Are you sure it’s him?’ Vespasian asked, catching his breath before leaning forward and peering down through the opening into a cavernous interior; there was a faint flicker of torchlight and the sound of voices coming from within but no one
was visible.

  Titus shrugged and again touched his arm, involuntarily, where Berenice had brushed it. ‘We haven’t found his body and Malichus assures me that no one slipped through the cordon that his Arabs set at the base of the hill, so that leaves either in here or in another hiding place that we’ve yet to discover. But I think he’s down there with another twenty or so.’

  Vespasian grinned. ‘We really did catch them by surprise, didn’t we?’

  Titus returned the smile. ‘We were over the walls and in the citadel without being challenged once; the deserter was right, they were too exhausted to stay awake and the door was exactly where he said it would be, unguarded and unlocked.’

  ‘Yes, the rest of the cohort went through the breach with hardly any opposition, just a few sentries, most of whom were dozing. Ironic, isn’t it, that after forty-seven days of the toughest siege I’ve ever conducted, it should fall with hardly a whimper.’ Vespasian looked back at the cistern and then signalled to Hormus. ‘Have a listen and see if you can understand what they’re saying down there.’

  The freedman bent down to put his ear to the opening and closed his eyes. ‘It’s an argument, master,’ Hormus said after a few moments; he listened on. ‘It seems that there are three different points of view. One party is insisting that they should come out and fight to the death and take as many of us with them as possible. Another says that is too risky and they run the risk of being captured and humiliated and should therefore just commit suicide immediately. And then there is a third point of view, which seems to be held by just one man, that they should surrender and throw themselves at your mercy, because, surely, as a soldier, you would appreciate the bravery they have shown and grant them mercy as one soldier to another.’

  Magnus gave a grim chuckle. ‘Whoever that is doesn’t know you at all well.’

  Vespasian agreed with that assessment. ‘Yes, the men are all going to be nailed up and the women and children are headed for the slave markets of Delos.’