False God of Rome Read online

  ‘I have already taken my first steps along that path. Unfortunately it will be a long journey unless I have him assassinated, which I dare not do for fear of an uprising by the Praetorian Guard who are, as you know, very loyal to him and would see it as an attack on the position that they hold in Rome.’

  ‘Remove Poppaeus, domina,’ Corbulo said with a vengeful glint in his eye, ‘without him there is no money.’

  ‘Yes, but how? If I have treason charges brought against him I will alert Macro to the fact that I know what he’s planning.’

  ‘Then have him murdered,’ Vespasian said, hardly believing that he was suggesting such a thing; how long had it taken him to go from taking bribes to suggesting murder?

  ‘That would have the same effect as the previous suggestion,’ Antonia said dismissively.

  ‘Not if it were made to look like he died of natural causes, domina.’

  Antonia looked at him; a smile slowly spread across her lips. ‘Well done, Vespasian; that would work. If he just drops down dead Macro will simply have to accept it as bad luck and will have to start looking for another rich and treacherous sponsor, which could take months, even years. That is very clever.’

  ‘But how could we achieve that and who would do it?’ Asiaticus asked, evidently unconvinced. ‘It’s not as if we could get someone into his house and smother him in his bed, there’d be too many people in his household to get past.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Corbulo offered in a low voice. ‘I know that it’s not an honourable way to kill a fellow senator but the way he tried to have me killed was even less honourable, so if this is my only chance for revenge, I’ll take it.’

  Vespasian knew that he would never feel comfortable looking Corbulo in the eye again if, having suggested such an unworthy way of killing their mutual enemy, he did not share in the deed. ‘And I’ll help you, Corbulo,’ he said with a sinking heart. It grieved him that all the high ideals that he had felt when first entering Rome, almost ten years previously, should have come down to this. He realised, in that moment, that there was nothing that he would not do to keep his vision of Rome alight – a Rome ruled with honour, free from the civil wars that brought an end to the Republic. And yet here he was offering to protect that vision with murder; how his grandmother, Tertulla, would laugh if she could see him now, he mused.

  ‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Antonia said with sincerity. ‘I know how much this goes against everything that you have been brought up to believe in but I would not ask this of you if I could see any other way.’

  Vespasian and Corbulo looked at each other and gave mirthless smiles; they both knew that they had volunteered to do something that they would never be able to forgive themselves for.

  Asiaticus cleared his throat; uncomfortable with what had just been decided, but nevertheless understanding that it was the only possible course of action, he brought the conversation back to the practicalities of the matter. ‘So how do we achieve this if we assume that to do it in his own house would be nigh on impossible?’

  ‘Poison wouldn’t work,’ Antonia stated, ‘it would take too long to administer small quantities to make it look like he was dying of a wasting disease, and anyway how would you get access to his food on a regular basis?’

  There was a silence as everyone around the table tried to work out how to murder somebody and make it look like a natural death if they were not in their own bed or sitting at their study table or similar.

  The silence was eventually broken by Pallas from his position by the door. ‘May I be of assistance, domina?’

  Antonia looked up. ‘No doubt you have some of your valuable observations to make, Pallas; they are always a pleasure to hear, so, please, come to our aid.’

  The steward stepped forward into the light. ‘You are kind, domina. I have only one observation to make and that is: to achieve this thing convincingly it has to be done in private but the body must be found in public. Now if we rule out killing Poppaeus in his own home we have to find another private place in which to do it. Where else in Rome does Poppaeus go? The Senate, the baths, the law courts, his friends’ houses for dinner? None of these are private. He would never accept an invitation from you, domina, nor would it be seemly if this act were perpetrated in the house of the Senior Consul – that would be taking dishonour too far.’

  Asiaticus nodded his agreement. ‘We would be trying the gods’ patience if we were to sully the office of the senior magistrate in Rome with low murder.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Pallas agreed. ‘So the only time in the near future that I can envisage Poppaeus needing to be in private is when he’s doing a secret deal.’

  ‘Exchanging the deeds for the debt marker at Claudius’ house,’ Vespasian exclaimed. ‘Of course! But that would mean that Claudius and Narcissus would both have to be party to the plan.’

  ‘I don’t think that’ll be a problem,’ Antonia said, ‘it comes down to money. If we wait until after the exchange has been made, I’m sure that both my son and his oily freedman will be only too pleased either to help or at least turn a blind eye, as they will end up with not only a signed-off debt marker but they’ll also still be in possession of the deeds to those seven estates. That should be inducement enough and it also furthers my purposes: it will give Claudius the extra income that he will need should I decide that it would be better for Rome for him to become the next Emperor.’

  ‘And might you decide that, Lady?’ Asiaticus enquired, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘It depends on how my little Gaius behaves himself in the next few months; but if I were you, Asiaticus, I would keep up my friendship with that idiot son of mine.’

  ‘Oh, I intend to,’ the Consul replied with a conspiratorial smile.

  Antonia turned her attention back to her steward. ‘Thank you for that timely observation, Pallas. Now that you’ve enlightened us on where to do it, do you have an observation on how it might be done?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, domina,’ Pallas replied apologetically, ‘but I have an idea who might be able to help us with that delicate matter, bearing in mind the mysterious demise of one of the aediles last year. Shall I ask Magnus to come in?’

  Antonia raised her eyebrows. ‘I think that that’s an excellent idea.’

  Magnus’ eyes flicked nervously around the room. ‘I ain’t sure that I understand exactly what you mean, domina.’ He shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden stool placed at the open end of the dining table.

  ‘Don’t play coy with me, Magnus,’ Antonia ordered, ‘it’s a simple question, and I’m sure that you know the answer.’

  ‘Well, there is one way; not that I ever tried it, but I heard about it from an acquaintance,’ he admitted. ‘Who I don’t know any more; never really did, if you take my meaning?’ he added quickly, glancing uneasily at the Senior Consul.

  ‘It’s all right, Magnus,’ Antonia reassured him, ‘the Senior Consul is here to gain the benefit of your wisdom, not to judge you.’

  ‘If you’re the same Magnus who leads the South Quirinal Brotherhood,’ Asiaticus added, ‘and if you’re worried about the, shall we say, “natural” death of the aedile for that district last year, then don’t be. Senator Pollo has completely convinced the Urban Prefect that you had nothing to do with it and it’s quite normal for a healthy young man to be found dead in the street with no wounds or bruising on him whatsoever. However, I would be interested to know how it was done, so please, enlighten us.’

  Magnus looked relieved. ‘Well, it’s quite simple really: you drown the man by forcing his head into a barrel of water, taking care not to get any bruising around the throat or chest as you hold him under. It’s best to strip him first so that his clothes don’t get torn or wet. Then you hang him upside down – put a blanket around his ankles so that the rope doesn’t mark the skin – and pump his chest until all the water is out – but you must wait a little while before you do that as they can come back to life. Then take him down, rub his hair dry and dress him and there yo
u go, one unmarked dead person. Oh, and when you hang him up it’s best to do it in front of a large fire so as to keep him warm, if you want the body to be found quickly, that is.’

  ‘Thank you, Magnus,’ Antonia said, looking at him with a glint in her eye that Vespasian knew was more than just an appreciation of his knowledge.

  ‘There is another way,’ Magnus offered, warming to the theme, ‘but that involves sticking a funnel up his—’

  ‘That will do, Magnus; I think we have a workable solution. That’ll be all – for now.’

  ‘Yes, domina,’ Magnus mumbled, leaving the room. Vespasian guessed that he would be unable to take advantage of the frenzied female slaves celebrating the Caprotinia that evening.

  ‘Now, gentlemen,’ Antonia said as the door closed, ‘Poppaeus is dead, so how and where do we have this unfortunate occurrence discovered?’

  ‘If I may, domina?’ Pallas offered.

  ‘I was hoping you would, Pallas,’ Antonia said with a smile.

  ‘Poppaeus generally walks with a stick and considers it beneath his dignitas to go anywhere in Rome unless he is carried in a litter, in which he will undoubtedly arrive at Claudius’ house. We will need to get the body back in there and have the litter-bearers take him to the Forum where, I would suggest, the Senior Consul could waylay him and, pulling back the curtains, discover to his consternation that the good man has sadly passed away.’

  Asiaticus laughed. ‘A more public discovery would be hard to engineer. That’s very good and I will be only too happy to play my part.’

  ‘But how do we get the body back in the litter so it seems to the bearers that their master is alive and it’s him that gives them the order to go to the Forum?’ Vespasian asked.

  ‘We will create the illusion that he is still alive.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘Leave that to me, Vespasian; it won’t be as hard as you might think,’ Pallas assured him. ‘But I will need you to leave the chest here.’

  ‘Well, gentlemen, I think our business is concluded,’ Antonia said with an air of finality. ‘I thank you for your time. Consul, would you mind a private word?’

  ‘Of course, domina.’

  ‘Thank you. Vespasian and Corbulo, tomorrow morning Pallas and I will visit my drooling son and his odious freedman to make the arrangements and to inform them of the consequences of not complying with my wishes; you will join us there at the second hour.’

  ‘With pleasure, domina,’ Vespasian replied, less than truthfully.

  Leaving the room, followed by Corbulo, and stepping out into the walkway surrounding the torch-lit peristylium, Vespasian was disappointed that he had not even seen Caenis, who was almost always at her mistress’s side. Contemplating this as they walked in silence around the colonnade, he had the sudden unpleasant realisation that, as Antonia’s secretary, Caenis would have made a copy of Corvinus’ letter. She knew about Flavia before he had had a chance to explain it to her.

  ‘What did I tell you, sir?’ Magnus said, appearing out of the shadows. ‘She did have something fucking nasty planned for us: cold-blooded murder by the sounds of it. Who’s the target – Poppaeus?’

  ‘Yes,’ Vespasian replied, more tersely than he had meant to.

  ‘Well, that makes it more palatable, I suppose, the revolting little shit.’

  ‘But you were wrong; she hadn’t already planned it. In fact, she was at a loss as to what to do. It was me who suggested murdering him.’

  Magnus laughed. ‘Of course you did, sir, but only after she’d dismissed all other options as being unworkable or taking too long, I’ll warrant.’

  ‘It was the only possible course of action, man,’ Corbulo snapped. ‘I volunteered to do it and Vespasian said he’d help; she didn’t ask us to.’

  ‘Of course she didn’t, because it was the only possible course of action that she couldn’t suggest.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ Vespasian asked.

  ‘Well, it stands to reason, don’t it?’ Magnus said, exasperated. ‘Antonia has never been at a loss as to what to do about a situation in her life; the trouble was that she couldn’t just say in front of the Senior Consul: “I want Poppaeus murdered in a way that it looks like death from natural causes; and by the way, Vespasian and Corbulo, would you set your honour aside and act like an eastern king’s eunuch chamberlain or some vengeful woman?” You would have both rightly refused and she couldn’t have blamed you for doing so.’

  Vespasian and Corbulo looked at each other and realised that this was probably not far from the truth.

  Vespasian groaned. ‘But the fact that we suggested the idea made it possible for us to offer to do it and Antonia got what she wanted without being seen to ask two senators to murder another.’

  ‘She does play well,’ Magnus observed cheerily.

  ‘You should know. Off you go and play with her and give her some bruises from me.’

  ‘She likes that, it’s what she wants; the rougher the better.’

  ‘Well, they don’t come much rougher than you. I’ll see you tomorrow, we’ve got a visit to make; come over to Gaius’ house at dawn.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I’ll be finished here by then. Missing the fucking Caprotinia, though. Goodnight, sir. Ziri’s staying with me but the lads will see you back.’

  ‘How do you tolerate him, Vespasian?’ Corbulo asked as Magnus went back to await Antonia’s pleasure.

  ‘The same way that I tolerate you, Corbulo: I like him.’

  Outside the night air was cool, clear and still. A three-quarter moon hung low over the city; its watery light reflected off the marble walls and columns of the larger temples and public buildings, picking them out from the darker brickwork and terracotta roofs of the older or more humble constructions. Here and there columns of smoke from bakeries or forges rose vertically towards the heavens, paling and thinning as they gradually diffused into the atmosphere. The peaceful sight contrasted sharply with the noise of the relentless drunken hubbub, rising from the Subura, of the urban poor enjoying the last hours of the slave women’s festival. The grating of iron-shod wheels and the sharp clatter of the horses’ hoofs of the trade wagons, making their nightly deliveries to the city’s factories and shops, added to their din.

  With Marius and Sextus leading, Vespasian and Corbulo walked quickly down from the Palatine, saying little to one another and never meeting the other’s eye. If there was ever a case of the ends justifying the means this was it, Vespasian mused, as Corbulo said a sombre goodnight at the foot of the Caelian and quickly headed up the hill, refusing the offer of company.

  As they skirted the western end of the Subura the chaos of the festivities became increasingly apparent. Drunken gangs singing bawdy songs at the tops of their voices roamed the streets, fighting and whoring. The comatose bodies of the more excessive drinkers lay in pools of their own vomit and urine where they had fallen and public copulation and other lesser sexual acts were rife in every doorway and up each alley.

  ‘The city’s really enjoying itself tonight,’ Marius commented regretfully as they passed a slave girl being attended to at either end by two rough-looking freedmen swigging from wineskins as they took their pleasure.

  ‘Yeah, but we deserve it,’ Sextus replied, ‘what with all the new hardships and such at the moment.’

  ‘What new hardships?’ Vespasian asked.

  ‘Well, the grain shortage of course, sir, don’t you know?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Marius confirmed. ‘The grain dole was cut in half a month ago and a lot of people are finding it hard to get by.’

  ‘But that’s only because the first grain fleet went down. As soon as the next one comes in things will get back to normal,’ Vespasian reassured them.

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure, sir,’ Marius replied, as they started to climb up the Quirinal. ‘The shortages started long before we heard about the grain fleet. My cousin works down at the granaries and he’s never seen them so low. He said that it started getting bad a
t the end of last summer, when there seemed to be a little less grain arriving with each fleet. They’ve been keeping it secret, but he’s heard talk about speculators.’

  Sextus spat on the ground. ‘It’s always the fucking same, isn’t it? The poor suffer while a few rich bastards make more money out of their misery. Fucking senators, begging your pardon that is, sir.’

  ‘It’s hardly likely to be senators,’ Vespasian said, thinking uneasily about what Corbulo had told him about Pomponius. ‘By law they can’t involve themselves with trade.’

  ‘Yeah, but that doesn’t stop them,’ Marius pointed out.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right in some cases, Marius.’

  ‘I know I am. My cousin told me that one of the two surviving ships from the grain fleet had its cargo unloaded into a private warehouse and the grain aedile can’t find out where it is or who it belongs to so that it can be impounded.’

  ‘My brother’s the grain aedile; I’ll ask him why he can’t find it.’

  ‘Because it’s well hidden, that’s why; only a senator would want to keep that a secret.’

  ‘But a senator would be foolish to involve himself in grain speculation; the Emperor would have his head and property if he so much as suspected it.’

  ‘The Emperor? What’s he to us? He hasn’t been seen in Rome for nearly ten years. Stuck out there on his island he might just as well have been thrown into the Tiber; and it’s not just me who says that.’

  ‘I’d be careful who you repeat that to; that’s treason.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that, sir, but what is for sure is there ain’t enough grain to last the city another month and nobody’s meant to know about it and, while the Emperor’s doing fuck all about the situation, someone is trying to make a huge profit from it.’

  They had arrived at Gaius’ house and Vespasian dismissed the two crossroads brothers with a denarius apiece for their trouble. The attractive new, dark-skinned door-youth let him in with a sleepy countenance and then snuggled back down into his bedding-roll in the vestibule.