Rome's Executioner (Vespasian) Read online

  Clemens thumped on the gate to the stable yard at the rear of Antonia’s villa; it opened after a short delay.

  ‘We’re being observed,’ Pallas remarked as they rode into the yard.

  Vespasian glanced back up the street to see a couple of figures lurking in the shadows of a cypress tree overhanging a wall, fifty paces away. ‘Sejanus’ men?’ he asked.

  ‘More than likely,’ Pallas said, dismounting, ‘but they won’t be able to tell him any more than that a group of men arrived escorting a carriage.’

  ‘Welcome, gentleman,’ came a strong, familiar, female voice. Antonia descended the steps from the main house and walked elegantly towards Vespasian and Sabinus. Although in her midsixties she was still beautiful in a way that could not just be ascribed to expensive beauty treatments and the best coiffure and gowns that money could buy. She smiled radiantly at the brothers. ‘I cannot begin to express my gratitude at what you have achieved for our cause.’ She took Sabinus’ hand and pressed it warmly. He bowed his head and muttered something inaudible.

  Antonia turned to Vespasian and took his hand in both of hers. ‘I see that four years in the army has been the making of you, Vespasian,’ she said, lowering her voice so that only he could hear. ‘You look to be a man in perfect physical condition; I hope that your mind has grown in conjunction with your body because in the next few months it will be politics that’ll be our main concern, not fighting.’

  Vespasian reddened slightly. That so powerful a woman should come out to greet them rather than awaiting them in the cool of her study was humbling, and a great honour. ‘I hope that I’ll be up to the tasks ahead, domina,’ he managed to say, bracing himself to once again be swept into the sea of political intrigue in which he knew the highest strata of Roman society wallowed.

  He was saved from any more searching questions by the arrival of Magnus and Artebudz dragging the cringing Rhoteces from the carriage. They threw him to the ground in front of Antonia.

  ‘So this is the creature that’s forced us to go to so much effort bringing him to Rome.’ She looked with distaste at the filthy priest who, shaking with fear, tried to touch her feet in supplication. Magnus kicked his manacled hands away.

  ‘Thank you, Magnus.’

  ‘My pleasure, domina,’ Magnus said with a grin. ‘He’s had the fight taken out of him since we landed at Ostia; he’d always thought that his gods would prevent him being brought to Rome but now he’s here he’s been muttering nonstop about them deserting him. Mind you, with one look at him, who would blame them, if you take . . .’ Magnus ground to a halt, realising that he was far too lowly to be expressing his unsolicited opinions to Antonia, no matter what his previous relationship with her may have been.

  Antonia cast him a mildly disapproving look, which to Vespasian’s eye had the hint of desire in it. He could not help but wonder again what form their couplings must have taken having been indiscreetly told by Caligula that Antonia had indulged her passion for boxers fresh from a fight; Magnus had fought in front of her more that a few times.

  Magnus bowed. ‘Forgive me, domina,’ he said contritely.

  Vespasian suppressed a smile; one question had been answered: his friend had not been the dominant partner.

  ‘Pallas, secure the prisoner away,’ Antonia ordered, getting back to the matter in hand. ‘Feed him just enough to keep up his strength but no more; we don’t want him thinking that he’s a guest.’

  Pallas bowed to his mistress and with Artebudz’s help hauled the writhing priest away.

  ‘Now, gentlemen,’ Antonia said, wrinkling her nose and turning back to Vespasian and Sabinus, ‘I think that, for all our sakes, you should avail yourselves of my bath house before we dine. I will see you later when you are refreshed. Magnus, you may join them. Show them the way.’

  A short while later the three of them were sitting, sweating profusely, in the small, brightly lit, white marble-walled caldarium. Male slaves were rubbing sweet-perfumed oil into their skin and then scraping it off with strigils, slowly removing the ingrained grime of travel.

  Neither Vespasian nor Sabinus had bothered to ask Magnus how he had come to be so familiar with the whereabouts of Antonia’s bath house; his embarrassed countenance and inability to look either of them in the eye as he led them unerringly through the maze of corridors were sufficient enough to gain all the amusement they needed from the situation.

  Travel weariness had caught up with them in the baking temperature of the caldarium and they eased into a delightful semi-consciousness as their bodies were expertly cleansed.

  A booming voice from the doorway abruptly brought them back from the somnolent world into which they had slipped.

  ‘My dear boys, how lovely to have you back.’

  Gaius Vespasius Pollo, their uncle, burst into the room completely naked. His bulbous body wobbled furiously as he waddled the short distance across the mosaic floor. Vespasian and Sabinus stood up and were subjected to his all-enveloping, enthusiastic embraces. Magnus, much to his relief, had to endure no more than a hearty grasp of his forearm.

  ‘Antonia told me that I would find you here,’ Gaius exclaimed, slapping an arm around each of the brothers’ shoulders and sitting them back down on the hot stone bench. ‘My, my, you look well, Vespasian, what a fine figure the army has given you; much like my own in my younger, more vigorous days. And you, Magnus, how I’ve missed your services these past four years – which reminds me: Antonia asked me to send you to her, she wished to see you before she had dinner; she didn’t say why.’

  Magnus grimaced. ‘I suppose I’d better be going then,’ he mumbled, picking up his linen towel and making as dignified an exit as possible.

  As the door closed behind Magnus the brothers burst out laughing.

  Gaius looked at them, bemused. ‘What’s so amusing, dear boys?’

  Vespasian managed to get his mirth under control and indicated subtly to the slaves hovering around them. ‘We’ll fill you in later, Uncle; in the meantime tell us your news.’

  Gaius was delighted to ramble on for a good while about his recent achievements, which if not inconsiderable were at least inconsequential.

  By the time he had finished they had moved into the tepidarium. Vespasian lay face down on a pleasantly warm leather couch having just enjoyed a good, almost violent, pummelling at the expert hands of one of Antonia’s masseurs. He was vaguely aware of Sabinus and Gaius leaving and being told that he would be called shortly before dinner was served as he fell into a blissful sleep.

  Oil being drizzled on to his back and then two thumbs gently working the muscles around his shoulder blades caused him to stir and grunt with pleasure. He lay still with his eyes shut as he submitted himself to the soothing massage, which was far more tranquil than the kneading and pounding that he had received earlier. The hands worked their way down his spine, easing the muscles and drawing from him long groans of relaxed contentment. As they passed the small of his back they moved on to his buttocks and caressed them with a tenderness that was unusual in a massage. He half opened one eye; his heart leapt.

  ‘Caenis!’ he exclaimed, turning and sitting up all in one swift motion.

  ‘Shh, my love,’ she softly said, pressing a slender forefinger to his mouth, ‘lie back down and let me finish. It has been such a long time that words may fail us whereas caresses will tell you all you need to know about how I feel; how I will always feel.’

  Vespasian gazed at her, his heart thumping within him. There she stood, the woman he had dreamt of for so long, naked; her tender, ivory skin glowed in the soft lamplight that caused her thick black hair to shine with a reddish sheen as it fell in ringlets to her slender shoulders. She smiled at him and shook her head slowly as if unable to believe the reality that her eyes, wide and blue and glistening with unformed tears of joy, were showing her.

  Vespasian grasped her hands, linking his fingers through hers, whilst forcing himself not to squeeze too hard and cause her pain. ‘Caenis, I can�
��t tell you how much I’ve dreamt of this moment, how much I’ve . . .’

  ‘Quiet, my love,’ she said, pulling her hands from his and resting them on his shoulders. ‘I can’t tell you either; that’s why we shouldn’t rely on words.’ She pushed him gently down on to his back. ‘Lie still and let me finish massaging you, I’m getting to know your body again.’ She bent over him and kissed him full on the lips; he savoured the touch and the taste of her. As their tongues found each other she lifted herself on to the bench and straddled his waist. Pulling away from the kiss she started to rub his broad shoulders, then worked her way down over the well-formed muscles of his chest; all the while gazing at him with love and disbelief. Vespasian gazed back with equal emotions as she continued the massage on to the happiest of endings.

  Vespasian found dinner that evening a very pleasant affair, augmented, as it was, by the frisson of stolen glances with a radiant Caenis as she served her mistress. He spent the evening with a smile on his face as he tucked in, with the gusto of a sexually satisfied man, to the various courses laid in front of him. The food, as expected, had been of the highest quality, as had the wine, and the conversation far more convivial and relaxed than the last time Vespasian had dined with Antonia in the same room. Four years of dining with Queen Tryphaena and her high-ranking Roman guests had taught him the art of dinner-table conversation; it was an art in which he feared he would never excel, because of his rural upbringing, but he had, at least, gained a sufficient proficiency in it for the dining table no longer to seem daunting. He was able to relax and contribute to the conversation, not because he felt that he ought to, and hence come out with the first thoughts that entered his head, but because he had something relevant and interesting to say. The presence of Gaius Caligula made for a welcome reunion, adding to Vespasian’s general sense of wellbeing. His young friend was in fine spirits despite – or perhaps, because of – his mother’s and eldest brother’s banishments the previous year. His other brother, Drusus, had recently joined them in exile in Sejanus’ bid to neutralise all Tiberius’ potential heirs one by one.

  To Vespasian’s surprise, apart from himself, Caligula, Sabinus and Gaius, Clemens had also been invited and had proved to be very good company; he had a pithy wit and the ability to lead the conversation without seeming to dominate it. He also managed to flirt with Antonia without being inappropriate or too earnest, so that his compliments were taken not seriously but as homage paid to a beautiful woman by a young man many years her junior.

  Over the course of the evening Vespasian came to understand that Clemens was actually there in an official capacity: he was Caligula’s gaoler. Since Drusus’ arrest Tiberius had ordered Caligula to be kept under constant guard, poisoned as he was by Sejanus’ constant whisperings in his ear concerning the loyalty of his immediate family. Macro, who still enjoyed Sejanus’ trust, had managed to appoint Clemens to guard him and therein lay their hope, as Antonia explained once the slaves had been dismissed and Pallas had taken up his place by the door.

  ‘My information from Macro, a strange but necessary bedfellow as you will all no doubt agree, is that the Emperor does not intend to harm my young Gaius,’ she said, looking affectionately at her grandson reclining on the couch beside her and ruffling his hair.

  ‘Do stop doing that, Grandmother,’ Caligula protested with a mock-grimace. ‘When I become Emperor my first decree will be to forbid the ruffling of a man’s hair by any woman that he hasn’t paid for.’

  ‘In which case I would give the Lady Antonia a talent of silver just to ruffle my hair,’ Clemens shouted through the goodhumoured laughter.

  ‘Very gallant, my dear Clemens,’ Antonia replied. She was glowing, though not, Vespasian suspected, solely from the compliment or the effect of the wine. ‘However, that would only be possible if my grandson survives to take what is rightfully his. As I was saying, Tiberius does not intend to harm my grandson but he does intend to keep him under close observation and the rumour is, according to Macro, that he will invite Gaius to join him on Capreae in the near future. When he does, Macro will ensure that Clemens goes with him as the commander of his guard. With Gaius and Clemens both on the island we will have our chance to smuggle the priest across.’

  There was a general murmur of agreement that was broken by one voice of dissension.

  ‘Domina,’ Sabinus said carefully, ‘I don’t mean to cause offence, but how do we know that we can trust Clemens? He is, after all, Macro’s man.’

  Clemens was about to answer the charge himself when Antonia raised her hand. ‘I think that your uncle had best explain that, Sabinus.’

  ‘My pleasure, domina,’ Gaius said, a little too loudly; he had been thoroughly enjoying Antonia’s wine. ‘Apart from the normal inducements – money, favour and promotion to Praetorian tribune when Macro is made the prefect – there is only one thing that can guarantee loyalty and that is family.’

  ‘I know that he’s a kinsman of ours from our father’s side,’ Sabinus said dismissively, ‘but so distant as to not make much of a difference. Please don’t take offence, Clemens, I just need to be sure.’

  ‘None taken, cousin,’ Clemens replied cheerfully, taking a sip of wine. ‘I totally understand your concerns. That’s why I made the offer.’

  ‘What offer?’

  ‘Allow me?’ Gaius cut in slightly more abruptly than necessary.

  Clemens raised his cup and nodded graciously.

  ‘The problem is that he doesn’t have close enough family ties,’ Gaius continued, ‘wouldn’t you agree, Sabinus?’

  ‘Yes, I would.’

  ‘So we need to make those ties closer, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Yes, but how?’

  ‘By your marrying Arrecina Clementina, his only sister.’

  Sabinus’ mouth opened and closed as he struggled to say something. ‘I’ve got no wish to be married yet,’ he eventually managed to splutter. Vespasian stifled a snigger.

  ‘My dear boy, don’t be so silly; every man wants to get married,’ Gaius laughed. ‘With a few exceptions, of course,’ he added, holding his hand to his ample chest. ‘Besides, it’s perfect because firstly: it’s a marriage within the larger family. Secondly: she is of equestrian rank. Thirdly: it secures us an important ally. And finally: your parents are very keen on the idea; in fact your father wrote to tell me that it was now his wish that you marry her and he has given me permission to negotiate the terms on his behalf as he cannot come himself to Rome.’

  Sabinus swallowed; he knew what that meant.

  ‘As for me,’ Clemens chipped in, ‘it would be an honour to have my sister marry someone with such good prospects, provided we succeed with our plan, of course; and if we don’t we’ll in all probability be dead so it won’t matter. As for my sister, she’ll do what I say as our father is dead and she is mine to dispose of as I please; and it pleases me to give her to you.’

  ‘I am very honoured,’ Sabinus said evenly, not forgetting his manners and not wishing to offend Clemens by making light of his very generous offer.

  ‘You’ll be more than honoured when you see her, Sabinus,’ Antonia said huskily, ‘she’s beautiful.’

  Sabinus glanced at Clemens whose narrow face and pallid skin did not inspire him with any confidence in the veracity of that assertion.

  ‘Pallas, show the lady in,’ Antonia ordered.

  Pallas bowed and slipped out of the door.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, Sabinus,’ Antonia said, smiling, ‘but I took the liberty of sending my litter for Clementina whilst we were eating. She is fully aware that she has come to meet her future husband.’

  Vespasian was enjoying watching the net tighten around his brother whilst at the same time being relieved that it was not he in that predicament. For the first time in his life he was glad of being the younger sibling.

  The door opened and Pallas ushered in a young girl, no more than fifteen years of age; she was clad in a saffron stola with a turquoise palla draped around
her. She stood before the company, lifted the palla from her hair and then slowly raised her head.

  Vespasian had to suppress a gasp.

  Sabinus jumped to his feet and recoiled back.

  Antonia had not exaggerated: she was beautiful. Her eyes were the green of a newly sprouted leaf in spring and her lips and hair were the colour of that same leaf in autumn. Like her brother she had pale skin but, whereas his was pallid, hers glowed with a soft sheen that spoke of tender nights full of warm caresses. Like her brother she had a thin face but, whereas his was pinched, hers was delicate and fine boned with a slender nose and a full mouth that demanded to be kissed.

  ‘Titus Flavius Sabinus,’ Clemens said, walking over to her and taking her hand. ‘May I present my sister: Arrecina Clementina.’

  ‘Lady, I am honoured,’ Sabinus almost whispered.

  ‘It is you that do me honour, sir.’ Clementina’s voice was soft and melodious. She reached into the folds of her palla and brought out a small ivory statuette. Placing it in Sabinus’ hand, she lowered her head and waited for the gift, and therefore her, to be accepted. He lifted it and smiled as he recognised the carving: Mithras slaughtering a bull.

  ‘Thank you, Clementina, I accept this gift in token of our forthcoming marriage,’ he said, all doubts evaporated.

  ‘I look forward to learning about your god,’ Clemintina said sweetly, meeting his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry that I have nothing for you,’ he replied, quickly changing the subject, Mithraism not being at all inclusive of women, ‘but I have been taken slightly by surprise.’

  Vespasian swallowed a laugh; it was one of the biggest understatements that he had ever heard.

  ‘But a happy surprise, I hope,’ Clemens said to cover any embarrassment. ‘I will escort you home, sister. Senator Pollo, I shall come to your house tomorrow to discuss the dowry and the terms and time of the marriage.’