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  Vespasian took a few moments to contemplate the issue. ‘Well, we could kill this Milichus and see what happens. My guess is they will make the attempt at tomorrow afternoon’s reopening of the Circus Maximus; Nero will be far more exposed there.’

  ‘You’re right; that’s when I would do it. But then we would have to kill the man’s wife as well and that could be tricky.’

  ‘Not necessary; she doesn’t know that her husband met with us. Alternatively, I’m inclined to enhance our new status as supporters of Nero by taking the man to him and exposing the conspiracy, if it exists that is, because from our point of view it is still too early for Nero to go. Neither of us would stand a chance of benefitting to the highest level just yet, if, as Magnus would say, you take my meaning?’

  ‘I do, brother. But if we are seen by Nero to have saved his life then we should be well rewarded.’

  ‘A province with legions would be very useful to have in the family.’

  Sabinus nodded slow understanding. ‘Indeed and then perhaps I might not expose the next conspiracy. I think we take this Milichus home and bring him to the Emperor tomorrow morning after Paulus’ execution.’

  ‘So do I.’ Vespasian gestured to Milichus to catch up. ‘You’re coming with us.’

  ‘You should be very careful, my love,’ Caenis said the following morning as they shared a pre-dawn breakfast of bread, olive oil, garlic and well-watered wine before the hearth-fire in the atrium of Caenis’ house; a soft rain, falling through the central hole in the roof, speckled the surface of the impluvium. ‘You don’t know how deep the conspiracy goes; assuming that there even is a conspiracy in the first place.’

  ‘I’m almost certain that there is one; it’s been brewing for a long time now and it centres around Calpurnius Piso.’

  ‘Yes, I would agree; if there is a conspiracy, it could centre around Piso as the Calpurnii have got the lineage to be able to lay claim to the Purple. But what is his power-base? What’s going to get him there and then keep him in position? Why now? Who else do you think is involved?’

  ‘He and Scaevinus are close, I’ve seen them together along with Antonius Natalis and the poet, Annaeus Lucanus. Seneca is also involved because he tried to get me to persuade Sabinus to join them; when I refused he didn’t seem too pleased.’

  Caenis was silent, chewing on a piece of bread; Vespasian watched her, sipping his wine, knowing that she was running possibilities through her analytical mind and he was not about to interrupt her as he valued her advice above all others.

  ‘One of the prefects of the Praetorian Guard is involved,’ she said eventually.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Well, if Seneca is involved, and there’s no reason to think that he wouldn’t still be, seeing as he’s already approached you and he has nothing to lose by Nero’s death but, rather, everything to gain, then he would not allow the thing to happen unless there was a chance of the Guard supporting Piso, or whoever they plan to make emperor – perhaps even Seneca himself. Don’t forget that without your brother they cannot guarantee the Urban Cohorts’ support. Now, that being the case I think we can rule out Tigellinus as he has always been Nero’s creature and has absolutely nothing to gain by his demise; his friendship with Nymphidius Sabinus also means that the Vigiles would remain loyal to Nero, which is all the more reason to have the Guard on the conspirators’ side. It therefore has to be Faenius Rufus, which I know seems unlikely as he is honest and unbribeable and has never had a treasonous thought in his life. Now, if Rufus is a part of the conspiracy then it is fair to assume that there are some Praetorian tribunes and centurions involved as well so that he can guarantee the majority of the cohorts’ support when, and only when, Nero is dead.’

  Vespasian set down his cup. ‘Ahh, I see; but Nero won’t make that assessment, will he?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘So if the plot is exposed before Nero is killed, the Guard will remain loyal to him and he will suspect nothing, thinking that it is just a conspiracy of disillusioned senators and equestrians ...’

  ‘Which means?’

  ‘It means he’ll have one of the prefects of the Praetorian Guard, who are ultimately responsible for his safety, overseeing the investigation with the help of one of the praetors.’

  ‘And which one would you choose if you were Nero?’

  ‘Prefects or praetors?’

  ‘Prefects, as the praetor will obviously be Nerva, who has responsibility for prisoners.’

  Vespasian did not need to contemplate the question. ‘I’d choose the one who has a reputation for being honest and unbribeable so that no one could accuse his findings of being tainted with malice as would be more than possible if Tigellinus were to be put in charge.’

  Caenis smiled and broke off another hunk of the circular loaf. ‘Exactly; so how deep do you think his investigation is going to probe?’

  ‘As shallow as possible; he’ll obstruct Nerva at every opportunity.’

  ‘Indeed; but soon the truth will come out because he won’t be able to neutralise Nerva completely. It will have to, as some of the people Nerva exposes will give out names of others and so on; but it will take a while, a day or so. However, we will know the reality of the situation from the very beginning: we will know that the seemingly honest and unbribeable Rufus is, in fact, trying to cover up most of the conspiracy and that will give us power over him.’

  ‘Power to do what?’

  ‘Power to use him to pay a few debts.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, my love.’

  Caenis smiled and reached over to squeeze Vespasian’s hand. ‘Thank you. I can think of a few people who are just about to become conspirators whether they like it or not.’

  ‘So can I.’

  *

  The rain had set in by the time Vespasian and Sabinus reached the Forum Romanum, at the beginning of the second hour, but that had not deterred the mob from intensifying their search for the people they believed to be responsible for the destruction of their city, and it was with great enthusiasm that the execution announcement of the leader of that cult was received. Thousands waited outside the Tullianum as Paulus, restrained by Blaesus and a cowering Beauty, who, at the sight of so many people, dashed straight back inside, was brought out by Marcus Cocceius Nerva and handed over to Sabinus’ custody to be guarded by a contubernium of one of the Urban Cohorts under the command of an optio.

  ‘So the people have really been taken in by this,’ Paulus observed, indicating, with manacled hands, to the mob crowding into the forum and baying for his blood.

  ‘Of course,’ Sabinus replied, leading them off on their short journey to the city gates, ‘and they’ll continue to do so until every one of your followers is dead.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then we’ll see,’ Vespasian replied as the crowd parted for them and then followed as they headed across the Forum Romanum and on towards the Forum Boarium.

  Paulus smiled; it was grim and did not reach his eyes.

  They walked on in silence for a while; the crowd behind them making too much noise for conversation to be possible.

  ‘My death won’t save Nero,’ Paulus said eventually, as they passed through the Porta Radusculana and the bottleneck thinned out the crowd. ‘And it certainly won’t halt the growth of the true religion; there are churches all over the Empire.’

  ‘What?’ Vespasian had never heard the word.

  ‘Churches: groups of believers who come together to pray. Killing me will only strengthen their belief in the imminent coming of the End of Days. Do you not see? This world will not last, cannot last, it being so full of sin; Yeshua will come again soon and we will all be judged and those worthy will live in peace in the world to come. The poor will triumph and the rich will fall.’

  Vespasian was unimpressed as they carried on down the Via Ostiensis, the rain falling steadily. ‘Believe what you like, Paulus; offer the poor hope of a better life in a mythical afterlife that onl
y you seem to know about. Say what you like because this world is all there is and in a very short time you will be dead.’

  ‘Will I? Will I really? No, Vespasian, I won’t be dead; just my body but not me. I will rise again to be judged just as Petrus will from his unmarked grave on the Vatican Hill. You can’t defeat us.’

  ‘Did Yeshua actually say any of this? Did he?’

  ‘Don’t let him rile you, brother,’ Sabinus interjected. ‘In the letters that I’ve seen of his, written to his followers, he doesn’t mention a single thing that this Yeshua said, not one of his teachings; do you, Paulus?’

  ‘What he said is not as important as what his crucifixion and resurrection mean and what he will do when he comes again.’

  ‘You’ve just made it all up,’ Vespasian scoffed as they came to more open ground further down the Via Ostiensis.

  ‘The Lord Mithras will forgive him,’ Sabinus affirmed as he halted the column on soft wet ground just to the side of the road. ‘Optio, have the prisoner get to his knees and be prepared to do your duty when I give the command.’

  Paulus was manhandled down, his knees squelching into the earth; he voluntarily extended his neck forward so that the blow could be clean.

  ‘People of Rome!’ Sabinus shouted so that the gathering crowd could hear him over the downpour. ‘You are here to witness the execution of the leader of the cult that was responsible for the Fire of Rome. As Urban prefect I have heard many confessions that it was at Paulus of Tarsus’ instigation that the fire was started in order to make a prophecy come true. The Emperor has sentenced him and his associate, Petrus of Judaea, to death. Petrus was executed last night before the refugees in the Vatican Hill camp and this man will be executed now, before you, so that all of Rome can have seen justice to be done.’ Sabinus looked down at Paulus and lowered his voice. ‘You are a spiritual man; may the Light of Mithras guide you.’ He nodded at the optio.

  Paulus did not look up. ‘I will be guided by the One True—’ The sword cleaved into Paulus’ neck, slicing through it with barely a tremor.

  Paulus’ head shot forward, projected by the fountain of blood exploding from the wound; it hit the ground and bounced, leaving an indentation that immediately filled with rain, stained red. It bounced again and then again before coming to rest as the second and third indentations also filled. The crowd stared in silence; the body crumpled to the sodden earth. Vespasian breathed with relief at the demise of the man who had renounced the modern world in the course of building a religion. It was with surprise that he noted moisture in his brother’s eyes that was not caused by the rain, as he looked down at the corpse.

  A woman came forward from the crowd and approached Sabinus as the optio collected the severed head. ‘Prefect?’ Her voice was questioning and soft; behind her stood a slave with a handcart.

  Sabinus looked up; whether tears were flowing down his face or not was impossible to tell but Vespasian rather thought there were and wondered at the change that had gone through his brother in the nine months that he had been Paulus’ gaoler.

  ‘Prefect,’ the woman said again.

  Sabinus nodded his permission for her to address him. ‘My name is Lucina; I would like to take the body and give it a decent burial on my estate.’

  ‘Your estate?’

  ‘Yes, my husband owns land a couple of miles down the road.’

  ‘Why do you want the body; are you a follower of his?’

  Lucina shook her head. ‘No, prefect; it is dangerous to be so at this time.’

  Vespasian was not convinced that she spoke the truth.

  Sabinus ran his hand through his hair and then wiped the moisture from his eyes. ‘Very well, you may take it. Optio, give the body over to this woman. Have your men load it into the handcart.’

  ‘My thanks to you, prefect; you will be remembered for this.’

  Sabinus muttered something unintelligible and walked away.

  Vespasian followed him. ‘Why did you do that? I’m sure she was lying; she is a follower of Paulus.’

  ‘Yes; I’d say she was.’

  ‘And yet you gave her his body?’

  ‘What harm can it do?’

  ‘She’ll make a shrine of his tomb.’

  ‘It’ll be outside of Rome.’

  ‘People can walk there.’

  ‘There won’t be any of his followers left in the city.’

  ‘What about in a few years’ time, once all of this has died down?’

  ‘I don’t care about that. All I care about is that he gets treated with respect. Nero gave me no instructions as to how I was to dispose of the body so I’ve done what I think is best. In the end I grew to respect him even though he was no friend of Rome; I think that in a way he was searching for the same thing as I am but was just looking in a different place. But come, brother; let’s not worry about Paulus of Tarsus; he’s gone and will soon be forgotten, buried by time. It’s the Golden House for us; it’s time to take advantage of our new status as Nero’s supporters and do ourselves a power of good.’

  CHAPTER XVII

  SCAEVINUS WAS ADAMANT as he stared at the exhibit in Nero’s hand. ‘That knife is a venerated, family heirloom, Princeps; I keep it in my bedroom, but this ungrateful wretch...’ He pointed, with contempt, at Milichus, cringing under the gaze of his patron and Nero in one of the few completed rooms in the Golden House; round, with a domed ceiling that revolved and was covered in stars that were said to light up at night to give the impression of a moving firmament. ‘That wretch stole it in order to weave a web of lies around it to implicate me in a ridiculous plot to kill my Emperor. No doubt he thought that the donative I bestowed on him was not sufficient for him to remain loyal, as if giving him his freedom would not be enough to guarantee that loyalty in the first place. As to my will, I often update and sign it; who does not? And yes, perhaps yesterday’s meal was a trifle extravagant but I enjoy my table and it is the festival of Ceres so I was celebrating the reopening of the Circus Maximus for the traditional races on the last day of the festival; what could be wrong with that? And to add to the celebrations I freed three of my slaves whom I’ve owned for at least fifteen years each and who were eligible for manumission being over the minimum age of thirty. How does any of this point to there being a plot to assassinate you, Princeps?’

  Portly and with the flushed-cheeked countenance of a gourmand, Scaevinus did not look to Vespasian to be a convincing political assassin. Indeed, since his arrest and appearance before Nero, something that took less than an hour after Milichus’ stumbling accusation of his master before the Emperor, Scaevinus had shown no signs of guilt and his explanations had, so far, been completely reasonable. But, more than this, it was his apparent bemusement at the whole affair that seemed to completely exonerate him from the accusations.

  Nero contemplated Scaevinus’ defence for a few moments. He was surrounded by bearded and betrousered Germanic Bodyguards; his terror at hearing about a possible threat to his life had manifested in doubling his guard, summoning both Praetorian prefects and then refusing to leave the room. Vespasian had kept a surreptitious eye on Faenius Rufus but he had given no hint that he knew of a conspiracy let alone was a part of one; in fact, he looked as bored by the proceedings as Tigellinus and Epaphroditus, the only two other people present.

  It had been Epaphroditus to whom they had taken Milichus first, a shrewd move on their part, Vespasian thought, as it meant that if there was nothing to the allegations, the blame would be diluted, whereas if there was substance then sharing the credit with the powerful freedman would boost their standing with him. As it was, it looked like the former would be the case.

  ‘And what about you asking your freedman to get bandages, dressings and tourniquets ready for the morning?’ Nero asked, his eyes narrowing.

  Scaevinus held out his hands and shrugged, evidently bewildered. ‘What can I say, Princeps? I gave no such order; you may ask anyone in my household and they will confirm that they did not hear me
make any such request. I can only assume it is just another malicious lie concocted to bolster an already rickety case, Princeps.’

  ‘But he did!’ Milichus all but screamed.

  ‘Silence!’ Nero barked without taking his eyes off Scaevinus, his weak voice cracking. ‘Speak again out of turn and I’ll have your tongue removed.’ Nero scratched the beard clinging to his sagging throat. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anything to incriminate you, Scaevinus; I’m minded to let you go. Take this ungrateful brute with you and deal with him as you will.’

  Scaevinus bowed his head. ‘Thank you, Princeps; I’m sorry that a member of my household should have been the cause of such anxiety to you. I shall cast him and his bitch-wife off with no support whatever and enjoy watching them sink.’

  ‘But he’s friends with Natalis!’ Milichus shrieked in desperation. ‘They spent the day together yesterday. What did they discuss? Question them separately.’

  ‘Tigellinus, take his tongue,’ Nero ordered as if he had requested nothing more than a cup of water.

  Tigellinus gave his rabid-dog snarl of a smile and drew his pugio; it was then that Vespasian noticed a twitch in Faenius Rufus’ demeanour that could have been said to be a small sigh of relief at the thought that Milichus was to be silenced forever. He was sure that he had seen it. Milichus was not lying; there really was a plot.

  ‘Wait!’ Nero said, raising a forefinger. ‘Maybe there is some sense in what that vermin says; if nothing comes of it then he loses his tongue. It would be interesting to hear what they discussed from each of them.’ He turned to Faenius Rufus. ‘Prefect, have Marcus Cocceius Nerva bring Natalis in for questioning. Don’t let him speak to, or even see, Scaevinus; but make sure that he knows that Scaevinus has been questioned and that’s the reason why he is now being interviewed. If there is anything to it, I want you to dig it out.’

  Rufus swallowed and saluted. ‘It shall be as you wish, Princeps.’

  As the Praetorian prefect turned to do Nero’s bidding, Vespasian had the distinct impression that the situation was not at all how Rufus would have wished; Caenis’ prediction was looking to be very accurate.