Emperor of Rome Read online

  ‘Tyrant!’ Titus exploded, jumping to his feet. ‘You call my father a tyrant to his face and you don’t see just how foolish that makes you look? Well, be careful what you wish for, Priscus.’

  ‘I am careful what I wish for and I wish for a state without tyrants. What is more, a tyrant with illegitimate sons.’

  ‘Illegitimate! How dare you?’ Titus stormed across the chamber, his strides full of purpose.

  ‘I dare for it is the truth. Your mother was the daughter of Flavius Liberalis, a freedman with Latin Rights, not full citizenship. He was freed after she was born, which makes her a freedwoman and not a citizen as she claimed and we all know the law about senators not being able to marry freedwomen. And should they have progeny from the relationship then the offspring are illegitimate and are certainly not citizens.’

  ‘Enough!’ Vespasian roared, his temper finally broken. ‘Flavia was a Roman citizen and her father was the son of a freedman not a freedman himself. I will hear no more of such slander.’

  ‘And I demand freedom of speech.’

  ‘Which is exactly what I shall offer you,’ Titus called over his shoulder as he paused at the door.

  ‘I would be amused to see that.’

  ‘And I will share your amusement, Priscus,’ Titus said as he signalled for the Praetorian centurion commanding the Guard detachment outside to step in. ‘And bring two of your men, centurion.’

  Helvidius Priscus looked in outrage at the armed soldiery invading the Senate House. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

  ‘This, Priscus, is granting both your wishes: I’m calling for your banishment.’ Titus looked over to Vespasian. ‘What do you say, Father, shall we give him his wished-for tyrant?’

  Vespasian steepled his hands and pressed them to his lips in thought. ‘Yes, Titus,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Yes, I shall act the tyrant for him, which will no doubt please him thoroughly; take him away and then grant him his wish of a solitary life on an island where he won’t be in any danger of being ruled over by a tyrant and will be free to say what he wishes.’

  ‘You can’t do this!’ Helvidius Priscus shouted as the guards grabbed him by the shoulders.

  ‘I can and I will because you made me and you will have plenty of time to contemplate that in the future; now go, Priscus, and should you wish to come back all you have to do is write a letter of apology.’

  Priscus’ mouth opened and closed, spluttering at the thought of such a demeaning task. ‘Tyrant!’ he yelled as he was dragged through the door.

  ‘And now, Conscript Fathers,’ Vespasian said as the cries diminished, ‘before this House rises and prepares for the festivities tomorrow, I wish to address the report of the commission I set up last year to return property looted during the recent civil wars to its rightful owners. Not the act of a tyrant, as I’m sure you will agree.’

  ‘And finally from Cerialis,’ Caenis said, squinting at the letter in the light of a couple of smoking oil lamps at each end of the desk.

  ‘What does he want?’ Vespasian asked, dipping a chunk of bread into a bowl of olive oil. He smeared garlic onto the bread as Caenis read the letter.

  ‘He’s arrived in Britannia with the Second Adiutrix and seven more auxiliary cohorts and has engaged the Brigantes with great success and expects them to be subdued by the time you receive this letter.’

  ‘I hope that isn’t Cerialis’ normal overconfidence,’ Vespasian said through a mouthful of his breakfast. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Once he’s defeated the Brigantes he’s planning on moving even further north and wants your advice on the subject.’

  Vespasian chewed his bread in contemplation, his face more strained than was the norm; he turned to Hormus as he broke off another piece. ‘To Cerialis and fill in all the pleasantries. I congratulate you on a speedy resolution to the Brigantian revolt and thank you for bringing the final conflict raging within the Empire to a conclusion. Whilst I admire your desire to complete the conquest of the island by taking on the tribes to the north, I would urge you not to just yet. We have had almost three years of wars and rebellions in every corner of the Empire and I feel that it is time for a period of peace and reflection. I intend to, if I can, close the doors of the Temple of Janus.’ He paused for another mouthful of bread. ‘Add some more pleasantries at the end, Hormus.’

  ‘Yes, master,’ Hormus said, finishing off his shorthand note on a wax tablet. ‘But I won’t have time to do all these before the Triumph begins.’ He indicated to the double pile of wax tablets that had been the end result of Vespasian dealing with his correspondence.

  ‘Give them to the clerks; they can read shorthand.’

  ‘But I like to do them myself, master.’

  ‘And I want you to start delegating; you are more than my private secretary, you’re my freedman who now has equestrian status as a reward for your loyalty, and you need to start behaving as such. Leave the menial tasks to those suited to them.’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  Vespasian scrutinised his former slave, satisfying himself that Hormus had understood that it was now time for him to behave with the dignity of his rank. ‘Good. Now go and tell the steward to let my clients in for my morning salutio.’

  ‘Hail, Titus Flavius Caesar Vespasianus Augustus, I bid you good morning on the day of your Triumph,’ Marcus Cocceius Nerva said, formally, taking the seated Vespasian’s proffered forearm.

  ‘Thank you, Nerva.’

  Nerva nodded at both Titus and Domitian standing to either side of their father’s chair. ‘And I wish the joy of the day to Titus Caesar and Domitian Caesar.’

  Titus smiled broadly at Nerva as Domitian scowled at the thought that he would enjoy a day where he was to play a lesser role than his brother.

  Vespasian attempted to ignore his younger son’s mood which had been thus since he had been informed that he would only be riding a horse in the procession and not a Triumphal chariot since he had done nothing to merit the honour.

  ‘My father asked me to send his greetings,’ the young Marcus Ulpius Traianus said as Nerva moved off into the milling crowd of senators and equites and his turn to salute the Emperor came. ‘And to thank you for the privilege of a consulship next year; he was honoured when he received your letter informing him of the distinction.’

  ‘I look forward to seeing him in Rome soon, Traianus.’

  ‘And he looks forward to returning.’

  ‘Tell him to call on me at his earliest convenience, we shall dine together.’

  The young Traianus inclined his head and moved off with a brief acknowledgement of Titus and Domitian whose scowl had not improved.

  ‘Greetings, master,’ Titus Flavius Josephus said, stepping in front of Vespasian, ‘see now the real truth of my prediction.’

  Vespasian chuckled. ‘You scurrilous Jew, you; that wasn’t a prediction, it was either a very well-informed guess or a desperate gamble. But I think none the less of you for it.’

  Josephus inclined his head in acknowledgement without giving any indication whether he thought Vespasian right or not. ‘I have a favour to ask as your freedman, master.’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘As I’m sure you are aware, I cannot go back to Judaea after what has happened. I was present at the storming of the Temple and its subsequent destruction; I saw the flames and I saw the sacred ornaments and scrolls taken from the Holy of Holies by Gentiles and I did nothing about it. I can never go back.’

  ‘So you stay here in my household.’

  ‘That is what I had hoped, master; however, should I do that I need something to occupy myself.’

  Vespasian scrutinised Josephus with a degree of suspicion. ‘If you’re asking for a position in—’

  ‘No, master; I would never presume to that. I know how difficult it would be for a Jew to be accepted here in Rome as a person with power. No, master; I ask for something different: permission to write a history of the Jewish War which has now inextricably bound our lives.
’

  Vespasian considered the matter. ‘Very well, but on one condition: that you emphasise just how much of the killing was done by Jews. Many, many more Jews died at Jewish hands than did by Roman. I want you to write a book that shows that the Jews were responsible for their own fate, not Rome.’

  A gleam came into Josephus’ eyes. ‘That, master, is the very book that I intend to write.’

  ‘I will be the one to judge that when it is complete. Keep me informed of your progress. In the meantime, I want you to have the scrolls that were removed from the Temple; they are no good to me but, as a Jew, you might derive some benefit from them.’

  ‘I am in your debt; thank you, master,’ Josephus said, putting his arms across his chest and bowing his head to take his leave.

  ‘Hail, Caesar,’ Agricola said, taking Josephus’ place in front of Vespasian.

  ‘My love, you had better come quickly,’ Caenis said, surprising Vespasian by coming up behind him and whispering in his ear.

  Vespasian turned to her, frowning. ‘Why? What is it?’

  Caenis’ face was full of concern. ‘It’s Magnus. He collapsed as he was … well, as he was, how did he put it? As he was making use of one of the occasional erections that come his way.’

  ‘The old goat. How is he?’

  ‘Not good. He’s asking for you.’

  Vespasian felt his stomach sink and hurried to the call of his old friend.

  The room was gloomy with the sound of soft, female sobbing in the far corner and slow, irregular, rasping breaths coming from the large bed set under a closed window; the first thin light of dawn crept through the cracks in the shutters.

  ‘Magnus?’ Vespasian called as he stepped through the door with Caenis following. ‘Magnus, are you all right?’ He walked across the floor trying to make as little noise as possible, although for what reason he could not say. ‘Magnus?’

  ‘Is that you, sir?’ Magnus wheezed, stirring in his bed.

  ‘Yes. I hear you’ve been exerting yourself a bit too much.’

  Vespasian halted at the side of the bed and looked down at his old friend’s face; even in the dim light he could tell it was pale and the skin seemed stretched. His glass eye was lying in a bowl on the table next to the bed.

  Magnus winced and put a hand to his chest. ‘Yeah, well, I thought it would be a shame not to make use of it seeing as I woke up with such a magnificent one, so I invited Caitlín to hop on, if you take my meaning?’

  Vespasian glanced over to where Magnus’ slave was slumped, crying on the far side of the bed. Caenis moved across to comfort her.

  ‘She blames herself for being too athletic; I must admit, it was quite a ride. But I felt something go inside, as it all came to a conclusion,’ Magnus grimaced again, ‘in the same place where I’ve been having a lot of pain recently.’ A coughing fit took him.

  Vespasian put his hand under Magnus’ head, supporting him as the bout reached a retching crescendo and wiped his mouth with a cloth; there was blood in the phlegm. ‘I’m calling my doctor.’

  ‘No you ain’t; I’ll not have him near me.’ He paused for another couple of strained coughs. ‘I’m done, sir, and I want my last moments to be pleasant and not subjected to the proddings and pokings of some Greek with about as much knowledge of medicine as a Vestal has of testicles.’

  ‘That’s not fair; he’s very well trained.’

  ‘I’m very pleased for him.’ Magnus winced again with pain and shuddered out a few more coughs. ‘But I ain’t having him in the room. Now, sir, look after Caitlín for me; she’s been good to me over the years and didn’t nag overmuch and mostly did what she was told without needing to be slapped.’

  ‘Of course I will, Magnus; I’m sure Caenis will be only too happy to have her join her household. But who said anything about you leaving us?’

  ‘Haven’t you been listening? I did; and I should know.’ He closed his eye, squeezing it tight as another explosion wracked his body. ‘I’ve got quite a bit stashed away with the Cloelius Brothers’ bank in the Forum. I’ve left half to her in my will. Hormus drew it up for me.’ His breaths were getting weaker with each series of coughs and his voice thinner. ‘The rest I’ve left to the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood, the only place I could ever call home, apart from the army, that is.’

  ‘And here with me, Magnus.’

  ‘Well, it’s more of a palace than a home, sir; but I take your meaning. And, well, I suppose I’ve always looked upon you as a son.’

  Vespasian smiled. ‘And I’ve always considered you to be a grumpy old man – even when you were younger.’

  Magnus laughed, swallowing a cough; his chest heaved. ‘Now, sir, you’re mocking me again.’

  ‘I’m going to have to stop that.’

  ‘You will.’

  Vespasian suppressed a sob as the truth of the statement sank in. ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m sorry to do this on the day of your Triumph.’

  ‘Yes, I was thinking that it was rather selfish of you.’

  ‘It makes up for all the times you mocked me.’ Magnus reached up and took Vespasian’s hand as another fit shook his body. ‘Juno’s puckered arse, that hurts.’ He took a couple of weak breaths. ‘I’ll be well out of it, sir; and I ain’t got no regrets about life. I lived it to the full and fuck everyone else, so I’m happy enough to go now.’

  A tear slipped from Vespasian’s eye.

  ‘Come on, sir; a man shouldn’t do that; it ain’t natural.’

  ‘It is, Magnus; I can assure you it’s the most natural thing in the world.’ He looked down at his friend; he could tell the life was leaving him. ‘What shall I do with your ashes?’

  ‘Build me a nice tomb at your estate in Cosa; I always liked getting out to the country.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘I just have one bit of advice for you, sir.’ Magnus’ voice was frail and fading. ‘Something that now you’re emperor you might forget because you won’t like it.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Well, it’s to open your purse a bit more often; people rarely see the inside of it, in fact I think its forgotten what sunlight looks like.’ Another convulsion seized him and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. ‘But you’d better overcome your tightness and people will love you the more for it.’

  Vespasian nodded, tears now flowing free. ‘I will, Magnus.’

  ‘Good lad. It don’t do to be a wealthy corpse.’ Another bout of coughing juddered through his whole being. ‘If you take my meaning?’

  ‘I do, Magnus; in fact I always have.’ He squeezed Magnus’ hand but it was limp. Leaning over he brushed a hand over Magnus’ eye, closing it.

  Caitlín wailed as Caenis took her from the room.

  Vespasian looked down in disbelief at the motionless features of his oldest companion and let the grief pour from him. And so it flowed until Caenis came back into the room and placed both her hands on his shoulders. Stifling the sobs, Vespasian wiped the tears from his cheeks; with a smile at the memories that they shared, he leant forward and kissed Magnus’ forehead and then pulled up the sheet and covered his face. ‘Goodbye, old friend.’

  ‘There you are, my love,’ Caenis said, smearing on the last of the pigment with a cloth, ‘the red face of a god.’

  Vespasian looked at his reflection in the polished bronze mirror and saw the visage of Jupiter peering back at him; Hormus completed the image by placing a laurel wreath on his head. He adjusted his purple Triumphal toga and stepped back to take in the full picture. Despite the deep sadness he felt at the thought of Magnus lying cold just a few rooms away his pride almost burst from him as he looked at the classic image of a Triumphal general. ‘Today is my day.’

  Caenis kissed him on the lips. ‘Today is also Titus’ day, my love.’

  Vespasian grunted. ‘True. So today is the House of Flavius’ day. That sounds better.’

  ‘I don’t think Domitian would agree.’

  ‘Some of the glor
y rubs off on him too, although granted he has never, nor will he ever, been satisfied with just some of the glory. No doubt he will find a good excuse in the future to celebrate a Triumph, but not whilst I’m around. I wouldn’t trust him with an army: both how he’d command it and what he’d do with it.’ He adjusted his wreath so that it tilted further back on his head. ‘Where’s Titus, Hormus?’

  ‘He said he would wait for you downstairs in the atrium so that you could travel together to the Theatre of Pompey in a covered carriage.’

  Vespasian, sitting next to Titus, peeked through a gap in the curtains, shielding the passengers from the outside world until the moment of their Triumph, as the carriage rumbled down the Palatine in the direction of the Campus Martius. The people of Rome were in festive mood and rightly so: kitchens had been set out throughout the city ready for the feast that would follow the parade.

  Vespasian sniffed the air. ‘Mmm, baking bread, so much better than the normal smell of the city.’ He looked over at Hormus sitting opposite him. ‘How many loaves did you pay for?’

  Hormus consulted his ledger. ‘Two million, four hundred thousand, for a total price of three hundred thousand sesterces.’

  Titus whistled softly, his pursed red lips looking almost comic. ‘That is a lot of bread; can Rome really produce that in one day?’

  ‘Every bakery in the city has been working at full capacity since yesterday afternoon and they should reach the target by the time the Triumph commences.’

  ‘And how much is all the food and drink distributed by the kitchens costing?’

  Hormus looked at the ledger again. ‘Including the bread, the total bill is just shy of six million sesterces.’

  Vespasian shook his head, biting back words of complaint as he remembered Magnus’ dying advice. ‘Time to raise more taxes.’

  Titus turned to Vespasian. ‘Yes, Father; what is this that I hear about you taxing urine? I’ve heard a lot of sniggering in corners by some very influential people since I’ve been back; it’s become a joke.’

  Vespasian held out his hand. ‘Hormus, pass me your purse.’

  Vespasian emptied the contents into the palm of his hand and showed the coins to Titus. ‘Smell them.’