Authors: Robert Fabbri
‘Then don’t go, my love.’
Vespasian looked at her with raised eyebrows. ‘You know that he can’t be refused, so don’t make unhelpful suggestions.’
Caenis smiled sorrowfully. ‘I’m sorry, I should know better; it’s because he can’t be refused that apart from a couple of visits to your uncle’s house I’ve
not set foot out of here since you carried me over the threshold.’
Vespasian looked deep into her sad eyes, beautifully set off by a necklace of clear, blue-glass cylindrical beads that shimmered softly around her throat in the pale light. He sympathised with
her frustration at her virtual captivity, but, although Caligula believed her to be in Egypt and Magnus’ brothers had not reported any more sightings of Corvinus’ man or any other
suspicious goings on, he still felt it best to keep her inside. He kissed her.
A loud knock at the door cut through the moment; the huge Nubian opened up and Aenor came nervously through the vestibule into the atrium and stood waiting to be spoken to.
‘What does my uncle want, Aenor?’
‘He has asked that you should come to his house at once, master,’ the young German slave boy replied in his guttural accent.
‘Did he give a reason?’
‘He said to tell you that there was an important person waiting to see you there.’
‘Who?’
Aenor scrunched up his face in an effort to remember the exact title that he had been told to pass on. ‘The prefect of the Praetorian Guard.’
It was with great trepidation that Vespasian entered his uncle’s house, passing through the cluster of clients, with their breath steaming in the cold, dawn air, waiting
outside to greet their patron. He had allayed Caenis’ fears that he was to be arrested with the logical argument that it would be beneath the prefect’s dignitas to come in person to
apprehend a junior senator. Nevertheless he felt a sense of foreboding as he stepped through the vestibule and into the atrium.
‘Ah, there you are, dear boy,’ Gaius boomed in a cheerful voice that betrayed no concern. He was sitting by the hearth with Clemens; both were munching on wrinkled winter apples.
‘Have you breakfasted?’
‘Yes, thank you, Uncle. Good morning, Clemens.’
‘Good morning, Vespasian; the Emperor has sent me.’
Vespasian looked around the room, confused. ‘Where’s Macro?’
Gaius burst out laughing. ‘What did I tell you, Clemens? He spends too much time in that nest of honey and delight; he hasn’t heard.’
‘Heard what?’ Vespasian asked testily.
‘I’m sorry, dear boy, that was my idea of a joke getting you here thinking that Macro was waiting. The Emperor formally relieved Macro of his position yesterday evening, and
he’s due to sail for Egypt today to take up his post as prefect there.’
Vespasian glanced at Clemens; a look of understanding spread across his face and he smiled. ‘And you’re the new prefect of the Guard?’
‘One of them,’ Clemens confirmed. ‘However, the Emperor has decided to go back to Augustus’ principle of having two prefects, so I share the position with Lucius
Arruntius Stella.’
‘It would appear that our Emperor is not as mad as he seems,’ Gaius said, having got his mirth under control, ‘he’s appointed two prefects who hate each other. That
should weaken the Guard, eh, Clemens?’
‘It will certainly create two factions.’
‘And make it twice as likely that a prefect will move against him,’ Vespasian observed. ‘Not that I would suspect you of disloyalty, Clemens – yet.’
Clemens looked worried. ‘With Clementina due back in Rome with Sabinus this summer who knows what cause for disloyalty I may have if Caligula puts his mind to having her?’
‘Then Sabinus should keep her safe out at Aquae Cutillae, as you do your wife at Pisaurum.’
‘Not any more; Caligula ordered me to call her back and bring her to dinner at the palace. There was his new wife, Lolia Paulina, plus twelve other women present, all wives of his guests.
He arrived dressed as Apollo and went round feeling each one and then chose two – not Julia, thankfully – and took them to bed while their husbands had to carry on eating as if nothing
were happening. When he reappeared with them he started to compare and contrast with the unfortunate husbands the strengths and weaknesses in their wives’ sexual performances. It was
excruciating; the two women were obliged to recline there as if the conversation was the most natural thing in the world. Then he ordered Lolia to strip naked so that he could give everyone a
practical demonstration of some of the finer points of his arguments.’
‘I’d not heard about that,’ Gaius said, looking horrified.
‘You wouldn’t have; it was last night at the banquet to celebrate Macro’s new position, which was ironic in itself considering what Caligula has sent me here for.’
Vespasian groaned. ‘Oh, I’d hoped that he’d forgotten about that.’
‘If you mean about your offer to be the man who orders Macro to commit suicide as he gets on the ship today, then no he hasn’t.’
‘I didn’t offer, I just suggested that if he wanted to get rid of Macro then that would be the best time, place and way to do it.’
‘Well, however it came about that’s what he wants you to do, and I’ve got to escort you with a turma of my cavalry to make sure that Macro obeys the order.’
‘You do get yourself into some unpleasant situations, dear boy.’
‘That’s not a helpful observation, Uncle,’ Vespasian replied tersely.
‘No, but it’s a pertinent one.’
‘Have you got the warrant?’ Vespasian asked Clemens, ignoring Gaius’ remark.
‘No; we’re to go to his Drusilla theatre; he said he’d see us there, after the show, as he put it, which doesn’t bode well.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ Vespasian got to his feet with a sigh. ‘Well, if I’ve got to do this then I might as well do it properly; I’ve just got to fetch something
from my room before we go, Clemens.’
Caligula’s new theatre was not built on as grand a scale as he would have liked but this was for practical reasons; the semicircular structure filled the area between the
Rostrum and the Temple of Saturn with its stage set hard against the steps of the Temple of Concordia, almost prohibiting access. However, it did hold over two thousand spectators who were
thoroughly enjoying the show, much to the bemusement and disgust of Vespasian and the others of the senatorial order who had been forced to attend. In a humiliation of the Senate Caligula had
dispensed with their reserved seating and they were forced to sit among the urban rabble. They had cheered as Caligula, dressed as Hercules in a golden lion-skin and brandishing a golden club, had
slowly disrobed his sister. They had cheered louder as he had put her through a series of gymnastic poses, each designed to explicitly show off the female form. And then they had cheered even
louder as he began to take her through a succession of sexual acts on the enormous, purple-sheeted bed, while she howled like a harpy.
‘Bring me my gladiators,’ Caligula shouted, pulling himself out of Drusilla, who knelt on the bed before him and then fell onto her belly, breathing deeply.
Vespasian was relieved to see four oiled, naked gladiators, an Ethiopian and three Celts, all at the peak of physical condition, striding onto the stage. He had been dreading a summons to join
in the obscenity being acted out before him and now felt confident that his services would not be required.
‘This is going to be worse than you think,’ Clemens whispered in his ear as Drusilla turned her attention to the new arrivals clustered round her with an urgency and greed born out
of uninhibited and shameless lust.
‘How can it be worse?’
‘You’ll see. I’ve got archers stationed around the theatre to make sure that nothing happens to Caligula – he was concerned about letting one of the gladiators have a
sword so close to him in the finale.’
Hardly able to believe his eyes, Vespasian watched in mounting horror as the siblings created a scene with three of the gladiators of such carnality that it made Caligula’s behaviour in
the circus with the catamite seem almost acceptable. The tangle of bodies began to writhe with escalating fervour, matched by the increasing clamour of the crowd, until reaching such a pinnacle of
ecstasy that they were no longer aware of their surroundings. At this point a Praetorian walked onto the stage and handed a sword to the unoccupied fourth gladiator and then gave a signal towards
the back of the theatre. Vespasian looked around and saw that archers were now standing at intervals behind the spectators; all had their bows drawn and were aiming at the newly armed man as he
approached, from behind, the Ethiopian gladiator servicing Caligula. Sensing imminent blood the roar of the crowd, already deafening, swelled to ear-splitting proportions. Down on the stage,
Caligula raised his fists to his shoulders and flapped his arms in imitation of a cockerel’s wings and then slumped down onto his sister’s back. Grasping Caligula’s hips, the
Ethiopian threw his head back and let out a roar, unheard over the din of the crowd, of satisfaction; it was the last sound he ever made. With a lightning flash the fourth gladiator swept his head
from his shoulders, sending it spinning into the audience, and releasing a powerful jet of crimson blood, shooting from his torso, high up into the air to splatter down on Caligula and Drusilla.
Once the blood had stopped raining down on them Caligula reached back and pushed the decapitated corpse out of him; it crumpled to the floor. The executioner raised his sword in a gladiator’s
salute to the crowd and was instantaneously struck by a dozen well-aimed arrows that hurled him back as if he had been yanked by an invisible rope. Seemingly oblivious of this development, Caligula
and Drusilla were staring lovingly into each other’s eyes as they rubbed blood over one another. The two surviving gladiators rose warily to their feet, looking anxiously at the archers who
had reloaded and were now aiming at them.
‘He was stupid,’ Clemens shouted in Vespasian’s ear, ‘he had been warned to drop the sword as soon as he’d cut off the other man’s head; if he’d
listened he wouldn’t be dead. The other two will be fine so long as they don’t go near the sword.’
Vespasian could not think of anything to say and just stared dumbfounded between the Emperor and his sister smearing blood over their bodies and the crowd who had started to play catch with the
decapitated gladiator’s head. Where was the honour? What had happened to dignitas? Was this to be the tone of the new age, filth and degradation until the Phoenix returned in five hundred
years? And yet this was the Rome that he had worked for in his support for Antonia; this was the Rome that she had unwittingly preserved while keeping her family in power. He had seen it in its
infancy on Capreae in the court of Tiberius. He had seen the debauched Emperor’s ‘fishies’ – dwarves and children copulating freely in the water – and had heard
Caligula describe them as fun. He had witnessed Caligula’s behaviour with his sisters and knew that incest was committed regularly; he had watched Caligula enjoy his troupe of dwarves and
seen him service whore after whore in a public tavern. He had hoped that these were the heights of his excesses; but no, they had just been eclipsed. Vespasian feared then that the height had not
yet been achieved.
Eventually the siblings came out of their private world; Caligula rose to his feet and signalled for silence. ‘Who has the head?’
A young man dressed in a threadbare tunic and worn cloak held up the grisly item by an ear. ‘I do, Caesar.’
‘Then you win the game and one thousand aurei when you bring it to me.’
The young man’s neighbours immediately set upon him, each desperate for such a sum that would raise them out of poverty for life. Caligula laughed and the fight quickly spread as more and
more people tried to get close to the prize; he turned on his heel and offered his hand to his sister. Naked and red with blood, the two siblings walked from the stage, with heads held high, at a
sedate pace as if they were a newlywed couple from an old and dignified patrician family making their way to the bridal feast. Behind them they left escalating chaos and death.
‘We had better present ourselves to him now,’ Clemens said, ‘he was most insistent that we come and see him immediately after the…the…’ He left the last
word hanging and waved his hand vaguely towards the stage as if he could not find the right way to describe what they had just witnessed.
Vespasian understood his difficulty perfectly.
‘Wasn’t she wonderful?’ Caligula enthused, licking blood from Drusilla’s face as Vespasian and Clemens were ushered into his presence. They were
standing in the centre of a pavilion of soft, purple fabric that let the sun’s rays gently through. ‘And was I not more potent than that mere demi-god Hercules?’
Looking at Caligula, Vespasian found it hard to find any similarities between the spindly legged Emperor and the immensely strong Hero. He tried to banish from his mind everything that he had
seen and concentrated on keeping his face neutral. ‘You outshone every one of the gods with your prowess, Princeps,’ he lied blatantly in his most reverential voice, ‘we mere
mortals can only dream of stamina and vigour like you possess.’
‘Yes,’ Caligula agreed with a sympathetic look, ‘your women must be very disappointed; it’s no wonder that Caenis has spent so much time in Egypt. When’s she due
back?’
‘I don’t know, Princeps. I believe that you require a service of me?’ Vespasian replied, anxious to change the subject.
Caligula cocked his head, looking momentarily confused; he ran a hand through his matted hair. ‘A service? I always require service.’ He snapped his fingers and Callistus brought
forward a scroll that he handed, with much bowing, to his master. ‘Macro and that slut wife of his, Ennia, are due to leave for Ostia at midday. I want you and Clemens to be at the port
waiting for them to give them this; they should find it fairly self-explanatory.’ He handed the scroll to Vespasian and looked at him thoughtfully for a few moments. ‘I think that you
should be a praetor next year; I like my friends to do well.’
‘If you believe me to be worthy of it, thank you, Princeps,’ Vespasian replied, hiding his unease at the thought of not being able to leave Rome for a whole year with Caligula out of
control.