The Furies of Rome (10 page)

Unfocused, his eyes gazed around the room before alighting on Seneca. ‘Yes, I’ll do it; of course I will. I’ve spent my life doing things I don’t want to for other people, why should this be any different?’

Seneca smiled benignly and patted Vespasian on the arm. ‘At the moment the Emperor plans to travel down to Baiae on the ides of March and arrive three days later. The dinner will be the evening after. I will have his invitation to Agrippina drawn up once his plans are confirmed nearer the time and delivered to you before you leave. Caenis will, no doubt, be drafting it: I’ll have her bring it to you.’

‘No you won’t! Not if you don’t want the invitation ripped up and thrown back in her face. I’ll send my freedman, Hormus, to pick it up from her.’

‘As you wish.’ Seneca turned and walked away leaving Vespasian feeling sick.

‘Dear boy—’

‘Not a word, Uncle; not one fucking word,’ Vespasian snarled as he stormed off.

‘All I’m saying is that you have no proof that isn’t circumstantial,’ Magnus said as a burly, pale-skinned Britannic masseur kneaded his left shoulder.

Vespasian grunted and squeezed his eyes shut as his deep massage almost crossed the boundary between pleasure and pain; he was finding it hard to relax beneath the expert hands of his masseur. ‘Who else could it have been?’

‘What if Seneca has a spy in Caenis’ household?’

‘How could she fail to find out about that given as she’s his personal secretary?’

Magnus let out a low, vibrating growl of contentment, like an oversized-cat’s purr, as his masseur began pummelling up and down the length of his spine with the edges of both hands. The growl continued for the length of the procedure and a touch beyond. ‘At least give her the chance to defend herself. Ow!’ He looked back at the Briton. ‘Easy with the use of the knuckles, you pale bog-dweller, you haven’t got any fog to hide in here if you piss me off.’ With a grunt of satisfaction as the slave eased off the pressure, he settled back on the leather upholstered couch. All around them male citizens of Rome of all classes enjoyed having their muscles toned in the high-domed room at the centre of the baths of Agrippa on the Campus Martius; their shouts, curses, growls and chat echoed off the marble and tiles of the walls, floor and dome of the huge chamber, providing an aural backdrop of such a blur that it melded with the consciousness to become almost unnoticeable. ‘I mean: what if she really didn’t have anything to do with it? What then? When the truth of the matter all came out you would look very stupid, so stupid that she might never want to talk to you again, if you take my meaning?’

Vespasian did but it did not sway him. ‘Do you really consider it’s possible that either Agrippina or Pallas would let on to Seneca that I was coming down to Bauli, next March, to pick up some land deeds in order to take them to Britannia and sell them back to Cogidubnus, not even a day since the arrangement was made? Bollocks.’

‘Why don’t you take the horses for a spin around the track because your head evidently needs clearing?’

‘My head’s perfectly clear.’

‘Well, have it your way; but if it were me then I would do a bit of sniffing around first before I decided, on the basis not of solid proof but of being unable to see any other possibility, that the woman who I’ve loved for most of my life has betrayed, to one of the most unscrupulous men in Rome, information about me that he could have got in half a dozen other ways.’ To emphasise his point, Magnus turned his face away from Vespasian and concentrated on grunting with pleasure at the efforts of his now-forgiven masseur.

Vespasian kept his eyes shut and prayed to Mars that his friend was right; however, it seemed such a far-fetched possibility that after a few moments contemplating it he could no longer countenance the idea.

It had to be Caenis.

Miserably he turned and, beating away his masseur with a backhanded slap to his chest, gathered his towel and went to find solace in the heat of the
caldarium
.

It was with his head in his hands and a slave wafting the heat down upon him with a wet towel that Sabinus found Vespasian in the hot-room half an hour later. He stood, looking down at his brother, and tutted. ‘Magnus told me that you were here and he warned me about your condition but he evidently played it down. That really is a despicable display of self-pity, if I might say so.’

‘Piss off, Sabinus.’

‘If you really want me to, I will and leave you to wallow in your unfounded misery.’ Sabinus laid a towel down next to Vespasian on the marble bench and sat. He signalled to the slave to pour oil over him and rub it in. ‘So, tell me,’ he said once the task was complete and he was at leisure to enjoy the heat.

And Vespasian did. He told Sabinus of his surprise conversation with Pallas and Agrippina at Caenis’ house, and then his meeting with Seneca.

When Vespasian had finished, the brothers sat quietly for a while as people came and went around them, gossiping, conversing, arguing or in silence.

‘So Pallas is my secret sponsor, I didn’t see that; but it makes sense in that it keeps him actively involved and he can exploit Seneca’s greed and he knows that we are the closest things he has to friends now that he’s so out of favour, in that he saved my life.’

‘I saved your life.’

‘True, but he was the one who persuaded Narcissus not to have me executed before you had the chance to do your bit. But that’s not what interests me; no, it’s not his reasons for paying Seneca a vast amount of money to get me a very lucrative and powerful position and seeming to gain nothing from it himself other than a mediocre favour from you that is really not worth one million, let alone ten. I just assume that he’s playing a long game and trying to get as many people indebted to him as possible to help protect him when Nero finally tries to take his fortune – which he will. What is really interesting is who told Seneca that you were going to Bauli?’

‘Caenis, of course!’

‘If you don’t have anything sensible to say then I suggest you be quiet and let me think, seeing as you’re obviously incapable of that function at the moment.’

Vespasian shrugged and the brothers lapsed back into silence as Sabinus took a strigil and began to scrape the oil, sweat and dirt from his arms and legs.

‘There’s something not quite right here,’ Sabinus observed after a while.

‘Nothing’s quite right.’

‘Oh, do be quiet; I’m not talking about your suspicions about Caenis, which, had you paid any attention to what she has done for you in the last thirty and more years, you would realise are completely unfounded. No, I’m talking about Nero wanting to be reconciled with his mother when all she wants is to share his power. She’d try to usurp it if she weren’t a woman.’

Vespasian raised his head from his hands and looked with scorn at his brother. ‘She
is
a woman so that’s a stupid thing to say.’

‘No it isn’t. She wanted him to become emperor solely so that she would get power, and since he’s denied it to her she has done nothing but insult him to the extent that she openly takes antidotes claiming that the offspring of her womb is trying to kill her. And, so the gossip goes, she has been right to do so on two or three occasions; not to mention her bedroom ceiling collapsing in mysterious circumstances last year when she was staying at the palace.’

This cheered Vespasian; his face brightened. ‘Adding matricide to fratricide and multiple-incest with your mother and stepbrother; Nero really is deteriorating, even by Julio-Claudian standards.’

‘Yes; but think: if he succeeds in killing her he just gets rid of a disapproving nuisance; ultimately she can do him no real harm.’

Vespasian smiled in slow understanding. ‘But who really gains from Nero’s crime of matricide?’

‘Exactly, brother; feeling better?’

‘Much better all of a sudden. There are two obvious people who would appreciate Nero’s successful attempt at matricide. Pallas because he’s tied to Agrippina, and if she were to disappear then he would have a better chance at re-ingratiating himself with the Emperor and regaining some power without Nero always being reminded of his hated mother.’

‘And Seneca?’

‘Because all her very considerable wealth would go to Nero and therefore it would keep Seneca’s growing fortune safe from him for at least a year or two; it’ll buy him more time to make further investments in far-off provinces like Britannia, keeping his money well away from Rome and Nero’s clutches.’ Vespasian paused and shook his head, looking incredulously at his brother. ‘This isn’t about getting money out of Britannia; this is about collusion to matricide. Pallas admitted to me that he’s in contact with Seneca when he said he had bought your position from him personally. So Pallas and Seneca could have planned this together, both understanding that it would be for mutual benefit and neither of them being able to organise it on his own. Seneca knows of Nero’s plan to kill his mother and wants it to succeed without being seen to have helped. Pallas needed to find a way of sending his lover to her death at the hands of her son without her suspecting a thing.’

Pausing again, Vespasian contemplated the refined thinking that had gone into the two former rivals’ plan. ‘It’s beautiful and so completely deniable at every stage should anything go wrong. Pallas uses his knowledge as the former secretary to the Treasury to persuade Agrippina that they need to pull their money out of Britannia, which is very feasible given Nero’s profligacy. He then persuades her that I am the only man who could convince Cogidubnus – again, feasible – and then makes an arrangement for me to travel to Bauli conveniently nearly four months hence so that Nero has had the time to make all his preparations, whatever they are. At Bauli I pick up the property deeds before sailing from Misenum but it so happens that the Emperor, who would have had to give me permission as a senator to travel to Britannia, upon realising that I’m going to see his estranged mother on the way decides to use me as the bearer of his invitation for that same evening as if upon a whim; the most natural thing in the world to do as if it were an impulsive invitation rather than something that has been planned so far in advance. Agrippina is far more likely to trust an impulse rather than a long-standing invitation when there has been time to plot.’

Sabinus slapped his brother on the back. ‘You see? It must have been Pallas who told Seneca that you would be coming. In fact, it was probably the other way around: Seneca told Pallas when he wanted him to have you down at Bauli so that whatever Nero’s planning is ready. Seneca didn’t give you this errand as a favour because you pleased Nero with your flattery, he just used that to make it seem even more spur of the moment, less like a set-up; you had been chosen for the job some time ago by both he and Pallas together. Who better than the person trusted with doing Agrippina’s business in Britannia bearing the invitation from her son for a grand and seemingly impulsive reconciliation? Why would you be part of a plot against her and your former patron, Pallas, if you had been promised a governorship if you succeeded in his mission for them? You had to have the Emperor’s permission to travel so it would be no secret to Nero that you are sailing from Misenum, so he just used you as a convenient way of sending his invitation. It’s perfect, completely innocent.’

‘But how will he do it?’

‘What? Kill her? It’ll seem to be an accident so that Nero can dodge the stigma of matricide. It’ll happen after a
very happy
family dinner at which there will be many witnesses as to the joyful reunion of mother and son who have never been seen to be so happy in each other’s company. Then, tragically, on that night of all nights, a terrible accident, months in the making, occurs to sunder them for ever.’

Vespasian gave a few slow nods. ‘Nero will be sending a ship for her that will take her home afterwards.’

‘A ship is full of dangers. And I would be willing to wager that once Pallas receives news of his unfortunate lover’s death, he will cancel your trip to Britannia as being unnecessary until her estate is sorted out. All that wanting to sell property back to Cogidubnus and giving you the deeds at Bauli is nothing more than a plausible ruse to get you down there knowing that you wouldn’t accept an invitation from Agrippina.’

Relief surged through Vespasian with the same intensity as despair had only a few short hours earlier; relief that the darkness that had entered his world when Caenis had seemed to leave it was gone. ‘How could I have ever suspected her?’

‘Because Pallas and Seneca made you; they didn’t give a fuck about your feelings or hers even though she has served them both loyally – well, almost loyally.’

‘Conniving cunts! I’ll have them.’

‘One day perhaps, but not in the near future.’

‘You’re right; but in the meantime it’s to my advantage to make sure that their scheme works and that Agrippina ends up at the bottom of the Bay of Neapolis. But perhaps not as cleanly as Nero might have hoped; it would be awful if he ended up getting sympathy from the mob for killing his own mother.’

‘Indeed, and to do that properly you have to play your part well; and to play your part well you have to make them believe that you suspect nothing.’

‘Of course.’

‘Which means you must revert to the disgusting state of self-pity that I found you in. You have to seem to Seneca’s and Pallas’ spies that you are distraught by what you see as Caenis’ betrayal; the betrayal that they made you believe was true. But more than that, you have to make Caenis believe that you think that she’s betrayed you.’

Vespasian swallowed as he realised the truth of what his brother had just said and then his stomach lurched as he understood what the reality of it would be: when he next saw the woman he loved he would have to shun her and continue to do so for over three months.

CHAPTER V

V
ESPASIAN CROUCHED NEXT
to Sabinus and Magnus in a shadowed alley just off a side street of the Via Patricius, the main thoroughfare leading up to the Viminal Gate and on to the Praetorian camp beyond it. All three wore deeply hooded cloaks even though the moon was not far from new and very little light made it through the drizzle-laden cloud cover. They were armed with knives and cudgels and Magnus had brought Castor and Pollux along as insurance against the venture getting completely out of hand, but none of them expected to be obliged to defend themselves as they were here to observe only. However, none of them had expected to end up in this filth-encrusted alley to which they had moved only recently after a messenger for Tigran had arrived at their last and more salubrious hiding place in the back yard of a tavern two streets down from their present location.

Further up the alley, almost at its junction with the side street, they could just make out the silhouetted huddle of a dozen of Tigran’s brethren all wearing actors’ masks as Nero was purported to do when on a rampage. Vespasian wondered just how Tigran expected to achieve the vengeance on Terpnus with so few men when the Vigiles shadowing Nero’s latest storm through the city would number at least eight and Nero’s cronies would be about the same amount. Not to mention the century from one of the Urban Cohorts that Sabinus was obliged to put on standby close to the area to extract Nero if necessary. He had muttered his misgivings to his companions.

‘It’s all right, sir,’ Magnus whispered next to him, ‘Tigran knows what he’s doing.’

‘I’m sure he does,’ Vespasian replied as a drunk tried to turn into the alley and was knocked insensible by one of the brethren. ‘I just wish that I knew what he was doing too; if this is a shambles and Sabinus and I get caught we’ll be lucky to get away with committing suicide and our families keeping our property.’

‘Oh, and what about the rest of us?’

‘Insignificant enough not to be noticed if two senators are caught waylaying the imperial progress through the Viminal.’

‘I thought that you two just wanted to observe?’

‘We do,’ Sabinus hissed, ‘but if it goes wrong we may well get caught up in it.’

‘If you’re worried about that then you shouldn’t have come; you could have waited at home for the trophy Tigran promised to bring Senator Pollo.’

‘Then I would have missed seeing the fear in his eyes.’

‘In which case stop complaining.’ Magnus pulled his cloak closer about his shoulders to protect himself from the steadily increasing rain and then wedged himself deeper between Castor and Pollux to gain some benefit from their body heat.

Vespasian shifted his position, rubbing his stiff thigh, as he strained his ears in an attempt to hear beyond the cries and shouts of the throng of people frequenting, even at the eighth hour of the night, the brothels of either sex for which the Via Patricius, thirty paces to his right, was famed. He shivered and thanked Mars that the chance of revenge, which had obliged him to stay in Rome, had finally come; once it was done, and Nero’s birthday had been celebrated in five days’ time, he could remove himself from the city more often and stay on his estates until it was time to go to Bauli, thus reducing the chances of contact with Caenis. He would, of course, have to be in Rome for certain occasions and festivals but he hoped he could keep these visits to a minimum.

In the twenty or so days that had passed since he and Sabinus had guessed at the unlikely alliance between Pallas and Seneca, he had done just as his brother had suggested and moped about as if he was in the depths of self-pity. He had obeyed any summons from the Emperor and had attempted to act the part of a man putting a brave face on things, especially when Seneca was present, which was most of the time. The one luxury he had allowed himself was to spend more time at the Green racing faction’s stables, on the Campus Martius, with his team of Arab greys. Since receiving them as a gift from Malachus, the King of the Nabatean Arabs, in return for him interceding with Seneca concerning the jurisdiction of Damascus, Vespasian had become a proficient driver of a four-horse racing chariot. He took out much of his frustration at not seeing Caenis by hurling his team around the Flammian Circus, next to the Greens’ stables, in private sessions with one or two of the team’s drivers.

As for Caenis, he had ignored her letters and on one occasion had actually turned about when he found himself approaching her in a corridor of the palace; she had called after him but he had ignored her in a scene that had been witnessed by at least three palace slaves and a couple of equestrians waiting for an interview with Epaphroditus, one of Nero’s rising freedmen. The incident, he knew, would get back to Seneca without a doubt, having had such a wide audience and Epaphroditus being such a renowned gossip. Although it had pained him to do it, he consoled himself with the thought that he would hurt a lot more if he still believed her guilty of betrayal; betrayal as false as the two men who had insinuated it.

Pallas had slipped back out of Rome with Agrippina and they had returned south to her estate at Bauli. Vespasian now knew that Pallas had in fact run little risk in returning to the city against the will of the Emperor: Seneca must have been complicit in his coming and going so that he avoided the attentions of the Urban Cohort guards on the gates who would have been briefed to look out for him. Vespasian bristled as he thought of Pallas whom he had once considered a friend, whom Caenis still considered a friend. That he could try to poison their relationship with false suspicions of disloyalty he felt was itself the ultimate act of betrayal; now any shred of loyalty he felt to the once-powerful Greek freedman had evaporated and there remained only a desire for vengeance. But first he was to avenge his uncle and that, he hoped, would be a pleasure; again he concentrated on distinguishing between the multitude of sounds coming from the Via Patricius.

But when the noise that he was listening for came, it was not from the direction of the main thoroughfare but, rather, off to his left. He heard it again, closer this time; the sound that Gaius had described to him: high-pitched ululations. Nero was approaching, causing havoc and carnage, freely and at will, as he passed through the city in which he was supposed to be the final arbiter of justice. Tonight, Vespasian hoped, they would put an end to that by frightening him off.

A couple of figures dashed past the head of the alley, fleeing as if in fear of their lives as the ululations came closer. Tigran made a couple of calming motions with his arm to steady the lads around him. Castor and Pollux pricked up their ears. A screech of pain rent the air and the ululations paused to be replaced by rhythmic clapping in time to hoarse chanting, occasionally broken by a woman’s pleas for mercy. But mercy was not to be shown to this victim and her cries became weaker in inverse proportion to the strengthening of clapping and chanting; as they came to a crescendo the ululating recommenced, piercing and wild, chilling the blood like the war cry of some hitherto unknown barbarian tribe. And then it began to come closer, the rattle of hobnailed soles accompanying it along with the whooping of hunters who have spotted fresh quarry. Vespasian did not have to wait long before he saw what had caught the attention of Nero’s gang: a huge man, dressed in a toga and holding a flaming torch aloft came pelting past the alley at a speed that belied his bulk followed by three women.

‘Good lad, Sextus,’ Magnus muttered, ‘nice, tempting bait.’

As Sextus passed, the ululations drew almost level and then the corpulent silhouette of Nero, accompanied by a posse of whooping shadows, sped past. Two heartbeats after the last one passed Tigran leapt up and dashed into the road but, instead of following Nero, he turned left with all his brethren following. Vespasian moved up to the end of the alley as mortal screams and the clash of weapons came from his left. He peered around the corner to see Tigran and his brethren at close quarters with the surprised Vigiles shadowing the Emperor; three, including their optio, were already down and the other five were wavering under an assault of nailed cudgels and honed blades. The crossroads brethren were showing no sign of easily forgiving the insult perpetrated on their fellows a month previously. With two swift swings of a club, Tigran stove in the face of another as a further member of Rome’s law-enforcement fell to his knees with his belly ripped open. This was enough for the last three; they turned and fled rather than give their lives protecting rapine and pillage.

Turning the other way, Vespasian could make out the large shape of Sextus slashing his torch and roaring at a couple of Nero’s companions, supported by three other figures who, whilst dressed in women’s clothing, were wielding blades in a decidedly masculine manner. Between them they blocked the side street and there was now no escape for the Emperor’s rampaging party as Tigran led his brethren back past the alley and completed the trap.

Nero turned this way and that, desperately looking for a place to hide but there were none, just brick walls and shuttered windows to either side. One of his companions stepped forward, his face covered with a scarf; he held out his sword to show that he was not about to use it. ‘I advise you to let us go,’ he said and Vespasian recognised the voice of Tigellinus. ‘You don’t know who you are dealing with.’

‘I’m well aware who you are, Tigellinus,’ Tigran said from behind his mask, ‘in fact we came looking for you.’

Tigellinus stepped back, stung by the unexpected use of his name. ‘Then you know who else is here?’

‘Yes, we do; and we’ve come for him.’

Nero yelped and fell to his knees, shuddering with sobs, the tips of his fingers touching the eye-holes of his gurning comic-actor’s mask as if catching the tears issuing from them. ‘Mercy, mercy; grant your Emperor mercy.’

‘Of course, Princeps,’ Tigran replied with a surprising amount of respect in his tone, ‘we have not come to harm you; only to ask you to keep to the Palatine in your future night-time escapades. You may go if you leave us Terpnus.’

Nero looked from side to side as if he were trying to spot a trap, before bounding to his feet. ‘Of course, take him!’ he said, then turned and grabbed the unfortunate musician and shoved him towards Tigran. Two of his brethren secured Terpnus up against a wall as he attempted to wrest himself free.

Tigran nodded at Sextus and his cross-dressed support. ‘Let them go, lads.’

They stepped aside and Nero darted through the gap followed by his companions; only Tigellinus hesitated. ‘I’ll find you,’ he spat.

‘No you won’t, Tigellinus, because you don’t even know where to start looking; and if you start to get close I’ll find you first.’

Tigellinus stared at the expressionless mask, hawked and spat at Tigran’s feet before turning and walking away at a dignified pace.

Tigran slowly revolved his head until the menacingly still mask faced Terpnus.

‘What do you want with me?’ Terpnus asked, his voice weak and shaking.

Tigran remained silent as he lifted his hand and ripped off the cloth tied around his captive’s face.

Terpnus’ lips quivered and his brow was bunched with fear. ‘What do you want?’ he asked again, his voice weaker.

‘Not your life, you will be pleased to learn.’

Terpnus’ features relaxed.

‘Just your talent. Sextus, you know what to do.’

Terpnus looked momentarily confused as the bovinesque brother approached him and then shook with fear as Sextus grabbed his right wrist and pressed his hand flat on the wall, his torch casting flickering light onto the scene.

‘No, please!’ Terpnus screamed as a short axe flashed in Tigran’s fist. He tried to bunch up his fingers but Sextus’ strength was too much for him and the pressure kept his hand pressed to the wall with his fingers splayed.

Golden in the torchlight, the axe glistened as it fell; it struck the wall with a metallic ring, chipping into the brick. There was an instance of silence and then a howl that morphed into a wail of despair as Terpnus watched his thumb fall to the ground. The axe blade had turned red; Tigran raised it for a second blow, adjusting the angle. Down it fell leaving an arc of dark droplets in its wake. The wailing did not cease but rose in pitch as the forefinger and middle finger flew, rotating, back towards Terpnus’ face, one striking him on the cheek, his eyes following it in disbelieving terror. Once more the axe swished through the air, severing the final two digits. Sextus let go of the wrist and Terpnus gazed at his maimed hand in wide-eyed horror, the wail now gone and replaced with a silent scream.

‘That feels much better,’ Sabinus muttered to Vespasian.

‘It certainly does, brother.’

‘I’ve got one refinement that I think will gratify our uncle more than having those trophies that Tigran promised.’ Sabinus strode forward and picked up the thumb and forefinger. ‘Bend him over, Sextus.’

Sextus grinned, took Terpnus by the back of the neck and forced him to double up. Tigran understood what was to happen and aided it by ripping off the musician’s exposed loincloth. Without ceremony, Sabinus rammed the severed thumb, lubricated with its own blood, into the man’s anus and followed it with the forefinger as Terpnus’ whole body shook and heaved in shock. Tigran collected the other three digits, which soon disappeared the same way before Sabinus cracked his knee into Terpnus’ face, flattening his nose. ‘That’s the last time you humiliate a member of my family, you disgusting bastard!’ With a nod of thanks to Tigran he turned and walked towards the Via Patricius with Vespasian and Magnus following him hauling Castor and Pollux away from the rain-diluted blood with which they were slaking their thirst.

‘You shouldn’t have spoken to him,’ Vespasian said as they turned onto the bustling thoroughfare alive with brothel frequenters and delivery carts, banned from the city during the daylight hours, ‘he might have recognised your voice.’

Sabinus shrugged. ‘He wouldn’t have noticed my voice; he was too busy wondering which hurt the most, his hand, his nose or having four fingers and a thumb shoved up his arse.’