The Furies of Rome (11 page)

‘That’ll make for an interesting morning shit,’ Magnus mused. ‘I suppose it adds a whole new sense to sitting on one’s finger, if you take my meaning?’

Vespasian ignored the remark. ‘Even so, Sabinus, I think you should avoid Terpnus for a while; you’re going to have to be careful at Nero’s birthday celebrations in five days’ time just in case he hears your voice and it sparks a memory.’

And so it was with feigned surprise that Vespasian and Sabinus heard about, and then discussed, the tragic and brutal attack that had been perpetrated upon the most talented lyre-player of the age with the other guests at the many festivities that marked Nero’s birthday two days after the ides of December.

‘It happened right here on the Palatine apparently, under our very noses,’ Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus said pointedly to his companion as he passed Vespasian, Sabinus and Gaius standing watching the sun descend over the Circus Maximus from a terrace in the imperial residence. ‘And just what the prefect of Rome thinks he’s doing allowing that sort of violence so close to decent people’s homes, I don’t know.’

‘I think it’s time he was replaced, Corvinus,’ his companion replied, equally as loud.

‘I completely agree with you, Pedanius, I have already suggested as much to Seneca and the Emperor; in fact I think that I shall mention it again to Nero when he arrives this evening and recommend you for the post in gratitude for your … er … help in securing me the governorship of Lusitania.’

‘I’m sure that I’ll make a better job of it than the present incumbent.’

‘That won’t be difficult.’

‘Ignore it, dear boy,’ Gaius said as Corvinus and Pedanius walked off laughing. ‘They know perfectly well how and where it happened.’

‘Besides,’ Vespasian pointed out, ‘no one believes the official version of events.’

Sabinus spat over the balustrade into the garden below. ‘It doesn’t matter what they believe when the official account is held up as the truth; yet again it makes me look stupid.’

Gaius grabbed a pastry from the tray of a passing slave. ‘I hope you’re not regretting avenging my humiliation in such a pleasing manner.’

‘Of course not, Uncle,’ Sabinus replied, looking in through the terrace doors over to where Terpnus sat, glancing every few moments in disbelief at his bandaged, mutilated hand. ‘Just the sight of him gives me a warm feeling, but it’s tempered by shits like Corvinus and Lucius Pedanius Secundus stirring their venom in public.’

‘And Corvinus walks into a governorship immediately after he’s consul,’ Vespasian said with more than a touch of bitterness.

‘He didn’t walk in; he paid for admission and it cost him a fortune, dear boy; Seneca’s interest rates are exorbitant and he had to go to Pedanius to have him be the guarantor of the loan, thereby humiliating himself by publicly admitting that his family did not have the resources any more.’

‘Nor do we; I can’t afford to pay Seneca for a governorship.’

‘Yes, but we never could afford it. Corvinus’ family always used to be able to but now can’t. But he was so desperate to restore his finances with a province that he put his dignity aside and borrowed the money. But I don’t suppose he cares now as he has his governorship.’

‘And he enjoys flaunting it in front of me at every opportunity; I much preferred it when he was dead.’ Corvinus had long ago reneged on an oath to conduct himself as a dead man in Vespasian’s presence in return for Vespasian saving his life after the downfall of his sister, Messalina; a deed that Vespasian now regretted.

A shrill shriek from above them, causing all three to look up, cut through Vespasian’s regret. A vase hurtled from the balcony above to smash with a ceramic clatter on a paved path.

‘Then get rid of him!’ a woman’s voice raged. ‘And then get rid of your dull and sour wife! You will make me your Empress whatever your mother says.’

‘Careful, Poppaea.’ Nero’s husky voice was unmistakeable. ‘Your beauty and versatility in bed do not make you immortal. I do what I want when I want and take no direction from anyone.’

Whether the chill note of warning in Nero’s voice frightened Poppaea into submission or whether she just changed her tactics was uncertain; however, it was not long before the distinctive sound of urgent rutting came from the balcony.

‘I think I’ll go back in,’ Gaius announced, none too keen on the sound of Poppaea’s evident female pleasure.

The brothers followed him in.

‘That Terpnus business has reflected very badly on you, prefect,’ Tigellinus sneered with his rabid-dog snarl of a smile stretched across his sharp features; Otho stood next to him.

‘Where were your Vigiles, Tigellinus?’ Sabinus retorted. ‘You should have had ample to spare seeing as you told me that the Viminal was being kept clear of patrols because of … well, you know why.’

‘I do.’

‘So let’s stop pretending that Terpnus was attacked on the Palatine, shall we?’

‘I know perfectly well that he wasn’t because I was there, as you know. The question is: who else was there?’ The rabid-dog snarl widened. ‘Eh?’

‘Eh, what?’

‘I’ll tell you something interesting. I’ve had a couple of the West Viminal Crossroads Brethren hauled in for questioning and even under the strictest inducements they knew nothing about Terpnus’ fingers.’

‘So?’

‘So, I’d say it wasn’t them; but then who else could it be? Now, you’re the only person I told that the Viminal was to be targeted just so you could have the usual century from one of your Urban Cohorts standing by just in case. Who did you tell, prefect? Eh? Who should I question next, I wonder? Eh?’ With that he walked abruptly away.

‘A tricky situation, perhaps?’ Otho questioned before following Tigellinus.

‘I’ll get a message to Tigran to lie low for a while,’ Gaius said as Tigellinus and Otho disappeared into the crowd of guests, passing Faenius Rufus, Thrasea the Stoic and Gaius Calpurnius Piso.

Vespasian rubbed his bald pate and looked even more constipated than usual. ‘We’ll have to find some way to put him off the trail.’

‘We believe, prefect, that what happened the other night,’ Rufus said, sidling up quietly to Sabinus, ‘was perhaps no more than a form of justice. Someone is to be congratulated.’

Sabinus looked quizzically at the man he considered honest to the point of recklessness. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, Rufus.’

‘Your feigned ignorance does you credit, Sabinus,’ Thrasea said.

‘But it does not fool,’ Piso affirmed, his voice lowered beneath the surrounding conversations. ‘We all know that the Emperor was waylaid on one of his disgusting rampages and that Terpnus paid for an outrage that he’d perpetrated on a man of some influence as it was obviously an arranged attack. What we’re saying is that there are more than a few who welcome this development and hope that it will serve to curb some imperial excess. Furthermore, we know that there was no way that the attack could have been accomplished without at least the tacit approval of someone like yourself, for example.’

Sabinus was about to protest his innocence but Piso cut him off. ‘Say nothing, prefect; but if you ever want to talk …’ Piso smiled and walked away with Rufus and Thrasea.

‘That was indiscreet of him,’ Vespasian observed.

‘Was it, dear boy? I’d say he’d made a couple of very pertinent assumptions from the facts as most people know them and came to the right conclusion. It’s good to know that there are people thinking the same way as us, but let’s hope that not everyone is as astute as Piso and Rufus, especially Tigellinus. However, I wouldn’t advise going for a little chat with him as he advocates, just in case he’s made false assumptions about, but the same suggestion to, other people less of our way of mind.’

Before Sabinus could express a view, the assembly broke into applause as Nero and Poppaea Sabina appeared on the stairs, their rutting evidently concluded in quick time.

At the halfway point, Nero paused and soaked up the welcome for more than a few moments. Eventually, satisfied, he held up his hands for quiet. ‘My friends, it is not often that I change my mind; indeed, having never been in error there has not been occasion for me to do so. However, I believe that I may have overlooked one thing when I was confirming an appointment.’

Vespasian felt Sabinus tense next to him; he glanced over to Pedanius who was looking intently at the Emperor, his interest evidently piqued.

‘It was an easy thing to overlook as I who have so much of it don’t consider it in others. However, this time I deem myself to be at fault for not taking it into account: money.’

Vespasian was now convinced that somehow the Emperor had got wind of Pallas’ ten million sesterces bribe. But would that matter?

‘When one lacks money one can’t act in the way that a Roman noble should in whatever position he finds himself and so therefore it is better if I relieve Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus of his position as governor of Lusitania, as I now know that his six months as my colleague in the consulship cost him far more than he made and his family finances are now below that required of the senatorial order.’

There was a low gasp from the assembled and all eyes turned to Corvinus who stood, rigid, jaw jutted, his face red with fury.

Sabinus visibly relaxed.

‘But I am not insensible to the lineage of this great patrician family, so therefore I propose that the Senate should vote him an annual stipend of half a million sesterces so that he can enjoy his poverty in dignity and still retain his senatorial rank.’

The use of public funds in such a way seemed to be the most natural thing in the world and Nero was roundly praised, as Corvinus’ countenance eased into gratitude now that he would have a substantial income for doing absolutely nothing.

‘His luck makes me sick,’ Vespasian hissed at Gaius, venom in his voice.

‘Indeed, dear boy, and he won’t even have the difficulty of getting Seneca to pay back his bribe money as it was Seneca’s anyway.’

‘So who should take his place?’ Nero continued. ‘There seems to me to be only one option and that is my good friend, Marcus Salvius Otho.’

The look on Otho’s face made it clear that he did not think he was the only option to go and govern a province about as far away from the pleasures of Rome as it was possible to get, even though it was a lucrative posting.

‘And so, Otho, I wish you joy of your appointment and promise that I will look after your wife, Poppaea, until your safe return. Although I think that in the circumstances a divorce would suit better all round. Now go.’

Otho stepped forward. ‘But, Princeps—’

‘Go! And don’t come back until I recall you.’

If he ever does
, thought Vespasian, as Otho realised that there was nothing he could do to resist Nero’s will without losing his life.

Poppaea Sabina watched her husband go in triumph, holding onto the Emperor’s arm. Victorious, she looked to Vespasian, as one of the three obstacles to her becoming empress was removed from Rome leaving just Nero’s wife, Claudia, and his mother, Agrippina; both of whom were doomed by the ambition of the new Fury at Nero’s side.

‘Master,’ Hormus said as Vespasian walked through his front door a couple of hours later, leaving his escort of Tigran’s brothers to make their way home in the chill mist of a December night. ‘I’m sorry but I couldn’t stop her. She insisted.’

‘Who insisted, Hormus?’

‘Caenis, master.’ The freedman wrung his hands, not daring to meet his patron’s eyes as they passed through the vestibule and on into the atrium. ‘She came an hour after you left, tricked her way past the doorkeeper by saying that she had an important message for you from Seneca that she personally had to leave in your study and then refused to leave, even though I told her that you had given orders that she should be refused entry.’

Vespasian looked around the atrium but could see no sign of Caenis. ‘Where is she?’

‘I’m sorry, master, but she’s with the mistress.’

‘With Flavia!’

‘Yes, master; her shouting disturbed the mistress who came to see what was going on; when she saw it was Caenis she insisted that they wait for you together in the triclinium and that I should have dinner served there for them both.’

Vespasian was horrified. ‘They’ve been closeted together for almost three hours!’

Hormus cringed, wringing his hands so that his knuckles were white. ‘I know, it’s terrible. I’m so sorry, master.’

Vespasian swallowed and looked towards the closed door of the triclinium. The only other time he had seen his wife and mistress together was when they had both suffered the indignity of having their houses searched in the wake of Caligula’s assassination; it had not been a comfortable experience. And, although Flavia and Caenis had maintained cordial relations and had even become friendly towards one another whilst Vespasian had been away in Germania and Britannia for six years with the II Augusta, to the point that his two elder children referred to Caenis as ‘aunt’, the thought of seeing them both together was not a pleasant one, especially when he had so flagrantly avoided Caenis and had given her no good reason for doing so. He had purposely kept her completely unaware of his motives for his behaviour in order to keep the pretence complete but now he would have to explain.

He steeled himself, walking slowly to the triclinium door, and, with a brief pause as his hand gripped the handle, opened it.

‘There you are, at last,’ Flavia said, her tone implying that he was late for an appointment that he himself had made. She was reclining on a couch with Caenis next to her; the remains of a large meal was laid out on the table before them. ‘Where have you been?’

‘You know perfectly well where I’ve been, Flavia, as well as you know it’s not fitting that you should even ask.’ He broke off a hunk of bread and dipped it into a bowl of oil before sitting down on an unoccupied couch; Caenis kept her eyes lowered, not meeting his look. ‘How are you, Caenis?’

With a suddenness that surprised both Vespasian and Flavia, Caenis threw her cup, shattering it against the wall in an explosion of shards and wine. ‘What have I done?’ she almost screamed.