The Furies of Rome (18 page)

‘How very astute of the centurion to see the truth of what you were saying and modify his behaviour accordingly; I do hope Burrus is just as sensible.’

‘Why is a prisoner of the Vigiles any concern of yours, Senator Vespasian?’ Burrus asked, surprising Vespasian by addressing him formally and with a certain degree of respect in his tone.

‘He is of interest to some associates of mine who would rather he didn’t share his knowledge with someone like Tigellinus.’ Vespasian knew that sounded lame; however, Burrus seemed to take it at face value, or, at least, had the good manners to pretend to do so.

‘I see.’ The prefect frowned whilst considering what to say next. He leant forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk; bellowed orders and the crash of drill came through the opaque-glass window behind him. He looked hard at Vespasian and then at Caenis sitting next to him. ‘Forgive me, but I really don’t see what this has to do with me; as prefect of the Praetorian Guard I have absolutely no influence over the Vigiles or their prefect.’

Caenis presented Burrus with her sweetest smile. ‘We quite understand that, prefect; technically you have no power over how the Vigiles run themselves.’

‘So why are you here then?’

‘Because, if you chose to, you could make life very difficult for Tigellinus; even impossible, I would suggest, to the point where he would be obliged to terminate it. No one likes their life to be impossible, do they,
prefect
?’

‘I see.’ Burrus frowned in thought again.

Vespasian kept his face straight, enjoying the subtlety of Caenis’ implied threat. The speed with which Burrus had seen them had hinted at an anxiety to get the interview over with as quickly as possible and Vespasian knew that was nothing to do with his own presence. As a veteran of imperial politics himself, Burrus would be only too aware that Caenis did not come asking for something unless she felt sure that she had the means to get it. They had barely enough time to be served their wine in the tribunes’ mess before a very respectful secretary had invited them to follow him to the prefect’s quarters in the praetorium at the heart of the camp. Magnus and Tigran had been more than happy to keep the jug of notably tolerable Falernian wine company and await the result of the meeting in the mess.

‘And why would I choose to make Tigellinus’ life impossible – assuming that I could, that is?’

‘I’m not saying that you should make his life impossible; the threat should be enough. We want to avoid any unpleasantness. As to why, prefect?’ Caenis bestowed another radiant smile upon Burrus. ‘I don’t know about you but I always find it much better when someone else’s life is made impossible rather than my own; wouldn’t you agree?’

Burrus swallowed; it seemed to Vespasian that he evidently believed that whatever Caenis would threaten him with would be viable. ‘And … er … what incentive would you have for me to help you out in this matter?’

Caenis pulled a scroll from beneath her palla. ‘This is a copy, prefect, which I had my secretary do just before I left my house; the original is stored very securely.’

Burrus unrolled the scroll and read its contents, his face seeming to fall with every sentence. When he had finished he laid it down on the desk and tapped his fingers together. ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked.

‘I should think that’s obvious.’

‘Agrippina?’

‘Who else could have had such a document?’

‘And how did you come by it?’

Vespasian recalled the cylindrical document case that Caenis had said contained the payment from Pallas and Agrippina for her to present their request for help from him.

‘Now that is a rather strange tale, prefect. My price for a favour is either cash or information; I have never had any leverage on you, so when approached by Pallas and Agrippina for a favour, you were my price. Agrippina gave it to me in return for me presenting Vespasian with a proposition from her and Pallas. However, that proposition was nothing but a ruse to get Vespasian to deliver the invitation that lured Agrippina to her death; a plan, I believe, that you acquiesced to, having, as we both now know, sabotaged the previous two attempts.’

Vespasian was now confused: how did Caenis know that?

Burrus could not resist a smile. ‘Are you saying that she gave you this document in return for facilitating her own demise?’

Caenis joined him in his amusement. ‘Yes, prefect, I found it a delicious irony when I realised it myself. But then I understood how that came about and my respect for Pallas’ subtlety increased even further, if that is possible.’

Vespasian was desperate to discover the contents of the letter but knew better than to show his ignorance of the matter.

‘You see, prefect,’ Caenis continued, ‘Pallas has never forgiven either you or Seneca for his banishment. He knew perfectly well that Agrippina could never use this document whilst she still lived for she couldn’t possibly let on to Nero that she knew of its contents as it would’ve meant certain death to her. So it was easy for Pallas to get her to part with it because if it came to the Emperor’s attention from any other source, she could legitimately deny all knowledge of it, saying that it must have been intercepted before it reached her or that it was a fake.’

Burrus completely understood. ‘But now she’s dead she can’t do that so the Emperor will assume, correctly, that she did receive it and it is genuine.’

‘And you will be dead; as you well know because you wrote and sent it.’ Another sweet smile lit up Caenis’ face. ‘And so Pallas gets her to give it to me, in payment for a favour that seals her fate, which thereby makes the document so toxic that you would do almost anything to get the original back. I thought it was a work of genius.’

Even Burrus could appreciate the finesse and shook his head slowly in wonder. ‘So if I induce Tigellinus to give up this … Sextus?’

‘That’s right, prefect, Sextus along with any notes taken whilst interviewing him; and make it clear to Tigellinus that what he’s investigating is best left alone.’

‘Then I’ll get the original back.’

‘You have my word on it, prefect.’

‘And you aren’t afraid that when it’s all over I might be very angry and seek revenge on you?’

Again Caenis smiled. ‘I don’t think you’ll want to do that, prefect; after all, everyone is happy: Sextus has been released and Tigellinus knows never to try to investigate that matter again and you have the original copy of your letter to Agrippina warning her that Nero was going to attempt to poison her and telling her what antidotes to use. I think that we can leave it there, don’t you, prefect?’

Burrus rubbed the back of his neck, sucking the air through his teeth, as he looked at the copy. ‘I did it out of loyalty to her, you know; she did get me the Praetorian Guard, after all.’

‘Very commendable, prefect; and I suppose it was out of loyalty of a different sort that you assisted in her murder.’

‘I didn’t assist; I just knew about it and did nothing to stop it or warn her this time.’

‘What made you change your mind?’ Vespasian asked, feeling better now that he understood what Caenis had over Burrus.

‘What?’ Burrus looked at Vespasian in surprise as if he had forgotten his presence in the room. ‘Oh, for a couple of reasons: he was going to do it no matter what, so it was best that it could at least look like an accident; although that went wrong too. Plus the fact that Agrippina had made it clear that she would never support him divorcing Claudia because she believes that being married to Claudius’ daughter gives Nero legitimacy that he would not otherwise have as Claudius’ adoptive son. Should Agrippina have made a public display against Nero by supporting Claudia it could be very dangerous for my position; both women are, or were, very popular with the people and, more importantly, the army, so it could easily have led to a rebellion and then where would I be? Leading ten thousand parade-ground soldiers against frontier legions; not a happy prospect.’ Burrus got to his feet, pushing his chair back behind him. ‘Still, it’s done now and once I have that letter back I can forget about Agrippina completely. So, if you would excuse me, I’ve got to go and mention to Tigellinus that his life might just become intolerable and will carry on being so until he forgets everything concerning Sextus and whatever investigation he’s involved in. I shall bring Sextus to your house, in an hour or so, personally in order to take receipt of what’s mine.’

Caenis stood, gracing Burrus with yet another beaming smile. ‘Prefect, we look forward to seeing you there. You know where I live?’

‘I’m the prefect of the Praetorian Guard; I know where everyone who matters lives.’

‘Indeed. Would you care to stay for dinner?’

‘Let’s not go so far as to pretend that we’re friends, Antonia Caenis.’ With that he stomped from the room leaving Vespasian looking in awe at Caenis; relief coursed through him.

‘We’ll make a special sacrifice to our crossroads
lares
if Sextus is released before he’s been made to talk,’ Tigran said, looking much relieved at the news.

‘He’s a tough lad, Sextus is,’ Magnus assured him, his face flush from a very convivial time with the Falernian. ‘He wouldn’t have talked yet.’

‘It won’t matter if he has,’ Caenis said from within her litter. ‘Burrus will make sure that Tigellinus can do nothing with the information.’

‘What’s he going to threaten him with to ensure that?’

‘That’s his business; but I’m sure it’ll be good. He’s going to get any notes that may have been taken when interviewing Sextus and make his displeasure felt. Tigellinus fears Burrus so much that that will be sufficient.’

‘You showed no fear of him, though, did you, Caenis?’ Vespasian said, still in a state of advanced admiration for the feat he had just witnessed.

‘I may have showed no fear, but I felt it. That could have gone very wrong.’

And Vespasian knew that she was right; to coerce the prefect of the Praetorian Guard was not a thing to be undertaken lightly. Had he, Vespasian, tried it alone he would probably find himself with a treason charge hanging over his head by now; but Caenis was a different prospect. She was Seneca’s secretary and had been Pallas’, Narcissus’ and Antonia’s before that and she was known for having an encyclopaedic memory. Who knew what dangerous items of information were stored in there, garnered over almost forty years at the heart of imperial politics? Then, of course, there was Narcissus’ private cache of files that he had entrusted to her safekeeping when he fell from favour; after his execution she and Vespasian had gone through them, keeping the more interesting documents and burning the rest. The difference between them was that whereas Vespasian could remember which documents referred to which people, Caenis would be able to quote whole sections. No, Vespasian thought, Burrus would have been foolish to try to call her bluff; but Caenis well knew that just because a course of action was considered to be foolish did not necessarily prohibit someone reckless from pursuing it and had Burrus not calculated cautiously then they could have ended up in a very nasty situation. However, Caenis’ calm use of implicit threat had been sufficient to convince the prefect that he should subject himself to her will. Vespasian had never seen the like of it and his eyes had been opened to Caenis’ strength. The woman he loved, he had realised, was stronger even than him; a ruthless negotiator with a store of information on most people to be used in order to get at their weak points. She was not someone to cross and he thanked Mars that their relationship had been strong enough for her to forgive him for the time when he had been forced to avoid her. He knew he would never have been able to achieve what she had just done and he and Sabinus would have been doomed and the house of Flavius would have sunk back into the mire of obscurity.

Burrus arrived at Caenis’ house, as he had promised, bringing a battered-looking Sextus with him and left almost immediately, without formalities, with the original copy of his incriminating letter to Agrippina.

‘How did it go?’ Vespasian asked Sextus as soon as Burrus was out of the door; although judging by the bruising he thought it a mildly silly question.

Sextus leant against the wall, rubbing his swollen right eye carefully. ‘It weren’t good, sir, not good at all.’

‘Did you talk, though, brother?’ Magnus asked as a slave brought Sextus a cup of wine; Caenis signalled the slave for another one.

‘What do you mean, Magnus?’

‘Did you say it was the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood that did Terpnus’ fingers?’

Sextus looked at his wine, shamefaced, and then downed it in one. ‘I think I did, brother; I’m sorry; they were threatening to do to me what we’d done to Terpnus and once I let on that I knew what it was I couldn’t deny it. I’m not so bright, you see.’

No one argued with that assessment.

‘And what about Sabinus and me, Sextus,’ Vespasian asked, ‘did you mention that we were there?’

‘No, of course not, sir.’

‘Good man.’

‘But I did tell them that the attack was revenge for Senator Pollo having the torch shoved … well, you know where.’

Vespasian, Caenis, Magnus and Tigran groaned as a loud knock came from the front door. Caenis’ doorkeeper opened it to reveal Hormus, Vespasian’s freedman.

‘I hoped I’d find you here, master.’ Hormus looked pale; in his hand he had a scroll.

‘What is it, Hormus?’

‘This just arrived, sir.’

Vespasian took the proffered scroll and looked at the seal and felt his heart jump; perhaps Burrus had not done what he had promised after all, or he had been late. ‘That’s Nero’s seal,’ he said, showing Caenis the offending article and then opening it and reading. ‘This is an imperial summons for tomorrow morning; I’m to wait at home and a messenger will be with me at the third hour of the day to tell me where to present myself to Nero.’

CHAPTER VIIII

THE LAST OF
his clients stepped out through the vestibule and Vespasian felt a relief that his morning
salutio
was over; he leant back in his chair at his desk in the tablinum and looked down at his desktop, covered with scrolls and wax tablets. It had been a busy morning as there had been much business to take care of. Vespasian wanted his affairs in order and, to that end, Hormus and the four slaves who worked under the freedman as secretaries were still occupied writing out, in longhand, letters that he had dictated to them between seeing clients. All of these letters Hormus was to send should the worst come to the worst. The first was to Titus, in his province of Germania Inferior, advising him to throw himself at Nero’s mercy at the first possible opportunity should he, Vespasian, be condemned. He had written also to his stewards on the estates, making arrangements for them to have access to cash should he be indisposed – as he thought of it – and Titus, still far away in Germania Inferior, unable to release the necessary funds quickly; to facilitate that he had written to the Cloelius Brothers in the Forum authorising his stewards to make withdrawals there in person. He had also authorised his uncle to withdraw on Flavia’s behalf; he knew that to give someone as profligate as Flavia complete access to all the family finances would be enough to send them back down to equestrian status. He had learnt this possibility the hard way upon his return after six years away with the II Augusta to find Flavia ensconced in lavish comfort in the imperial palace and spending money as if she were as wealthy as her friend – and, as it turned out, lover – Messalina. No, he would not make that mistake again; if, indeed, it was there to be made.

Vespasian was only too aware that there may not be anything left for her to spend anyway. If the summons was for him to appear before Nero to answer accusations that he was responsible for ordering the attack on Terpnus and therefore, by implication, an assault on the Emperor himself then that would be seen as treason; if found guilty, which he was sure that he would be, and he was not shown the mercy of being allowed to end his own life then execution would bring complete confiscation of his property and, therefore, who had authorisation to withdraw cash was immaterial. He carried on making the arrangements anyway, just in case he managed to escape with mere banishment, denied fire and water for four hundred miles around Rome.

He had one slight hope: as soon as he had received the summons he had sent a message to Sabinus, explaining what had happened and his worry that either Burrus had not kept his word or that Tigellinus had taken his evidence to Nero either before Burrus threatened him or despite the prefect’s threats. He asked Sabinus if he had received an order also to appear before Nero; he had not. That did not stop Vespasian from fearing the worst, nor did it prevent Flavia from assuming that the worst had come to pass solely as a result of Vespasian’s selfishness. And as she barged, without leave, into the tablinum, Vespasian hoped that he would be able to keep his temper enough to prevent himself from throttling her; something, he reflected as she opened her mouth, that as her husband he would be well within his rights to do.

‘Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse,’ Flavia screeched, her voice tight with anger and her eyes dull with insomnia, ‘I find out that Magnus is taking possession of our strongbox.’

‘My strongbox,’ Vespasian reminded her truthfully. ‘And how did you find that out?’

‘Because he’s here with that big brute who alerted the Emperor to your selfishness and Hormus has just sent a couple of slaves to fetch the box for him. How am I meant to live in the style that a woman of my status deserves to if I can’t have access to that box after you’re … well … after you’re dead?’

Vespasian rose to face his wife over the desk. ‘Because, woman, with that strongbox under Magnus’ guard I have a chance of preventing your total impoverishment.’

‘How will it prevent that if I don’t even have access to it?’

‘Firstly, if my property is confiscated they won’t get the contents of that box because Magnus has it and they don’t know about it; and secondly, if you were to have it then within a month, knowing you, there wouldn’t be anything left in it and I might as well have just left it here for the Emperor to seize. At least this way Magnus can give you a monthly income.’

The idea of being doled out money by Magnus was too much for Flavia and she reached for the inkpot on Vespasian’s desk and threw it over his toga.

‘That is not helpful, Flavia,’ Vespasian said through gritted teeth.

‘Getting yourself executed and turning me into an impecunious widow isn’t helpful either but you’ve still gone and done it.’

‘Flavia, I would remind you that I’m still here and very much alive.’ He slapped her across the face to prove the point. ‘Now calm down, woman.’

Flavia shook her head, blinking her eyes rapidly, her chest heaving as she put a hand to her reddened cheek. ‘You just hit me!’

‘And I’ll do it again unless you calm down, Flavia; this isn’t the time for self-pitying hysterics. You need to think clearly as the messenger will be here in half an hour and you should be gone by then; you should have already left. Tigran’s lads are still waiting around the back to take you to Domitilla’s house. I told you to take Domitian and get away from here.’

‘Skulk out of my own home by the back door? Who do you think I am?’

‘I think you’re my wife who should obey my every order.’ Vespasian paused for an exasperated deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. ‘Flavia, you must go and you must go now. By this evening we’ll know what is happening.’

‘By this evening you’ll be dead.’

‘That may well be so and if it’s indeed the case then you stay with Domitilla. Hormus will look after the house until such time as it is seized along with all our slave-stock—’

‘The slaves!’ Flavia looked horrified; she had evidently only just realised that the slaves, as they counted as property, would be taken and sold. ‘But who will do my hair in the mornings?’

‘That will be the least of your worries as I’m sure that Domitilla will lend you one of her girls. If my property is taken then you must stay at Domitilla’s, out of sight for as long as possible; don’t draw attention to yourself and most certainly do not petition the Emperor or Seneca or anyone. Just keep your head down and with a bit of luck you will be overlooked and allowed to live.’

The thought of being overlooked did not go down too well with Flavia. ‘Like an inconsequential nobody?’

‘Not
like
an inconsequential nobody, my dear, but
as
one, because that is your best chance of survival. Nero has already taken to having some of the families of men he’s executed put to death; I believe it makes him feel better knowing that there isn’t anyone left to resent him for the execution. He can’t bear the thought that anyone should think badly of him, therefore he’d rather have them dead. And so, Flavia, please take Domitian and go now.’

‘Domitian’s run off.’

Vespasian groaned.

‘His nurse said that he thought everything that was happening was an attempt solely to make him even more miserable and he wasn’t going to stay around and let the soldiers take him just because he had an idiot for a father.’

Vespasian shook his head. ‘Well, let him go; I haven’t got time to worry about that little pest. If I don’t get a chance to say goodbye to him he won’t notice and I won’t care. He’ll turn up soon enough if I survive, and if I don’t then I’m sure he’ll arrive at Domitilla’s as soon as he realises that fending for oneself involves doing more than pulling the wings off flies and the legs off spiders all day long; or taking the eyes of newly born fawns for that matter.’

Flavia stared at Vespasian for a few moments and then, without saying goodbye or wishing him luck, turned and stormed from the room.

‘That seemed to go well,’ Magnus said, popping his head around the door. ‘But, seriously, sir: why don’t you make a run for it?’

‘What’s the point, Magnus? The Emperor is everywhere. I’d have to live incognito in some shithole with hardly any money so that I didn’t draw attention to myself and be in constant fear that someone might recognise me. That would be no life. For me it’s either living here in Rome as well as my status and wealth allow or living as a governor in one of the provinces; if I can’t do either of those then I’m better off dead.’

Magnus grunted. ‘Well, if you say so; but I thought that you intended to die in your bed and I’ve never heard of a dead man making his way back into favour, if you take my meaning?’

Vespasian did but he did not agree with it.

‘You will present yourself to the Emperor at the Temple of Neptune on the Campus Martius, Senator Vespasian; he’s making his way there now and is expecting you to join him immediately,’ the Praetorian centurion barked having performed a crisp salute.

‘Very well, centurion,’ Vespasian replied, his heart beginning to race. The Temple of Neptune did not sound good; temples were often used as courts. Vespasian had witnessed Sejanus’ downfall in the Temple of Apollo. He glanced at Hormus, standing next to him; his face was ashen. ‘I shall go immediately.’

The centurion saluted once more, spun on his heel and began to stamp back across the atrium towards the vestibule.

‘Wait!’ Vespasian called after him; the centurion halted. ‘I just need to give my freedman some instructions.’

‘That’s fine, senator,’ the centurion said over his shoulder and carried on. ‘I don’t have to wait for you.’ With that he disappeared into the vestibule.

Vespasian heard the doorman perform his duty and the centurion was gone; he looked at Hormus, frowned and then walked to the front door, signalling for the slave to open it. A quick glance up the street told him that the centurion was not waiting outside with his men but, instead, marching away, further up the Quirinal, in the opposite direction from the Temple of Neptune.

‘That’s a relief,’ Vespasian said, coming back into the atrium, ‘it seems that I’m not to be escorted, for which small mercy I’m grateful. That would have been a humiliation hard to bear.’

‘Indeed, master,’ Hormus said, his voice thick with emotion.

‘My will is lodged in the House of the Vestals, Hormus; should I be allowed to keep my property and the worst happens then retrieve it from them and have it read out here. If I’m not allowed to keep my property then let in whoever comes to seize it without any argument and get off to Domitilla’s house to join the mistress. Understand?’

‘Yes, master,’ Hormus said, miserably wringing his hands.

‘Just remember, Hormus, that you’re a freedman; no one can do anything to you unless you give them just cause.’

‘Yes, master.’

‘If I don’t come back, serve the mistress well.’ Vespasian patted his freedman’s shoulder, adjusted his toga and, with a deep breath, turned and walked out of his house for what he hoped would not be the last time.

The morning was humid and sweat soon ran down Vespasian’s face and back as he walked at a calm pace down the Quirinal. He reviewed his life as he went, objectively, and found himself unable to justify throwing away all that he had achieved just for the pleasure of a little revenge; he and his brother should have got at Terpnus in a different way that did not involve a direct threat to the Emperor. But it was too late to change things now, so all he was left with was the bitter taste of regret for a future that he had dared to imagine but was probably not to be. Yet again he wondered if he had made his decision to attack Nero’s rampage because he had felt insulated from retribution as he considered his future to be prophesied and in the hands of the gods; his mother had said on her deathbed that a man should always make his choices by balancing his desires with his fears and this he had patently not done. Any reasonable man would have seen that fear of Nero far outweighed desire for vengeance for the outrage perpetrated upon his uncle. Tigran and his brethren had far less reason to fear Nero as they were from the underbelly of Rome and lived according to different rules to the
é
lite and with very little regard for the Emperor other than enjoying his largesse; their desire to avenge their humiliation was, therefore, not balanced out by their fear of someone so remote to them as Nero. He, Vespasian, on the other hand, lived in the small section of society that revolved around the Emperor who held sway over everyone and everything by the fear that he generated; no, he had been foolish and influenced by his probably erroneous belief in a predestined future. He wished that he had paid more attention to his mother’s warning as he entered Caesar’s Forum; if he survived this day he swore to himself that he would.

Sabinus was at his desk, in his capacity as Urban prefect, beneath the equestrian statue of the long-dead dictator. Vespasian walked towards his brother who waved away the various petitioners surrounding him and hurried to join him.

‘Well?’ Sabinus asked.

‘Well what?’ Vespasian said with a shrug.

‘Well, do you really think that this is about the Terpnus affair?’

‘I’m sure it is; Sextus told Tigellinus that Terpnus lost his fingers in revenge for his treatment of Gaius.’

Sabinus screwed up his face, inhaling sharply. ‘Then why aren’t I joining you?’

‘Who knows, Sabinus; who can really understand what goes on in Nero’s head?’

Sabinus rubbed his forehead, thinking; sweat beaded on his brow. Brightening suddenly, he indicated to either side of his brother. ‘Look!’

Vespasian frowned and looked about. ‘What at?’

‘Exactly. Nothing. There’s no one there. No escort so you’re not under arrest.’

‘Do I need to be? Where’s there to hide? Perhaps Nero’s just giving me the chance of suicide.’

‘And you’re not taking it?’

‘What if I’m wrong?’

Sabinus nodded his understanding. ‘May my lord Mithras and your Mars hold their hands over us, brother; we’ll need them looking over the family today.’