The Furies of Rome (9 page)

Vespasian began to have a nasty suspicion that Pallas was once again going to coerce him into doing something against his will. ‘Whatever it is I’m not interested, Pallas.’

‘What we want,’ Agrippina said, taking absolutely no notice of Vespasian’s remark, ‘is for you to go back to Britannia and speak to Cogidubnus on our behalf.’

‘Why?’

‘Shortly after I married Claudius, Pallas and I made some investments in the new province; large investments in estates and mines. Their value was low at the time but with good estate managers and mine supervisors we’ve made them very profitable and they must have tripled in value. We only bought in the Regni and Atrobates’ lands as those tribes were very pro-Roman and Cogidubnus was friendly.’

‘And he needed the money,’ Pallas added, ‘in order to start a programme of building works in our style, including his new palace.’

Vespasian could well imagine the proud Britannic King wanting to build a Roman-style residence that he felt was fitting for the monarch of the united tribes. ‘So what would you have me do, in the unlikely event that I would agree to do your bidding?’ The question was levelled at Pallas as he certainly was not going to do Agrippina’s bidding.

‘We want you to use your friendship with Cogidubnus to persuade him to buy our investments back.’

‘At the current market value,’ Agrippina insisted.

Vespasian looked at her for a moment in disbelief before breaking out into laughter. ‘You want me to travel all the way to Britannia to try to persuade an old friend, whom I haven’t seen for years, to buy back the property he sold you for three times the amount you paid him? Is that what you’re asking?’

‘Of course,’ Agrippina snapped. ‘He should be honoured doing business with the mother of the Emperor.’

Vespasian ignored Agrippina’s arrogance and looked, instead, at Caenis. ‘Were you really going to come and put this daft proposition to me?’

Caenis smiled and stroked his arm so that the hairs rose. ‘Of course, my love.’

‘Whatever for? You must have known I would reject it out of hand.’

‘For a start they’ve paid me very handsomely to do so.’

‘How much?’

‘My love, does everything have to come down to money? No, this payment was in a far more valuable currency: information.’ She patted a cylindrical, leather scroll-holder next to her.

‘Just because you’ve been paid to present this proposition to me doesn’t mean I’ll accept it – or even listen.’

‘If you don’t listen you won’t hear the really interesting part.’

Vespasian turned back to Pallas. ‘So what’s the really interesting part?’

‘Ah, I was coming to that.’ Pallas paused for effect, taking a sip from his cup and swilling it around his mouth in the manner that Vespasian had done earlier. ‘In going you will repay the favour I did Sabinus and that is all very well; but even if you did agree to go I can see by your laughter that your heart would not be in it because you don’t think that there is any chance of success.’

‘Who’s ever going to buy back something for three times the amount he was paid for it?’

‘We will take double.’

‘Three times!’ Agrippina almost shrieked.

‘Double, my dear,’ Pallas countered, ‘and we would still have done well on the deal. Cogidubnus will see that the property is worth more than that so he would be more likely to agree to the deal.’

Agrippina seethed quietly to herself, her eyes boring into Vespasian.

‘Although, of course your opening offer will be three times,’ Pallas continued, ‘but if you get double then the really lucrative part from your point of view will be your reward.’

Vespasian was now becoming interested. ‘Which is?’

‘Seneca’s greed is such that if I can purchase Sabinus’ position as prefect of Rome then it would be easy for me to get him to make you governor of Africa.’ He looked at Vespasian with his eyebrows raised questioningly.

Vespasian’s heart jumped; and then he cursed Pallas inwardly for always knowing what strings to pull to manipulate him as if he were a puppet. ‘Africa?’

Pallas inclined his head. ‘The very province that was taken away from you.’

‘What if Seneca doesn’t agree?’

‘For another five million sesterces, which is a fifth of the profit that we’ll make on the deal should we only double our money, Seneca will do anything. You can’t go until the sea-lanes open again next year, so if you’re interested come down to Agrippina’s estate at Bauli on the Bay of Neapolis after the ides of March and we will give you the deeds to all the properties. Then you can take a ship from Misenum to Forum Julii on the south coast of Gaul as soon as the equinox has passed and the sea routes open.’

Vespasian was shaking his head, unable to believe what he was just about to say. ‘All right, Pallas, I’ll do it. But one question: why are you both so desperate to sell?’

The Greek stroked his full beard. ‘I would have thought that was very obvious: the Emperor’s spending is becoming more and more profligate at the same time as the demands of keeping the province subdued are becoming increasingly unaffordable. Put the two things together and what is the obvious conclusion?’

It was not what Vespasian wished for; quite the reverse, in fact. ‘But we can’t withdraw from Britannia; it would destabilise the whole Empire.’

‘Not if we turned it into three client kingdoms with Cogidubnus the king of the southern one, Cartimandua the queen in the north, and Prasutagus of the Iceni, king in the east. Then we could save face by claiming that our mission had been a success and that all the kingdoms nearest the Empire were now our clients, trade had been established and so there was no more need to spill Roman or Britannic blood. That’s what I would do and I don’t think it’ll be long before Nero realises the same thing: it’s time to leave Britannia.’

CHAPTER IV

NERO’S EXPRESSION WAS
one of ill-concealed lust as he looked Poppaea Sabina up and down.

Otho, next to her, laughed uneasily, the hollowness of it echoed around the cavernous atrium of the imperial palace on the Palatine. ‘What did I say, Princeps?’ Otho asked. ‘Is she not a rare beauty?’

Nero was too distracted to answer.

Acte, who had accompanied the Emperor into the room, stood behind Nero, ignored and seething.

Rather than blush demurely and keep her eyes to the floor, Poppaea Sabina held herself erect, thrusting out her breasts and looking Nero in the eye, her lips, parted and loosely pouted, moist and inviting.

She was, Vespasian thought as he watched the meeting with two score or so other senators who had been summoned to judge between the woman and the voice, indeed a beauty, despite her face being dominated by a strong, straight nose. Her skin was almost milk-white, as if it had never once been exposed to the sun; and it was said – according to Gaius, next to him, whispering in his ear – that she bathed in milk every day to preserve its hue. Black hair ringletted and then pinned atop her head in three ascending crowns contrasted dramatically with her alabaster tones. But it was her eyes that captivated: dark almonds at once innocent and yet full of carnal knowledge, they were an open invitation to both protect and ravage and freely admitted that nothing was too base and nothing too depraved for Poppaea Sabina. She was, in short, designed for pleasure: a sensual vessel to be steered to the port of any of one’s desires, however remote, however hard to gain. All those watching the meeting could see her for what she was and they also knew that she had ensnared the Emperor with just one quiver of her lower lip.

Nero tentatively held out a hand and brushed the backs of his fingers along a smooth cheek; the sensuous sigh that issued from Poppaea was audible to all, and none in the room – with the obvious exceptions of Gaius and Acte – could be unmoved by it; many hearts raced and many scrotums tightened.

Nero finally managed to tear his eyes away from the overt promise of unrestrained passion before him and looked at his long-time friend, Otho. ‘Now you will judge.’ He gestured to Terpnus to approach with his lyre.

Vespasian and his fellow senators braced themselves for the shocking sight of the first man in Rome behaving like a slave or freedman.

A chord was plucked; its sound melodic. A note, in some way related, rumbled in Nero’s throat and he launched into a ballad of love that none had ever heard before – or, at least, if they had it was not recognisable.

For how long Vespasian stood and endured he could not tell; all he was aware of was the most excruciating embarrassment of all the witnesses to this bizarre behaviour. Only Poppaea and Otho seemed unaffected: she, appearing to fellate Nero mentally with the wanton poise of her lips and slight movement of her head and he, staring at the Emperor as if enraptured by the feeble series of seemingly random notes that passed his lips. Terpnus plucked away, beaming at his pupil with the pride of a
grammaticus
watching his favourite pupil reciting a long passage of Homer in Greek, whilst Acte endeavoured to attract Nero’s attention by flaunting her genitalia, clearly visible through the sheer material that passed for clothing, in his eye-line.

But her endeavour was to no avail as Nero’s gaze was fixed on Poppaea’s lips and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind, as the ode scraped on, what they would be doing before the day was out.

Eventually the ordeal came to a close as the last note expired with a weak growl and Nero looked to his audience who immediately broke out into rapturous applause, some even managing to squeeze out a tear or two, although perhaps they had been aided by the eye-watering ineptitude of the performance. Nero, though, was weeping for joy and taking Terpnus to the imperial bosom and bestowing kisses upon his mentor as he too was overcome with the emotion of it all.

The celebrations went on for an age as none wished to be the first to stop applauding and Nero showed no sign of feeling that he had been lauded enough. He wept and he hugged and he made shows of modesty and surprise and gratitude, each with what seemed to be a well-rehearsed pose until eventually he could refuse no more and, signalling for silence, repeated his triumph.

This time many in the audience copied their Emperor and wept freely as his performance rumbled on whilst the rest stood with expressions of delight or gratitude firmly etched on their faces to cover their disbelief at the depth of Nero’s delusion. There was even less to recommend the ballad on a second hearing than there was when it was fresh to their ears; the tune was monotonous and the couplets rarely rhymed or scanned correctly. And it was on the second hearing that Vespasian realised what they were listening to. ‘It’s his own composition, Uncle,’ he whispered to Gaius.

‘Dear gods, you’re right,’ Gaius muttered through the clenched teeth of his fixed grin, his lips barely moving. ‘Let’s hope we’re the only ones to notice.’

On Nero forged, his voice weakening and growing huskier with each verse, Poppaea’s bosom heaving next to him as she stared into his face with undisguised animal desire, her thumb toying with the tip of her tongue whilst her spouse continued to regard the Emperor in wonderment.

As the final verse was laid to rest and Terpnus melodramatically plucked the last chord, Gaius stepped forward. ‘A composition of your own making, Princeps,’ he shouted just as the applause began. ‘Inspirational! We are blessed that you have shared it with us.’

There was a pause in the applause as the rest of the audience realised that this was the reality of the affair: Nero had indeed written the ballad, which perfectly explained the direness of its quality. They began to shout out their admiration for his talent and ask why he had kept it from them for so long; but they were too late. Nero, beaming with joy, walked up to Gaius and took him by the shoulders; for a few moments he stared at Gaius as if he were the rarest and most beautiful gem.

‘The Pharos is right,’ Nero declared, ‘it was indeed my own composition.’

‘A work of genius, Princeps,’ Gaius affirmed, ignoring the use of what he hoped was not becoming his nickname.

‘
We
were overwhelmed,’ Vespasian put in, ‘when
we
realised that it was so.’

‘And you, Vespasian,’ Nero said, turning to him, ‘you too recognised it as being my own work?’

‘It was unmistakeable, Princeps,’ Vespasian replied, truthfully.

‘And my voice?’

‘Beyond description, Princeps; in a category of its own.’

‘You have both earned my gratitude.’ Nero turned to Otho as senators congratulated Vespasian and Gaius through gritted teeth at their audacious sycophancy, wishing that they had had the sense to see the ballad for what it was. ‘So, Otho, now has come the moment when you must judge: Poppaea’s beauty or my voice; which of the two do you deem the most beautiful?’

Otho had no doubt. ‘Your voice, Princeps; your voice every time. How can mere womanhood compare with a voice lubricated with ambrosia?’

Poppaea held the same view. ‘My beauty is nothing in comparison to the voice of a living god, Princeps.’ She ran the tip of her tongue lightly along her upper lip and looked at Nero with smouldering, half-closed eyes in a vain attempt to prove the fact that her looks were as nought compared to Nero’s voice and were unable to move anyone in such a degree.

This, however, was more than Nero could bear. ‘Otho, you said that you would ravage the winner, so, therefore, I declare it a draw.’ He took both Poppaea and Otho by the arm and led them, with undignified haste, towards his private chambers whence, Vespasian assumed, they would not emerge for some time.

With a howl of rage, Acte stamped her foot, tearing at her elaborate coiffure and throwing hairpins after the retreating trio. No one took the slightest notice of her as her time was now over.

‘That was, how should I put it, a flagrant, yes, flagrant is the perfect word, a flagrant piece of sycophancy that has probably done you both a great deal of good.’

Vespasian turned in the direction of the voice. ‘Thank you, Seneca. I’m surprised that you didn’t think of it first.’

Seneca’s flabby features took on a conspiratorial aspect and he placed an arm around Vespasian’s and Gaius’ shoulders. ‘It wouldn’t have worked for me seeing as I was already privy to the secret, having sat through the whole thing four times yesterday and failed to find a way of persuading the Emperor to keep his genius to himself. Let us hope for dignity’s sake that this is the most public stage on which he ever decides to perform.’

Vespasian declined to offer an opinion on the subject.

‘Yes, you are unfortunately right,’ Seneca said, reading Vespasian’s silence correctly. ‘The question is: how do we limit the damage that this will cause to the, what’s the best word in this case, decorum, yes, that will do nicely, the decorum of the Principate?’ Seneca paused but did not seem to be expecting an answer. ‘One thing I will suggest is that your flagrant sycophancy has made it much more likely that Nero will pluck up the courage to perform in public sooner than he would have done had you stayed quiet.’

‘Had we stayed quiet, Seneca,’ Vespasian replied, ‘then some other sycophant would have done the very same thing. We just took advantage of the situation because, as it may have escaped your notice, neither of us seems to be in the greatest of favour with the Emperor at the moment.’

‘Which is exactly why I have taken you aside.’ Seneca beamed in an avuncular manner at each of them. ‘I have a little proposal that will help your standing in Nero’s eyes; a mission that, now he has bestowed his favour upon you, he will be only too pleased to see you perform. Who knows, but it may even get your son Titus that posting as a military tribune that you both so wish for.’

Vespasian remained non-committal. ‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes, and with a chance to see real action on the Rhenus in Germania Inferior; interested?’

‘Obviously.’

‘Good. I want you to organise a meeting; no, that isn’t the correct word. A reconciliation, yes, I want you to organise a reconciliation; and when I say “I”, I mean “we”.’

‘“We” being you and Burrus?’

‘Oh, no, no, no. “We” being the Emperor and me, or, rather, the Emperor.’

‘With whom does he wish to be reconciled?’

Seneca looked at Vespasian as if he were an idiot of the highest standing. ‘His mother, of course. He feels that it’s high time that he and Agrippina sorted out the differences between them, permanently.’

‘Very admirable. I wonder what she would have made of his performance just now?’

Seneca winced at the memory of Nero’s antics. ‘I’m hoping that if a reconciliation can be reached then Burrus and I will have an ally in Agrippina to prevent that sort of thing getting out of hand.’

‘I’d say it was out of hand already,’ Gaius remarked, seeming to forget that he had praised and encouraged the Emperor in a self-seeking, sycophantic frenzy. ‘As are his attacks on respectable citizens; what are you going to do about them?’

‘As
pharos
I can see, there’s nothing I can do.’

Gaius’ jowls wobbled with indignation at the pun.

Vespasian had to restrain himself from chuckling. ‘So what do you want me to do, Seneca?’

‘I would like you to act as the intermediary between Nero and Agrippina.’ He paused and looked at Vespasian with his eyebrows raised meaningfully. ‘Seeing as you’re invited down to her estate at Bauli after the ides of March next year.’

‘You’re invited down to that Fury’s nest?’ Gaius spurted, his previous indignation quickly forgotten. ‘And you’ve agreed to go?’

‘I’ll explain later, Uncle; I haven’t had time to tell you because it only happened last night.’ He returned Seneca’s meaningful look. ‘Well?’

Seneca shrugged as if his knowledge of a secret meeting so soon after it was arranged were nothing out of the ordinary. ‘I keep abreast of such matters.’

‘But only Agrippina, Pallas, Caenis and I were present when the arrangement was …’ He paused for a moment’s reflection; his stomach churned as he felt the full force of betrayal. Neither Agrippina nor Pallas would ever share their plans with Seneca. ‘Of course. Caenis is now your secretary.’

Seneca smiled, neither confirming nor denying Vespasian’s supposition. ‘The Emperor was speaking to me only yesterday about looking for a suitable way of conveying the invitation to Agrippina in a manner that she would not find suspicious and it occurred to me, as I watched Nero fall for your flattery, that you were the perfect man for the job seeing as you are already invited to Agrippina’s estate in just under four months’ time, by which point the Emperor would have had as long as he needs to make the preparations. Although, I have to say that I think that Pallas and Agrippina are acting a little too precipitously – yes, that’s the perfect word in this case – they are acting precipitously in trying to sell their property in Britannia back to Cogidubnus; there’s still a lot of money to be made in that province yet. Wouldn’t you agree?’

Vespasian was too mentally winded to answer; the thought of Caenis’ possible betrayal was all consuming.

Seneca pressed on regardless. ‘The invitation will be for Agrippina to come to a dinner of reconciliation with Nero at his seaside villa at Baiae, just along the coast from hers. He wants to treat her with all the courtesy and consideration with which a son should. In fact, he even plans to send his own ship for her equipped with every luxury to make her journey as pleasant and convenient as possible. The ship will, obviously, be at her disposal to take her home again at the end of the dinner. So will you do it?’

Vespasian had barely heard a word that Seneca had said, so strong was the image of his lover whispering his secrets in Seneca’s ear.

‘Will you do it?’ Seneca repeated.

‘Dear boy,’ Gaius said, ‘you’re being asked a question.’

Vespasian frowned. ‘What was that, Uncle?’

‘Seneca is giving you a way to ingratiate yourself with the Emperor and his mother, albeit some time hence; will you do it?’