Rhaskos, whilst we eat a part of your sacrifice. Amphiaraos’ reply will come in your dream; take care to mark it well.’
Rhaskos bowed and, taking the fleece, turned to leave as the six priests set about the carcass with their knives, jointing it and throwing pieces of meat on to the grill. Fat sizzled and spat as it dripped on to the charcoal.
‘What I have to say is for you two alone,’ Antenor said once Rhaskos had left.
Vespasian looked at Magnus, who smiled. ‘I can take a hint, sir; I’ll see you outside.’
As Magnus’ footsteps echoed down the temple the old priest walked around the altar and took the brothers by the chin, one in each hand, and closed his eyes. Vespasian glanced sideways at Sabinus, who looked as nonplussed as he himself was feeling.
Eventually the priest let them go and opened his eyes. ‘It is as I thought when I first saw you,’ he asserted, ‘and the liver confirmed it.’
‘Confirmed what?’ Sabinus asked rubbing his chin.
‘For centuries we have been waiting to deliver a prophecy to two brothers who sail north to west on a cursed ship and come before the Hero as witnesses, not supplicants. I am satisfied that you are those brothers.’ He turned to the priests gathered around the cooking mutton. ‘Leto, fetch the scroll.’
A younger priest scurried off to the temple’s recesses and returned momentarily with a box. Antenor lifted the lid and brought out a parchment scroll of great antiquity.
‘This is a record of the prophecies of Amphiaraos,’ he said, unrolling the scroll. ‘Each one has a description of the person or persons to whom it must be delivered. Only the chief priest may read the scroll so that its contents will not be revealed by the loose tongues of the young.’
Behind him his colleagues had started to return to their seats, each chewing on a hunk of mutton.
‘Through the ages all but seven of the prophecies have been read,’ Antenor continued. ‘If you both choose to hear it I will read the one pertaining to you.’
Ever since overhearing, at the age of fifteen, his parents discussing the omens that surrounded his birth and the favourable prophecy attached to them Vespasian had been intrigued to know its exact content. He looked at Sabinus, whom he knew had, aged almost five, been present when that prophecy had been made but had been bound by an oath never to reveal it. Their father, Titus, had made the two brothers swear a further oath, a greater oath, before all the gods, including Mithras — the only god that Sabinus truly revered — that would enable him to tell Vespasian the contents of the prophecy at some time in the future; perhaps that time was now.
‘I’m willing to hear it,’ he said. ‘What about you, Sabinus?’
Sabinus looked reluctant. ‘It can be dangerous to know too much of the future.’
‘I didn’t think you gave much credence to the mysteries of the old gods now that you’re happily bathing in Mithras’ light,’ Vespasian said — unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice — ‘so how can you fear something that you no longer believe in?’
‘I don’t deny the existence of the old gods, little brother; I just deny their supremacy over my lord, Mithras. Prophecies made before his coming may well have substance and should be treated with caution; I prefer not to hear it.’
Vespasian snorted in exasperation. ‘All right, if you don’t want to hear it then that’s fine. Just read to me, Antenor.’
‘I can only read it to both of you together or not at all,’ the old priest replied.
‘Then it’s not at all,’ Sabinus said, turning to leave.
‘Sabinus!’ Vespasian shouted, his voice so commanding that it stopped his brother in his tracks. ‘I need to hear it. You will do this for me.’
‘Why should I, little brother?’ Sabinus shouted back, spinning around to face Vespasian.
‘Because I have as much right to hear it as you have to refuse, but if it is not read out we will never know which one of us was right. So if you walk away now I swear to you, Sabinus, that all the wrongs you have done to me throughout our lives will seem as nothing to the wrong that you do me today, and I will hold a grudge in my heart against you until my grave.’
The fire in Vespasian’s eyes caused Sabinus to pause and think for a moment. Vespasian could see that he was wrestling with an inner turmoil. He was not just resisting out of pigheadedness; he was genuinely afraid.
‘What are you scared of, Sabinus?’ Vespasian demanded.
Sabinus glared at his brother. ‘Of being left behind.’
‘By whom? Me?’
‘I’m the elder brother.’
‘Age has nothing to do with this, Sabinus, nor does our individual ambition. It’s our duty to raise our family’s dignitas within Rome and in that we’re both equal. Whatever is in this prophesy is for both of us and we should listen to it for the sake of the house of Flavius.’
‘As you wish, Vespasian,’ Sabinus said eventually. ‘Let’s hope that I’m wrong and it’s just a load of meaningless twaddle.’
‘Thank you, brother.’
‘If you have decided then I will read it out to both of you,’ Antenor said placidly. Behind him the other priests sat expectantly on their chairs, gnawing on bones.
‘Yes, Antenor,’ Vespasian said.
Sabinus grunted his assent.
Antenor lifted the scroll and read out loud:
‘Two tyrants fall quickly, close trailed by another,
In the East the King hears the truth from a brother.
With his gift the lion’s steps through sand he should follow,
So to gain from the fourth the West on the morrow.’
Vespasian frowned and looked at Antenor. ‘So what does it mean?’
‘That I can’t tell you.’ The old priest rolled up the scroll and placed it back into its box. ‘We do not interpret these things, we are-’
‘Just conduits?’ Sabinus chipped in.
Antenor smiled benevolently at him. ‘Precisely. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have done my duty by you and must return to Rhaskos. I have his mutton to eat.’
‘Thank you,’ Vespasian said, turning to go.
Sabinus nodded his head and followed. ‘For the first time I’m happy to concede that you were right, Vespasian, there was nothing to fear in that prophecy, it did no harm to hear it and it made an old lunatic very happy because he now thinks that he’s done his duty by his god or whatever Amphiaraos is.’
‘I was hoping that you might be able to add something to it, Sabinus.’
‘Like what?’
‘The prophecy at my birth. I know that you know about it.’
‘Then you will know that I’m forbidden to speak of it.’
‘Not if you go by Father’s oath.’
‘But that is relevant only if one of us is unable to aid the other because of a previous oath and I don’t see you in need of help at the moment.’
‘There must be something that you can tell me.’
‘Look, I was very young, my memory of it is hazy; what I can tell you is that there was no prophecy as such, it was just the auspices that caused a fuss.’
‘What were they?’
‘I can’t tell you any more, I’m sworn against it. Anyway, I was four; I barely remember them and I didn’t understand them — just as I didn’t understand the prophecy that you were so keen to hear just now. None of these things ever makes sense unless you look back with hindsight, and what good are they then, eh?’
‘But surely that defeats their point; they’re not hindsight, they’re foresight so you’ve got to work out how to interpret them,’ Vespasian said as they walked out into the burning midday sun. ‘The only part that seemed to have any relevance to us was “the truth from a brother”. Would you tell me the truth if I was an eastern king?’
‘I certainly wouldn’t just tell you what you wanted to hear, if that’s what you mean. Anyway, I don’t see either of us becoming eastern kings; and as for all those tyrants, who are they?’
