bireme.
‘Got him,’ Magnus hissed up from the gloom below.
The crewmen then lowered down the party’s bags before helping Corbulo and Sabinus — fresh from another bout of retching — over the side. They were all unarmed as it was a capital offence for anyone but a Praetorian Guardsman and the Emperor’s German bodyguard to carry arms into Tiberius’ presence.
Caligula clapped Vespasian on the shoulder as he prepared to follow. ‘Another fun wheeze, eh, my friend?’ His white teeth were visible in the dark as he grinned at Vespasian. ‘And, if this works, it’ll clear the way for me to become Emperor; just imagine the fun we’ll have then.’
Since finding out what Tiberius considered amusing, Vespasian had started to wonder just what Caligula’s definition of fun really was. ‘You just make sure that Tiberius isn’t in a cliffhurling mood,’ he replied, swinging his leg over the rail.
‘I will. I might even get little Vitellius to join us on the walk down; that always seems to soothe Tiberius.’
‘Do anything you want if you think it’ll help make him reasonable.’
‘Reasonable? Now, there’s a strange word.’
Vespasian smiled despite himself; he slapped Caligula’s arm and, with a brief nod to Clemens, lowered himself down the rope and into the boat.
‘I’ve had enough of boats for a lifetime,’ Sabinus said miserably as Vespasian took his place by the steering- oar. Corbulo pushed the little boat away from the bireme, Magnus and Pallas took up the oars and they started towards the shore. Above them the forbidding cliffs of Capreae, haloed by the silver light of the moon rising beyond them, loomed menacingly; Vespasian swallowed hard, imagining the terror of Tiberius’ guests as they were hurled from them for no apparent reason.
The bireme was soon lost from view, heading towards a flaming beacon, half a mile up the coast, which marked the entrance to Capreae’s harbour.
With a sudden jerk, Sabinus vomited over the side. ‘This is agony,’ he moaned, keeping his head lowered towards the water.
‘Not as much agony as last night,’ Corbulo observed; he was still in a state of shock at the conduct of his hosts at dinner. As the wine had begun to flow more liberally, Caligula’s and his sisters’ behaviour had deteriorated from what already was (to Corbulo’s way of thinking) an outrageous affront to anyone brought up with Augustus’ ethics into a scandalous breach of all Roman moral standards and of the etiquette governing behaviour not only at the dining table but everywhere in the Empire, both in public and private. Livilla’s lewd attack on him with a goose leg had been the final straw and he had managed to withdraw, without causing too much offence, claiming to have eaten a bad prawn. Vespasian, Sabinus and Clemens had been forced endure it a while longer but had eventually been able to make their excuses, after politely declining offers to join in, once the writhing that Vespasian had dreaded had started in earnest. By this point Livilla had begun to apply her goose leg to Caligula, and the three siblings had been too involved in their own strange world to be unduly worried by their guests’ departures.
After a few hundred pulls on the oars Vespasian saw a couple of glowing points of light on the coast and steered the boat towards them. Not long later, guided by the torches, the boat’s hull scraped on shingle and two Praetorians waded out into the gently lapping waves to help haul it in.
‘Troopers Fulvius and Rufinus of the Praetorian Guard Cavalry, reporting on Decurion Clemens’ orders, sir,’ the older of the two said, snapping a salute to Sabinus as he climbed unsteadily but gratefully out of the boat, helped by the other trooper.
Sabinus staggered slightly as the solid ground caused him to sway. ‘Thank you, troopers.’
Within a short time the boat had been secreted in a cave, Rhoteces had been loaded on to Magnus’ back (with, naturally, a lot of moaning from Magnus concerning the state of the priest’s personal hygiene) and, with their bags slung over their shoulders, they were ready to move. Fulvius started to lead them up a steep but passable path that traversed back and forth up the cliff, which was not quite as sheer as it had first appeared. The going was slow and methodical as the torches had been extinguished and they were relying upon the light of the moon, but eventually they reached the summit.
Following the cliff line, they made their way, in silence, east over moonlit, uncultivated land. To his left Vespasian could see the flickering lights of Pompeii, Heraculaneum, Neapolis and Puteoli reflecting on the swelling water; they were interspersed with fainter points marking the positions of the grand coastal villas of Rome’s elite. Here and there in the darkness between the mainland and the island were dotted the solitary lamps of night fishermen. From below came the sound of waves breaking on the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff. A warm breeze blew from the west carrying upon it the scent of wild thyme.
After almost half an hour of steady walking they came to a high stone wall at the eastern tip of the island. Much to Vespasian’s surprise Clemens was already waiting for them, sitting astride a horse.
‘Any problems?’ he asked, uncoiling a rope.
‘None, sir,’ Fulvius replied.
‘Good; hold the horse,’ Clemens said, pulling his legs up to kneel on the saddle. Steadying himself on the wall he stood up and threw one end of the rope over, then, grabbing the top of the wall, he pulled himself up and disappeared over the other side.
‘It’s secured,’ he called over softly a few moments later.
Apart from a slight delay whilst they hauled Rhoteces up and over, they made it into the moonlight-dappled grounds of the Villa Iovis with ease.
‘It’s a fucking building site,’ Magnus whispered in surprise to Vespasian as Clemens untied the rope from a huge oak beam lying on the ground. All around in the dim light Vespasian could see piles of bricks and cut stone; sections of columns lay on their sides amongst stacks of terracotta roofing tiles and wicker baskets. Magnus dipped his hand into one of the baskets and pulled out a handful of small marble squares.
‘Looks like Tiberius has a few mosaics planned for his pleasure palace,’ he remarked, letting them fall with a light clatter.
‘This way,’ Clemens whispered, leading them off crouching low and weaving through the construction detritus down a slope towards the massive hulk of the unfinished Villa Iovis just four hundred paces away. A few lights in the windows on the far side of the building showed that they were approaching it from the incomplete, uninhabited side.
With a hundred paces to go the building supplies petered out and Clemens halted them by the last heap of bricks. ‘Stay here,’ he ordered. ‘There’s normally a guard stationed close by; I’ll draw him out.’
He stood up and walked purposefully towards the villa.
‘Halt!’ a voice shouted as he was halfway across the open ground. ‘Stand and identify yourself.’
Two uniformed Praetorians appeared from the shadows and ran towards Clemens, who stood motionless.
‘Decurion Clemens, first ala Praetorian Guard Cavalry,’ Clemens shouted at the approaching guards.
‘What are you doing out here, sir? You’ve no authority to be here at night, you’ll have to come with us.’
‘I was looking for you; I thought that I saw movement just up the hill,’ Clemens replied, pointing in the direction of Vespasian and his comrades.
‘Shit, he’s giving us away, the bastard,’ Magnus hissed as Clemens started to lead the two guards towards them.
‘I find that highly unlikely,’ Pallas said calmly.
Fulvius and Rufinus drew their swords; Vespasian automatically went for his only to remember that it was back at Misenum.
‘Don’t move,’ Fulvius said, standing and pointing his sword at Corbulo. Rufinus stood over Vespasian and stuck the tip of his sword against his back. ‘Over here, sir,’ he called to Clemens.
Vespasian felt sick; unarmed and against five Praetorians they did not stand a chance and would surely be taken prisoner. He had a brief vision of being hurled off the cliff and swore vengeance on Clemens in this world or the next.
‘Well, well, what have we here?’ Clemens drawled, his pinched face leering over them through the gloom. The two Praetorians stood either side of him and drew their swords. ‘Fish food would be my guess. Tie them up.’
‘You little cunt, Clemens,’ Sabinus spat. ‘How much did Sejanus pay you to widow your own sister?’
