Magnus made a jump for Fulvius, aiming his head at the Praetorian’s groin. A sharp crack from the hilt of Fulvius’ sword on the back of Magnus’ head sent him crashing to the floor unconscious. Rufinus kicked Vespasian to the ground, stepped over him and with a lightning thrust planted his sword into the mouth of the Praetorian to Clemens’ left as Clemens wrapped his right forearm around the other’s throat and, with his left hand, grabbed the man’s head and jerked it violently to one side; with a loud crack the neck snapped and the man went limp.
‘You bastard, Clemens,’ Sabinus growled, ‘you had me there.’
‘Sorry about that.’ Clemens grinned. ‘I wasn’t expecting two of them and I couldn’t take them both on. I needed help getting rid of them; they would have taken me to the guardhouse and I would have had some difficult explaining to do in the morning. Let’s get the bodies over the cliff.’ He grabbed a lifeless arm and started to pull it away; Sabinus, shaking his head, made to help him.
With adrenalin still coursing through his veins Vespasian helped Rufinus drag the other body the fifty paces to the cliff-top.
‘How did you know to kill the two Guards?’ he asked.
‘I thought he was double-crossing you too,’ Rufinus replied, ‘until he ordered us to tie you up, then I knew what to do.’
‘How?’
‘Because, since a fisherman scaled the cliff, Tiberius’ standing order is that all intruders should be executed on sight, no exceptions.’
‘Well, I hope that he makes an exception of us tomorrow,’ Vespasian said as they reached the cliff’s edge.
‘I’ve never known him to,’ Rufinus said plainly.
They toppled the Praetorian over the edge. Vespasian peered over and briefly glimpsed the body spinning in the air before disappearing into the darkness; the roar of the waves crashing into the base of cliff swallowed any sound it made as it hit the rocks below. He turned to go with the sensation of falling preying on his mind.
Upon returning to his companions he found that Magnus was still unconscious and was obliged to carry him with Pallas; Sabinus and Corbulo took Rhoteces.
They quickly crossed the open ground in front of the villa and entered its dark corridors through an unfinished doorway.
With surprising speed Clemens navigated his way through the maze of passageways illuminated by faint moonlight seeping through open windows.
Eventually he stopped outside a huge door and pushed it open. They followed him in and found themselves in a cavernous room; their footsteps echoed off the high ceiling. Rhoteces was dumped unceremoniously on the floor.
‘Fulvius and Rufinus will stand guard until Caligula brings the Emperor,’ Clemens said. ‘I will come too to share whatever fate he decides for you.’
‘Thank you, Clemens,’ Sabinus said, taking his brother-in-law’s forearm.
Clemens returned the grip with a grin. ‘There are plenty of workmen’s buckets around to piss in. Good luck.’ He turned and slipped out of the door followed by Fulvius and Rufinus.
As Vespasian and Pallas laid Magnus down he stirred, opened his eyes and then groaned. ‘Shit! Now we’re for it. They’ve got us,’ he said, rubbing the back of his head.
‘They’ve got us in more like,’ Vespasian said, helping his friend up.
‘What? I thought they were arresting us.’
‘Well, you should have stuck around and seen what happened next instead of trying to play the hero and attacking the wrong person.’
‘You mean Clemens was genuine after all and we’re not in some prison?’
‘Look around.’ Vespasian waved his arm at the faintly lit room. ‘If this looks like a prison to you, I think that Tiberius would be very pissed off; we’re in his new bedroom.’
With the rising of the sun the room gradually filled with light that poured in from four windows high above the door and Vespasian could see the scale of it: it was a perfect cube with the high marble ceiling forty feet above him. Along the wall opposite the door was the unfinished frieze that Tiberius was taking so much interest in; after only a cursory glance at it Vespasian could understand why: it depicted every carnal pleasure known to man in a series of vivid scenes, involving adults, children and beasts, and left nothing to the imagination.
‘Making mental notes, are you, brother?’ Sabinus asked, catching Vespasian gawping at a cruelly used mule.
‘You have to admire the workmanship,’ he replied, ignoring yet again his brother’s implication, ‘even if the subject matter is somewhat obscene.’
‘Somewhat? I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Corbulo said, ‘not even in the-’ He stopped abruptly and blushed.
‘In the brothels along the Vicus Patricius back in Rome?’ Magnus questioned, helpfully trying to finish Corbulo’s sentence for him.
Corbulo gave Magnus a foul look and then busied himself pulling his toga from his bag.
‘I’ve got bread, salt pork and wine, masters,’ Pallas said, walking over having gagged Rhoteces who was starting to come out of his drugged state in the corner. ‘We should eat and then change our clothes in readiness for meeting the Emperor.’
An hour later they were sitting around on upturned buckets, each busy with his own thoughts and worries about the coming interview. There had been a couple of conversations outside the door as Fulvius and Rufinus had prevented workmen from entering, but the door itself had remained shut.
Suddenly there was the sound of feet coming quickly down the corridor; the door burst open and in walked an old but still vigorous man. Vespasian recognised him instantly; he was the most powerful and feared man in the Roman world: Tiberius.
They jumped up as one from their buckets and bowed their heads. At the top of his vision Vespasian could see Tiberius’ hairless legs protruding from under his pure purple tunic; they were traced with an extraordinary amount of varicose veins that wove their way around the open sores and dried scabs on the shiny, tight skin on his shin-bones. His feet were shod in a pair of regulation military sandals; his horn-like toenails were yellowing and ridged.
Tiberius strode towards Vespasian and stopped directly in front of him. Vespasian’s heartbeat accelerated and he had to consciously stop himself from shaking; he found himself wondering why Tiberius did not have his toenails pared for him.
‘Is this the one, my sweet?’ Tiberius asked of someone standing at the doorway, out of Vespasian’s field of vision. His voice was low and grated in his throat; it sounded distant, as though he was somewhat detached from the world.
‘Yes, Nuncle,’ Caligula’s voice replied, ‘that’s him; he’s my friend.’ His voice was slightly strained, as if trying to appear light and nonchalant whilst concealing a nervousness born from the knowledge that a very important decision was about to be made.
‘Your friend, you say?’
‘Yes, Nuncle, my friend.’
‘His name is Vespasian, is that right, my sweet?’
‘Yes, that’s right, Nuncle: Vespasian.’
‘Look at me, Vespasian.’
Vespasian raised his eyes; large, rheumy, grey eyes peered back at him questioningly, as if trying but failing to focus on what was in front of them. Tiberius’ face would once have been considered handsome but was now ravaged by the effects of heavy drinking: puffy-skinned and florid. His white hair was cut short at the fringe and above the ears but hung down in greasy strands over his neck. Flakes of dried skin peeled off his earlobes; there was a virulent pimple on the tip of his nose.
Tiberius placed his left hand on the crown of Vespasian’s head and exerted a monumental pressure so that Vespasian felt that his thumb and forefinger would burst through his skull.
‘He is still young enough for me to push my fingers into his brain, my sweet,’ Tiberius observed, still staring into Vespasian’s eyes with that questioning, almost puzzled look. His breath held the unmistakable reek of fresh human faeces.
