‘I suppose that makes sense,’ Tiberius agreed, ‘but then what was Poppaeus’ part in this?’ He turned to Corbulo. ‘You, you were on Poppaeus’ staff, did you ever see him with Hasdro?’
‘No, Princeps,’ Corbulo lied; Vespasian could see that it stuck in his craw to do so.
‘Well, I’ll forget about him for the time being,’ Tiberius said to himself, sucking his burnt finger again. ‘But one day he’ll pay for allowing his army to address him as “Imperator” — when he’s no longer of any use to me.’ He looked around suddenly, aware that he had externalised a private thought. ‘So it seems that I was right all along,’ he carried on cheerfully. ‘Sejanus is a traitor. I knew it, but it takes my dear, dear sister-in-law to show me the evidence and you…’ He held his arms out, encompassing them all; a look of deep emotion came over his face and Vespasian thought for a moment that he would burst into tears. ‘You brave, brave, loyal men, good men, men with my peace of mind in the forefront of your hearts, you men have risked so much to bring it to me. You will go back to Rome and tell Antonia that I will act at once. Come, we shall all take a walk together.’
The gardens on the inhabited side of the Villa Iovis had been laid out on a slope that ran down to the cliff- top; a tall wall masking off the building works gave them privacy.
Tiberius led them, escorted by Clemens and his two men, down a set of grand steps lined with statues of naked gods and heroes on to a wide marble path that bisected the gardens and terminated, as far as Vespasian could make out, at the cliff’s edge, two hundred paces away. On either side, shrubs and bushes were bursting into life encouraged by the spring sun and an irrigation system that pumped water at regular intervals through pipes directly into the beds.
This same system provided the water for the many fountains that fed ornamental pools set on descending levels so that the water cascaded downhill, falling from one pool into the next. The pools were surrounded by small, lifelike statues that, to Vespasian’s amazement, came alive as the Emperor approached. The statues turned out to be children, adolescents and dwarves, who began to cavort lewdly around the pools’ edges, occasionally jumping in, either in pairs or groups, to copulate freely in the shallow water.
‘My fishies have awoken,’ Tiberius cried, waving his hands with joy. ‘Swim and play, my fishies; I will join you later. Will you come and play with the fishies with me, my sweet?’
‘Yes, Nuncle,’ Caligula replied with what Vespasian hoped was feigned enthusiasm, ‘but after my friend and his companions have gone.’
‘Perhaps they would like to join us?’
‘I’m sure that they would, Nuncle, what could be more fun for them? But unfortunately they must return to Rome, as you’ve instructed.’
‘Yes, yes, Rome; they must go back to Rome,’ Tiberius said sadly.
‘And you said’, Caligula carried on carefully, ‘that you would tell them what course of action you’ll take against that wicked man, Nuncle, so that they can warn Antonia, who’s your friend, and she can be ready to help you.’
Tiberius stopped abruptly and glared at Caligula, who looked momentarily afraid but then managed to cover it with a look of placid innocence.
‘I didn’t say that, you little viper!’ Tiberius roared. ‘Are you trying to upset my peace of mind?’
Caligula went down on to one knee. ‘Forgive me, Princeps,’ he said humbly, ‘sometimes I’m just so happy here that I muddle things up.’
Although terrified and unable to take his eyes off the potentially fatal situation in front of him, Vespasian noticed that the fishies had become living statues once again; all had frozen in whatever act they were performing at the point of their master’s roar.
Tiberius stared down at Caligula; rage burned all over his face and he clenched and unclenched his fists. He cocked his head a couple of times, clicking his neck, and then, gradually, he began to calm.
‘Yes, yes, my sweet, I know,’ he eventually sighed, ‘it’s so easy to muddle things up when one is so happy.’ He held out his hand and helped Caligula up. Vespasian and his party, who had all been holding their breath, exhaled with relief simultaneously; the noise caused Tiberius to spin around and stare at them as if he had forgotten that they were there. After a terrifying moment his eyes registered recognition.
‘When you get to Rome tell Antonia that next month I will resign my consulship,’ he said evenly. ‘That will force Sejanus to do the same and his person will no longer be inviolate. I will write to the Senate detailing his treacheries and demanding his arrest and trial; then I shall replace him. I know this Macro whom Antonia has recommended in her letter; he’s married to my good friend Thrasyllus’ daughter Ennia. I’m sure that he is up to the job and and able to shoulder some of my burden; he’s a good man.’
‘He is a good man, Princeps,’ Pallas confirmed, using a definition of “good” that Vespasian had never heard before.
‘And his wife is a beauty, Nuncle,’ Caligula informed him. ‘I dined with her at Grandmother’s house once; I’d like to see her again.’
‘That settles it. I shall arrange for him to visit me here; he can bring his wife so that she can play with my sweet. Come and look over the cliffs with me.’ Tiberius turned and walked purposefully down the path.
The fishies resumed their play.
At the end of the path a brown-skinned, grey-bearded man wearing a leather skull-cap and a long, black robe embroidered with astrological signs and symbols stood looking out to sea.
‘Thrasyllus, my friend,’ Tiberius called in Greek as they approached the cliff-edge, ‘is it an auspicious time to make changes? I must know because a change needs to be made.’
Thrasyllus turned to face the Emperor. ‘The stars say that you are the master of change, Princeps,’ he replied in a melodramatic, quavering voice. ‘You are here to oversee the greatest change of all: the dawn of the new age. Even now the Phoenix is preparing to fly to Egypt, the country of my birth, where in three years’ time flames will consume it and it will be reborn from the ashes of its body; a new five-hundred-year cycle will commence. The world will change, and you, Princeps, through your wisdom and greatness, will guide the Empire through that change.’
‘I’ll wait three years then,’ Tiberius said suddenly deflated.
Vespasian glanced at Caligula in alarm, concerned that the astrologer would deflect Tiberius from his purpose.
‘You may find that the waiting will play on your peace of mind, Nuncle,’ his young friend said; his voice oozed concern. ‘I think that the venerable Thrasyllus was talking about major changes, not the little one that you plan now.’
‘Of course he was, my sweet,’ Tiberius agreed, relieved. ‘If I don’t do this now I won’t live to see the firebird. Thrasyllus, consult your books.’
The astrologer bowed. ‘I will have an answer for you by morning, Princeps,’ he said theatrically. With a brief glance at Caligula he turned and headed back up the path.
Looking pleased with himself, Tiberius sat down on a stone bench that overlooked the narrow passage between Capreae and the mainland, dominated by the brooding Mount Vesuvius. Caligula went to sit next to him whilst the rest of the group placed themselves nervously behind them, uncomfortable at being so close to the cliff’s edge in Tiberius’ company.
It was past noon and the day had warmed up considerably; the sun beat down upon the Tyrrhenian Sea sending an everchanging multitude of sparkles reflecting up off its deep blue, undulating surface. Gulls soared above them calling balefully as they rode the currents of the fresh sea breeze.
‘I wish that I could fly like them, my sweet,’ Tiberius declared, admiring the agile birds. ‘There must surely be peace as you glide through the air.’
It was not the sort of conversation that Vespasian had hoped for in this situation.
‘Yes, Nuncle, but we will never know it,’ Caligula replied guardedly, as if he had had this conversation many times before and knew the conclusion.
Tiberius remained silent for a while contemplating the gulls. ‘I hate the limitations of this body,’ he said suddenly with passion. ‘I’m master of the changing world yet I am earthbound.’
‘We should go and play with the fishies, Nuncle,’ Caligula said in an effort to change the subject.
‘Ah, the fishies, yes, yes, we should,’ Tiberius replied, rising to his feet. ‘We must say goodbye to your friend first.’ He turned to face Vespasian. ‘Go with my thanks and prayers,’ he said formally. ‘Clemens will escort you to the port on my authority.’
They bowed their heads and, with communal relief, turned to go.
