‘Then you will be going against the Senate and People of Rome,’ Regulus shouted back.
‘The Senate and People of Rome be buggered; the power lies with the Praetorians and whoever commands their loyalty. I intend to be on their side rather than lying dead on the Gemonium Stairs,’ Trio replied, pointing at the steep steps that led from the Forum up to the summit of the Capitoline Hill.
‘But you were a part of the meeting that condemned him,’ Regulus said, shocked, ‘how can you in honour go back on that decision?’
‘I may have been a part of the meeting but I didn’t vote, only one man voted, Senior Consul, and you chose him because you, like every other senator, knew him to be a supporter of Sejanus’ greatest enemy, the Lady Antonia. That has left the rest of us free to keep our opinions to ourselves until such time as we see fit to express them.’
There was a murmur of agreement amongst some of the surrounding senators.
Regulus was outraged at being so outmanoeuvred. ‘But it was your idea, which I went along with in the spirit of reconciliation, so as not to force men into voting against someone whom they had previously supported.’
Trio smiled thinly and shrugged.
Vespasian could see that the concord of the morning was starting to fracture; people were reassessing their positions as it dawned on them that the matter was far from resolved and that Trio had indeed left them room for manoeuvre.
Gaius came puffing up the steps towards the group; his usually carefully tonged hair lay flat on his head, lank with sweat.
‘Consul Regulus,’ he said, trying to regain his breath, ‘may I have a word with you in private?’
‘Very well.’ Regulus stepped away from the group, with obvious relief, to join Gaius.
The senators split up into smaller clusters, muttering.
Paetus came over to Vespasian. ‘It’s all becoming a bit tricky, old chap. A bit of a mess, I should say,’ he observed, beaming as if he was quite enjoying the situation.
‘I think that the Lady Antonia has just forced the issue,’ Vespasian replied, noticing a large group of senators cutting their way through the crowd and heading towards the Senate House.
Regulus broke off his conversation with Gaius, nodding his agreement at whatever he had been told, as Aulus Plautius led thirty or so of Sejanus’ supporters to the bottom of the steps.
Plautius pulled back his broad, muscular shoulders and raised his head; the veins on his thick neck bulged blue. ‘Consuls Regulus and Trio,’ he called in his loudest voice so that the crowd of citizens all around him heard and quietened. The silence spread throughout the Forum as people became aware that the next move in the day’s events was under way. Plautius waited until the hush was complete. ‘I demand a full meeting of the Senate immediately, to address the unsatisfactory situation that we find ourselves in.’
‘And I second that,’ Trio immediately shouted triumphantly, ‘unless you would prefer to do so yourself, Senior Consul? The day has already been declared auspicious for senatorial business, so you can’t get out of it that way.’
Regulus looked to the sky and pointed at a skein of honking geese flying in a V formation, northwest, over the Temple of Concordia at the foot of the Capitoline Hill. ‘I declare that to be a sign from the gods,’ he shouted.
‘You can’t refuse a meeting because of a flight of birds,’ Trio responded angrily.
‘I could quite easily, there are many precedents for me to do so, but I take it as a positive sign: the saviours of Rome, who, whilst the dogs stayed sleeping, woke the defenders of the Capitoline Hill when the Gauls were scaling it at night, have shown us that the Senate should meet in the Temple of Concordia, the goddess of Harmony. Summon the Senate; there, in Concordia’s sacred precinct, we shall resolve this matter.’
The crowd roared their approval of this patriotic reading of bird flight and parted to make way for the twenty-four lictors, who preceded the two Consuls to the Temple of Concordia.
Vespasian caught up with Gaius halfway across the Forum.
‘What did you tell Regulus, Uncle?’
‘When I went back to Antonia’s house a message arrived for her from Plautius saying that he agreed to her demand and that over thirty of Sejanus’ supporters, who were currently meeting at his house, would support it too, on condition that Antonia would intercede on their behalf with the Emperor. So she sent messages out to all the senators that didn’t turn up to this morning’s meeting, because they hadn’t wanted to be a part of Sejanus’ supposed victory, telling them to attend the Senate when the summons came. She asked me to come here as quickly as possible to ensure that Regulus didn’t find an excuse to refuse a further meeting.’
‘Like, for example, an ill-omened flight of birds?’
Gaius chuckled. ‘Exactly. He could just as easily have declared the geese to be a sign that Rome’s luck was leaving the city and no more business should be attempted today; we’ve all seen it done before.’
They reached the Temple of Concordia, set in front of the beautiful, arched facade of the Tabularium, where all Rome’s records were kept. Gaius went in, leaving Vespasian by the doors.
For half an hour Vespasian watched as senators, many of whom had not been present at the morning meeting, appeared from every direction in answer to the Consuls’ summons, each now believing that their faction would win the debate. Amongst the last to arrive were Corbulo and his father, who looked remarkably like his son. They both appeared very unsure of the situation.
‘Vespasian, what’s going on?’ Corbulo asked nervously as his father went into the temple.
‘Well, if you’d been at the debate this morning you would know.’ Vespasian was going to enjoy toying with him.
‘We were ill,’ Corbulo replied huffily, ‘we had some bad prawns last night.’
‘You really must give up prawns: they obviously don’t agree with you.’
‘Yes, well,’ Corbulo spluttered, remembering that he had used that excuse once before in Vespasian’s presence. ‘Tell me what’s happening.’
‘If you go in and vote for the motion you’ll be fine,’ Vespasian replied enigmatically.
Realising that he was demeaning himself by asking someone who was not a senator about senatorial business, Corbulo snorted and went inside.
‘Conscript Fathers,’ Regulus’ voice carried out of the door, ‘come to order.’
The chatter inside the temple immediately died down. The doors remained opened; Vespasian stood in the doorway to watch the proceedings.
‘Although the day has already been declared auspicious,’ Regulus began, ‘we are now under the guidance of a different goddess and should therefore sacrifice to her.’
There were mutterings of assent and dissent from the opposing factions of senators; Trio instantly got to his feet but Regulus continued before he could take the floor.
‘To ensure that there are no allegations of foul play in reading the omens I invite the Junior Consul to make the sacrifice.’
Trio accepted the offer gladly; he pulled a fold of his toga over his head and stepped up to the altar. Because a flight of geese had led them to the Temple of Concordia a goose had been chosen as the most propitious sacrifice. Trio hastily despatched the bird, saying the prayers over it in a most perfunctory manner, then slit it open to examine the liver, which he quickly declared to be perfect and a sign that the good goddess of harmony favoured their endeavour.
‘Thank you for your diligence, Consul,’ Regulus said, without a trace of irony, as he took the floor again. ‘Senator Plautius has asked for this meeting, I therefore call upon him to speak first.’
Regulus sat back down on his Consul’s curule chair as Plautius stood to speak.
‘Conscript Fathers.’ He held out his right arm and, in a dramatic gesture, swept it around the room to include all the seated senators. ‘I have asked for us to meet again today because I, like many of you, feel that we haven’t rightly interpreted our Emperor’s wishes and in not doing so we have created a very combustible situation.’
There was a general murmur of agreement; neither faction could dispute that.
‘I therefore propose to examine more carefully what he meant. He asked us to vote on “whether or not he should be imprisoned”; we all took that to mean that the Emperor wanted Sejanus imprisoned, did we not?’
Again both factions found themselves agreeing.
‘Yet imprisonment of a citizen has never been a punishment recognised by the State, so was the Emperor really asking us to mete out a punishment that doesn’t exist?’
Frowns and puzzled looks passed over the faces of his fellows.
