niece. Undoubtedly your son’s hereditary right is legally as binding as these others. What is it that you want then?”
“I want my son to grow up into the best and noblest Emperor Rome has ever seen,” I said. “I do not doubt for a moment, Vespasian, that you in your righteousness will acknowledge him as the legal heir to the Imperial throne when the moment arrives.”
Vespasian thought for a long time, frowning heavily with his eyes half-closed.
“How old is your son?” he said finally.
“He will be five next autumn,” I said proudly.
“In that case there is no hurry,” said Vespasian with relief. “Let us hope that the gods will allow me ten years or so to bear the burden of rule and put the State’s affairs into some kind of order. Then your son will have received his man-toga. Titus has his weaknesses and because of his connection with Berenice I am worried, but usually a man grows with responsibility. In ten years’ time Titus will be over forty and a mature man. In my view he has every right to the Imperial throne if he does not marry Berenice. That would be disastrous. We could not have a Jewess as the Imperial consort, even if she were of the Herodes family. If Titus behaves sensibly, presumably you will permit him to rule his time out, so that your son in the same way will have time to mature and acquire experience in office. My other son Domitian would never do as Emperor and the very thought of such a thing appalls me. In fact I have always regretted that I conceived him by mistake in a drunken moment on a visit to Rome. Ten years had passed since Titus’ birth and I did not think my marriage bed would again prove fertile. The thought of Domitian makes me feel ill. I cannot even consider celebrating a triumph, for I should be forced to take him with me.”
“Naturally you must celebrate a triumph for capturing Jerusalem,” I said uneasily. “You would offend the legions bitterly if you didn’t, and they have suffered great losses in the war against the Jews.”
Vespasian sighed heavily.
“I have not thought so far ahead as yet,” he said. “I am much too old to crawl up the Capitoline steps. The rheumatism I contracted in Britain pains my knees more and more.”
“But I could support you on one side and Titus on the other,” I said encouragingly. “It’s not as difficult as it looks.”
Vespasian looked at me and smiled.
“What would the people think of that?” he said. “But, by Hercules, better you than Domitian on one side, the immoral, crooked liar.”
This he said long before we knew anything about the victory at Cremona, the siege of the Capitoline and Domitian’s cowardly behavior. Vespasian had to allow Domitian to ride behind Titus in the triumphal procession for the sake of his grandmother’s memory, but Domitian had to ride on a mule and the people understood the implication., When we had considered the succession to the throne from all points of view, like reasonable men who are friends, I was glad to agree to Vespasian’s suggestion that Titus should rule after him and before you, even if I did not value Titus as highly as his father did. His ability to forge handwritings made me doubt his inner qualities. But fathers are blind.
When Vespasian had had his powers confirmed in Rome, Titus conquered Jerusalem on his orders. Its destruction was as terrible as the description in Flavius Josephus’ work. But the spoils were to come and I was not defrauded of my security. Titus had not wished to destroy the temple, and he had sworn this to Berenice in bed. But during the fighting it was impossible to stop the spread of the fire. The starving Jews fought from house to house and from cellar to cellar, so the legions suffered heavy losses, although they had thought that only the occupation of the city remained.
Anyone will soon be able to see my portrait in the reliefs on the triumphal arch we have decided to erect in the forum. But to be honest, Vespasian was not entirely in agreement at first that I too deserved a triumph insignia, as I had striven for so eagerly for your sake. I had to point out to him several times that. during the siege I had been the next highest in rank under his command and that I had fearlessly exposed myself to the Jews’ arrows and stones to the extent of being wounded in the foot in my rush for the walls.
Not until Titus magnanimously put in a word for me did Vespasian award me a triumph insignia. He had never come to regard me as a warrior in the true sense, so I had deserved that much from my part in the siege and conquest of Jerusalem. We in the Senate who have triumph insignia are now so few that we can be counted on the fingers of one hand, and among us are a few who have received insignia without any service merit of their own, if I am to be absolutely accurate.
After crawling up the Capitoline steps, Vespasian filled a basket with stones from the temple ruins and carried it on his shoulder down into the valley that was to be filled in, in order to show the people his goodness, his humility, and first and foremost to set a good example. He expressed a wish that we should all share the cost of rebuilding the temple of Jupiter.
Vespasian has also collected copies of old laws and regulations, decrees and special rights dating right back from the foundation of the city from all the corners of the world. He has gathered nearly three thousand such bronze tablets hitherto, and they are kept in the newly built State archives in place of those which melted during the great fire.
As far as I know he has not gained anything from them, although he would have had an excellent opportunity to trace his descent all the way back to Vulcan if he so wished. But he is still content with his grandmother’s buckled old silver goblet. As I write this he has ruled as Emperor for ten years and we are preparing to celebrate his seventieth birthday. I myself have two years to go before I am fifty and feel surprisingly young thanks to the cures I have been taking and one other circumstance, for which reason I have not hurried to leave here, but prefer to stay and write my memoirs, as you have perhaps noticed.
The physicians gave me permission to return to Rome a month ago.
But I must thank Fortuna that I have been allowed to experience this spring, which I had not believed possible. I feel so much younger that a little while ago I asked to have my favorite horse brought so that I could start riding again, although I have been content for several years to lead my horse in processions. Thanks to Claudius’ decree, this is still allowed and we older men take advantage of it as we grow heavier.
Speaking of Fortuna, your mother has always been strangely jealous of the simple wooden goblet which I inherited from my mother. Perhaps it reminds her only too well that you have a quarter Greek blood in your veins, though fortunately she does not know how lowly that blood is. This goblet of Fortuna, because of your mother, I sent to Linus several years ago, when in a moment of satiety I thought I had had more than enough of worldly success. I think the Christians need all the good fortune they can get, and Jesus of Nazareth himself had drunk from this goblet after his resurrection. So that the wooden goblet should not become too worn, I had a cleverly worked goblet of gold and silver made to enclose it. On one side it bears a picture in relief of Cephas and on the other, one of Paul.
It was quite easy to have these portraits made, for the craftsman who did them had seen both of the men himself many times and was also helped by other people’s drawings and a mosaic. True they were both Jews who did not approve of human images, but Paul revered the Jewish laws in many other respects, so I do not think he will mind that with Linus’ help I have preserved his appearance for posterity, even if there is no future in the Christian teaching alongside other and more promising religions, from the Gymnosophists to the Mithras brotherhood.
They were both good people and now, after their deaths, I understand them better than before, as so often happens when certain aggravating characteristics no longer stop one’s creating a clear picture of a person as he really had been. Anyhow, the Christians own a picture of Jesus of Nazareth. It stuck to a piece of cloth when he fell to the ground in Jerusalem with his cross on his back and a woman handed him her own kerchief to wipe the blood from his face. This picture would hardly have stayed on the cloth if he himself had not wished it, so as far as I can make out he permitted human images, unlike the faithful Jews.
My mother’s goblet is much used, but I have a feeling its power has lessened because of the gold and silver around it. In any case, the Christians’ internal disputes continue unabated and as violently as before.
Linus has great difficulty reconciling them so that they do not take to physical violence against each other at their sacred evening meals.
What happens in the dark streets, when the locked doors are opened and the partakers of the meal leave, I shall not bother to tell you. The same intolerant envy which ruined Paul and Cephas still holds sway among them. For this reason, too, they have no future. I am only waiting for the moment when one Christian kills another in the name of Christ. The physician Lucas is so ashamed of all this that he is not able to concentrate on writing the third
