the shelter of our love. Domitian sat by the window, at an angle to it, able to look out, and believing he could not himself be observed from the street. He drank wine and bit his fingernails. I told them what I had seen in the city, from which the winter light was now being quickly withdrawn. Domitian spoke out to prevent his aunt from lighting the lamps. It was, he said, safer to sit in the dark. 'But why should we be endangered?' the aunt asked.
There was no answer to that, for there was no reason why we in particular, people of no position then, three of us young and the fourth an old woman given to good works and the practice of religion, should know fear. Yet we did.
When it was quite dark, there were steps on the staircase and a knocking at the door, which Domitian had shut with triple bolts after my entrance. He made signs in the gloom that we should not respond, but then a voice spoke, announcing that it was their uncle Flavius Sabinus.
He had come alone, without slaves or any of the soldiers whom he had at his command. Though he would not say that he sought refuge, that, I even then had no doubt, was his purpose in coming to his sister's house. He might be in no danger. But, as a public man in a responsible position, he feared he was; and preferred to withdraw himself from sight till the situation, whatever it might be, had resolved itself.
It embarrassed him that he could not tell us what was happening. All he would say was, 'I warned Nymphidius that the Praetorians would desert him. To whom have they ever been faithful?' We sat wakeful through the night. My own feelings were confused, disturbed. One moment I knew the infection of Flavius' fears, the next, catching sight of the girl's profile or feeling the gentle pressure of her breasts as she leaned over me to look out of the window, I was seized with near intolerable lust. Is there, I ask you, in the autumn of life anything which sets the nerves throbbing more smartly than summoning up memories of youthful desire? Summoning up is not the right expression; they rise unbidden as urgent dreams. Que de souvenirs, que de regrets, as the Greeks say.
Galba entered the city the following day. Without hesitation he revenged himself on those troops which had not openly and immediately done obeisance to him. When some marines whom Nero had armed hesitated to obey an order to return to the galleys, Galba ordered his Spanish cavalry to charge into the protesting mob of men. They were then rounded up, lined against a wall, and every tenth man cut down. This was, as Galba's supporters announced, evidence of his antique virtue. 'Decimation is an old Republican measure,' they said, nodding their heads.
When the semblance at least of peace and order had been restored, and it was clear that Galba was in command of the city, Flavius Sabinus went to pay his respects and was, to his surprise, confirmed in his post.
'Nevertheless,' Domitian said, 'he is not at ease. He says Galba's grip is uncertain. He says, too, that the old man is completely controlled by three of his staff whom my uncle terms 'the Emperor's nursemaids'.'
'Dangerous,' I said, 'to speak of them in that way, whoever they are. Who indeed are they?'
'I don't know much about them. How should I? I've been kept in this vile obscurity. One of them's called Titus Vinius. I think he was also a general in Spain. Another is Cornelius Laco…'
'Oh,' I said, 'you must know who he is. He used to be a Treasury official, and you must have seen him at the baths, eyeing up the wrestlers. He's very tall, rather fat, bald, with a big nose, and walks like a woman. Well, his tastes are a woman's, too.'
'He should have plenty of opportunity to gratify them then,' Domitian said, 'for he has been appointed Praetorian Prefect in succession to Nymphidius. He can command any brawny soldier he pleases to share his bed. And from what men say of the Praetorians, he won't find any difficulty in securing compliance. It's quite disgusting,' he added, his nose twitching. 'And, of course, the third nursemaid is the freedman Icelus, whom everyone says is our new Emperor's bedfellow. He's been made an equestrian, by the way, and wears so many jewels and gold bracelets you'd think he was on the stage. It doesn't sound to me as though the new regime is any more virtuous than Nero's. I wonder how long it can last?'
Everyone was asking that question. There were already rumours going around the Forum and the baths that the German legions were refusing to acknowledge Galba, and were intent on selecting an Emperor of their own. 'That's bad news for us,' Domitian's uncle said. I didn't immediately realise what he meant. 'Wouldn't that depend on whom they chose?' I asked. He looked at me as if I was a fool. This letter, too, must be sent in an edited form. There is too much in it that is personal, that cuts too close to the bone.
X
Tacitus also may think I was foolish. He has the advantage of hindsight. Historians, knowing what happened, can make harsh judgements easily. But even now I do not think I was obtuse in not realising in the first weeks of Galba's brief reign that my Flavian friends had already set their sights on Empire. Why should I have done so? I had never been given occasion to think of Vespasian as other than an ill-bred mediocrity. Though Titus had talked of his own ambitions, I had never supposed they reached to the supreme power; and though he had always spoken of ‘the old man's talent for always getting that bit further than anyone expects him to, and doing a job better, too, than was looked for', yet I couldn't conceive that a man whom provincials had pelted with rotten vegetables could aspire to wear the purple.
As a matter of fact, from various conversations, hints and speculations, of which there was an abundance in that fevered time, I was persuaded that if the Eastern armies were to follow the fashion and elect an Emperor of their own, they would choose L. Mucianus, not Vespasian. As Governor of Syria, Mucianus was nominally Vespasian's superior. He excelled him also in birth and achievement. Yet when I suggested as much to Flavius Sabinus, saying that if Galba failed to establish himself, his successor might be Mucianus, rather than whoever the German legions chose, his reply was brusque.
You know nothing about it, boy. For the moment anyway there will be no movement from the legions stationed in the East. They will wait to see how things develop in Rome and beyond the Alps. But Mucianus wouldn't do. We've had more than enough of that sort of thing. The soldiers want a real man as their Emperor, and preferably one with sons of his own.' Then he smiled, and patted my shoulder.
'Sorry to bite your head off,' he said, 'but it would be better if you didn't go around talking up Mucianus. Safer for you also.'
That was Flavius Sabinus' way. He could be crushing but, because he was naturally kind, always sought to mollify his reproof. He had a natural courtesy and polish of manner that his brother Vespasian lacked. Yet he had passed as much of his life in the camp as Vespasian himself. He had served under Corbulo in Armenia, and, despite distinguishing himself in battle, survived Corbulo's disgrace and retained Nero's confidence. Even Nero recognised that this stocky man with his close-cropped hair and down-turned mouth, which expressed freedom from any illusions, was trustworthy and honourable. Nero never even made jokes at his expense. In the next months I came to understand the selfless determination with which Flavius Sabinus advanced his family's interest – I say selfless because he never sought the first place for himself. But, equally, I never doubted that he was also driven by his understanding of what was best for Rome and the Empire.
When he spoke of the need to wait and see how events unfolded in Rome, this was, as I came to realise, because he was maturing a plan by which he hoped that his family could secure the Empire without further civil war. Domitian broke the news to me.
'It's not fair,' he said. 'Do you know what my uncle is trying to do? He is working to persuade Galba to adopt my brother as his heir. Why Titus? Why is it always Titus? Why am I forever cast aside, or ignored, as of no account?'
You have,' I said, 'the misfortune to be a younger son. It's the fate of younger sons to take second place.' 'It's not fair,' he said again, and again. How tired I was of hearing this refrain.
Domatilla said he was unhappy and couldn't help it. He was not to be blamed for his discontent. I had a letter from Titus, written in the cipher we had agreed. I have it before me, but shan't send it to Tacitus, it's too personal. Reading it now embarrasses me. But there is one paragraph I might let him see.
'… I rely on you to keep me abreast of a situation that must be changing with an almost inconceivable rapidity. You have the keen intelligence that allows you to penetrate below the surface and understand the significance of what others see only superficially. What, then, is afoot? I know that my uncle hopes to persuade Galba to name me his heir, and this hope, I must tell you, is shared by my esteemed father. But it won't do. I have discussed the possibility with L. Mucianus, who has, you will be amused to learn, developed a special tendresse for me, even
