looked Pallo in the eye but the steward could not hold his gaze and looked down. ‘Why won’t you answer me?’ Vespasian pressed.
‘I am forbidden to speak of it,’ Pallo whispered uncomfortably.
‘Why? Tell me, Pallo, who forbids you?’
‘The gods,’ Pallo replied, meeting Vespasian’s eye again.
‘Which gods? Why?’ Vespasian was getting more and more agitated and grabbed Pallo by the shoulders.
‘All of them. Your mother made the whole household swear an oath in front of all the gods never to speak of it.’
CHAPTER IV
Sabinus ’ wounds meant that Vespasian’s training was curtailed for a few days. Route marches were not possible but gymnastics, trench-digging and weapons drill were. Vespasian spent hours attacking a six-foot post with a wooden sword and wicker shield, practising the prescribed cuts, thrusts and parries. The sword and shield were designed to be heavier than the real items. This was, explained Sabinus, to strengthen his arms, so that he would find it that much easier to wield regulation weapons. When he was not attacking the post with his wooden sword he was throwing heavy javelins at it. As the days passed the exercises began to feel easier and, although never enjoyable, became less of a burden.
In return, Vespasian began his estate administration lessons with Sabinus. Once they had started on the subject Vespasian found that he knew so much more than he had previously realised and, in his eagerness to get it across, ended up baffling his prostrate brother with a barrage of facts and figures. At first, because of his wounds, Sabinus was forced to sit in one place and was unable to escape the stream of constant information; but as he mended the lessons were held walking or riding around the estate. In this more relaxed atmosphere Sabinus’ eyes were opened to the complex logistical problems faced by an estate manager trying to use his land and manpower to full effect every day of the year. He began to realise that an estate was just a microcosm of an army, or indeed Rome, and to fully understand its workings would greatly improve his chances of success in public life. Vespasian became someone well worth listening to. For his part Vespasian found that sharing his knowledge with his brother helped him to order his thoughts, and strengthened his confidence in what he already knew.
This sense of mutual reliance plus the knowledge that each was indebted to the other for their life precipitated a thawing in their relationship.
The following weeks surprised not only themselves but also their parents; dinner in the early evening stopped being such a confrontational event, becoming instead a review of the subjects mastered or feats achieved during the day.
November passed quickly in this pleasanter atmosphere. The snows arrived on the surrounding peaks and the activity on the estate slowed down for winter, entering a period of make and mend. Walls were repaired, new tools fashioned, a new barn erected and countless other jobs, which had been waiting throughout the summer, were tackled and completed.
Sabinus took advantage of this industry to have a light ballista constructed, so that he could teach his brother the rudiments of artillery fire. He set up an ox head in front of a large sheet of leather and instructed his brother in the science of trajectory, speed and wind variation. Within a week Vespasian could hit the ox between the eyes at a hundred paces with the same ease that Sabinus could write a work roster for fifty slaves and their overseers or tally a profit and loss account.
The season of goodwill, the Saturnalia, came and went with its round of feasting and gift-giving. Three days after its close, on 25 December, Sabinus had just finished celebrating the miraculous birth in a cave, witnessed by shepherds, of Mithras, a new god from the East into whose mysteries he’d been enrolled whilst in the army, when their father called the brothers into his study.
‘Well, my boys, January is almost upon us,’ he began without inviting them to sit down. ‘You have kept your side of the bargain, so I shall keep mine. I have arranged for us to stay, as you did, Sabinus, four years ago, at the house of my brother by marriage, your uncle, Gaius Vespasius Pollo. There we shall have access to the highest social circles in Rome and even to the imperial household itself. Gaius now counts amongst his patrons Antonia, sister by marriage to our illustrious Emperor.
‘As you know, Gaius has no children and is therefore eager that you, his sister’s offspring, should thrive. He will introduce you to wealthy and influential people and write many letters of recommendation and introduction. He is to be respected and honoured; who knows, he may even decide to adopt one of you.’ He paused and looked sternly at his two sons. ‘I have been most impressed by the progress you have both made, not least in your abilities to set aside petty personal differences and work together. This is one of the most important attributes for a Roman nobleman. You will be in a society that is ruthless and competitive where everyone is out for themselves and their family. You will be elected to offices or serve in the legions alongside men who for no apparent reason are your enemy and only see you as someone to outdo. Yet for the good of Rome you must work with these men, as they must work with you. Keep your eyes on them, never trust them, but co-operate with them; if you do that you will be serving both Rome and yourselves well.’
‘Yes, Father,’ the brothers said in unison.
Titus rose and guided both his sons out of the study into the atrium, past the rainwater pool with its spluttering fountain, to the alcove by the household altar where the death masks of the family’s ancestors hung on the wall. He stopped in front of the sombre array of lifelike, or deathlike, waxen images.
‘Each one of these men had a life with its own successes and failures, and every one of them did his utmost to serve our family and the Sabine tribe. Then, after they had won for us our citizenship, they served Rome. You, my sons, will build on what they have done and raise the family of Flavius from obscurity here in the Sabine Hills to greatness in the greatest city of all. I’ll do everything in my power to aid you; provide money and use what contacts I have, but I shan’t be around for ever. When I’m gone you will have to support each other. To this end I have brought you here before our ancestors. Here you will swear to be ever faithful to one another, always to look out for each other and, above all, to support each other in whatever enterprises you find yourselves in.’
‘But, Father, to be bound by oath as well as blood is unnecessary. Our blood-tie compels us to do all that is being asked in the oath,’ Sabinus argued.
‘I understand that, but this oath will be made in front of not only all our ancestors, but also all our gods, including your Mithras. It will therefore be the most binding oath you have ever taken and so will supersede any other. If there comes a time when one of you is unable to properly aid the other because of a previous oath this will nullify it. Do you see, Sabinus?’
Sabinus met his father’s eye for a few moments, then he nodded and looked at Vespasian, who played dumb. He now felt certain that Sabinus knew of the prophecy since his father was giving him a way to break his mother’s oath. At some point in the future, when Sabinus felt the time was right, Titus wanted him, Vespasian, to know its content, and because of this oath Sabinus would be able to tell him.
Titus then looked at Vespasian. ‘This is the last time you will be addressed as a boy.’ He lifted the leather thong of the bulla over Vespasian’s head. ‘I decree that from now on, my son, you, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, are a man. Take up a man’s duty, dignity and honour and go out into the world and thrive in your own right to your greater glory and to the glory of the house of Flavius.’
Vespasian bowed his head in acknowledgement of his father’s wishes.
Titus then turned to the lararium, where the images of the lares domestici, the household gods, were kept. He placed the bulla on the altar and arranged around it five small clay statuettes that he took from a cupboard next to it. He pulled a fold of his toga over his head, muttered a short prayer, and then filled a shallow bowl with wine from the altar jug. Standing with the bowl in his right hand he poured a libation over the altar in front of the largest of the figures, the lar familiaris, who represented the founder of the family. He then motioned his sons to join him, one on either side of the altar, and gave them each a sip of wine, before draining the rest himself and setting down the bowl.
In the fading light the three men stood in front of the altar whilst Titus, invoking the gods and the spirits of their ancestors, administered the oath to his sons. The words he used to bind them together echoed through the columns of the atrium as the death masks, staring down with unseeing eyes in the half-light, bore witness to the
