solemn ritual.
Once he had finished the ceremony he removed the toga from his head and embraced each son in turn, wishing upon them Fortuna’s blessing and placing the honour of the family in their hands.
‘Always remember where you come from, and to what family you belong. Each time you return home do so with greater dignitas, so that this house may grow in stature through the glory of its sons.’
They stood together in silence, each making their own requests of the gods in private prayer. The room was now almost completely dark. The household slave whose duty it was to light the lamps and the fire waited at a respectful distance in the corner of the room, not daring to disturb the paterfamilias as he prayed with his two sons. The only sound to be heard was the gentle patter of the fountain.
After a short while Titus clapped his hands, breaking the silence. ‘Varo, where are you? Bring wine, and why are we in the dark? What’s going on in this house? Have you all fallen asleep?’
Varo came scuttling in, aiming a kick for good measure at the backside of the lamp slave, who leapt into action.
‘I’m sorry, master, we were waiting for…’ Then he trailed off.
‘Yes, yes, I know, and you did right. But now I want wine and light.’
A short time later the room was filled with the light of numerous oil lamps scattered around the room and a fire crackled in the hearth. Vespasia arrived to find her menfolk seated near it with cups of wine in hand.
‘Ah, my dear,’ Titus said, standing up, ‘you are just in time. I am going to propose a toast; take a cup.’ He handed her one that was already filled with slightly watered best Caecuban wine. Lifting his own he raised it above his head, spilling a few drops in his enthusiasm.
‘Tomorrow we leave for Rome and the household of your brother. We shall make a sacrifice to the gods before we depart, so that they will favour our endeavours and to ensure that we may all return here safely. To Rome and the house of Flavius.’
‘To Rome and the house of Flavius,’ echoed his family as they drank the toast.
PART II
CHAPTER V
The brown cloud on the horizon was growing larger. It was the morning of the third day of their journey and as they neared the greatest city in the world Vespasian could feel its wealth seeping out into the surrounding countryside and beyond. Evidence of it could be seen everywhere. Farmland and farm buildings gave way to extensive market gardens where thousands of field slaves tended the long rows of lettuces, leeks, onions and herbs. Armed gatekeepers eyed passing travellers, as if each one was a potential housebreaker, from behind lavishly gilded gateways that led up to imposing villas with magnificent views on the slopes above. The road itself was busier than he could have imagined; every imaginable form of transport passed them heading back up the Via Salaria, and overturned carts with broken axles, spilt loads and slow-moving columns of shackled captives meant that they found progress was quicker just to the side of it, and easier on the hoofs of their mounts.
Their party was made up of Vespasian, his brother and father all riding horses; next came Vespasia in a four-wheeled, mule-drawn, covered carriage, a raeda. She sat on deep cushions under the awning being fussed over by two maidservants as the cumbersome vehicle rattled and jolted its way down from the hills. Behind the raeda came a cart with their luggage, driven by two household slaves. Finally came three more household slaves, the men’s body servants, riding mules. As guards, Titus had hired three mounted ex-legionaries, who had so far proved to be forbidding enough to ensure a trouble-free journey.
Progress down the Via Salaria had not been quick, owing mainly to the painfully slow speed of the raeda. This had had its advantages in that they had spent two nights on the road rather than one, staying with families with whom they had ties of hospitality. At dinner the families had traded favours to their mutual advantage. Titus offered promises of his brother-in-law Gaius, the ex-praetor, interceding in a court case or a civic matter in return for a letter of introduction to a magistrate or a member of the imperial household. Titus had been happy to trade on the name of his brother-in-law as Vespasia had assured him that all reasonable promises would be honoured, at a price – naturally – to himself some day in the future. For Vespasian it had been interesting to see at first hand the heads of two families supporting each other for common benefit one day, knowing that they could become arch-rivals the next.
As the small party drew closer to their destination Vespasian contemplated how he would advance himself in this highly competitive society that he was being forced into, where the only permanent loyalties were to Rome, one’s family and one’s personal honour and dignity. He looked up at the brown cloud in the distance as his horse pressed on up a hill and wondered whether he would be suited to, or even wanted, such a competitive life. The road ignored the steep incline as it forged ahead and before he had arrived at any firm conclusion it reached the summit.
Vespasian stopped and gasped. Forgetting all else he stared in disbelief at the most magnificent sight that he had ever seen. Five or so miles before him, crowned with a thick brown halo formed from the smoke of half a million cooking fires and the discharge of countless forges and tanneries, its seven hills encircled by huge red-brick walls punctuated by mighty towers, stood the heart of the most powerful empire in the world: Rome.
‘I remember stopping and marvelling in this very place forty years ago when my mother brought me here at your age,’ Titus said, pulling up next to him. ‘When a man sees Rome for the first time and feels her power and his own insignificance in the face of it, he realises that he has but two choices: serve her or perish under her, for there is no ignoring her.’
Vespasian looked at his father. ‘In that case there is no choice,’ he said in a quiet voice. Titus smiled and stroked the smooth neck of his mount whilst he contemplated the scale of the city below them.
‘If that sight overwhelms us so, imagine how some hairy-arsed barbarian from the forests of Germania or Gaul must feel when faced with such might. Is it any wonder that their chieftains are now falling over themselves to become citizens? Like our Latin allies over a hundred years ago, who fought a war against Rome for their right to citizenship, they too want to serve her rather than perish under her. Rome sucks you in, son, just take care that she doesn’t spit you out.’
‘One taste of that little runt and I’m sure he’ll find that in his case mistress Rome is a spitter not a swallower.’ Sabinus laughed at his own wit as he drew level with them.
‘Very funny, Sabinus,’ Vespasian snapped. As much as he enjoyed a coarse joke he was feeling far too unsure of himself to appreciate such flippancy. He kicked his horse forward and headed off down the hill to the sound of Titus admonishing Sabinus for his foul mouth.
As he gazed at the centre of the empire, immovable on the plain below him, bathing in the morning sun and feeding off the roads and aqueducts that pumped life into her, he felt inspired by her magnificence and power. His nerves steadied. Perhaps no longer would he be content to limit his horizons to the hills that surrounded his rural home. Perhaps no longer would he count himself fulfilled by the mundane business of farming and raising mules with nothing to mark the passing of time other than the change in the seasons. He was going to enter a larger and more perilous world, and there he would survive and prosper. With a growing sense of excitement he descended the hill, oblivious to his father’s calls to slow down. He weaved his way through the other travellers thinking only of arriving as soon as possible.
After a couple of miles the traffic slowed out of necessity as tombs, large and small, on either side of the road squeezed it in. Vespasian paused and felt the hand of history upon him as he read the names carved into the walls of each one. There were famous families alongside names that he had never heard of. Some tombs were very ancient, others newly erected, but all had one thing in common: they contained the remains of men and women who had in their lifetimes contributed to the rise of Rome from a few mud huts on the Capitoline Hill, almost eight hundred years before, to the metropolis of marble and brick before whose walls they were now interred. All the joys
