were waiting for the brothers, sitting on two colourfully painted wooden chairs, next to the impluvium, the pool that collected the rainwater that fell through the oblong opening in the centre of the ceiling. At each corner of the pool was a column that supported the weight of the roof. These were painted deep red in stark contrast to the pale greens, blues and yellows of the detailed stone mosaic on the floor illustrating the way that the family made its living and spent its leisure time.
The October night outside was chilly, but the atrium benefited from both the underfloor heating, provided by the hypocaust, and a large log fire that blazed in the hearth to the right of the tablinum. The flickering light emitted by the fire and a dozen oil lamps illumed the haunting wax death masks of the Flavian ancestors that watched over the family from their recess between the hearth and the lararium , the altar dedicated to the household gods. On the walls around the room, just visible in the dull light, were decorative frescos of mythological subjects painted in rich reds and yellows and punctuated by doorways that led to lesser rooms.
‘Sit down, boys,’ their father said cheerily, evidently enjoying having his close family all together again after eight years. The brothers sat on two stools placed opposite their parents. A young slave girl wiped their hands with a damp cloth; another brought them each a cup of warm, spiced wine. Vespasian noticed Sabinus eyeing the girls appreciatively as they left.
Titus poured a few drops of the wine on to the floor. ‘I give thanks to the gods of our household for the safe return of my eldest son,’ he said in a solemn voice. He raised his cup. ‘We drink to your health, my sons.’
The four of them drank, and then set their cups down on the low table between them.
‘Well, Sabinus, the army treated you well, eh? Not cooped up on garrison duty, but a proper war. I bet that you could hardly have believed your luck?’ Titus chuckled, proud to have a son who was already a blooded veteran at the age of twenty.
‘Yes, Father, you’re right,’ Sabinus replied, meeting his father’s eye with a self-satisfied grin. ‘I think we were all disappointed when I was assigned to the Ninth Hispana in Pannonia; with just the occasional cross-border raid to deal with it was going to be hard for me to excel there.’
‘But then Tacfarinas’ revolt in Numidia came to your rescue,’ Vespasia interjected.
‘We should thank the gods for rebellious kings with ideas above their station,’ Titus said, raising his cup and grinning at his elder son.
Sabinus drank the toast enthusiastically. ‘To Tacfarinas, the madman who threatened to cut off Africa’s grain supply to Rome and then sent emissaries to negotiate with the Emperor.’
‘We heard the story,’ Titus said laughing. ‘Apparently Tiberius had them summarily executed in front of him declaring: “Not even Spartacus had dared to send envoys.”’
Sabinus joined the laughter. ‘And then he sent us down to Africa to reinforce the Third Augusta, the only garrison in the province.’
As Sabinus carried on his tale Vespasian, unable think of anyone who he could ask about the omens of his birth, found his mind wandering back to the problem of the mule-thieves. It had far more relevance to his life than martial tales of rebellions and long marches of which he had no experience and very little interest. Although Hieron, his Greek weapons and wrestling master, had left him reasonably proficient with sword – gladius – and javelin – pilum – and he could also lay most opponents in the ring on their backs, due to his stocky build and broad muscular shoulders, he felt that he was first and foremost a man of the soil; that’s where his battles would be fought, in the day-to-day struggle with nature as he strove to wring a profit from his family’s lands. Let Sabinus make his way in the world and rise up the cursus honorum, the succession of military and civilian offices.
‘I remember the feeling of marching to war,’ Vespasian heard his father say wistfully; he turned his attention back to the conversation. ‘Our spirits were high, confident of victory, because Rome will accept no other outcome; the Empire cannot countenance defeat. Barbarians surround us, and they must never be allowed to think of Rome as weak. They need to be shown that if they take Rome on there is only one outcome – and it will be inevitable: death for the men and enslavement for their families.’
‘No matter how many lives it costs?’ Vespasian asked.
‘A soldier must be willing to lay down his life for the greater good of Rome,’ his mother replied tersely, ‘in the sure knowledge that its ultimate triumph will keep his family, his land and way of life safe from those who wish to destroy us.’
‘Exactly my dear!’ Titus exclaimed. ‘And that is the principle that binds a legion together.’
‘And because of that our morale remained high for the two years we were there,’ Sabinus agreed. ‘We knew we would all do everything thing it took to win. It was dirty war; no pitched battles, just raids, reprisals and small actions. But we rooted them out from their hiding places in the hills and group by group we dealt with them. We burned their strongholds, enslaved their women and children and executed all males of fighting age. It was slow, bloody work, but we persevered.’
‘Ha, what did I say, Vespasian?’ Titus’ face lit up in triumph. ‘Now Sabinus is back we have someone who knows how to deal with the vermin lurking in hills. We’ll have those murdering mule-thieves up on crosses before too long.’
‘Mule-thieves, Father? Where?’ Sabinus asked.
‘In the mountains to the east of the estate,’ Titus replied. ‘And it’s not just mules; they’ve had sheep and a few horses, as well as murdering Salvio two months ago.’
‘Salvio’s dead? I’m sorry to hear that.’ Sabinus paused, remembering with affection the kindly man and the treats that he had given him as a child. ‘That in itself is cause for revenge. I’ll take a party of our freedmen over there and show the scum how a Roman deals with their sort.’
‘I knew you’d be eager to have a go at them. Well done, my boy. Take your brother along as well, it’s time he saw something other than the rear end of a mule.’ Titus smiled at Vespasian to show that he was only teasing him, but Vespasian had not taken offence; he was excited by the prospect of dealing out summary justice to the mule- thieves; it would benefit the estate. This was the sort of fighting that he was interested in, something real, close to home, not battling strange tribes in far-off places that he’d only vaguely heard of.
Sabinus, however, looked less than keen at the suggestion, but his father insisted.
‘It’ll be a chance for you to get to know each other as men and not squabbling brats, fighting at every possible opportunity.’
‘If you say so, Father.’
‘I do. You can both go and have your own mini African campaign and nail up a few rebels, eh?’ Titus laughed.
‘If the boys can catch them with only a few freedmen to help,’ Vespasia said, adding a note of caution to her husband’s exuberance, ‘it will be a far cry from fighting with the resources of a legion behind you.’
‘Don’t worry, Mother, I learnt enough in my two years in Africa about how to encourage plunder-hungry rebels out into the open. I’ll find a way.’ Sabinus had an air of confidence that made Vespasian believe him.
‘You see, Vespasia,’ Titus said, reaching over the table and slapping his eldest son’s knee, ‘the army has been the making of him, as it was me and will be for Vespasian, very soon.’
Vespasian jumped up, looking at his father in alarm. ‘I have no wish to join the army, Father. I’m happy here, helping to run the estate; it’s what I’m good at.’
Sabinus scoffed. ‘A man has no right to land if he hasn’t fought for it, little brother. How will you hold your head up amongst your peers in Rome if you haven’t fought by their side?’
‘Your brother is right, Vespasian,’ his mother argued. ‘They will laugh at you as the man who farms land that he has never defended. It would be an intolerable shame to you and our family name.’
‘Then I shan’t go to Rome. This is where I belong and this is where I want to die. Let Sabinus make his way in Rome, I’ll stay here.’
‘And always live in your brother’s shadow?’ Vespasia snapped. ‘We have two sons and both will shine. It would be an insufferable insult to the family gods for a son to waste his life on mere agriculture. Sit down, Vespasian; we shall have no more talk like that.’
His father laughed. ‘Absolutely. You can’t live your life here in the hills like some provincial country bumpkin. You will go to Rome and you will serve in her army, because it is my will.’ He picked up his cup and downed the rest of his wine, and then stood up abruptly. ‘As you know, a man is judged first and foremost by the achievements of his forebears.’ Titus paused and gestured around the funeral masks of their ancestors in their recess on the wall next to the lararium. ‘This being the case, I am a man of little worth, and you two, even less so.
‘If we are to improve our family’s standing both of you will have to struggle up the cursus honorum as new
