north. But it’s all right, I’ve given orders to Attalus to mix your horses in with mine, and you, I’m afraid, will all have to spend the night in the loft above the slaves’ quarters.’
‘I didn’t know there was a loft there.’
‘That’s because it is very well hidden; your grandfather used it to shelter Pompey sympathisers who didn’t want to live in Rome under Caesar as they made their way north, out of Italia.’
‘I’m learning a lot of things tonight about my grandfather that I never knew.’
‘Why should you have known? You were only a child when you lived here, why should you have cared about politics? Now that you are a man, and becoming involved in politics, it’s important that you understand the danger that goes with making a political choice. Your grandfather understood it but in his case the side that seemed to serve Rome most honourably lost, so choose well because to fulfil your destiny you mustn’t lose.’
Vespasian looked at Tertulla eagerly. ‘What do you mean: my “destiny”? I overheard my parents talk about omens at my birth that prophesied that I should go far but no one will tell me what that means. My mother swore everyone to silence.’
Tertulla smiled again. ‘Then you should know that I cannot tell you either, because I too took that oath. What I can say is that the omens for you were very good, so good indeed that in these days of imperial power it was best not to make them public. However, omens from the gods will only come true if man plays his part and makes the right choices.’
Vespasian had expected a cagey answer but drew some comfort out from this. ‘Thank you. You’ve helped me to understand something that I have never been able to put into words before; when I know that something is right I should have the strength of character to pursue it.’
Tertulla leant forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You have grown in so many ways since I saw you last, my darling boy. But now we should find your friends and get you up into the loft; the Praetorians will soon be tiring of finding nothing in Cosa.’
‘Even if they don’t find us here we’ve still got to get past them somehow between here and Genua,’ Vespasian said struggling to his feet.
‘No, you don’t,’ Tertulla replied supporting him underneath the arm as they left the room. ‘The best way to get to Genua, avoiding roadblocks and patrols and, at the same time, enabling you to spend more time here with me whilst resting your leg, is to go by sea.’
CHAPTER XVIII
‘So it all comes down to who has the loyalty of the army, does it, Tute?’ Vespasian asked, resisting the urge to scratch the scab that had formed over his wound. ‘All these high ideals that men gave their lives for are now nothing more than a cover for the fact that power is no longer secured by constitutional right but by military might.’
They were reclining in the triclinium on the night before Vespasian was due to leave. The last eleven days had passed too quickly for Vespasian. He had spent most of the time resting his leg whilst talking with Tertulla. During the day he would lie on a couch in the courtyard garden and then in the evenings they would dine alone in the triclinium. She told him stories of his grandfather’s exploits in the Republican cause. She told him of his hatred for Caesar and then for Augustus, and everything that they stood for; then of his disillusionment with the Senate and the Republican side, whose infighting and lack of decision caused their eventual defeat and the rise of autocratic power supported by Praetorian military muscle, the full extent of which, thankfully perhaps, Petro didn’t live to see.
The Praetorians had come as Tertulla had expected. She had been kind and courteous to them and they had left an hour later satisfied that all that the house contained was an eccentric old woman, who could be of no harm to anyone but herself and her long-suffering slaves.
Vespasian looked at his 87-year-old grandmother, whom the Praetorians had dismissed as innocuous; she was one of the last survivors of the most turbulent period in recent history. Her memory of the time was still clear and she had been able to answer Vespasian’s many questions. She had met Pompey, she had heard Caesar speak and she had seen Cleopatra when she came to Rome as Caesar’s guest and lover. After Caesar’s death she had hidden Marcus Brutus in this house, whilst Anthony’s legions marched north along the Via Aurelia to fight his co- conspirator, Decimus Brutus. The following day she had kissed her husband goodbye as he left for Greece with Marcus Brutus to join Cassius and the Republican army. Ten years later, as a widow, she and her only child, Vespasian’s father, had watched from the cliffs as the northern fleet sailed past, bound for Brundisium on the east coast, to join with Octavian before the fateful battle of Actium that finished Anthony and his lover Cleopatra and brought the Empire under the control of one man: Octavian, the Emperor Augustus.
The table had been cleared, apart from a jug of wine and some water. The oil lamps flickered in the draughts that made their way around the house, extensions, like long creeping fingers, of the howling wind outside. The sound of Magnus and his friends’ carousing could just be heard above the gale blowing in rain from the sea. The crossroads brothers had spent their time riding around the estate, ostensibly looking out for patrols but in reality hunting. In the evening they would roast and eat the day’s kill, get uproariously drunk on Tertulla’s wine and then retire to bed with whichever of her slave girls they fancied.
‘It’s more that constitutional right is secured by military might,’ Tertulla replied, taking a sip from her cherished cup. ‘Tiberius was Augustus’ adoptive son so had the right to be Emperor although many would have preferred Germanicus. The loyalty of the army helps him maintain that right. We must hope that whoever he names as his successor can command the same loyalty.’
A knock on the door interrupted them and they looked up to see Attalus, wet and bedraggled, holding a leather scroll-case.
‘You’ve not fallen into the impluvium again?’ Tertulla asked him in mock-surprise.
‘If you hadn’t spent all evening exercising the well-formed muscles in your drinking arm,’ Attalus replied, removing his wet cloak and throwing it at an underling, ‘you would perhaps remember that you sent me down to the port to see if the ship had arrived.’
The day after the Praetorians’ visit Attalus had been despatched into Cosa to find a trading ship that was prepared, with no questions asked, to take passengers to Genua. He had returned the same evening with the news that he had found one for the extortionate price of 250 denarii; they were sailing to Ostia but would be back in Cosa by today.
‘And?’ Vespasian asked, hoping that the weather would keep him there for another couple of days.
‘It arrived mid-afternoon, before the wind got up; if it dies down by morning the captain promised to be on the beach below us by the third hour.’
Vespasian couldn’t hide his disappointment.
‘I know that you would have preferred earlier, master,’ Attalus said, deliberately misreading him, ‘but I’m afraid that you’ll just have to endure an extra hour or two of her excruciatingly inaccurate memories.’
‘How would you know they’re inaccurate, you old satyr?’ Tertulla said, grinning. ‘You’ve never listened to a word I’ve said since the sorry day that I bought you.’
‘What? Oh, this was at the port aedile’s office,’ Attalus said, handing her the leather tube. ‘It’s quite a modern device; if you remove the lid you’ll-’
‘Get out and go and join your playmates,’ Tertulla laughed, swiping at her steward with the case.
Attalus departed with a conspiratorial smile to Vespasian.
‘What is it, Tute?’ Vespasian asked as she pulled the scroll from its container.
‘A letter from your father,’ she replied, unrolling it.
As his grandmother read Vespasian sipped his wine and recalled the conversations they’d had over the past few days. She had helped him to flesh out half-formed opinions and corrected many of his assumptions about the difference between the two political systems: the Republic and the Empire. She had shown him how the freedoms enjoyed by individual citizens during the Republic were slowly eradicated by the rise of Rome as a colonial power. The army could no longer be just a few legions made up of citizen farmers brought together for a season’s campaigning close to home. The conquests of Greece, Asia, Hispania and Africa had meant that the men were away for years at a time whilst their crops withered and died in the fields. They returned home to find their farms
