‘So the young quaestor returns from his province,’ Sabinus drawled, ‘and manages to bring with him a chest full of trouble.’
‘Piss off, Sabinus,’ Vespasian snapped, handing his folded toga to Aenor and sitting while his uncle filled a cup for him.
‘And it’s lovely to see you again too, brother. Did you enjoy the camels?’
‘I’ve just been explaining to Sabinus the predicament that you find yourself in,’ Gaius said quickly and unnecessarily, but in an attempt to head off an argument. The siblings had never got on; although in recent years Sabinus had started to show more respect for his younger brother, he nevertheless still enjoyed goading him, especially after a long period of absence. ‘Come and have some breakfast and tell us what Antonia said.’
‘Murder?’ Gaius exclaimed, having heard Vespasian’s detailed account of his meeting with Antonia. ‘That is not a pretty word.’
‘It’s a woman’s weapon, I know, Uncle,’ Vespasian said shamefacedly, ‘but we could see no other way.’
‘I think that you were right to suggest it,’ Sabinus said, surprising Vespasian, ‘it’s the quickest and cleanest way to solve the problem, however effeminate.’
Vespasian ignored the jibe. ‘And Corbulo and I get our revenge on Poppaeus.’
‘Which is also satisfying,’ Sabinus agreed, ‘because it means that we keep a promise that I made on both our behalves to Pomponius Labeo.’
‘What promise?’
‘He sent for me on the day he opened his veins knowing that we owed him a large debt for sheltering our parents from Sejanus on his estate in Aventicum. To repay it, he made me promise that we would take vengeance on Poppaeus.’
‘Well, I’m glad that I can be of service,’ Vespasian said with more than a hint of sarcasm.
‘Oh, you are. In fact, you’ve provided two services — you’ve just shown me how I can get even with Herod.’
‘What have you got against him?’
‘He humiliated me publicly in Judaea in an intolerable manner. I can’t let it pass. Now, I’m the aedile supervising the grain distribution in the city this year and I can tell you in confidence that the price is rising because we’re down to the emergency level at the granaries.’
‘Yes, I heard.’
‘What?’ Sabinus was shocked. ‘That’s meant to be a secret.’
‘It is: only you, me, Magnus’ crossroads brothers and their friends and relations know about it.’
‘Very funny,’ Sabinus snorted.
‘What about the grain from the second ship, why can’t you find that to distribute?’
‘How did you know about that?’
‘It’s another well-kept secret.’
‘And what other confidences have the brethren been sharing with you? That I’ve been bribed not to find it, I suppose.’
‘I should hope not, dear boy, that would be a capital offence,’ Gaius exclaimed, taking a calming slug of wine.
‘I’m not that stupid, Uncle. Anyway, the first African grain fleet is due any day and then things should start slowly getting back to normal. However, due to the shortages the price we have to pay is almost a fifth up on last year and is still rising and won’t stabilise for a while yet. So anyone caught hoarding grain like our friend Herod is doing will suffer harsh consequences. I’m going to write anonymously to the Alabarch and tell him how Herod has used the money he lent him in illegal grain speculation. I’ll advise him to inform the prefect, Flaccus, before I do, implicating him in the deal as well. Flaccus is completely loyal to Tiberius so is bound to investigate the allegations. He’ll find the stockpiled grain, report it and who owns it to Tiberius, and down goes Herod.’
‘You should be very careful, dear boy,’ Gaius advised, as a knock came from the front door. ‘Herod bought that grain off Claudius; if that comes to light he’ll also be in a lot of trouble. Antonia doesn’t take kindly to people causing problems for members of her family; she reserves that right for herself.’
‘That’s the beauty of writing anonymously, she’ll never find out that it was me and nor will Herod,’ Sabinus replied as Magnus was let in looking less than refreshed.
Vespasian got to his feet and signalled Aenor to start draping on his toga. ‘Antonia has a remarkable way of knowing about everything, Sabinus; one word from her and you’ll have no chance in the praetor elections. If I were you I’d take Uncle’s advice and think of another way to satisfy myself with Herod.’
Sabinus scowled. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ Magnus said once it became apparent that the conversation was at an end.
‘Good morning, Magnus, we should go,’ Vespasian replied as Aenor tucked in the last fold of his toga.
‘Ziri’s waiting outside, sir.’
‘And I should be greeting my clients,’ Gaius said, heaving himself to his feet. ‘I wish you well in this unpleasant business, dear boy. Aenor, my toga.’
With a brief nod to his brother, Vespasian turned and followed Magnus out of the door and through the forty or so clients clustered around it waiting to pay their morning respects to their patron.
Finding Ziri at the back of the crowd they headed off down the Quirinal. It was a beautiful, fresh summer’s morning with already a hint of warmth in the air. A light breeze blew from inland and Vespasian imagined that he could detect a trace of fresh mown hay and meadow flowers on it above the smells of the city; he thought of his estates at Cosa and Aquae Cutillae and realised that, at this moment, he would give anything to be at either one rather than on his way to plan a murder.
Claudius’ house was not what Vespasian would have expected for a member of the imperial family, however out of favour. Set almost up against the city walls on a quiet side street on the Esquiline Hill, it looked more like the home of a merchant who had just suffered from a series of ill-advised business ventures. Peeling whitewash clung to cracked and crumbling plaster that all too often exposed the brickwork underneath. It was, however, substantial and what it lacked in glamour it made up for in privacy; a perfect place to live an unnoticed life, Vespasian mused as he waited nearby for Antonia and Corbulo.
Shortly before the second hour Corbulo came striding around the corner, accompanied by two slaves, looking very pleased with himself. ‘Good morning, Vespasian,’ he said, ignoring Magnus and Ziri’s presence. ‘Something good has come out of this sorry affair: Asiaticus wrote me a note this morning promising to endorse my bid for a praetorship. With his support in the Senate I stand a good chance of coming towards the top of the poll and would therefore be in line for the governorship of a propraetorial province after my year.’
‘I’m very pleased for you, Corbulo,’ Vespasian said with sincerity, ‘and for myself.’
‘Why, has Asiaticus promised you something too?’
‘No, but seeing as it was down to me that you became involved with him I would say that puts you back into my debt; not such a clean slate after all, eh?’
Corbulo frowned, but before he could respond Antonia’s litter turned into the street with Pallas walking next to it carrying Capella’s chest.
The twelve taut-muscled Nubian bearers set the litter down next to the steps leading up to the front door. Antonia pulled aside the curtain and stepped down. Vespasian’s heart jumped as Caenis followed her mistress out. She glanced up at him and gave a shy smile; her normally crystal-clear blue eyes were shaded with sorrow but still lingered on him, taking his breath away. He opened his mouth to try to explain everything to her but, suddenly remembering that they were surrounded by people, closed it immediately and essayed instead a nervous smile. Caenis gave a slight nod as if understanding that they needed to talk and then turned to collect her writing materials from inside the litter.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ Antonia said, bringing Vespasian out of his private world. The faint look of amusement on her face gave Vespasian the distinct impression that his and Caenis’ tacit conversation had been a lot more public than they had intended. ‘I will do the talking; you should remain silent unless I ask you to speak. Remember that you are here solely to work out the logistics of our…er…enterprise.’
Pallas mounted the steps and rapped on the door.
‘I was t-totally unaware, M-M-Mother,’ Claudius affirmed, dabbing with a handkerchief at a trail of saliva that leaked from the corner of his downturned mouth, ‘of what would happen to the estates.’ His alert grey eyes darted across to his freedman, Narcissus, seated next to him on a bench underneath a fruit-laden pear tree in the well-kept
