had fallen, almost four years previously. Vespasian and Caenis made their way to the front — his senatorial toga being sufficient to clear a path through the people — remembering the parts that they had played in that tumultuous event and its build-up. They talked as if they were simply on a pleasant outing together and managed to put to one side their emotional turmoil. Both were aware that it was merely a postponement of the decision they would soon have to take; until then, however, they were happy to seek refuge in easy companionship.
As they arrived at the steps to the temple Vespasian looked at Caenis: he had never loved her so much. She felt his gaze and surreptitiously grasped his hand, sending a shiver throughout his body.
‘We are not unmindful of Apollo who shoots from afar.’ The melodious voice of the presiding priest broke into their private world.
Behind the priest, in front of the closed temple doors, the three white bulls, adorned with golden ribbons, stood patiently under the portico, their halters held by youths with their faces painted gold. Two more priests stood either side of him with a fold of their togas over their heads. Arranged at regular intervals along the top step were three large copper basins. Musicians to either side flanked the sacrificial party.
‘Father Apollo, I pray to you, all-seeing guardian god, be gracious to Rome and protect Her. Be ever vigilant and warn Her Emperor what subjects of his or strangers conspire against him; whatever treacherous plots there may be, keep him alert and prepared. Protect us and keep us safe always.’
With a clash of cymbals the temple doors opened, revealing the statue of the god garlanded with flowers and lit with a golden light by torches reflecting off highly polished bronze discs.
Caenis bowed her head at the sight and started to mutter a private prayer as the bulls were led forward to stand one in front of each basin. Three acolytes walked out of the temple; one carried a golden urn, another a flat golden plate, and the third a tray holding three sacrificial knives. A heavy mallet hung from each one’s belt.
The presiding priest took three small flat salt cakes from the plate and crumbled one on each of the beasts’ heads. A second priest followed behind him pouring a libation over the crumbs. The third priest retrieved the knives and distributed them to his fellows. The acolytes took up position, one next to each of the animals; they unhooked their mallets and held them ready.
‘Turn to us now, Mighty Archer, we pray that finally now, Apollo, You will come to our aid. Father, hold Your hands over us and our Emperor. If You approve of what we do, then stir strength into us and into him who is of the utmost importance for the success of our city’s venture. Father Apollo, deign to accept this gift.’
The three mallets cracked in unison onto the wide foreheads of the bulls, stunning them but not downing them. Three knives then flashed simultaneously up through the air, piercing the dazed animals’ throats. With ever increasing surges of blood they sliced through the loose flesh severing arteries and windpipes. The beasts’ hearts pumped on and the blood surges turned into constant streams, quickly filling the bowls beneath them before spilling over to flow in three separate rivulets down the steps. The two outside streams gradually converged into the central one as they followed the contour of the marble — more worn in the middle from long usage — down towards Vespasian and Caenis.
As the first of the great beasts crashed onto the stone floor the rivulet arrived at Vespasian and Caenis’ feet. It split in two as it traced the groove around the irregular paving stone upon which they stood. They both watched as the two streams rejoined each other, surrounding the stone, leaving them standing on a little island in a river of blood.
Caenis looked up at Vespasian. ‘I prayed that Apollo would give me a sign to guide my decision and he has,’ she said, pointing to the ground. ‘The blood of his sacrifice has encircled us showing me that we should always be together. I cannot argue with the will of Apollo. You must do what your duty requires of you. I will always be yours, whatever happens.’
Vespasian was desperate to kiss her but propriety forbade a senator to commit such an act in public. Caenis sensed his desire and whispered in his ear: ‘My mistress told me to be back by dawn; take me to your bed, my love.’
CHAPTER XI
Vespasian was woken well before dawn the following morning by an insistent rapping on his bedroom door.
‘Yes?’ he called out dozily.
‘It’s time, master,’ a young voice replied in a thick German accent.
Vespasian grunted and slipped an arm around Caenis’ warm body. She stirred as he nuzzled the back of her neck.
‘Is it morning, my love?’ she asked, turning towards him.
‘I’m afraid so.’ He kissed her softly and held her close so that their bodies moulded into one another.
The relief that he felt at Caenis’ decision was overwhelming; he had stared into the abyss of life without her and it had terrified him.
The sudden realisation that he could not just expect her to fit in with his plans had come as a shock; but what had been even more startling was the insight that he had had into his own priorities. Had it come to a decision between his love for Caenis and his duty to Rome, together with the advancement of his family — a duty that no man could in honour repudiate — he would have been obliged to let Caenis slip away, despite the misery to which he would have condemned them both. He lay, staring into the dark, holding her tight and thanked Apollo that he had not been forced to make that choice. He would offer a sacrifice in gratitude to the god once this day was done.
After a few more stolen moments they finally dragged themselves out of bed, dressed and walked into the atrium to find Magnus talking with Gaius. Ziri stood by the door gawping at Gaius’ homoerotic artwork that dominated every angle of the room.
‘Good morning, dear boy, and to you, Caenis,’ Gaius said, ‘I hope you both got some sleep, eventually.’
Vespasian grinned as Caenis blushed. ‘Thank you, Uncle. Morning, Magnus.’
‘Morning, sir; Caenis. We’d best be off if we’ve got to go to Antonia’s first.’
A knock on the door interrupted them and Sabinus entered. ‘Uncle, I need your help,’ he said without any greetings. ‘I’m going to see Antonia now and I’d like you to come with me.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘Because there is something that I didn’t tell you.’
‘Go on.’
Sabinus looked nervously at Caenis.
‘I won’t repeat anything that I hear in this house, Sabinus; you can trust me.’
Sabinus sat down and grabbed a cup of wine. ‘Antonia called me to her house yesterday and asked me to meet with her and Herod Agrippa today to threaten him with impounding his grain in Egypt. Of course I couldn’t refuse.’
‘I thought that you would be pleased with a chance at revenge on Herod,’ Vespasian said, unable to see why Sabinus was so agitated.
‘You gave her the idea?’
‘Yes, it seemed a safer way than writing to the Alabarch.’
‘But I was going to write anonymously; Herod would never have known that it was me. If he does he’ll expose me for what I’ve done and I’ll be facing a capital charge.’
‘What’s he got on you, dear boy?’ Gaius asked.
‘The day I saw Pomponius he asked me to sell a stockpile of grain that he’d speculated in and give the money to his heirs. He told me that if anything was surer than his death it was that grain would be going up in price this year. He even told me who would risk buying it; but I didn’t sell it.’
‘Oh, you idiot!’ Vespasian exclaimed. ‘You went and speculated in grain as well, you bought it, didn’t you?’
‘Well, it sounded like an easy way to make money. I’d just come back from the East with a decent amount of cash, enough to buy the votes in last year’s aedile elections and sponsor some games to raise my profile for the upcoming praetor elections, but then I would have been left with almost nothing.’
‘So you poured the whole lot into Pomponius’ grain.’
