back inside with Narcissus; his shoulders drooped and he trudged back up the steps.
Vespasian had to suppress an amused grin at the way he had been played. ‘He won’t be able to swear to anything other than Poppaeus left in a rush and had him running back and forth for everything that he’d forgotten,’ he observed.
‘That was the objective,’ Pallas said, ‘but his part’s not over yet; Claudius and Narcissus will delay him a while longer and then we’ll follow him down to the Forum and watch him react to Poppaeus being found dead.’
‘Wouldn’t the bearers have seen Narcissus take the chest from the other side of the litter?’ Corbulo asked, still in a slight daze from the fast moving events.
‘Only the man on the far side at the back could have seen it but Narcissus reached in as they bent to pick up the litter and always kept his back to that bearer. Anyway, no questions should be asked about the chest as the false one will be found along with the dead Poppaeus in the litter.’
Kosmas’ arrival with Narcissus cut short their conversation.
‘My dear Kosmas,’ Narcissus crooned, placing a pudgy arm around the wiry secretary’s shoulders, ‘it has been a pleasure seeing you again. We secretaries should get together more often.’
‘Yes, thank you, Narcissus, we should. I must hurry.’
‘Of course you must. I shall see you soon.’
Kosmas bowed his head to Vespasian, Corbulo and Pallas and hurried off down the street with his master’s stick and four cylindrical, leather book containers stuffed into his bag.
‘We’ll follow him, Narcissus,’ Pallas said as the secretary disappeared around the corner, ‘and make sure that Asiaticus does his bit.’
‘We’ll meet tomorrow, Pallas. Gentlemen, farewell.’
As Vespasian turned to go he felt Narcissus’ hand touch his shoulder. ‘By the way, Vespasian,’ Narcissus whispered in his ear, ‘if you’re thinking of paying a visit to the Cloelius brothers while you’re in the Forum you’d be wasting your time; I had that bankers’ draft cancelled with them.’
Vespasian spun around and glared at him.
Narcissus grinned mirthlessly. ‘Your expression tells me that I was right to do so. However, as I am in your debt on two accounts now, I have neglected to cancel it with Thales in Alexandria. If you ever manage to get permission to visit there, which I doubt, it’s yours. I wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you to misappropriate my master’s money, would I?’
CHAPTER XII
Vespasian was silent as they tracked Kosmas down the Esquiline towards the Forum, keeping the secretary in view as he gradually gained on his master’s litter. He contemplated the dignity with which Poppaeus had met his death and the motives that had caused him to become Antonia’s enemy. He could not help but feel that Poppaeus had been right: the Julio-Claudian family was utterly unsuitable to rule. Denuded of its brightest talents through years of intrigue and poisonings, its male line was now reduced to a rump consisting of: Tiberius, a sexually depraved, mad old man; Claudius, a stuttering, power-hungry mediocrity; Vespasian’s friend Caligula, an incestuous hedonist; and Gemellus, a young lad of no consequence whose only interesting feature was the speculation surrounding him as to which of his relatives would eventually murder him. And then there was Antonia, that brilliant political strategist; her ruthlessness in dealing with any threat to her family’s position he had at one time, through the idealism of youth, mistaken for a high-principled defence of legitimate Roman government. But now, older and more jaded, he was beginning to see her for what she really was: a vicious gang-leader who would stop at nothing to maintain her power. He had made a choice as a callow youth and now he was stuck in Antonia’s world as a very minor member of her gang. His grandmother had been so right all those years ago when she had warned him ‘that the side that seems to serve Rome may not always be the most honourable’. But surely that must soon change; surely, with the murder of so many of the family, the bloodline of the Julio-Claudians must soon expire? Perhaps this, then, would be the new age that the Phoenix heralded: an age where Rome was ruled with honour through merit and not through tainted blood. But then, he reflected, if he was destined to play a part in this new age of honour, how could he now, guilty as he was of despicable and dishonourable murder?
‘Where’s the litter?’ Magnus asked, breathing heavily as he and Ziri caught up with them on the Via Sacra.
‘About a hundred paces ahead,’ Pallas replied, pointing through the crowd to where the roof of the litter could just be seen bobbing over the sea of heads. ‘Kosmas is just in front of us but he’s catching up with it; you and Ziri had better try and delay him until it gets to the Forum.’
‘But he’s seen me.’
‘Barely, and he hasn’t seen Ziri.’
‘Fair enough.’
A huge roar from behind them caused Vespasian to turn his head towards the Circus Maximus.
‘Missing the fucking racing,’ Magnus moaned. ‘Come on, Ziri, you’re going to do some jostling.’
Ziri looked uncomprehendingly at his master.
‘You’ll get the hang of it, it’s easy, you just have to use your elbows,’ Magnus told him as he ploughed forward into the crowd.
They neared the Forum and the crowd got denser as the people of Rome who had not been lucky enough to get seats in the circus flocked to watch acrobats, jugglers and other entertainers performing in honour of Apollo.
Gradually they caught up with the litter until it was only ten paces ahead of them as it neared the Rostra. To his right Vespasian could see the tall figure of Kosmas battling to get past Magnus and Ziri. Suddenly the crowd shifted backwards and Vespasian could see, just ahead of him, the axe-heads on the tops of the fasces of twelve lictors making directly for the litter.
‘Asiaticus is there,’ he said as the lictors surrounded the litter.
‘Good, we’ll watch from here,’ Pallas replied. Most of the crowd moved on past the official cordon, uninterested in the doings of the Senior Consul on a festival day.
‘Proconsul Poppaeus,’ Asiaticus shouted above the hubbub, ‘how fortunate to have met you.’ He stepped up to the litter and waited for a reply. ‘Poppaeus?’ he repeated after a few moments. Again receiving no reply he untied the curtains and looked in. ‘Poppaeus?’
‘Let me through, that’s my master’s litter,’ Kosmas shouted, pushing through the lictors.
Asiaticus put his hand in and then withdrew it quickly. ‘Jupiter! The proconsul is dead!’ He pulled the flaps right back to expose Poppaeus’ reclining form as they had left it; his head lolled down to one side, resting on the fake Capella’s chest. There was a shocked intake of breath from the few people who stood watching the scene; more now joined them. The litter-bearers looked aghast at their dead master.
Kosmas rushed forward. ‘Master? Master?’
‘Your master appears to be dead,’ Asiaticus informed him.
‘Impossible, he was alive when I left him not half an hour ago.’
‘Well, he’s dead now; look.’
Kosmas lifted Poppaeus’ chin and then let go in shock. ‘But I swear that he was alive when we left Claudius’ house, I saw him get into the litter; he sent me back for his stick.’ He waved the stick at Asiaticus as if to prove the veracity of his story. ‘He must have died on the way here.’
Vespasian and Corbulo glanced at Pallas, who allowed himself a brief smile of satisfaction.
‘Who are you?’ Asiaticus demanded.
‘My name is Kosmas, I’m Poppaeus’ secretary.’
‘What’s this?’ Asiaticus asked, pointing at the chest.
‘It contains some paperwork of my master’s.’
‘Let me see.’
Kosmas took the keys from around his neck and opened the chest.
Asiaticus took out a couple of the scrolls and gave them a cursory glance and sniffed them. ‘There’s nothing in there that could have killed him.’
