Tiberius’ slave and could be executed on a whim as he’d seen happen to others so many times before; so there was never a better slave. Now with Tiberius gone he’s the master and I promise you there will never be a worse master.’
‘Then we’ll just have to make sure that the master doesn’t notice us,’ Vespasian said. From what he knew of Caligula he feared Clemens was right.
‘It’s too late for that; he’s looking forward to seeing you. He said to tell you that although he hasn’t seen you for six years he still considers you both to be his friends and that now he’s emperor and free to come back to Rome he’s looking forward to the fun — as he put it — that he promised you would have together.’
‘I’m not sure that I like Caligula’s idea of fun, having witnessed it,’ Sabinus commented, ‘it seems to involve his sisters.’
‘It doesn’t always just involve his sisters; I’m more worried by the fact that he seems determined that it’ll also involve
Sabinus looked understandably concerned. ‘I had better get her and the children out of Rome; I’ll leave for Bithynia first thing tomorrow before Caligula arrives.’
‘Leave now, my friend; if you go into the Senate your presence will be registered and Caligula will know that you left without waiting to greet him. I’ll tell him that you left a couple of days ago before you heard the news; there is a chance that he’ll believe that, now that the port of Brundisium has reopened again.’
Sabinus took his arm in a firm grip. ‘That’s good of you, Clemens.’
‘Stay out there as long as possible, start a war or something. Caligula will only get worse, believe me.’
‘I do.’ Sabinus turned to Vespasian. ‘If I don’t see Uncle Gaius at the house say goodbye for me and thank him for his hospitality over the last six months since the fire.’
‘I will and I’ll send on everything that you need, Sabinus,’ Vespasian said. ‘Just go.’
‘I’ll have four of my lads escort you to Brundisium,’ Magnus offered, ‘they’ll be at the house in an hour.’
‘Thank you, Magnus, and you too, brother,’ Sabinus said, turning quickly to go, ‘and good luck with our friend.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Vespasian called to Sabinus’ retreating back.
‘You’ll be fine,’ Clemens agreed, ‘so long as you bugger Caligula whenever he orders, like I have to; I’m worn out by it sometimes.’
‘What? You, Clemens? You’re joking.’
‘Unfortunately I’m not and I can tell you that it’s one of the least unpleasant duties that I’m forced to perform. But your problem is that Clementina isn’t the only woman who Caligula’s determined to bed; now that he’s emperor I’m sure that he won’t feel the need to take any notice of Antonia’s injunction against having Caenis.’
The mob outside, in the Forum Romanum, was in full cry, celebrating the despised old Emperor’s death and the accession of their new hope, Caligula; but there was near silence in the packed Senate House as Quintus Naevius Cordus Sutorius Macro entered, in military uniform, holding a scroll-case. He was flanked, outrageously, by four armed Praetorian Guardsmen also in uniform rather than wearing their customary togas, worn when on duty within the city. The looks on most senators’ faces attested to what they felt about such an overt display of Praetorian power over the increasingly enfeebled Senate.
‘He’s making the point that this time the Guard has chosen the Emperor,’ Gaius whispered to Vespasian over the muttering of their unhappy colleagues, ‘and we have to ratify it or face their swords.’
Gnaeus Acerronius Proculus, the Senior Consul, remained seated on his curule chair as the small party clattered up the centre of the House. ‘The Senate calls upon Quintus Naevius Cordus Sutorius Macro to brief it on the health of our beloved Emperor, Tiberius. Is the rumour true?’ Proculus called, taking the initiative in an attempt to reassert senatorial authority.
‘Of course it’s true, as you well know, Consul,’ Macro growled, ‘and I’m here to tell-’
‘Conscript Fathers,’ Proculus cut in, ‘the Praetorian prefect has brought us the most grievous news: confirmation that our Emperor is dead.’ He began to wail theatrically.
The whole Senate followed his lead; cries of woe and anguish filled the House, drowning out Macro’s attempts to make himself heard until, humiliated, he was forced to wait impotently to be allowed to speak.
Vespasian and Gaius joined in the protestations of grief, wholeheartedly enjoying the look on Macro’s face. ‘I don’t know how wise a move that was,’ Vespasian shouted in Gaius’ ear, ‘but it was well done and most amusing.’
‘In as much as goading a lion is amusing,’ Gaius replied. ‘But if he was trying to wrest some authority back from the Guard to the Senate then it was certainly a good start.’
As the expressions of grief continued a pair of dark eyes locked with Vespasian’s from the other side of the House; with a jolt he realised that Corvinus was back in Rome and had taken his seat in the Senate.
‘I propose a ten-day period of mourning to start from this moment,’ Proculus eventually called out above the din. ‘All trials will be suspended, no sentences will be carried out and all public business, including that of this House, will cease. After that time we will ratify Tiberius’ will and vote Gaius Caesar Germanicus all honours according to his station. The House will divide.’
‘The House will listen to me!’ Macro bellowed.
‘The House will divide, prefect. You wouldn’t want it said that you stopped the House voting a suitable period of mourning for an emperor, would you?’
‘Fuck the period of mourning, Consul, I will be heard. The Emperor Gaius has sent me to give you Tiberius’ will and tell you to nullify it.’
Proculus looked suddenly unsure. ‘But surely it names him as Tiberius’ heir?’
‘It names him as the co-heir along with Tiberius Gemellus; it cannot be left like that, it’s a recipe for civil war.’
‘On what grounds can we change an emperor’s will?’
‘On the grounds that he was mentally incapable when he made it; and if that’s not enough for you, do you hear that?’ Macro gesticulated towards the noise coming through the door; there was now a violent ring to it. ‘That is the sound of the people wanting to be ruled over by one man, not by one man and a boy. My men have been circulating among the crowd telling them the terms of the will and they don’t like it; I can guarantee that none of you will get out of here alive until you change it. And while you’re about it I suggest that you vote the Emperor all the titles and honours that you feel will please him; after that you can vote on what the fuck you like.’ Macro threw the scroll-case at the Senior Consul, turned and marched smartly out with his escort.
Proculus’ shoulders sagged; his attempt to reassert the Senate’s authority as the legitimate power in Rome had come to a humiliating end. He knew that none of his colleagues would risk the wrath of the mob. He got wearily to his feet. ‘I propose that this House nullifies Tiberius’ will and votes Gaius Caesar Germanicus as his sole heir and therefore the only Emperor.’
Tears streamed down Caligula’s face; his voice was high with emotion, straining with grief. ‘In his modesty he refused the title of “Father of the Country”; he refused to be worshipped as a god, preferring instead to take his reward for his selfless service in the love that his people bore him for his just and benign rule.’
‘I can’t help but wonder if he is really talking about Tiberius,’ Gaius muttered to Vespasian out of the corner of his mouth.
‘If he is, it makes a nice change,’ Vespasian replied, ‘that’s almost the first time that he’s mentioned him.’
They had already stood through nearly two hours of Caligula praising his father Germanicus as well as his great-uncle Augustus and thereby reminding the people of Rome of the stock that he came from and securing in their minds his right to be emperor. Now it seemed that he had finally got on to the subject that he was meant to be eulogising, although, judging by the looks on the faces of the other senators standing with them on the steps of Pompey’s Theatre in the Campus Martius, Vespasian could see that his uncle was not the only person having difficulty in trying to equate the new Emperor’s words with the character of his predecessor.
Standing on a high dais, Caligula carried on his emotional eulogy, surrounded by actors wearing the funeral masks of Tiberius’ ancestors. Next to the dais stood the unlit pyre upon which was set the bier that supported the corpse; it had been smuggled into the city under cover of night, partly to protect it from the mob but mainly so that
