‘There will be another civil war.’ Antonia pulled open a drawer and withdrew a sheathed sword, which she looked at fondly. ‘This belonged to my father, Marcus Antonius. Just before he used it to commit suicide in Alexandria he wrote a letter to Augustus asking that he should return it to me so that I could pass it on to my future son. Augustus granted his erstwhile brother-in-law and friend’s dying wish and brought it back to Rome for me. When Germanicus came of age I gave it to him and he used it to subdue the Germanic tribes and to push back the Parthians. After he too died his wife, Agrippina, wanted to pass it onto her eldest son, Nero Caesar. I refused her, saying that I would decide which of my grandsons most deserved it — it would be the one that I considered would make the best Emperor. For a while I thought that I would give it to Gaius but then as his brothers were killed off I began to see his true nature, so I withheld it and I’m pleased that I did; he dishonours his great- grandfather’s memory.
‘In a short time I will use this sword to open my veins; when I am dead Caenis will bring it to you. It will be yours. Remember that it was borne by two of the greatest men of our age — use it well and perhaps you will live up to them.’
‘Thank you, domina.’
‘Now go and wait in the atrium for Caenis while she helps me to leave this world. Pallas will then show you both to her new house; take Magnus with you so that he knows where it is and after that it’s up to you and him as to whether she lives in safety or in fear. Goodbye, Vespasian, and bear my father’s sword in a manner worthy of him.’
Vespasian took one last look at the most powerful woman in Rome, in awe at the way that she could still try to order matters from even beyond the grave. Yet for all her political adroitness in life she had been unable to ensure that she went to that grave naturally. The power that she had sought for her family had been concentrated into the one person over whom she had no control: her grandson Caligula. This sudden departure from life — although, Vespasian reflected, it was no more sudden than any death — was her only chance to wrest that power back and place it into the hands of the son she had always despised: Claudius. The irony was bitter and Vespasian could tell from her saddened, green eyes that it was not lost on Antonia.
‘Goodbye, domina, and thank you for the favour that you’ve shown me.’ With a nod of his head he turned and left the room.
The day was fading and Vespasian had been waiting for more than an hour when Caenis, Pallas and Felix finally appeared. Tears rolled down their cheeks as they walked towards him through the atrium whose very air seemed heavy with grief; the whole household had come to a standstill as the mistress had bled to death in her bath.
‘She’s gone,’ Caenis sobbed, offering Vespasian Marcus Antonius’ sword with both hands. ‘This is now yours, my love.’
Vespasian took the sword by its tightly bound red-leather hilt and drew it from its scabbard; the weight was perfect and the balance exact. A blue shimmer ran down the length of the burnished steeled-iron blade — engraved with its original owner’s name — to the unadorned bronze, oval guard that bore the scars of long-ago parried strokes. The pommel too was of plain bronze and the scabbard was simple tan buck-leather glued onto the wooden case and strengthened by four evenly spaced bronze bands. Despite his grief at the knowledge that it had recently been used to open Antonia’s wrists, Vespasian smiled; this was not a parade-ground soldier’s weapon, this belonged to a fighting man and he understood why Antonia had used it to end her life.
He re-sheathed it with a soft rasp. ‘How did she die?’
‘Nobly,’ Pallas replied, ‘and without fear. She signed her will and Caenis’ and Felix’s documents of manumission and then dictated a couple of letters; she went to her bedroom and prepared herself and then got into the warm pool and…and did it, without hesitation. She lay back with her eyes closed as she bled and then, before she grew too weak to speak, she cursed Caligula before all the gods and the spirits of her ancestors, calling on them to bring him down and to ease Rome’s suffering.’
‘If they would listen to anyone they would listen to her.’ He looked at Caenis and lifted her chin; tears still glistened around her eyes. ‘Stop crying now, Antonia Caenis, you are finally freed.’
Caenis smiled through her tears. ‘Yes, I shall always bear her name to remember her by, she who was a mother to me.’
Vespasian pulled her close and kissed her perfumed hair. The sound of footsteps drew his eyes; they widened in surprise as Magnus walked into the room.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, and then realised that he could guess the answer. ‘Oh, I see.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Magnus mumbled, looking bashful.
‘We should go, Vespasian,’ Pallas said, not wishing to dwell on the reason for Magnus’ presence for the sake of his late mistress’s dignity.
‘Yes, we should,’ Vespasian agreed, pleased also to change the subject. He turned to leave.
‘Vespasian, before you go,’ Felix said.
Vespasian looked back at Felix. ‘Congratulations on your liberty, Marcus Antonius Felix.’
Felix smiled at being addressed by his new name. ‘My thanks, Vespasian. My mistress has instructed me to go back to Egypt immediately to wind up her affairs there; it’ll take me a year or so. She also told me that you were trying to get permission to visit; if you’re successful and I can be of service please contact me. The Alabarch will always know where to find me.’
Vespasian nodded his thanks and, putting a protective arm around Caenis, walked towards the door.
Set in a quiet street just three hundred paces from Gaius’ house, Caenis’ new home was small and unobtrusive. Antonia had chosen well, Vespasian reflected as they approached the front door, Caenis would be safe from Caligula here.
‘I shall leave you now,’ Pallas said, pulling the bell chain, ‘I have my mistress’s funeral to attend to.’
Caenis kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you, Pallas.’
‘Most of your things are already here, the rest I’ll have sent over tomorrow.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Magnus said with a grin, ‘I imagine that I’ll be in the way if I stay. I’ll make arrangements to have one of my lads always watching the street, making sure no one unpleasant is snooping round if you take my meaning?’
The door opened as Magnus and Pallas walked off to reveal the largest Nubian Vespasian had ever seen. ‘Antonia was evidently keen that your door should be well guarded,’ he said, bending down and putting one arm under her knees and the other under her arms to lift her up. ‘This is the nearest that we’ll ever get to me being able to carry you over the threshold.’
Caenis giggled and, taking his face in her hands, kissed him long and passionately. The Nubian politely stepped back and, still kissing, Vespasian carried her into the vestibule and then through to the atrium. A clearing of the throat interrupted them. Vespasian looked up and immediately let go of Caenis’ legs.
‘Good evening, mistress,’ a tall, elderly Egyptian said, bowing low. ‘My name is Menes, I am your steward, and this,’ he indicated to the fifteen slaves in a row behind him, ‘is your household.’
Blushing furiously, Vespasian and Caenis stared at the line of slaves, then at each other and burst out laughing.
Vespasian watched the pillar of grey smoke begin to rise from the Campus Martius, just over a mile away, as he waited in the audience chamber of Augustus’ House along with all the elected magistrates and many of the most senior senators. Caligula had already kept them waiting for more than an hour; on purpose, Vespasian guessed. Gaius shuffled uneasily beside him, trying not to show the vexation that he felt at the sight of the smoke. They had all received a summons, first thing that morning, to attend the Emperor at the third hour and they all knew that it was no coincidence that Antonia’s funeral was due to begin at that time. In causing the most senior men in Rome to be absent from the ceremony Caligula had radically diminished the dignity of the occasion in a final insult to his grandmother; not even her son Claudius had been spared his spite.
The senators began to talk animatedly about any subject other than Antonia as they too saw, through the open windows looking out over the city, the sign that her funeral pyre had been lit. No one wished to be seen appearing displeased at their inability to add their weight to the mourning of the most powerful woman in Rome should their master be secretly watching and listening.
The red and black lacquered, panelled double doors at the far end of the room suddenly opened and all conversations stopped; Caligula entered flanked by Macro and a Praetorian tribune whom Vespasian did not recognise.
