Theatrically feigning surprise, Caligula stopped in his tracks and looked past the gathering through one of the windows. ‘There seems to be a fire on the Campus Martius,’ he cried in mock alarm, ‘has anyone called for the Vigiles to put it out?’
The senators rocked with sycophantic laughter led by Macro and the tribune.
Spotting Claudius among the group, bravely laughing with the rest, Caligula added insult to injury. ‘Uncle, you’re the fastest among us, run and alert the Vigiles at once and then report back to me once the fire is out.’
‘At once, P-P-Princeps,’ Claudius replied, breaking into a chaotic series of lurches that passed for running.
Caligula led the raucous laughter as his uncle shambled out of the room. ‘It will have burned itself out by the time that cripple has even managed to stumble down the Palatine,’ he shouted through his mirth.
The sycophancy increased and the laughter rose as if this were the funniest thing anyone had ever said. Caligula’s face was puce and the veins in his neck and temples bulged; genuinely enjoying the joke, he kept laughing uncontrollably for what seemed like an age as the senators’ attempts to keep pace with him grew more and more hollow. Eventually he tired, much to everyone’s relief, and drew himself up.
‘Gentlemen, I have an announcement to make concerning my beloved sisters.’ He stopped and beamed at his audience, evidently relishing what he was going to say. His head twitched violently and he suddenly put his hands up to his temples. Macro went to support him as the gathering drew its collective breath.
‘Get away from me,’ Caligula snapped, regaining his composure and pushing Macro off. ‘Now, where was I? Ah yes, my sisters. From now on they are to be included when an oath of loyalty is…’ With a cry he collapsed to the floor, scrabbling at his head with his hands as if he were trying to pull something out of it.
The senators gasped; Macro immediately knelt down beside him. ‘Chaerea, fetch the doctor,’ he shouted at the Praetorian tribune after a brief look at his master. ‘Get out, all of you, now!’ he shouted.
The sight of the Emperor so physically compromised sent a shiver of fear through the senators and they fled.
‘It looks as if the gods may have listened to Antonia,’ Vespasian mumbled in Gaius’ ear as they crushed through the door.
Whether or not the gods had acted upon Antonia’s curse was debatable, but one thing was certain: they were the main beneficiaries of Caligula’s illness as over the following days the people of Rome sacrificed victims in their tens of thousands for the return to health of the young Emperor. The poor did so out of genuine love, remembering the largesse that he had distributed among them and the lavish games that he had held for their entertainment. The senators and the equestrian order, however, did so out of the fear that all those who had not been seen making sacrifices and offering up prayers would be cruelly dealt with should Caligula recover; so they vied with each other to be the most generous with their offerings, sacrificing their finest bulls, race horses and rams, while the more rash vowed to fight as gladiators if the Emperor recovered. One eques, in a case of reckless sycophancy topping all others, even promised Jupiter to exchange his life for Caligula’s.
Vespasian spent much of the time in the afternoons and evenings with Caenis, enjoying playing man and wife in the new privacy that they had together. In the mornings he attended the Senate, joining in the prayers and sacrifices and sharing with the rest of the House the same outward fervour that Caligula should recover and the same inner desire that he should die and this ghastly episode in Rome’s history could be put behind them. After this daily ritual — no other business being possible through fear of it being construed as being insensible to the Emperor’s wellbeing — the whole Senate, along with the equestrian order, then processed up to the Palatine, past crowds of sombre citizens, to present themselves at Augustus’ House where they received the daily bulletin on the Emperor’s health. Every day the Praetorian tribune, Chaerea, delivered the same message in his unfortunately high and squeaky voice: no change, the Emperor remained drifting in and out of consciousness.
The city was at a standstill; the law courts, theatres and markets were all closed, business transactions suspended and festivals ignored. The only thing still running was the blood that flowed from Rome’s many altars.
‘This is getting ridiculous,’ Vespasian muttered to Gaius as the Senate and the equites gathered outside the Curia for their daily trudge up the Palatine, for the thirtieth day in a row, in a steady, November drizzle. ‘What’s going to happen if he stays ill for another month? The city will start collapsing around us.’
‘It’s the same for everyone, dear boy, nothing’s getting done. A lot of people are losing a lot of money but they would rather that than be seen as someone who made a profit while Caligula lay at death’s door.’
‘Well, I wish that it would open.’
‘Don’t say that too loudly,’ Gaius hissed, ‘especially around this group of unscrupulous sycophants.’
‘Of which we are guilty members.’
‘Hypocrisy, dear boy, can be a life-saving fault.’
Vespasian grunted.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ Magnus called, easing his way through the crowd towards them wearing his citizen’s plain white toga.
Vespasian smiled and gripped his friend’s forearm. ‘Are you joining us for our daily ritual?’
‘Bollocks I am. There’s a meeting of the Quirnal and Viminal Brotherhood leaders; we dress up smart to threaten each other. You lot and everyone else may have stopped working but our business carries on.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it; extortion and protection should stop for no man, not even an emperor.’
‘Now, sir, that ain’t fair, we all have to make a living. By the way, aren’t you the road aedile this year?’
‘You know I am.’
Magnus pointed to his feet, covered in mud and ordure with pieces of rotting vegetation sticking to them. ‘I call that a fucking disgrace; some parts of the city are ankle deep in shit — which makes you look stupid.’
Vespasian gestured helplessly. ‘There’s nothing I can do about it. My foremen won’t supervise the public slaves cleaning the streets; they all claim to be too busy making sacrifices to Jupiter and Juno and praying for the Emperor.’
‘Well, while they’re about it perhaps they could sacrifice to the god of arseholes and pray for man and beast to stop shitting as well.’
‘Shhh,’ Gaius hissed with a pained expression on his face, putting a hand up to his mouth and moving away from treasonous talk.
Vespasian grinned. ‘Have you come here just to give me advice on the religious practices of my staff?’
‘No, it’s a bit more serious than that,’ Magnus said, looking around and lowering his voice. ‘There was someone snooping around Caenis’ house this morning for an hour or so, and then he buggered off. One of my lads watching the place followed him to the Aventine; he went into a nice new house on the same street as Sabinus.’ Magnus raised his eyebrows.
‘And?’
‘And after making some enquiries he found out that it belongs to your good friend, Corvinus.’
Vespasian felt a chill crawl through his body. ‘How did he find out about her?’
‘Probably by having you followed, what does it matter? But being as I know that he ain’t too keen on you and yours, I’ve doubled the guard in the street.’
‘Thank you, Magnus.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much; he just knows that you go there, he won’t know who’s inside. She should be safe enough if she doesn’t go out.’
‘She doesn’t, except to visit my uncle a few score paces away.’
‘If she wants to do that, I suggest that she sends a slave to my lads and they can escort her in a covered litter.’
‘I’ll tell her; thanks.’
‘Yeah, well, it looks like you’re all moving off; I’d best be going. I’ve got more lucrative ways to pass the time rather than worry about the sick, if you take my meaning?’
‘What was that all about?’ Gaius asked, rejoining Vespasian as they began to shuffle out of the Forum.
‘Nothing, Uncle,’ Vespasian mumbled, lost in his thoughts, ‘Magnus has it covered.’
The procession of more than two thousand of the most prestigious men in Rome arrived in front of Augustus’ House. Cassius Chaerea was already waiting under the portico to address them; the smile on his face was enough to tell Vespasian that death had indeed kept its door firmly closed to Caligula.
‘There is at last good news,’ Chaerea announced in his falsetto voice, ‘one hour ago the Emperor made a
