the air as if they were dolls, towards open jaws with bared teeth that were soon stained with their blood.
The Praetorians made short work of throwing the rest of their prisoners to the lions; most were set upon immediately, throats torn out or limbs dismembered or disembowelled, but half a dozen or so managed to run from the carnage — except there was nowhere to hide. To Vespasian’s amazement the sections of the crowd unaffected by the Praetorians’ actions began to laugh and cheer as the escapees were pursued around the oval arena by lions more intent on the thrill of the chase than of feasting on the mangled carcasses. He turned again to look at Caligula, who sat with a grim smile of satisfaction on his face, working his fingers in and out of the catamite while masturbating vigorously. As the last of the victims was torn apart, the crowd roared their approval; they loved him again.
Vespasian sat through the rest of the day knowing that to try to leave, which used to annoy Caligula before his illness, could well prove fatal now that he seemed to have completely lost his sanity. Eventually the final life ebbed into the blood-soaked sand and Caligula stood to depart, accepting the adulation of the mob as he did so. Vespasian hurried out with the rest of the senators, none of them wanting to catch each other’s eye for fear of having to pass comment on what they had witnessed.
He emerged into the street and turned to walk briskly home.
‘There he is!’ he heard Caligula shout from close by. ‘Macro, have him brought to me.’
Vespasian turned to see Chaerea and two Praetorians pushing through the crowd; with a sickening feeling in his stomach he realised that they were heading towards him. To run would have been pointless, so he allowed the Guards to escort him to Caligula, who was almost in tears.
‘I thought that you were my friend,’ he sobbed, shaking his head as if he could not believe how the situation had changed. Drusilla held a consoling arm around him.
‘I am, Princeps,’ Vespasian replied, wondering just what he had done.
Caligula pointed to the ground. ‘Then how do you explain this?’
Vespasian looked down; the street was covered with filth from where it had not been cleaned for the month- long duration of Caligula’s illness.
‘This is my city,’ Caligula stated in a pitiful voice, ‘and my friend is in charge of keeping the streets clean. Oh Drusilla, he’s let me down.’
Drusilla wiped a tear from the corner of her brother’s eye and licked it off her finger.
‘I’m sorry, Princeps; it was just while you were…’
‘Oh, it’s my fault, is it?’
‘No, no, it’s completely mine.’
‘You should have him prosecuted,’ Macro said venomously, ‘it’s almost treason to be so negligent in one’s duties.’
‘Stop presuming to tell me what to do, prefect. Chaerea, have your men scoop up some of this filth and pile it into the aedile’s toga.’
Vespasian stood still as handful after handful of the foul-smelling muck was slopped into the fold of his toga. ‘I will have it remedied tomorrow, Princeps.’
‘No, you will not, you’re quite evidently not up to it, I’ll find someone else to do it.’ He glared at Vespasian and then suddenly smiled. ‘Besides, my friend, I’ve got something for you to do for me.’ His train of thought abruptly changed and he turned to Macro. ‘Where was my cousin Gemellus today? Why wasn’t he celebrating my transformation?’
‘I’ve heard that he has a bad cough, Princeps.’
‘A cough, eh? Or perhaps he just wishes that I wasn’t here any more and doesn’t want to see me in my glory. What do you think, Vespasian?’
‘It must be a cough, no one would wish for your death.’
‘Hmm, I suppose you’re right. Nevertheless I think we should cure him of his cough, don’t you?’
Vespasian did his best to hide his thoughts, mindful of Antonia’s last piece of advice, knowing that to disagree could be fatal for him but to agree would be fatal for Gemellus. ‘Perhaps it will go with time, Princeps.’
Caligula stared at Vespasian uncomprehendingly. ‘Time? Time? No, time goes too slowly. Chaerea, go and cure my cousin of his cough; permanently.’
‘Is that wise, Princeps?’ Macro asked. ‘Gemellus is very popular with the youth.’
‘Then his funeral will be well attended,’ Caligula snapped. ‘That’s the second time today that you’ve questioned me, Macro, don’t let there be a third. Now get out of my sight.’
Macro opened his mouth to argue, then, thinking better of it, bowed his head and walked away.
‘What are you still doing here, Chaerea?’ Caligula shouted. ‘Didn’t I give you an order?’
Chaerea snapped a salute and, keeping his face neutral, turned and led his men off.
Caligula closed his eyes slowly, drew a luxurious breath and kissed Drusilla on the mouth. ‘Isn’t she beautiful, Vespasian? I will have a theatre built in the Forum so that I can display her properly. Would you like to be displayed, my sweet?’
‘If it pleases you, dearest Gaius,’ Drusilla simpered, tracing the outline of his lips with her finger.
Caligula looked lovingly at her and stroked her throat. ‘Just think, Drusilla, I could have this pretty throat slit any time I want.’
Drusilla sighed with ecstasy. ‘Any time you want, dearest Gaius.’
Caligula licked her throat and then put his arm around Vespasian’s shoulder in a friendly fashion and began to walk him away, much to Vespasian’s relief. ‘I have a problem, my friend, it’s like a persistent itch but if I scratch it I know that it’ll get worse, but I must rid myself of it.’
‘Surely you can do anything you want,’ Vespasian replied, adjusting his arm to take the weight of the filth piled in his toga’s fold.
‘I can, but sometimes there might be a consequence that not even I can control.’
‘What consequences?’
‘I’ve tired of Macro’s wife and I’ve tired of him, he’s started to give me advice. Before my transformation he actually told me that it was not fitting for an emperor to laugh loudly at a joke in a play; it was Plautus, how can you not laugh at Plautus?’
‘Impossible.’
‘Precisely. And now today he questioned me; so he must go.’
‘But the consequence would be upsetting the Guard.’
‘Oh my friend, how well you understand me, that is the consequence; if only I could kill them all. What do you advise me to do?’
Vespasian thought for a few moments, wondering if giving Caligula advice would prove as fatal for him as it was going to be for Macro. ‘If he’s not the Praetorian prefect, then the Guard won’t feel threatened.’
Caligula turned to him with a pained expression on his face as if he were dealing with a retarded child. ‘But he
‘You don’t have to remove him, he’s already asked to be removed and you, in your wisdom, have already granted it.’
‘Have I? Oh good. When?’
‘The moment the sailing season opens up again in the spring.’
Caligula frowned. ‘Stop talking in riddles.’
‘Princeps, you have very cleverly promised Macro the province of Egypt. The moment he sets foot on the ship in Ostia he will be prefect of Egypt, not prefect of the Praetorian Guard.’
Caligula beamed with understanding and slapped Vespasian on the shoulder. ‘And I could have him killed then without fear of the consequence.’
‘You could, but wouldn’t it be better if you ordered him to commit suicide? That way there could be no possibility of anyone being accused of murder.’
‘Oh, how fortunate I am to have a friend like you, Vespasian. You will tell me what the expression was like on his face after you’ve told him, won’t you?’
