False God of Rome

CHAPTER XVI

The small flame sputtered into life illuminating five bronze statuettes, standing on the lararium, representing Caenis’ household gods; the reflected glow played on their polished forms giving them the ethereal quality of the deities they symbolised. Vespasian placed a fold of his toga over his head as Caenis set the oil lamp down onto the altar and took her place beside him; behind them stood the household slaves faintly lit by a small fire in the hearth next to the lararium — the only other light in the atrium.

Vespasian poured a wine libation onto the altar and sprinkled a handful of salt into the puddle before spreading his arms and turning his palms upwards. ‘I call upon the lares domestici — or whatever name by which you would like to be called — to ensure that I and my household enjoy what we already have in good health, just as you have done for me before; and that you preserve us and this day safe from all dangers, if there are or shall be any on this day. If you grant a favourable outcome in the matter that we deem that we are speaking of and you preserve us in this present condition or better — and may you so do these things — then I vow that you shall have, in the name of this household, the tokens of our gratitude after the setting of the sun. Nothing more do I ask.’

Caenis then turned to the fire and completed the female part of the morning ritual by offering up a prayer to Vesta, goddess of the hearth, and throwing sweet-smelling incense into the flames. Vespasian watched her, as he had done every morning for the past six months, with an ache in his heart as she performed the duties of the wife that she could never be to him.

The morning prayers complete, the household slaves dispersed to their various duties as pale light seeped in through the windows looking out to the peristylium announcing the beginning of another cold, early April day.

Vespasian pulled the fold of his toga from his head and adjusted it around his shoulders. ‘Our household gods will have another busy day ahead of them,’ he observed with a wry smile. ‘Caligula’s due to inaugurate the theatre that he’s had built in the Forum to display Drusilla to the mob and he wants me and a few others of his “friends” to be present; he said that he might want us to lend a hand. If the large bed with purple sheets in the middle of the stage is anything to go by, then I believe that it’ll be more than just a hand we’ll be having to lend.’

‘Then don’t go, my love.’

Vespasian looked at her with raised eyebrows. ‘You know that he can’t be refused, so don’t make unhelpful suggestions.’

Caenis smiled sorrowfully. ‘I’m sorry, I should know better; it’s because he can’t be refused that apart from a couple of visits to your uncle’s house I’ve not set foot out of here since you carried me over the threshold.’

Vespasian looked deep into her sad eyes, beautifully set off by a necklace of clear, blue-glass cylindrical beads that shimmered softly around her throat in the pale light. He sympathised with her frustration at her virtual captivity, but, although Caligula believed her to be in Egypt and Magnus’ brothers had not reported any more sightings of Corvinus’ man or any other suspicious goings on, he still felt it best to keep her inside. He kissed her.

A loud knock at the door cut through the moment; the huge Nubian opened up and Aenor came nervously through the vestibule into the atrium and stood waiting to be spoken to.

‘What does my uncle want, Aenor?’

‘He has asked that you should come to his house at once, master,’ the young German slave boy replied in his guttural accent.

‘Did he give a reason?’

‘He said to tell you that there was an important person waiting to see you there.’

‘Who?’

Aenor scrunched up his face in an effort to remember the exact title that he had been told to pass on. ‘The prefect of the Praetorian Guard.’

It was with great trepidation that Vespasian entered his uncle’s house, passing through the cluster of clients, with their breath steaming in the cold, dawn air, waiting outside to greet their patron. He had allayed Caenis’ fears that he was to be arrested with the logical argument that it would be beneath the prefect’s dignitas to come in person to apprehend a junior senator. Nevertheless he felt a sense of foreboding as he stepped through the vestibule and into the atrium.

‘Ah, there you are, dear boy,’ Gaius boomed in a cheerful voice that betrayed no concern. He was sitting by the hearth with Clemens; both were munching on wrinkled winter apples. ‘Have you breakfasted?’

‘Yes, thank you, Uncle. Good morning, Clemens.’

‘Good morning, Vespasian; the Emperor has sent me.’

Vespasian looked around the room, confused. ‘Where’s Macro?’

Gaius burst out laughing. ‘What did I tell you, Clemens? He spends too much time in that nest of honey and delight; he hasn’t heard.’

‘Heard what?’ Vespasian asked testily.

‘I’m sorry, dear boy, that was my idea of a joke getting you here thinking that Macro was waiting. The Emperor formally relieved Macro of his position yesterday evening, and he’s due to sail for Egypt today to take up his post as prefect there.’

Vespasian glanced at Clemens; a look of understanding spread across his face and he smiled. ‘And you’re the new prefect of the Guard?’

‘One of them,’ Clemens confirmed. ‘However, the Emperor has decided to go back to Augustus’ principle of having two prefects, so I share the position with Lucius Arruntius Stella.’

‘It would appear that our Emperor is not as mad as he seems,’ Gaius said, having got his mirth under control, ‘he’s appointed two prefects who hate each other. That should weaken the Guard, eh, Clemens?’

‘It will certainly create two factions.’

‘And make it twice as likely that a prefect will move against him,’ Vespasian observed. ‘Not that I would suspect you of disloyalty, Clemens — yet.’

Clemens looked worried. ‘With Clementina due back in Rome with Sabinus this summer who knows what cause for disloyalty I may have if Caligula puts his mind to having her?’

‘Then Sabinus should keep her safe out at Aquae Cutillae, as you do your wife at Pisaurum.’

‘Not any more; Caligula ordered me to call her back and bring her to dinner at the palace. There was his new wife, Lolia Paulina, plus twelve other women present, all wives of his guests. He arrived dressed as Apollo and went round feeling each one and then chose two — not Julia, thankfully — and took them to bed while their husbands had to carry on eating as if nothing were happening. When he reappeared with them he started to compare and contrast with the unfortunate husbands the strengths and weaknesses in their wives’ sexual performances. It was excruciating; the two women were obliged to recline there as if the conversation was the most natural thing in the world. Then he ordered Lolia to strip naked so that he could give everyone a practical demonstration of some of the finer points of his arguments.’

‘I’d not heard about that,’ Gaius said, looking horrified.

‘You wouldn’t have; it was last night at the banquet to celebrate Macro’s new position, which was ironic in itself considering what Caligula has sent me here for.’

Vespasian groaned. ‘Oh, I’d hoped that he’d forgotten about that.’

‘If you mean about your offer to be the man who orders Macro to commit suicide as he gets on the ship today, then no he hasn’t.’

‘I didn’t offer, I just suggested that if he wanted to get rid of Macro then that would be the best time, place and way to do it.’

‘Well, however it came about that’s what he wants you to do, and I’ve got to escort you with a turma of my cavalry to make sure that Macro obeys the order.’

‘You do get yourself into some unpleasant situations, dear boy.’

‘That’s not a helpful observation, Uncle,’ Vespasian replied tersely.

‘No, but it’s a pertinent one.’

‘Have you got the warrant?’ Vespasian asked Clemens, ignoring Gaius’ remark.

‘No; we’re to go to his Drusilla theatre; he said he’d see us there, after the show, as he put it, which doesn’t