Vespasian grimaced, acknowledging that Magnus had a point. He had realised that Flavia was going to be expensive but had only thought in terms of dresses and jewellery and not all the things that accompanied them. One of them — and he felt sure that it would not be her — would have to change if the marriage were to work. But then, he reflected, what other woman would be happy to become his wife knowing that he would have a lifelong mistress? And if he were to find another, would she get his blood racing in the way that Flavia did by his just thinking of her? She was making a sacrifice, Caenis was making a sacrifice, therefore, he reasoned, he could bear to buy a few slaves for the sake of some sort of harmony in his domestic arrangements.
‘No, my mind’s made up, Magnus, I will marry her and try to accommodate her wishes; after all, what’s the worst that could happen?’
‘She could spend all your money and you could be expelled from the Senate,’ Magnus informed him as they reached Augustus’ House. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you here, sir, I sent Ziri straight over to the crossroads, so the brothers know I’m back; they should have a decent party prepared for me when I get there. I’ll be willing to bet that it’ll be a fuck sight more civilised than what you’re going to get in there.’
‘That may well be true,’ Vespasian said softly, looking at a steady stream of senators arriving with nervous- looking wives and wondering whether Magnus might be right on both counts.
Watching his friend disappear back down the hill he had a moment of self-doubt but then, shaking his head and dismissing it, he turned to follow the senators in. As he did so a familiar voice drawled in his ear. ‘I hear that you’ve been lowering yourself to petty theft now.’
‘Piss off, Sabinus,’ Vespasian said, spinning around to face his brother.
‘That seems to be your standard greeting to me these days, brother.’
‘If you started by thanking me for sending your things on to you in Bithynia and supervising the completion of your house then you might have got something more cordial.’
‘Fair enough; thank you.’
‘Where’s Clementina? I hope you’re not bringing her here.’
‘Not a chance. Caligula seems to have forgotten about her, he hasn’t mentioned her once since I got back. I’ve left her at Aquae Cutillae.’
‘She should be safe enough there.’
‘Let’s hope so. Come on, we should go in and see which poor sod the Emperor’s going to publicly cuckold tonight.’
‘So how do you know about me stealing the breastplate?’ Vespasian asked as they began walking towards the palace doors. ‘I only got back today and I gave it straight to Caligula.’
‘Pallas.’
‘Pallas? How did he find out?’
‘Oh, he knows everything now that he lives here in the palace. Caligula ordered Claudius to move in so that he could humiliate him on a daily basis; Pallas is part of his household now so he came too.’
‘And Narcissus?’ Vespasian asked, thinking about the gold in his uncle’s house.
‘Yes, and Narcissus,’ Sabinus confirmed, looking sideways at his brother. ‘Did I detect a note of concern in your voice?’
‘I’d just rather not see him at the moment, that’s all.’
‘Well, you won’t this evening, he’s down at the Bay of Neapolis. Caligula put Claudius in charge of getting all the ships for his bridge but then demanded that he stay in Rome so that he could carry on humiliating him; Claudius handed over the practicalities to Narcissus.’
Vespasian was shocked. ‘A freedman with the power to commandeer ships! That’s outrageous.’
Sabinus grinned. ‘Just imagine how Corbulo feels about it; he’s got to work with him. He’s been charged with building the road across the bridge and getting running water to it.’
‘Running water on a bridge?’
‘Oh, it’s not just a bridge going from one end to the other; it’s got peninsulas attached to it with accommodation furnished in the manner that Caligula feels is suitable for a god: triclinia in which two hundred people could easily recline, atriums with fountains, even a couple of bath houses.’
‘All that in two months!’ Vespasian exclaimed as they entered the atrium with its ragged queue of urban poor.
‘The industry of Rome has worked on nothing else, I’m told.’ Sabinus leant closer to Vespasian and whispered in his ear. ‘It’s a phenomenal waste of money but I’m really looking forward to seeing it.’
‘You’re going to travel down there just to have a look?’
‘You will as well; Caligula’s ordered every senator to escort him down to the bay and witness his triumph.’
The gardens to the rear of Augustus’ House were stepped on two levels, clinging to the edge of the Palatine and overlooking the arched facade of the Circus Maximus. Along the low balustrade of the upper level, dining tables had been arranged in such a way that all those reclining at them would have a good view down to the second level where two stages had been set. Although it was still at least three hours until the late, summer dusk, torches, in tall brass holders, burned beside each stage and all around the gardens’ perimeter as well as at intervals among the tables. Brightly coloured linen canopies littered the lawn of the upper garden under which the Emperor’s dinner guests stood or sat drinking chilled wine and talking in the animated manner of people ill at ease but trying to conceal it.
Vespasian and Sabinus stood at the top of the steps leading down from the house and admired the beauty of the scene before them: the colour, the elegance, the soft evening light.
‘It would be a pleasure to be here if one knew for certain that one would leave alive, would it not, gentlemen?’ a voice behind them commented quietly.
The brothers turned, both smiling at the truth of the statement.
‘Pallas,’ Vespasian said with genuine pleasure, ‘how are you? Sabinus tells me that you live here now.’
Pallas looked grave. ‘I think that you’ve answered your own question, Vespasian: I live here.’
‘It’s as bad as that, is it?’
Pallas pointed down into the garden to where some guests were laughing with evidently feigned hilarity at a man in their midst. He stood with his hands outstretched, except he had no hands, just cauterised blackened stumps; his hands were tied to a piece of rope and hung around his neck along with a sign.
‘The sign says: “I stole from the Emperor”,’ Pallas informed them.
‘And did he?’ Sabinus asked.
‘A small strip of decorative silver had fallen off a couch and he was taking it to the steward to be mended when Caligula saw him with it; life here has become very arbitrary.’
‘Life has always been arbitrary.’
‘Granted, but generally within the parameters of the law; our new god seems to have forgotten about the law. My patron, Claudius, however, loves the law; think about that, gentlemen.’ Pallas patted them both on the shoulder and walked away.
‘Don’t get involved,’ Vespasian warned Sabinus as they descended the steps.
‘I’ve no intention of doing so,’ Sabinus replied, taking two cups of wine from a slave and handing one to his brother, ‘I intend to stay alive. However, it’s comforting to know that we have a good friend close to the only obvious heir to the Purple.’
A fanfare of
The dinner guests responded immediately. ‘Hail Incitatus! Hail Incitatus!’
Having never paid homage to a horse before, Vespasian found it a struggle to keep a straight face as he joined in with an enthusiasm fired more by the absurdity of the situation rather than any great respect for the beast being lauded.
The chant quickly turned into ‘Hail Divine Caesar!’ as Caligula, flanked by Clemens and Chaerea, appeared next to his favourite subject, dressed soberly — Vespasian thought, considering some of the costumes that he had seen him wearing — in a purple toga edged in gold and crowned with a golden laurel wreath.
‘This evening,’ Caligula declaimed, ‘we are here to honour not only me but also my good friend, my trusted ally, my comrade, the man who brought the breastplate of Alexander back from Egypt to me: Titus Flavius
