Vespasianus. Tomorrow at noon we can begin our progress down to the Bay of Neapolis where I shall ride in triumph across my greatest creation. Come forward, Vespasian, and receive my thanks — you shall be a praetor next year.’
Vespasian walked slowly back up the steps to a beaming Caligula, who held his arms open to him. As he reached the penultimate step he was enfolded in a purple embrace and kissed on each cheek to the applause of the people below.
‘Only a man like this,’ Caligula declared, turning Vespasian around to face the audience and putting a hand on each shoulder, ‘could I trust to go to Egypt, the source of so much of Rome’s wealth. No senator has visited it for four years, not since Tiberius’ astrologer, Thrasyllus, warned him of the imminent return of the Phoenix, heralding a great change and made a prophecy about it. Did you see the Phoenix while you were in Alexandria, Vespasian?’
‘No, Divine Gaius,’ Vespasian replied truthfully.
Caligula looked triumphant. ‘Of course not, because it has flown. Last year, three years after its rebirth, it was seen leaving Egypt flying east; Thrasyllus’ prophecy was not fulfilled. You are blessed, my sheep, because the change heralded by the Phoenix is that Rome is ruled by an immortal god; I will rule for another five hundred years until the Phoenix is sighted again. Until then I open Egypt back up to any member of the Senate who has good reason to travel there.’
This was greeted with a loud cheer from the many senators who had dealings with the Emperor’s private province.
‘And now we shall eat; Vespasian shall have the great honour of reclining on my right.’ He moved past Vespasian and began to descend the steps.
‘Divine Gaius,’ Chaerea said in his high-pitched voice, following him down, ‘what is the watchword for the night?’
Caligula stopped and laughed. ‘I love his sweet voice!’ He turned and put his middle finger to Chaerea’s lips, parting them slightly and then wiggling them provocatively. ‘Such a sweet voice deserves a sweet watchword, does it not?’
Sycophantic cries of agreement compounded the Praetorian tribune’s humiliation.
‘In which case the watchword is Venus; the sweetest of gods for the sweetest of men.’
Caligula turned and skipped daintily down the steps to the raucous laughter of his guests. Vespasian saw the anger burning in Chaerea’s eyes but otherwise his face remained impassive. Clemens’ hand went to his sword hilt as he watched his junior colleague control himself. Finally Chaerea saluted and matched stiffly away.
Magnus would not have lost his bet, Vespasian reflected as he tried to swallow a mouthful of perch while watching yet another beheading on one of the stages below. In a strange juxtaposition the other stage contained a group of dancers performing to the soft melody of two flutes.
‘Something for everyone,’ Caligula enthused, feeding an apple to Incitatus whose head nuzzled between him and Vespasian. ‘Art or death, take your pick and enjoy.’
‘P-p-personally I’ll t-t-take death, Divine and Supreme G-G-Gaius,’ Claudius stammered, watching the blood spurt from the severed neck with relish; his arousal was plain for all to see and the pretty, fair-skinned girl reclining next to him had edged as far away from him as good manners would allow. ‘I could never understand the p-p-point of dancing.’
‘That’s because there’s no point in you dancing, cripple,’ Caligula observed, ‘your legs would buckle underneath you.’ He fell about laughing far more uproariously than the observation deserved; his dinner companions had no option but to join in.
‘Your d-divine insight is faultless,’ Claudius said through his own laughter.
‘So let’s prove the point; go and dance with them, Uncle.’
Claudius’ slack-lipped mouth fell open and his bloodshot eyes flicked around the table appealing for help; it was not forthcoming, not even from his pretty companion, who looked away with a faint smile of regret edging her moist, pale lips.
‘Go!’ Caligula hissed with quiet menace; malice played in his eyes.
Realising that he had no choice but to humiliate himself in front of the whole company, Claudius got to his unsteady feet and lurched off down the steps to the lower garden.
‘This will be highly amusing,’ Caligula affirmed. ‘I’ve made him run, skip, jump and crawl but I’ve never made him dance.’ He turned to Claudius’ attractive companion. ‘Can you make him fuck, Messalina, or are you putting that horror off until your wedding night?’
Messalina joined in the communal laughter but the mirth did not reach her cold, dark eyes, which Vespasian felt glare at him as he pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.
Claudius shambled onto the stage and began a series of jerky jigs and pirouettes, waving his arms in an ungainly manner while the confused dancers carried on their graceful routine around him. On the stage next to them four chained lions began to devour the corpse of the decapitated criminal. Behind them the sun sank below the Circus Maximus.
‘Look at him,’ Caligula said through his mirth, ‘if we didn’t happen to have a god in the family he could have become emperor. If that had been the case, then I think that Thrasyllus’ prophecy would have been fulfilled.’
‘What was his prophecy, Divine Gaius?’ Sabinus enquired as down below Claudius collapsed into an undignified heap to the amusement of all present.
‘He prophesied that if a member of the senatorial order witnessed the Phoenix while it was within the boundaries of the Kingdom of Egypt he would go on to be the founder of the next dynasty of emperors.’
Vespasian almost choked on his wine. ‘So if a senator saw it flying over Judaea, for example,’ he asked innocently, ‘it wouldn’t count?’
‘He was very specific; it had to be within Egypt itself, that’s why we refused permission for senators to travel there for so long.’
Vespasian nodded thoughtfully, missing Sabinus’ questioning look.
Caligula leant back to stroke Incitatus and then turned to Clemens. ‘Incitatus says he’s tired and wishes to sleep; like me he’s excited about tomorrow. Clear all the residents out of the houses within a quarter of a mile of his stables and post guards to make sure that no one makes any noise; I want him well rested for the journey.’
‘A sensible precaution, Divine Gaius,’ Clemens said without a hint of irony, getting to his feet.
Caligula followed him. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see Incitatus out; he’ll be greatly offended if I didn’t.’ He kissed the horse on the lips. ‘Isn’t he beautiful? Perhaps I should make him a consul; he would be a fine colleague for me next year, much more suitable than the horse-faced idiot I’ve already chosen.’ With another fond kiss he led his special guest off.
‘What was it about the Phoenix prophecy that made you ask that question?’ Sabinus asked once Caligula was out of earshot.
Vespasian looked at his brother with an amused grin. ‘According to that old charlatan, Thrasyllus, I’ve narrowly missed being the founder of the next imperial dynasty.’
‘You said that you didn’t see the Phoenix.’
‘I didn’t in Alexandria but almost four years ago in Cyrenaica I did; I witnessed its rebirth. But Cyrenaica’s not Egypt so the prophecy can’t apply to me.’
‘It used to be a part of the Egyptian Empire, I remember someone telling me that in Judaea.’
‘A province of Egypt, not a part of the kingdom itself. Even so, I was in Siwa, which is an oasis out on its own in the middle of nowhere.’
Sabinus looked at Vespasian intently. ‘When Alexander conquered Egypt he went to the Oracle of Amun in Siwa, it was a part of the kingdom then. It’s only us who have put it in Cyrenaica for administrative reasons; historically, it has always been a part of Egypt.’
Vespasian’s eyes opened wide and then he shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. ‘No, no. I was taken to the Oracle of Amun after I saw the Phoenix. The Oracle spoke to me and it didn’t tell me that I was going to start an imperial dynasty; it didn’t tell me anything really, it just said that I had come too soon and that next time I should bring a gift to match the sword that Alexander had left there.’
‘What sort of gift?’
‘That’s what I asked, but it’s for you to decide.’
