Robert Fabbri: Rome's lost son

‘What can a freedman do for me? I assume that you are Narcissus’ freedman since you bear his names that he took from Claudius when he freed him in turn.’

‘That is correct, Consul. Narcissus freed me two years ago and since then I have worked for him on a variety of delicate tasks involving the gathering of information.’

‘I see. So you spy for him?’

‘Not as such; I gather information from his agents in the eastern provinces and make assessments as to its veracity and importance so my patron only sees what he needs to see.’

‘Ah, so you’re a saver of time?’

‘Indeed.’

‘And a possessor of knowledge.’

‘Yes, Consul; I am a saver of time and a possessor of knowledge.’

Vespasian could see where this was leading. ‘Knowledge that could be of value to me?’

‘Very much so.’

‘At what price?’

‘A meeting: you and your uncle with my patron.’

Vespasian frowned and ran a hand over his almost-bald crown. ‘Why didn’t Narcissus just ask us himself? He may be out of favour with Claudius but he’s still the imperial secretary and retains the power to summon a consul and a senator.’

‘That is so, but he wants the meeting to be secret; so therefore it has to be away from the palace, away from the eyes and ears of the Empress and her lover.’

‘Pallas?’

‘As you know, my patron and Pallas are not on the best of terms …’

‘And as you know, my loyalty is to Pallas and I won’t be a part of Narcissus’ schemes against him.’

‘Not even if Pallas would knowingly allow the Empress to block your career?’

Vespasian scoffed. ‘Block my career? Does it look like it’s blocked? I’m Consul.’

‘But you will go no further; there’ll be no province to govern, no military command, nothing, just political oblivion. My patron asks you to consider this: why were you made consul for only the last two months of this year?’

‘Because my forty-second birthday was in November and so it wasn’t until then that I was eligible. It was a great honour to be the Emperor’s colleague in the office.’

‘No doubt that non-entity Calventius Vetus Carminius thought exactly the same thing when he was Claudius’ colleague for September and October; in fact I would suspect that he thought it even more of an honour than you did, seeing as he’d done nothing to merit the position.’

Vespasian opened his mouth to refute the claim and then closed it immediately, his mind racing.

Agarpetus pressed his argument. ‘But surely it would have been a greater honour for the victorious legate of the Second Augusta to have been made consul in January next year? In only a few days’ time you could have been the Junior Consul for a full six months, perhaps even with the Emperor as your colleague, and the year would have been named after you both. But no, you were given a crumb after all your loyal service in Britannia, just a crumb, a two-month consulship, just like the man you succeeded whom nobody had ever heard of; and do you know why?’

Vespasian did not answer; his mind was too busy.

‘The Empress hates you because of your son’s friendship with Britannicus; and Pallas is powerless to help you against such an enemy. It was she who persuaded her gullible husband that it would be a singular honour for you to be made consul in the very month that you were first eligible and it will be her who’ll block any appointment that may be mooted for you when you step down on the first day of January, three days hence. Your only hope for advancement is her demise, and loyalty to Pallas won’t bring that about. Narcissus, on the other hand …’ Agarpetus trailed off leaving the last thought dangling.

Vespasian still said nothing as his mind worked and the truth of what he was being told became apparent. He did not argue with it because he realised that deep down he had always known; deep down he had been insulted by being given the consulship for the final two months of a year; deep down, he had known it to be a snub; deep down, the honour that he felt at being consul had been gnawed at by resentment. But he had kept all that buried — deep down. ‘How will she block me?’

‘Your brother has just failed Rome in quite a spectacular way …’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This is the knowledge that we thought would be of interest to you; Narcissus will explain if you meet him. Suffice it to say that Sabinus’ mistake is excuse enough to halt all ambitions that any member of your family may have. Pallas cannot help you, so that leaves you with one option.’

Trust Narcissus to reach straight for the truth of the matter; trust him to know how to manipulate. Vespasian looked at Agarpetus, his decision made; it had not been hard to choose between obscurity and disloyalty. ‘Very well; I’ll meet Narcissus.’

Agarpetus gave the wry smile of a man who has had a prediction confirmed — his first change of expression. ‘He suggests that the safest place to meet would be at the tavern of the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood; he believes that your friend, your uncle’s client, Marcus Salvius Magnus, is still the patronus there.’

‘He is.’

‘Very good, his discretion is assured; Narcissus and I will be there tonight at the seventh hour as the city celebrates today’s executions.’

‘Good morning, dear boy!’ Gaius Vespasius Pollo boomed as he waddled fast to fall into step next to his nephew, his expansive belly and buttocks and his sagging breasts and chins all swaying furiously to seemingly different beats. ‘Thank you for inviting me to share the honour of conducting the prisoners to the Emperor.’ Behind him his clients fell in with those of Vespasian to make an entourage of well over five hundred escorting them down the Quirinal Hill.

Vespasian inclined his head. ‘Thank you, Uncle, for lending me your clients to add impact to my arrival in the Forum.’

‘My pleasure; it makes a nice change to be preceded by lictors again.’

‘“Change pleases”,’ a voice quoted from just behind Gaius, ‘and it makes a nice change for me and the lads not to have to beat you a path through the crowds, seeing as you have them do it professionally today; and don’t they do it so well?’

‘Indeed, and with more satisfaction too, I’ll hazard, Magnus,’ Gaius suggested, starting to sweat despite the dignified pace and the chill winter wind. ‘After all, a lictor gets paid and therefore mixes business with pleasure.’

Magnus’ battered ex-boxer’s face screwed into an indignant frown and he looked slantendicular at his patron with his one good eye — the painted glass ball in his left eye socket stared futilely ahead. ‘Are you saying that my lads don’t enjoy beating a path for you, senator? Because you certainly pay us to do so, although, granted, not in the same way as the College of Lictors remunerates its members. However, you reward us in subtle and much more lucrative ways, which means that our business is far more satisfying, if you take my meaning?’

Vespasian laughed and squeezed his friend’s shoulder; despite Magnus being nineteen years his senior and considerably below him socially, they had been friends since Vespasian had first come to Rome as a youth of sixteen. He and his uncle knew far better than most just how satisfying Magnus found his business in the criminal underbelly of Rome as the leader of the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood. ‘I do, my friend; and it pleases me that even at your age you still derive satisfaction from your work.’

Magnus ran a hand through his hair, grey with age but still thick. ‘Now you’re mocking me, sir; I may be sixty but there’s still some fight and fuck in me left — although I don’t see as well as I used to since losing the eye and that is becoming a bit of a problem, I’ll admit. I ain’t as sharp as I was and some of the surrounding brotherhoods are getting a whiff of that.’