Robert Fabbri: Rome's lost son

‘Well, that seemed to go very well, I’d say,’ Magnus said as he, Lucius and Vespasian walked across the rectangular exercise yard, lined with stables and workshops, at the heart of the Greens’ stable complex. He looked with admiration at the horses being exercised, either singly or in teams of two, three or four. ‘Eusebius seems to be a very reasonable man.’

Vespasian found it hard to completely agree with that observation. ‘It’s a fairish price,’ he said grudgingly.

‘A fairish price? The Greens pay for the cost of five horses’ upkeep and training and you get to keep sixty per cent of their winnings; I’d say that is beyond fair, never mind fairish.’

‘I wanted seventy-five.’

‘You wanted ninety when you arrived here and, had me and Lucius not have explained that a figure like that would just make you look stupid, you would have been slung out on your arse as a time-waster; in the nicest possible way that a senator can be slung out on his arse, obviously.’

‘Obviously. But now the deal’s done I think I’m going to enjoy it.’

‘Then you had better make good your promise to Malichus,’ Magnus reminded him, ‘otherwise there’ll be nothing but bad luck following your team. It normally takes three or four months for a team to settle in so you should have it done by February; they won’t race before then.’ He clutched his right thumb between the fingers of his right hand and spat as a precaution against the evil-eye cursing the team that he hoped would make him a fortune on their first outing.

‘I’ll do it in the next few days while Pallas is pleased with me and Nero’s in a beneficent mood. But first I need to go to the Forum and watch our new Emperor try his hand at eastern diplomacy.’ Passing out through the stable’s gates he left Lucius a small token of his gratitude and, with Magnus, headed across the Campus Martius, past the Flammian Circus to the Porta Fontinalis, in the shadow of the Capitoline Hill, where the Via Flammia entered the city.

‘How dare you block my way!’

Vespasian instantly recognised the voice emanating from within a crowd obstructing the Porta Fontinalis.

‘I’ve been summoned by Agrippina to pay my respects to the new Emperor.’

Vespasian could not see Narcissus but his imperious voice, so used to command, was unmistakable.

‘And I’ve orders to detain you here, Narcissus, until the Praetorian prefect arrives.’

Vespasian assumed that was the voice of an Urban Cohort centurion in command of the gate’s watch as he pushed his way through the crowd to see what was occurring.

‘You should refer to me by my title of imperial secretary, centurion.’ Narcissus’ voice had dropped; a sign, Vespasian well knew, of deadly threat.

But the centurion was not intimidated. ‘My orders are to keep you here while I send a message to Prefect Burrus and, specifically, not to use your former title.’

Narcissus’ face registered a hint of fear as Vespasian succeeded in pushing through the crowd to get next to the freedman, seated in a one-man litter; his expression brightened somewhat upon seeing Vespasian. ‘You must help me through the gate, Vespasian.’ He indicated to the four Praetorian Guardsmen accompanying his litter, lounging in the sun against one of the tombs lining the Via Flammia and making no effort to progress through the gate. ‘My escort refuses to overrule this … this …’ He struggled to find a word to describe the centurion. ‘Underling.’

Vespasian sensed the rising panic in the once all-powerful freedman and, despite everything that Narcissus had done to Vespasian and his family during his time as imperial secretary, he felt a certain sympathy for his predicament. However, he knew that there was nothing that he could do to save the man without jeopardising his own safety. ‘Do you remember, Narcissus, after Caligula’s assassination when we were negotiating for my brother’s life?’

Narcissus frowned, surprised by the change of subject. ‘What of it?’

‘You asked me what a life was worth and I replied that it depends on who was buying and who was selling.’

‘Yes, and I said that market forces are always at work. What’s your point?’

‘I would have thought that was obvious: market forces have ceased in your case; you have no currency to buy with. Your life is worth nothing now, Narcissus.’

‘Not unless I try to buy it with information. My records; Caenis has got them, as I’m sure you know by now. You could try and negotiate with Pallas and Agrippina on my behalf, after you’ve removed anything concerning you and your family, obviously.’ Narcissus’ eyes gleamed with hope. ‘There’s enough information there to execute almost all the Senate and a lot of the equestrian class.’

Vespasian’s sympathy evaporated as the Greek contemplated buying his life with those of hundreds of others. ‘I thought you gave them into Caenis’ care to keep them from Pallas and Agrippina?’

‘I did, just so as I could use them at a time such as now. So you see, Vespasian, market forces are still at work. Will you help me?’

Vespasian thought about it for a few moments. ‘What do you have on Paelignus and Corvinus?’

Narcissus looked at him conspiratorially. ‘Ah, I see; a fair price. Not much on Corvinus but enough on Paelignus to see him dead. When his father died last year, he left half his estate to Claudius; a sensible precaution as you know. However, Paelignus falsified how much the estate was worth so that Claudius received less than a quarter of what he should have. It’s in my records.’

‘Good. I’ll extract that record before Caenis and I burn the rest.’

Narcissus blanched in terror. ‘Burn them? But what about me?’

‘Narcissus, do you think for one moment that I would be party to Agrippina having the hold of life and death over more than half of the men of importance in the city? It’s going to be bad enough without that over the next few years; I’ll not add to the murder. And you were wrong about her, by the way. It was Tryphaena behind the embassy, which was why Pallas knew nothing about it.’

‘How do you know that Pallas knew nothing?’

‘Because he was as curious as you were about what I found out in the East.’

‘You were working for him all along?’

‘I took the commission from both of you but I was working solely for myself; it just so happens that it was more to my advantage to share my findings upon my return with him than with you.’

‘You treacherous bastard!’

‘I learnt from the best, Narcissus.’

A loud voice cut through their exchange. ‘Tiberius Claudius Narcissus!’

Vespasian turned towards the direction of the shout to see Burrus stomping through the gate accompanied by a Praetorian centurion holding a sack. Narcissus recoiled as if he had been punched.

Burrus stopped in front of the litter. ‘Get out!’

‘I am a Roman citizen and have the right to appeal to Caesar.’

‘He knows that and he told me to tell you that you are more than welcome to exercise that right and he will be very happy to commute the sentence from decapitation to death by wild beasts; it’s up to you.’ Burrus drew his sword. ‘Centurion!’

The Praetorian centurion dipped his hand into the sack and pulled out a severed head by its ear.

‘Your erstwhile colleague decided not to exercise his right to appeal,’ Burrus informed Narcissus as he stared in horror at the bloodless face of Callistus. ‘If it’s any consolation, Nero did express regret at being able to write as he signed your death sentence.’

Narcissus stiffened; it was as if he had found a new strength in his helplessness. ‘So the most I can hope for is a clean death.’ He stepped out of the litter, calmly accepting his fate.