Robert Fabbri: Rome’s Fallen Eagle

‘There, what did I tell you?’ Flavia exclaimed. ‘Elpis! Where are you?’

A comely, middle-aged slave woman bustled into the room. ‘Yes, mistress?’

‘The child has been sick on the master; clean it up.’

Vespasian stood and handed Titus over to his nurse; the lentils slopped to the floor.

‘Come here, you young rascal,’ Elpis cooed, taking Titus under the arms. ‘Oh, you’re the image of your father.’

Vespasian smiled. ‘Yes, the poor little fellow will have a round face and just as large a nose.’

‘Let’s hope he’ll have a larger purse,’ Flavia muttered.

A loud rapping on the front door saved Vespasian from having to respond. The attractive doorkeeper looked through the viewing slot and then immediately pulled the bolt back. Gaius dashed through the vestibule and into the atrium, his body wobbling furiously under his toga; his curls were now lank with sweat, sticking to his forehead and cheeks.

‘Clemens has assassinated the monster. Reckless idiot,’ Gaius boomed before pausing to catch his breath.

Vespasian shook his head regretfully. ‘No, brave idiot; but I suppose that it was inevitable after what Caligula did to his sister. I just thought that after two years his sense of self-preservation would have re-established itself. Thank the gods that Sabinus isn’t in Rome, he would have joined him; I heard them make a pact to do it together and I would have been honour bound to help. Clemens is a dead man.’

‘I’m afraid so, not even Claudius would be stupid enough to let him live. He’s been taken to the Praetorian camp.’

‘Yes, I saw. After the madman we get the fool; how long can this go on for, Uncle?’

‘As long as the blood of the Caesars lasts and, I’m afraid, Claudius has it pumping around his malformed body.’

‘The fool was begging for his life, he didn’t realise that they were just keeping him safe until the Senate proclaimed him emperor.’

‘Which should be very soon. Get that sick off your tunic, dear boy; the Consuls have summoned a meeting of the Senate in one hour at the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline.’

Progress up the Gemonian Stairs to the summit of the Capitoline Hill had been slow, clogged as they were not only with members of the Senate answering their Consuls’ call but also teams of slaves heaving many heavy strongboxes, the entire contents of the treasury, for safekeeping up to the Temple of Jupiter, the most sacred building in Rome. At the foot of the stairs, in front of the Temple of Concordia in the Forum, the entire three Urban Cohorts stood to, with orders from Cossus Cornelius Lentulus, the Urban prefect, to guard against any attempt by the Praetorian Guard to retrieve Rome’s wealth. Across from the Forum, on the Palatine, the temporary theatre stood silent, dead bodies still strewn about its empty seats.

Eventually over four hundred senators were assembled in the dim, cavernous chamber. The business of transferring the strongboxes went on around them as the Consuls sacrificed a ram to their host deity.

‘This could turn nasty,’ Gaius whispered to Vespasian as Quintus Pomponius Secundus, the Senior Consul, inspected the auspices, assisted by his junior colleague, Gnaeus Sentius Saturninus. ‘If they’ve brought the treasury up here they must be thinking of defying the Guard.’

‘Then we should get out of here, Uncle; Claudius becoming emperor is inevitable.’

‘Not necessarily, dear boy; let’s listen to what people have got to say before jumping to any rash and maybe dangerous conclusions.’

Satisfied with what he saw, Pomponius Secundus declared the day auspicious for the business of the Senate and took the floor; the bruise on his face that he had received from Caligula earlier was now swollen and discoloured. ‘Conscript Fathers and fellow lovers of liberty, today is the day when our world changed. Today is the day when the man whom we hated and feared in equal measure has finally been brought down.’

To emphasise the point he nodded towards the statue of Caligula standing next to the sedentary statue of Rome’s most sacred god; a group of slaves pushed it from behind and the image of the late Emperor crashed to the marble floor, shattering into many fragments. A mighty cheer from the senators echoed around the chamber. For a moment Vespasian remembered the good-natured, vibrant youth he had known and regretted the loss of a friend, before the memories of the monster he had become returned and he began to cheer along with the rest.

‘Today is the day,’ Pomponius Secundus continued, raising his voice above the celebrations, ‘when all of us who so fearlessly opposed the tyrannical regime of Caligula can, once again, call ourselves free men.’

‘I wouldn’t call kissing Caligula’s slippers in the theatre this afternoon fearless opposition,’ Gaius muttered as this statement was greeted with more cheering. Judging by the looks on many faces Vespasian guessed that his uncle was not the only person to hold that opinion.

The Senior Consul pressed on, unaware that some of the cheers were, now, ironic. ‘The Praetorian Guard has taken it upon itself to try and impose a new emperor on us: Caligula’s uncle, Claudius. Conscript Fathers, I say no! Not only does Claudius stutter and drool and stumble in a way that would bring dishonour to the dignity of government but also he is not known to, and therefore not loved by, the legions. We cannot allow the Praetorian Guard to force an emperor like this onto us; if the legions of the Rhenus or Danubius decide to nominate their own more martial candidates we could face another civil war. As free men we should choose one from our number as the new Emperor to rule in conjunction with a loyal senate. He should be a man acceptable to us, the legions and the Guard. He should be …’

‘You, is what you’re trying to imply,’ Gnaeus Sentius Saturninus, the Junior Consul, shouted as he got to his feet, jowls and belly quivering. He raised an accusatory finger at his colleague and then cast his piercing blue eyes around the temple. ‘This man would have us replace the known tyranny of one family with the unknown tyranny of another; is that what free men do? No!’ A rumble of agreement met this assertion and Saturninus took as statesmanlike a pose as his flabby figure would allow, with his left arm folded across his body, supporting his toga, and his right down at his side. ‘Conscript Fathers, today we have a historic opportunity to take back our ancient powers and become once again the legitimate government of Rome. Let us rid ourselves of these Emperors and return to the true freedom of our forefathers, a freedom so long denied us that very few here present have savoured its taste; a freedom that belonged to a time when the eldest men here were mere boys: the freedom of a Republic.’

‘Keep your face neutral, dear boy,’ Gaius hissed in Vespasian’s ear. ‘Now is not the moment to be seen to have an opinion.’

Almost half of the assembled company broke into enthusiastic applause and cheering but a goodly minority scowled and muttered to one another; the rest stood and watched impassively, preferring, like Gaius, to wait and see which faction was more likely to prevail.

Gaius tugged at Vespasian’s elbow, pulling him back through the crowd. ‘We would do well to remain as inconspicuous observers until this matter has been decided, one way or the other.’

‘At which point we’ll profess our loyalty to the winning side, eh, Uncle?’

‘It’s a sensible course of action that has a far higher survival rate than rashly cheering for what one believes in.’

‘I quite agree.’

The cheering began to subside and the ex-Consul, Aulus Plautius, took to the floor.

‘This should be telling,’ Gaius muttered, ‘Plautius has a knack of staying in favour.’