Robert Fabbri - False God of Rome

‘Like the great Alexander, only more divine,’ Vespasian replied solemnly, thinking that he looked like a man draped in fish skin wearing a breastplate that did not fit him.

‘Excellent! You will dine with me and my friends tonight. Your brother has finally come back from his province so he’ll be here — as will my horse.’

Vespasian wondered if he had heard correctly. ‘I look forward to seeing them both, Divine Gaius.’

‘Yes, Incitatus will be particularly pleased to see you, he’s so looking forward to pulling me across my bridge in a chariot; we can do that now.’ He looked with genuine pleasure at the breastplate. ‘I must show this to my sisters, if they’re not too busy servicing the poor.’ He turned and, forced to take ridiculously small steps, waddled off.

Vespasian wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘Servicing the poor?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ Clemens replied, examining the trident and considering what to do with it. ‘Since Drusilla died he’s become increasingly suspicious of everyone, especially his other two sisters, so he’s decided to punish them for whatever he imagines that they’ve been plotting by making them fuck every receiver of the grain dole in Rome. In his twisted mind he also thinks that it compensates the people for the shortages caused by his bridge. They’ve been at it for three days now and were up to over two thousand at the last count.’

‘That’ll kill them like it did Drusilla.’

‘More than likely, but then he’s going to kill us all so what difference does it make? It’s got to the stage now that I just don’t care; I stay loyal to him to protect my family for as long as I can.’ Clemens looked at Vespasian with tired eyes. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can stomach it. I’ll see you at dinner.’ Handing the trident to Vespasian, Clemens walked back over to the queue to continue his distasteful task of supervising the mass rape of two of Germanicus’ children.

Vespasian looked at the trident and then at the blood stains on his toga as the urban poor continued to shuffle past. He threw the trident back into the impluvium in disgust and, contemplating the options open to him and his family, turned and made his way, with a heavy heart, towards his uncle’s house.

‘Don’t even think about it, dear boy,’ Gaius warned Vespasian, helping himself to another honey and almond cake, ‘it would be suicide.’

‘Not if we succeed, Uncle,’ Vespasian argued.

A cooling breeze blew through Gaius’ shaded courtyard garden providing some relief from the mid-afternoon heat. The fish pond heaved with lampreys enjoying their daytime feed.

‘Even if you could kill Caligula and manage to avoid being cut down by his extremely loyal German Bodyguards, you would be dead within two days.’

Vespasian threw another fish fillet into the pond. ‘Why?’

‘The next Emperor would see to it, of course. Granted, he would be very grateful to you for leaving the position vacant for him to fill but then he’d have to have you executed because it wouldn’t do for people to see that someone outside the imperial family can assassinate an emperor, however depraved, and live. It would be an invitation for anyone with a grievance to murder him, surely you can see that? And don’t go giving me any naive nonsense about restoring the Republic — the Praetorian Guard would never stand for that; the Emperor is their reason to exist.’

‘But something must be done, Uncle, before it’s too late.’

‘It’s already too late. There are too many people with vested interests in Caligula staying emperor. Only when he completely runs out of money and can’t pay them any more will they begin to look elsewhere; but I doubt that’ll ever happen because when his treasury is empty he’ll just start taking money from the rich.’

‘So what do you recommend?’

‘Two things: firstly, do not deposit that gold that you’ve brought back with you in a bank, because Caligula will hear of it. Keep it hidden here so that when he does start culling the wealthy you won’t be a target. Secondly, humour him, praise him, support him, worship him, laugh at his jokes, do whatever it takes to stay alive and wait for someone else to be foolish enough to try and kill an emperor.’

‘But what if everyone reasons the same way as you? He could remain emperor for years.’

‘Caligula’s bound to offend someone in such a way that their sense of honour will overrule their judgement, and then we just have to pray that they’re successful.’

‘Yes,’ Vespasian agreed gloomily, flicking another fillet into the pond and watching the feeding frenzy. ‘Just imagine what Caligula’s retribution would be like on the guilty and innocent alike if a plot against him failed.’

‘All the more reason to stay in his favour, dear boy. Take Livius Geminius, for example: he swore an oath that at Drusilla’s funeral he saw her spirit ascending into the heavens to commune with the gods. Complete rubbish, of course, but he was handsomely rewarded for it.’

The tinkling of the door bell floating through from the atrium interrupted them.

‘Ah, that’ll be Magnus and Ziri,’ Vespasian said, getting up. ‘They’ve, er…they’ve brought Flavia with them.’

Gaius looked at him quizzically. ‘Flavia? Is she some relation of yours, a cousin or something?’

‘She must be distantly related; but anyway, I intend to marry her.’

Gaius looked suitably pleased. ‘It’s about time you took that step, dear boy.’

‘Exactly; and with my father’s business keeping him away in Aventicum I need you to negotiate the marriage terms.’

‘I’d be delighted. What’s her father’s name and where does he live?’

‘North of Rome in Ferentium. Flavia’s travelling there tomorrow so she could take your letter to him; apparently you know him, his name is Marcus Flavius Liberalis.’

Gaius frowned. ‘I do know him, he was one of the clerks when I was a quaestor in Africa; he was having trouble proving he was a full citizen and not just the possessor of Latin Rights.’

Vespasian shrugged. ‘He’s certainly a full citizen now; he’s done well enough for himself to have been enrolled into the equestrian order recently.’

‘But what about Flavia? She was born before he sorted out his legal status — I remember her as a child.’

‘She claims full citizenship; I wouldn’t be marrying her otherwise.’

‘It would be as well to check, dear boy, you don’t want your offspring to have legal problems.’

‘Vespasian, my dear,’ Flavia said, walking with breathtaking elegance into the garden as if she owned it, ‘this must be your uncle. Won’t you please reintroduce us?’

‘There’s no need, Flavia,’ Gaius said, gently squeezing the fingers of her proffered right hand, ‘even though it was twenty years ago I remember you perfectly as a little girl of six or so. Did you stay in Africa long?’

‘My father left five years ago, but I stayed on; I was attached, shall we say.’

‘Indeed. Your father was having some trouble with his citizenship status while I was there, as I recall.’

Flavia looked blank. ‘If he was, he never told me about it.’

‘No, why should he have? You were only a child; besides it must be all right now, Vespasian tells me that he’s become an equestrian.’

‘Yes, and I hope that he will settle a large dowry on me so that Vespasian and I can enjoy the finer things in life.’

‘I’m sure he will and I’m equally sure that Vespasian will enjoy spending it on luxurious frivolities.’ Gaius raised a surreptitious, plucked eyebrow at his nephew.

Vespasian thought it best not to express his opinion on the subject and contemplated the fertile ground for many a marital disagreement in the future.