Robert Fabbri: False God of Rome

By the sixth day the progress had not even reached the halfway point due to Caligula taking a sudden interest in the civic doings of every town they passed. He would halt the mile-long column as his litter passed through the Forum, and from beneath the shade of his swan-down canopy dispense justice — as he saw it — and decree new civic laws while his quartermasters stripped the community bare not only of their new harvest but also of their livestock and winter stores. The column would then move on an hour or so later, leaving a handful of decapitated, crucified or maimed criminals, new laws concerning the sacrifice of peacocks or suchlike to their emperor deity, and a community unable to feed itself for the coming months, but in possession of an imperial promissory note for such an eye-watering amount of money that the civic fathers knew it would never be honoured.

In the evenings Caligula would order the Praetorians to build a full marching camp with ditch and palisade as if they were on campaign in hostile territory — which indeed, after his activities during the day and the felling of trees for miles around, they generally were. Unless they were one of the few to have had the foresight to bring their own tent, the senators and their wives were obliged to sleep in their sweltering carriages parked tightly together in one corner of the camp with no hope of any seclusion. The one consolation of this arrangement for the women was being able to take advantage of the limited privacy of the latrines built especially for them. Their husbands, who had generally all served under the eagles, had, like any soldier, no problems relieving themselves in the open during a rest halt. For the women, however, this was an ignominy too hideous to bear, and consequently their pained expressions and very short tempers by the end of each day were the product of more than just being jolted around in their carriages for the past few hours.

Vespasian and his companions tried to remain unobtrusive, anxious to have as little to do with Caligula’s entertainments as possible. Those senators who suffered the misfortune of being summoned to his huge pavilion in the evenings inevitably came back with tales of mutilation, sodomy and rape, as well as other excesses that they and their mostly hysterical wives refused to — or were simply unable to — find words for.

Their success in avoiding Caligula’s notice and invitations, perversely, gave rise to another worry: why had he not invited them? The Emperor counted Vespasian and Sabinus among his closest friends and, by the time they were just one day away from their destination, not to have been asked to share one of his lavish dinners, however distasteful the entertainment, had started to play on Sabinus’ mind.

‘I wouldn’t worry about it, dear boy,’ Gaius boomed from the relative comfort of his cushion-infested carriage, ‘he seemed pleased enough with you the last time you saw him outside Rome.’

‘But that’s just it, Uncle,’ Sabinus replied, riding alongside. ‘He knows that we’re here, he’s under the unfortunate misapprehension that we’re his friends and yet he’s ignored us for fifteen days now; what have we done to offend him?’

‘You’ll get a summons to join him for the final day later this evening, as he promised.’

‘But why has he waited this long?’

‘Perhaps he doesn’t want to ruin the surprise that he has waiting for you,’ Vespasian ventured, enjoying a gust of cooling wind blowing in off the calm Tyrrhenian Sea just a hundred paces to their right.

‘Very funny, you little shit.’

‘I thought so,’ Magnus agreed.

Sabinus scowled at him and then turned back to his brother. ‘The point is: I would rather have the dubious security of knowing that I’m in Caligula’s favour rather than worrying that I’ve done something to displease him and live in fear of being executed at any moment.’

Vespasian grinned. ‘At least that might get me a dinner invitation.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Clemens told me that a couple of months ago Caligula ordered a father to attend his son’s execution; the father naturally tried to get out of it by claiming ill-health so he sent a litter for him. Afterwards he invited the poor man to dinner and spent the evening trying to cheer him up by telling jokes. Perhaps he’ll extend the same courtesy to a brother.’

‘If he does, I’m sure that you’d have no problems laughing at his jokes having watched my blood flow.’

A long rumble of Praetorian cornu signalled the end of the penultimate day’s march, the column halted and the business of making camp commenced. As the Flavian party waited in the shade of their carriage a horseman made his way down the crowded road towards them. In just a tunic and wearing the wide-brimmed floppy sunhat that the cavalry auxiliaries had favoured in Cyrenaica he was evidently not a Praetorian. As he passed he glanced in the brothers’ direction and suddenly pulled his horse around.

‘Sabinus, the Emperor sent me to find you,’ the rider announced, taking off his hat. ‘He wishes for you and your party to present yourselves to him in the morning.’

Vespasian stared at the rider in shocked recognition.

‘Thank you, Corvinus,’ Sabinus replied, stepping forward to grasp the proffered forearm. ‘We’ll be there at dawn. I haven’t seen you on the progress, where have you been hiding?’

‘I’ve only just caught up with it; I had some business to attend to.’

Sabinus turned and indicated to Vespasian. ‘Do you know my brother, Titus Flavius Vespasianus?’

Corvinus’ eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘Oh yes, we’ve met. Until tomorrow, then.’ He turned his horse and sped away.

Vespasian looked at his brother in apprehension. ‘How do you know him?’

‘Corvinus? We live on the same street on the Aventine and have often found ourselves walking home together from the Senate since I got back. We’ve become quite friendly in a short time. But I’m surprised that he’s never mentioned knowing you; he’s asked about the family and I mentioned your name.’

‘What else have you told him?’

‘Oh, nothing that I wouldn’t mention to any senator who makes a polite enquiry: where we come from, who our parents are, who my wife’s family are; that sort of thing.’

‘Did you tell him about Caenis?’

‘I don’t think so; why?’

‘He has no cause to like me; in fact, he’s threatened me.’

‘Why would that be, dear boy?’ Gaius asked, looking concernedly in Corvinus’ direction.

‘He was a cavalry prefect while I was in Cyrenaica, I made a couple of decisions that he didn’t like — and perhaps he was right. Do you know him?’

‘Marcus Valerius Messala Corvinus? Of course I know of him. It would seem that you’ve made yourself an enemy who has the potential to be rather influential. Provided his future brother-in-law manages to stay alive, his sister could well end up as empress.’

‘How could-’ Vespasian stopped suddenly and sucked in his breath as he remembered a pair of dark eyes glaring at him as he laughed at one of Caligula’s jokes.

Gaius nodded gravely. ‘Yes, dear boy, his sister is Claudius’ future wife: Valeria Messalina.’

It was with a certain amount of trepidation that the brothers approached Caligula’s pavilion the following morning in the pale dawn. All around them the business of dismantling the camp was progressing apace and smoke and steam from freshly doused cooking fires swirled on the warm sea breeze.

Caligula’s close entourage were already gathering to greet him and stood around the entrance murmuring in small groups.

The brothers dismounted and handed their horses to a couple of slaves; from over by the pavilion entrance they saw a familiar face detaching himself from a group consisting of Claudius, Asiaticus, Pallas and, much to Vespasian’s unease, Narcissus.