Robert Fabbri: False God of Rome

‘I wondered if I would see you two here,’ Corbulo said, walking over to them.

‘Corbulo, you’re well, I trust,’ Vespasian replied, grasping his forearm.

‘As well as can be expected for a man who has had to build a three-and-a-half mile-extension of the Via Appia over more than two thousand ships in less than two months.’ He gripped Sabinus’ arm. ‘That’s the last time that I make a speech in the Senate complaining about the state of the roads.’

Vespasian had to suppress a grin. ‘Is that why he gave you the task?’

Corbulo’s long, aristocratic face looked downcast. ‘Yes, he said if I didn’t like the roads as they were then I could build him a nice new one. Now my family will be associated with the biggest waste of money ever, and to compound our dishonour my whore of a half-sister has been disgracing herself by cavorting in public with the Emperor at any and every opportunity; she’s even got herself pregnant by him, or at least she claims it’s by him.’

‘We hadn’t heard,’ Sabinus said sympathetically. ‘I’m sorry for your shame.’

‘Well, you’ve both been away and I’d rather that you heard it from me. Anyway, she’s been down here for the last few days. Caligula sent her to me to ensure that she rests during the pregnancy because if it goes its full term he plans to marry her. Although judging by the tired looks of the turma of Praetorian cavalry that escorted her here I don’t think that she had much rest on the way down.’

‘So is the road ready?’ Vespasian asked, anxious to change the subject before the grin managed to overcome his self-control.

‘Of course it’s ready,’ Corbulo snapped, ‘I’m a Domitius, we complete our tasks, however ludicrous.’

‘Yes of course, that’s why the Emperor chose you.’

‘I can’t say that it was made any easier by being forced to work with that jumped-up freedman, Narcissus. The man’s intolerably addicted to power; he even tried to give me an order once, can you imagine it?’

‘I’m sure Caligula will reward you well for your pains.’

Corbulo puffed up with pride. ‘He’s nominating me as his colleague in the consulship next year; that will go some way to restoring the family’s honour.’

Vespasian thought it best not to tell Corbulo that Caligula was also thinking of nominating his horse. ‘He’s nominated me a praetor.’

Corbulo looked down his highborn nose at Vespasian. ‘It’s most unusual for a New Man to be given that honour in the first year that he’s eligible for it. What have you done to deserve that?’

‘Oh, the same sort of ludicrous things as you; just obeying Caligula’s will.’

The crowd around the pavilion suddenly went silent as Clemens appeared from within. ‘Senators and People of Rome,’ he called out, ‘I give you your Emperor, the Divine Gaius, Lord of land and sea.’

‘Hail Divine Gaius, Lord of land and sea!’ the crowd began to obediently chant.

After a few choruses the pavilion flaps opened and Caligula appeared wearing Alexander’s breastplate over which a cloak-like chlamys of purple silk, pinned on the right shoulder, fluttered in the breeze; his head was adorned with a crown of oak leaves and he held a gilded sword and a shield of the argyraspides with the sixteen-pointed star of Macedon inlaid upon it. At the sight of him the intensity of the chant grew for he did indeed look like a young god.

Caligula raised his sword and shield to the heavens and held his head back soaking up the laudatory chant. ‘Today,’ he called out eventually, ‘I complete my greatest achievement so far. I will ride my chariot across the water in fellowship with my brother Neptune; our feud is at an end!’

Despite being uncertain as to the nature of the feud the crowd cheered in relief.

‘Once this day is completed we will return to Rome to prepare for a year of conquest to start next spring. To show the world that I am the true Lord of land and sea I will lead our armies into Germania and exorcise the shame that still sullies Roman honour by retrieving the one remaining lost eagle from the Teutoburg Forest disaster: that of the Seventeenth Legion. When that is done we shall proceed north to the edge of the known world and, in concert with my brother Neptune, I will lead our armies across the sea and conquer, for me and for Rome, Britannia.’

Even Vespasian found himself getting carried away by the magnitude of the idea along with the rest of the crowd: here at last was an enterprise that would not be a vast exercise in squandering money, it would be for the greater glory and profit of Rome. Perhaps, just perhaps, the young Emperor had found a way to satisfy at the same time his desire for the grandiose statement — no matter what the cost in lives and coin — and his subjects’ desire for conquest and renown.

‘Follow me, my friends,’ Caligula shouted, ‘follow me to the bridge and we shall ride across to the victory and the glory that awaits us on the other side.’

For the first time in many years Vespasian followed Caligula willingly.

Vespasian could not contain a gasp of surprise as the head of the column, led by Caligula in his quadriga, crested the western slope of Mount Nuova at the most northerly point of the Bay of Neapolis.

Caligula turned in his chariot and shouted triumphantly at the sea of faces, all with the same expression of astonishment written upon them. ‘What did I tell you, my friends? Is it not truly amazing, the work of a god?’

It was undeniably truly amazing. Below them, stretching from Baiae, just north of the humped Promontory of Misenum, right across to Puteoli, three and a half miles away across the glittering azure water, stretched a double line of ships, chained together side by side, undulating gently on the calm swell of the sea. Across them had been laid a road, straight as the Via Appia, but wider, much wider. However, the bridge was not just a straight line; at intervals along its length single lines of ships curved out like tentacles to end up in peninsulas of round clusters of vessels that had been completely covered over to form solid platforms upon which stood, unbelievably, buildings. Beyond it the Portus Julius, home of the western fleet, stood empty.

Cracking his whip over his team’s withers and shouting a prayer to his own Genius, Caligula accelerated away down the hill; sparks from his iron-shod wheels grating against the stone road flew up behind him. Fired with enthusiasm at the sight of such a magnificent creation, Vespasian and the rest of the younger senators on horseback sped after him, whooping and shouting like juveniles and vying with each other to be the first onto the bridge after their Emperor. The Praetorian cavalry followed close behind them, leaving the infantry and the wagons to make the half-mile journey at their own slow speed.

With Caligula just ahead, Vespasian clattered down the main street of the small fishing port of Baiae with a wide grin on his face. As it opened out onto the harbour the bridge stood ahead of him, fading into the distance. Its true scale only became apparent close to: the road that Corbulo had engineered across it was over thirty paces wide. It was not constructed just out of planks of wood nailed haphazardly over each vessel; it had been laid as if on land because, indeed, it was on land. The deck of each ship had been filled with earth, from the mast to the stern, to the height of the rail. To compensate for the weight, great boulders had been placed in each bow, levelling the vessels, which had been chained together, hull to hull, in two lines. Then, with all the steering oars removed, the lines had been attached stern to stern. The small gaps between the ships had been boarded over with thick planks secured with foot-long nails driven through the decks. The earth had then been pounded down, levelling it to make one three-and-a-half-mile-long smooth, unbroken surface. But as if this were not extraordinary enough, it had been paved with foot-square stones laid a thumb’s breadth apart so that they would not concertina with the undulation on the ships.