Robert Fabbri - Rome's executioner

To Vespasian’s surprise the Praetorian century cheered; the cheers rippled down its ranks and out to the rest of the cohort outside ‘

‘Summon one of the triumviri capitales,’ Regulus called over the growing tumult as the news of the Senate’s decision spread from the Praetorians to the massive crowd in the Forum.

‘I found one lurking outside,’ Macro informed him. ‘Vespasian, step forward.’

Vespasian joined Macro in front of Regulus. ‘I’m Titus Flavius Vespasianus, Consul, one of the triumviri capitales.’

‘I charge you to do the will of the Senate of Rome, triumvir,’ Regulus said formally. ‘Take this man to the Tullianum and oversee his immediate execution by strangulation and that of his father, Lucius Aelius Sejanus. The bodies are to be exposed on the Gemonium Stairs.’

Vespasian led Strabo, guarded by two Praetorians, out through the temple doors and left down the steps. The noise was deafening; the huge crowd had begun angrily tearing down the many statues of Sejanus set about the Forum and the surrounding area. Fights had broken out and blood began to flow as citizens turned on men suspected of being part of Sejanus’ large network of informers and stooges.

Magnus and his brothers shielded Vespasian from the mob as he crossed the Gemonium Stairs towards the entrance of the Tullianum, just the other side, guarded by the Vigiles.

‘Strabo! Strabo, my son,’ a woman’s voice shrieked from close by, ‘what are they doing to you?’

Vespasian turned to see a desperate-looking woman, with tears streaming down her face, holding her arms towards his prisoner in supplication.

‘Let her through,’ Vespasian ordered Magnus, realising that she must be Sejanus’ ex-wife Apicata. ‘She should be allowed a farewell,’ he added, looking sternly at the two Praetorians.

Apicata rushed up to her son and flung her arms around his neck.

‘There’s nothing that we can do, Mother,’ Strabo said, unable, owing to his manacles, to return the embrace. ‘It’s over. Father will never be Emperor and neither shall I.’

‘But why are they condemning you? You’ve done nothing,’ Apicata howled.

‘I’ve done enough, Mother, believe me. Besides, if I were in Tiberius’ position I would do the same. You have Capito and little Junilla to console you; keep them safe and get them out of Rome.’

‘We must go,’ Vespasian said, pulling Apicata’s arms away from her son.

‘Goodbye, Mother. I shall die well and with no complaint,’ Strabo said, kissing her forehead. ‘Remember me.’

‘I will, my son,’ Apicata called as Vespasian led Strabo away, ‘and I vow to tell Tiberius that, just as he took a son away from me, his son was taken from him.’

Vespasian unlocked the low door to the Tullianum and ushered Strabo in. Strabo paused. He took a last look at the clear blue sky and a last breath of fresh air and then, lowering his head, walked through the doorway. The drop in temperature was sudden and Vespasian almost shivered, as he did every time he entered the prison.

The room was low, small and windowless; in the centre of the floor was a wooden trapdoor. Three gaolers sat at a table on the far side playing dice by the light of a single oil lamp; they got up as the Praetorians closed the door behind them, leaving Magnus and his brothers outside with the Vigiles.

‘Another one for the cell, Vespasian?’ the oldest gaoler asked, grinning a toothless grin and wiping his hands on his greasy tunic. Vespasian found the evident pleasure he took in his job revolting.

‘No, Spurius,’ Vespasian replied, ‘you’ve to execute him immediately along with his father.’ Vespasian indicated to the trapdoor.

‘Sejanus’ son, eh? Well, well, a family do, that’s a novelty.’

Spurius’ two mates sniggered.

‘Cut or twist?’ Spurius asked, examining Strabo’s neck as if he were a sacrificial ram. Strabo remained erect and dignified, disdaining to notice foul creature in front of him.

‘Twist,’ Vespasian almost shouted, fighting to keep his temper. ‘Now get on with it.’

‘That’s good, less mess to clean up afterwards, eh, lads, just a bit of shit and piss. Find a couple of twisters and I’ll get old matey-boy up.’

Spurius lifted the trapdoor and threw down a rope attached to an iron hook in the ceiling. ‘Up you come, sir,’ he called down with mock politeness.

The rope immediately went taut and an instant later Sejanus hauled himself, arm muscles bulging, out of the hole, wearing only a loincloth. Despite the straw sticking to his sweat-slicked torso and powerful thighs, he exuded an aura of dignity and power and Vespasian had to restrain himself from taking a pace back. Vengeful malice burned in the dark eyes locked on his gaoler.

‘The Emperor and the Senate have seen sense at last, you filthy maggot,’ he growled, sticking his face into Spurius’. ‘I’ll not forget your hospitality.’

‘I’m afraid not, Father,’ Strabo said.

Sejanus spun round to see his son, manacled, between the two Praetorians. For a moment his hauteur faltered as the reality of his predicament sank in; he nodded his head in comprehension, half smiling to himself. ‘Ah! I see. It’s come to that, has it?’ He looked at the Praetorians. ‘How much did Tiberius pay the Guard to betray me?’

Neither of the Guardsmen replied; they just stared straight ahead.

‘Ashamed to say, are you?’ Sejanus sneered. ‘Let me guess: twenty gold aurei per man.’

The Guards remained mute.

‘Thirty then?’

The two men started to look uncomfortable.

Sejanus’ eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Less than twenty? You cheap whores.’

‘It was ten, father,’ Strabo informed him, ‘they were boasting to me about it as they brought me to the Senate.’

‘Boasting! Boasting about ten pathetic aurei, two hundred and fifty denarii.’ Sejanus burst out laughing. ‘The Emperor bought back his Empire for less than a year’s wages per man of the Praetorian Guard. What a bargain — at that price soon everyone will be able to afford to become Emperor.’ He spat at the Guardsmen’s feet. ‘Let’s get this over with.’ He looked at Vespasian, frowned suddenly, and pointed at him. ‘I know you; you were skulking behind a pillar at the Temple of Apollo this morning. If you’re one of the triumviri capitales, what were you doing waiting outside a senatorial meeting that was expected to give me tribunicial power?’

‘I was told to,’ Vespasian said, looking Sejanus in the eye.

‘By whom? Macro?’

‘No, Antonia,’ Vespasian replied, seeing no point in concealing from Sejanus the instigator of his downfall.

Sejanus smiled grimly. ‘That bitch? It was her then, not Macro?’

Vespasian nodded, still staring Sejanus in the eye.

A deeper recognition flashed across Sejanus’ face. ‘I’ve seen you once before, haven’t I?’

‘That’s right.’

‘On Livilla’s wall five years ago; you were part of the group that freed Antonia’s secretary, weren’t you?’

‘I was.’

‘That was bravely done.’

Vespasian continued staring back at Sejanus, giving no sign of acknowledging the compliment.

Sejanus studied him in silence for a while; no one else in the room moved as they sensed the intensity of the look that passed between the two men. Vespasian squared his shoulders back and drew himself up, suddenly no longer afraid.

‘I can recognise something in you, young man,’ Sejanus said eventually, ‘something that I have in myself: an iron will. Antonia must see it too as she is still using you to do her work five years on. She normally discards people after a few months; she must think that you have potential. Antonia’s champion yesterday, Rome’s executioner today, but what tomorrow for you, I wonder? What’s your name?’