Robert Fabbri - The Alexandrian Embassy

Magnus feigned surprise. ‘Tatianus! I’d have thought that you were far too busy to have time to come to festivals like this.’

Tatianus was all smiles and teeth. ‘On the contrary, my dear Magnus, I am very fastidious in my worship of all the gods, especially Mercury. I always ask him to hold his hands over my business and I’m usually rewarded for my piety; in fact he has helped me already today.’

‘I’m very pleased to hear it, Tatianus. As a fellow devotee of Mercury it does me good to see that he bestows his favour on such a deserving gentleman of business.’

‘Indeed. I look forward to seeing you at the third hour so that we can conclude our deal on such an auspicious day.’

Magnus sucked his teeth. ‘Ah, Tatianus, there’s a bit of a problem there. I stupidly didn’t take up your kind offer to look after my money in your strongroom the other night and, unfortunately, it was stolen on the way home.’

Tatianus’ expression of concern would have done credit to the most practised dissembler. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Magnus; how awful for you.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s my fault. So I was wondering if you would give me a little time to raise the money?’

‘I don’t normally discuss business outside my study, Magnus, but as it is Mercury’s day and seeing as he has already favoured me I shall make this an exception. Come tomorrow.’

Magnus’ look of gratitude was deep and filled with relief. ‘Thank you, Tatianus.’

‘Don’t mention it, Magnus, my friend.’ With a hearty slap on the shoulder, Tatianus moved on as from the gates came the first shouts of ‘Hail Divine Caesar!’

‘Shit!’ Magnus spat as he turned towards the gate. ‘If that’s the Emperor we’d better stay and cheer him; nasty things can happen to people seen walking away from Caligula. Besides, he did save my life once by stopping Tiberius hurling me off a cliff in Capreae.’

‘How did that come about, brother?’ Marius asked as a litter, high and wide and borne by sixteen slaves, four at each corner, came through the gate. Bearded Germans of the imperial bodyguard lurched to either side of the litter, preventing any of the cheering citizenry from getting too close to their master to whom they showed complete devotion.

‘Some other time, brother, some other time. Hail Divine Caesar! Hail Divine Caesar!’

Caligula waved his right hand with regal dignity, reclining within the sumptuous cushionage of his litter. With his high forehead, thinning hair and deeply sunken eyes underlined with insomniac’s dark smudges, Caligula would have looked inconsequential, had it not been for his golden Mercurial costume that did little to hide a magnificent erection with which he toyed with his left hand.

‘Hail Divine Caesar! Hail our star, our rising sun! Hail Divine Gaius!’ the crowd called out with unfeigned enthusiasm, praising the giver of largesse and holder of games so spectacular that none could recall their like or imagine them being bettered.

Caligula raised himself as the shouts grew with more and more people coming to line the street, genuinely happy that their Emperor had returned to Rome and hoping that he would celebrate the fact with impromptu chariot racing at the Circus Maximus whose soaring, arched bulk overshadowed the Capena Gate. With a sudden movement he thrust his right hand into a bulging purse and then threw dozens of golden coins into the air to shower down on his adoring subjects. The cheering turned into screeches as everyone tried to get a gold aureus, the equivalent of almost six months’ wages for a legionary. Another expansive gesture released more of the golden rain as Caligula began to work his erection with increased urgency. ‘There, my sheep, there’s your fodder. Feed, my flock, feed,’ Caligula called as he dispensed his largesse. ‘Take your blessings from your god, my sheep, and live under my hands.’ He smiled with benign calmness as he surveyed the chaos caused by the contents of his purse; and then his expression clouded and his head twitched. ‘Stop!’ he screamed, causing his bearers to halt immediately. The crowd froze in whatever position they were in and looked to their Emperor; Caligula pointed a shaking finger at a couple of beggars, with filthy, wound headdresses, scrabbling on the floor and evidently unaware of the change of atmosphere. ‘Pick them up,’ he ordered the nearest of his Germanic bodyguards.

The German pushed his way through the crowd to the two beggars and hauled them up by the grimed collars of their tattered robes. As they realised their predicament, the beggars ceased groping for coinage and stared with wide eyes at the Emperor, terrified by the wrath on his face.

‘Bring them here,’ Caligula hissed.

The German hauled the two men forward and then threw them to their knees before the litter. They mumbled entreaties for mercy into their long, ill-kempt beards, in heavily accented Latin.

Caligula surveyed them for a few moments and then addressed the crowd: ‘Look at their noses, look at their headdresses. They take the money I dispense and yet they refuse to recognise me for what I am.’ He looked down at the beggars and sneered in disgust. ‘What are you?’

‘B-b-beggars, Princeps,’ one replied, not raising his eyes.

‘I know that! But what sort of people are you, what religion?’

‘We, we are Jews, Princeps.’

‘Jews! I knew it. Call me by my title.’

‘I have, Princeps.’

Caligula smiled a smile that would have frozen Medusa herself. ‘Vespasian,’ he called, not taking his eyes from the two visibly shaking beggars now grovelling piteously.

A stocky man in a senatorial toga stepped forward from the entourage of senators and Praetorian officers following the litter. ‘Yes, Divine Gaius.’

‘They seem to think that I don’t notice their lack of respect for my godhead.’

‘Indeed, Divine Gaius; they must be amongst the most stupid of your sheep.’

Caligula frowned as he considered this statement. ‘Yes, they must be. Remove any coinage they might have gathered and have them thrown out of the city. I’ll not have unbelievers amongst my flock. It’s time to get a proper understanding of these people’s way of thinking. Have the Alexandrian embassy brought before me after I have received the welcome of the Senate.’

As Vespasian obeyed his god and Emperor’s orders, Magnus caught his eye. ‘Philo and his mates are being kept out of trouble, sir.’

‘Thank you, Magnus. Meet me at the Senate House in a couple of hours.’

‘Put it down there, Marius, and don’t get too close,’ Servius advised as Marius put down an earthenware bowl in the middle of the floor of the backroom in which Magnus transacted the brotherhood’s business. ‘You’ll notice, Magnus, that there is nothing in this bowl but wet rags.’ Servius pulled out a dripping bundle just to emphasise the point. ‘Not the sort of thing that you would normally expect to burn.’

‘That’s a fair point, brother,’ Magnus said, leaning back on his chair and folding his arms. ‘But, no doubt, you’re going to surprise me.’

‘How did you know?’

‘Because you wouldn’t be making such a fuss about damp rags not burning otherwise.’

Magnus’ counsellor’s lined face took on a disappointed aspect as he opened the jar taken from the intruders’ sack. ‘I was hoping to astound you, not just surprise you.’ He took a single wet rag and dipped it into the jar; it came out smeared with a dark, viscous substance that seemed to be halfway between solid and liquid. He dropped it into the bowl and then took a dry rag and dangled it over the flame of an oil lamp. As it caught fire, Servius threw it after the impregnated rag. There was an immediate puff of flame and within an instant the damp contents of the bowl were burning as if they were tinder-dry.