"They couldn't conquer everybody if they did that," Timothy remarked.
"That lot didn't conquer anything," Gaius scowled. "Getting out of bed before noon is their challenge for the day!"
"And Flaccus?"
"I was polite, he was curious."
"Curious?" Timothy asked.
"As I expected he has seen the letters with the Imperial seals," Gaius said, then added with a superior grin, "and I don't think any have been addressed to him."
"That would annoy him," Timothy agreed.
"Maybe not," Gaius shrugged. "Caesar is supposed to renew or replace appointments, and from what I gather he is doing that in a number of places, but he seems to have forgotten about Flaccus, which gives Flaccus more time to collect bribes."
"That's encouraging," Timothy muttered.
* * *
After seven months in which little news came from Rome, a further letter came from Claudius. This news was depressing. After six months of relatively benign and even enlightened rule, Little Boots had fallen ill. At first there was polite consternation for the Princeps, but as Little Boots became progressively more ill, members of the elite families began discussing what would happen after Little Boots died. This could bring a return to the republic, although Claudius noted with obvious disgust, most of the senators seemed to be more interested in advancing their own cause. In principle, civil war could erupt.
Then, praise the Gods, Little Boots survived. However the man that survived was not filled with joy and good will at having done so. While he was ill, two men had made public pledges. Afranius Potitus had sworn to offer his life if Caesar lived, while Atianus Secundus had offered to fight as a gladiator. Caesar was repelled by such ostentatious displays, so he calmly informed them that their offers were accepted. Potitus was wreathed as if as a sacrifice and was then pitched off the Tarpeian rock. Atianus was forced to fight, and when he won, he had to grovel for his life. Then Caesar became aware of the senatorial discussions. He was livid: there was no need for such discussions, so they must be plotting.
"But Caesar," someone protested, "there has to be someone in charge?"
"And why not Tiberius Gemellus?" Little Boots had spat back.
Now, Little Boots decided that this senator was plotting. The senator had no way of proving that he wasn't, which was hardly surprising because in truth Little Boots was as near enough to being correct as made little difference. The senator had not actually done anything, but that was largely because of sloth and fear. Had he wanted to kill Little Boots, the time to do so was when he was so ill he was not expected to survive.
So, Little Boots decided to absolutely humiliate the senator. In front of his face, some of the guard had their way with his wife, and Little Boots himself deflowered his daughters. Then he told the senator that only a massive amount of gold would save him from a fate worse than death. When he asked how much, the senator was told to guess. The senator paid an immense amount, and then was told that service in Tunisia might be a good idea. The senator went immediately.
Which brought the problem to a head. Nobody had any faith in Tiberius Gemellus, who had concentrated his efforts on some ineffective efforts at administration. At the same time Little Boots had concentrated on securing the services of the Praetorian Prefect Quintus Sutorius Macro to provide the muscle he required to further his own ambitions.
It was during this period that Little Boots invited Tiberius Gemellus for a meal worthy of his being joint Princeps. The boy was in poor health, and when he came to dine with Caesar, he took some cough mixture. Caesar was furious, and accused him of taking a poison antidote. Did he not trust Caesar? Caesar obviously did not think so, so he ordered Macro to kill him. Macro did so promptly.
Little Boots' arrogance had increased. His own father-in-law had offered advice on some point, to which Little Boots suggested they go for a journey to sea together. His father-in-law declined because he was a bad sailor and hated the sea, so Little Boots decided that he must have feared he would be killed. If he feared he would be killed, why, he must have a guilty conscience so he would be killed. He ordered him to commit suicide.
Little Boots now began to suspect that everybody was plotting. The problem was, his actions looked like making this true. One day Macro suggested that he. . Little Boots was furious. How dare he, a mere guardsman, tell the Princeps what he should and should not do. Macro was ordered to immediately go and kill his own wife Ennia, then commit suicide. He, Claudius, suspected that this was in part because once Macro began thinking, he may well think that if he could kill one Princeps he could kill two. He must have been given a fairly terrible alternative, because that evening both died.
The message was clear: do not give advice to Caesar. That meant, of course, that the combined wisdom of Rome was now unavailable.
Then on top of that, Caesar's sister, Drusilla, who had provided an effective restraining force on Little Boots, had died. Little Boots now became totally distraught, and was now beyond restraint.
* * *
Gaius' social position took an even greater turn for the worse. It had all started when Timothy had been discussing something with a Greek slave. The slave's master appeared and seeing the slave talking, he brought out a whip and lashed out. The slave yelled, and was lashed again. Timothy tried to reason with the man, and was rewarded with a lash across his side. It was at this moment that Gaius came around a corner.
"Put that down, you little pail of shit!" Gaius roared imperiously.
Without thinking, the master turned, saw Gaius dressed in the rather tatty and non-descript clothing he wore when going to visit the foundry, swore something about teaching manners, then he lashed out at Gaius.
Gaius felt the searing pain across his side, then as he saw the whip come back for a repeat, he leaped back. He noticed an older man with a walking staff, so he grabbed it. "I'm just borrowing it," he muttered, then grabbing the staff he advanced on the man with the whip. As the whip came over, he dodged and managed to get the whip to wrap around the staff. Grasping the staff with both hands close to the tangled whip, he pulled with everything he had. The now furious owner lurched forward, and as he did Gaius stepped forward and kicked with everything he had at the man's groin. His kick first glanced the leg, then struck, and the rather large man gave out a dreadful scream, and lay writhing on the ground.
"You don't know who I am," the man rasped. "I'll have you flogged to death for that."
"You probably don't know who I am," Gaius replied coldly, as he drove the staff into the man's midriff, then after smashing it across the man's back he added haughtily, "You may call me Claudius. From your knees!"
There was a sudden stare of fear.
"I see you're starting to understand," Gaius muttered. "You want to flog me, you'll have to do it yourself," he spat, then brought the staff down around his victim's backside. There was a yell of pain, and Gaius struck again and again. He smashed the staff into both arms as the man cowered in terror.
"Please! I'm s sorry!"
"You'd better be!" Gaius leaned over and spat right in the man's eye. "You stay down, and whatever that was all about to start with, the man I saw you strike was also a personal friend of Tiberius. Think very carefully before you do whatever he told you not to."