Corbulo wrinkled his nose at the memory of the journey and subsequent near escape from the Thracians, but refused to acknowledge that he could recollect the name of someone so beneath him after such a long time.
‘Pompous arsehole,’ Magnus muttered, but not entirely to himself.
Corbulo held his chin in the air disdaining to hear the comment. Vespasian shot Magnus a withering look over his shoulder; Magnus shrugged and smiled innocently.
‘Believe me, Corbulo, it’s best if you don’t know what it’s about unless you have to,’ Vespasian said, trying to get back onto the subject. ‘You’re right that it’s to do with what’s in the chest. I plan to show the contents to the Lady Antonia and then we’ll discuss what to do about them in your presence. That way you won’t be put in any danger because you won’t know what we’re talking about; I just need you to witness what she asks me to do about it so that you could back me up in court if it came to it.’
Corbulo looked down his long nose at him. ‘You’re way out of your league, Vespasian. However, I’ll do this to repay the debt that my father insists that I owe you, but that’s it — the slate is clean afterwards.’
‘Let us both pray that there is an afterwards,’ Vespasian muttered as they approached the tall, single-storey villa that belonged to the most formidable woman in Rome.
Vespasian mounted the steps as the sun slipped behind the Aventine Hill throwing Rome into shadow. He rapped on the door; the viewing slot snapped back and two eyes appeared. ‘Titus Flavius Vespasianus and Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo request an interview with the Lady Antonia.’
The slot closed and the door opened immediately; the doorman let Vespasian and Corbulo into the vestibule, leaving Magnus, Ziri and the brothers outside with the chest. As they walked through into the imposing and exquisitely furnished atrium a familiar voice came from across its vast length.
‘Masters Vespasian and Corbulo, how good to see you again,’ Pallas, Antonia’s Greek steward, said in his faultless Latin. ‘I trust that the natives of Creta and Cyrenaica weren’t too tiresome.’
‘They were as belligerent as one would expect, Pallas; and it’s very good to see you again too,’ Vespasian replied with a smile.
Corbulo grunted his acknowledgement.
‘You are too kind, masters; I am honoured that you should be pleased to see me, a mere freedman.’
‘There’s nothing mere about…freedman, did you say?’
Pallas pulled his right hand from behind his back and placed a pileus, the conical felt cap that marked a freedman, on his head. ‘Indeed, sir. My mistress was good enough to give me my freedom soon after you left for your province; I am now Marcus Antonius Pallas, a freed citizen of Rome.’
‘My congratulations, Pallas.’ Vespasian proffered his forearm to the Greek for the first time in their acquaintance.
Pallas clasped it in a firm grip. ‘Thank you, Vespasian. I will always remember with gratitude the respect, far beyond that due to my servile rank, that you, your brother and uncle have showed me in the past.’
Corbulo muttered a perfunctory felicitation to which Pallas responded with a slight inclination of his head.
‘Now, gentlemen, I will see if the Lady Antonia is able to receive you.’
‘We would like a formal meeting, if that would be convenient, Pallas?’ Vespasian requested, somewhat nervously. ‘What I have to discuss with her is of a very delicate nature for all concerned. Magnus and some of his brothers are outside with an item that I must bring to the Lady’s attention.’
Pallas raised an eyebrow but otherwise his face remained neutral. ‘I see.’ He clapped his hands twice. ‘Felix!’
A Greek appeared from the far end of the room and walked with self-assured poise towards them. Vespasian looked at him curiously; apart from a deep suntan he was the exact image of Pallas when he had first met him nine years previously.
‘Felix, there are some men outside, see them round to the stable yard and get them some refreshment. They should wait there until they are summoned.’
‘Yes, Pallas,’ Felix replied, heading to the front door.
‘Follow me, gentlemen.’ Pallas walked off towards Antonia’s formal reception room.
‘Is he your brother, Pallas?’ Vespasian enquired.
‘I cannot deny it.’
‘How long has he been in Antonia’s household?’
‘He arrived here just recently, but the Lady Antonia has owned him for most of his life. He was the steward of her household in Egypt and she’s brought him here to take over my position, once I’ve trained him up in the etiquette of Rome.’
‘What are you going to be doing, then?’
‘I’m afraid that that’s between the Lady and me, Vespasian,’ Pallas said as they entered the beautiful high-ceilinged reception room, littered with expensive but tasteful furniture and sculptures from all over the Empire. He gestured to Vespasian and Corbulo to sit. ‘Wait here, gentlemen, I will send you some wine while I relay your request to my Lady.’
Night had fallen and the room was now ablaze with scores of oil lamps; their fumes hung in the air veiling the ceiling, depriving it of their light.
Vespasian and Corbulo had waited for more than an hour, the wine jug and two cups on the low table between them stood empty. However, the time had passed reasonably quickly as Corbulo brought him up to date with the machinations of the various factions in Rome, slanted, of course, from his own conservative, aristocratic perspective.
‘I find the presence of that oily little New Man, Poppaeus Sabinus, back in Rome an affront to my honour,’ Corbulo was saying. ‘It was bad enough that Antonia wouldn’t let me implicate him in Sejanus’ plot and thereby have my revenge on him for trying to get me killed in Thracia…’
‘And get me killed as well, Corbulo,’ Vespasian reminded him.
‘Yes, indeed, and you, but now he’s back here it’s intolerable; he seems to be working with Macro, bringing charges against anyone to whom he bears a grudge, even if they’re from families of the highest order. There have been over twenty of them. Pomponius Labeo was arraigned just after you left last year on a charge of maladministration of his province during the three years that he took over Moesia from Poppaeus.’
‘The slippery little shit.’
‘Indeed. Now you can say what you like about Pomponius’ personal habits but I found him to be an honourable man and a decent legate of the Fourth Scythica.’
‘So what happened with his case?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘I only just got back to Rome today, I don’t know any of the news, other than what you’ve just been telling me while we’ve been waiting.’
‘Ah yes, of course.’ Corbulo paused and drew breath. ‘Well then, I’m sorry to have to tell you,’ he carried on with a look as close to concern on his rigid face as he could muster, ‘that Poppaeus hounded him and his wife Paxaea to suicide last year.’
Vespasian was visibly shocked. ‘The little bastard. How? Why? The charge against him was just maladministration, that doesn’t carry a death sentence.’
‘It was at first but then Poppaeus discovered that Pomponius had been speculating in grain. He told Macro who informed the Emperor and Tiberius took up the charge himself; he doesn’t take kindly to grain speculators. After that Pomponius had no choice but to take his life in order to ensure that his property wasn’t confiscated. As to why, that’s easy: because of Pomponius reporting to the Senate that Poppaeus allowed his army to acclaim him “imperator” and did nothing to stop them. Poppaeus has been living in fear of Tiberius’ vengeance ever since, which, unfortunately, has never been forthcoming.’
‘Quite the reverse, in fact — he was reinstated as Governor of both Moesia and Macedonia in my last year in Thracia.’
‘Quite so, quite so, but that was at Sejanus’ suggestion; he kept Poppaeus safe from Tiberius while he was still alive, but since his downfall no one can understand why Poppaeus led such a charmed life — until he returned to Rome in the summer of last year…’