‘The illusion can still be maintained so long as everybody does exactly what I say.’
Vespasian’s nerves were starting to fray but he steadied himself with the belief that Pallas and Narcissus knew what they were doing; all he had to do was to help Corbulo kill Poppaeus. He would keep his mind focused on that.
Footsteps coming from the atrium diverted his attention back through the grille.
‘My master awaits you out here, proconsul.’ Narcissus’ voice oozed with deference as he led Poppaeus and a tall, wiry man with a sharp face and lank, greasy hair into the garden.
Vespasian had not seen Poppaeus up close for more than nine years and was amazed by how the little man had aged. His spine had rounded and he leant on his stick, making him even more diminutive. The skin on his face was thin and slack so that it hung in loose folds. His hair was gone. He was no longer the general who had shown such bravery on the wall in Thracia under a hail of arrows and slingshot; he was a frail old man.
‘This is going to be disgusting murder,’ Corbulo muttered.
Vespasian did not need to be told; he was feeling wretched. He turned back to the garden.
‘My dear Pop-p-p-’
‘Poppaeus, C–C-Claudius!’ Poppaeus snapped, hobbling towards the table. ‘Let’s get this over quickly; I’d better do the talking.’
‘Of c-c-course.’ Claudius’ eyes narrowed briefly and for the first time Vespasian caught a glimpse of the hatred that he harboured for people who mocked him.
‘Kosmas, the marker,’ Poppaeus ordered, sitting without invitation with his back to the grille, just five paces away.
The wiry secretary unslung a leather bag from his shoulder and gave it to his master as Narcissus produced the two keys to unlock Capella’s chest.
‘This is the debt marker for the fourteen and a half million denarii you borrowed from me,’ Poppaeus said, pulling a scroll from the bag and handing it to Claudius. ‘Show me the deeds.’
Narcissus pushed the chest towards him and Poppaeus began to examine each of the seven scrolls within, one by one.
Pallas joined Vespasian and Corbulo at the grille. ‘As soon as the deal is signed we move into the atrium,’ he whispered.
Poppaeus read the last scroll and then put it back in the chest. ‘They’re all in order.’
Narcissus handed the two keys to Kosmas who closed the lid and locked it. He placed the keys in his bag and took out a stylus and a pot of ink.
‘Your signature, P-Poppaeus,’ Claudius requested, handing the marker to Narcissus.
Vespasian’s heart was thumping.
Narcissus spread the scroll on the table; Kosmas dipped the stylus in the ink and offered it to his master. Poppaeus signed with the diligence of a man whose eyesight was failing and then passed the scroll and stylus over to Claudius who signed it with a surprisingly steady hand. The two secretaries then witnessed the signatures making the document legal.
‘Follow me,’ Pallas said to Vespasian and Corbulo, leading them out into the atrium.
‘That’s our business concluded,’ Vespasian heard Poppaeus say, ‘I’ll bid you good day.’
‘There’s another matter that I would like to discuss with you, concerning the upcoming elections,’ Claudius replied with remarkable fluency. ‘It’ll take no longer than a cup of wine.’
There was a pause; Vespasian heard the sound of wine being poured and the jug set back down on the table.
‘Alone,’ Claudius insisted.
‘Very well, but be quick. Kosmas, take the chest and wait for me outside.’
‘A cup of wine in my study perhaps, my dear Kosmas?’ Narcissus purred.
Pallas, Vespasian and Corbulo stood waiting by the far end of the impluvium as Narcissus ushered Kosmas, clutching the chest, in from the garden. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘my master will not keep you long, he is with the proconsul Poppaeus.’
‘It will be an honour to offer the proconsul our greetings as he leaves,’ Pallas replied as Narcissus led Kosmas away with barely a glance towards the waiting group.
Pallas moved forward as the footsteps retreated. Vespasian followed with Corbulo; his mouth was dry and his stomach knotted. From the far end of the atrium they heard the door to Narcissus’ study open and then shut.
‘Whatever happens, don’t let him cry out and don’t bruise him,’ Pallas whispered as they stepped into the garden.
Corbulo leapt forward and had one hand over Poppaeus’ mouth and the other under his arm before the old man was aware of a threat from behind him. Vespasian stooped down to grab his ankles and they lifted him from his chair, knocking the table; Pallas caught the wine jug just before it toppled off.
‘This way,’ Claudius said, rising quickly to his unsteady feet and leading them to a door at the rear of the garden.
They manhandled their struggling captive into the room; Pallas closed the door behind them. Magnus and Ziri stood in one corner by a full barrel of water; a rope on a pulley hung from a hook in the ceiling in front of a blazing fire that provided the only light in the room. The air was fuggy and the windows shuttered. They immediately began to sweat.
‘What is the meaning of this outrage, Claudius?’ Poppaeus demanded as he was dumped unceremoniously onto the floor.
‘This is what happens to people who try to make a fool out of me.’
‘Then you have a long list to deal with,’ Poppaeus spat contemptuously, rising to his feet and looking around. ‘Corbulo!’ he exclaimed as his weak eyes got used to the gloom; then his gaze rested on Vespasian. ‘And you, I know you; you’re Asinius’ protege who disappeared after that bloodbath in his tent. Vespasian, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Poppaeus.’
‘This is about more than just buying land deeds off an idiot-’ A sharp slap cracked across his face.
‘Don’t mark him, master,’ Pallas shouted, grabbing Claudius’ wrist to prevent the reverse swipe.
‘I will not tolerate being called an idiot,’ Claudius fumed, struggling to release his hand.
Poppaeus wiped a drop of blood from his lip, ignoring Claudius’ outburst. ‘What can I offer you, gentlemen? Or is this personal and beyond money?’
‘It’s way beyond money, Poppaeus,’ Corbulo replied. ‘You tried to have us killed along with two cohorts of your recruits in the most dishonourable manner.’
Poppaeus smiled; a drip of sweat rolled down his reddened cheek. ‘So that has come back to haunt me, has it? I don’t suppose telling you that it wasn’t personal and that what we were doing was for the greater good would make any difference?’
‘How can that have been for the greater good?’ Vespasian exploded.
‘Because, young man, Rome must have strong, clear government. If you accept that we can never go back to the pure Republic without risking civil war every generation then we must have an emperor. But just look at what we have now; Rome needs to rid herself of this remote, mad Emperor and his ridiculous family. Who’s going to be emperor after Tiberius? Him?’ Poppaeus asked, not even bothering to look at Claudius.
‘You were supporting my claim at one time,’ Claudius insisted.
‘Only because you would have been the easiest heir to get rid of and replace with Sejanus.’
‘But now he’s dead you’re supporting Caligula so that Macro can use his wife to buy Egypt, take over the East and split the Empire in two; how is that strong, clear government?’ Vespasian demanded.
Poppaeus stared at him for a few moments. ‘I can only imagine that an intellect far greater than yours has seen through what we had planned. I detect Antonia behind this; if that is so then I am dead, no matter how much I try to convince you that I was right. So if I am to be murdered I shall act with dignity, if only to shame you; although I’m curious to know how you plan to get my body away from here when there are so many witnesses.’
‘Tell me first why splitting the Empire would be good for Rome.’