‘Ah, there you are, dear boy,’ Gaius boomed in a cheerful voice that betrayed no concern. He was sitting by the hearth with Clemens; both were munching on wrinkled winter apples. ‘Have you breakfasted?’
‘Yes, thank you, Uncle. Good morning, Clemens.’
‘Good morning, Vespasian; the Emperor has sent me.’
Vespasian looked around the room, confused. ‘Where’s Macro?’
Gaius burst out laughing. ‘What did I tell you, Clemens? He spends too much time in that nest of honey and delight; he hasn’t heard.’
‘Heard what?’ Vespasian asked testily.
‘I’m sorry, dear boy, that was my idea of a joke getting you here thinking that Macro was waiting. The Emperor formally relieved Macro of his position yesterday evening, and he’s due to sail for Egypt today to take up his post as prefect there.’
Vespasian glanced at Clemens; a look of understanding spread across his face and he smiled. ‘And you’re the new prefect of the Guard?’
‘One of them,’ Clemens confirmed. ‘However, the Emperor has decided to go back to Augustus’ principle of having two prefects, so I share the position with Lucius Arruntius Stella.’
‘It would appear that our Emperor is not as mad as he seems,’ Gaius said, having got his mirth under control, ‘he’s appointed two prefects who hate each other. That should weaken the Guard, eh, Clemens?’
‘It will certainly create two factions.’
‘And make it twice as likely that a prefect will move against him,’ Vespasian observed. ‘Not that I would suspect you of disloyalty, Clemens — yet.’
Clemens looked worried. ‘With Clementina due back in Rome with Sabinus this summer who knows what cause for disloyalty I may have if Caligula puts his mind to having her?’
‘Then Sabinus should keep her safe out at Aquae Cutillae, as you do your wife at Pisaurum.’
‘Not any more; Caligula ordered me to call her back and bring her to dinner at the palace. There was his new wife, Lolia Paulina, plus twelve other women present, all wives of his guests. He arrived dressed as Apollo and went round feeling each one and then chose two — not Julia, thankfully — and took them to bed while their husbands had to carry on eating as if nothing were happening. When he reappeared with them he started to compare and contrast with the unfortunate husbands the strengths and weaknesses in their wives’ sexual performances. It was excruciating; the two women were obliged to recline there as if the conversation was the most natural thing in the world. Then he ordered Lolia to strip naked so that he could give everyone a practical demonstration of some of the finer points of his arguments.’
‘I’d not heard about that,’ Gaius said, looking horrified.
‘You wouldn’t have; it was last night at the banquet to celebrate Macro’s new position, which was ironic in itself considering what Caligula has sent me here for.’
Vespasian groaned. ‘Oh, I’d hoped that he’d forgotten about that.’
‘If you mean about your offer to be the man who orders Macro to commit suicide as he gets on the ship today, then no he hasn’t.’
‘I didn’t offer, I just suggested that if he wanted to get rid of Macro then that would be the best time, place and way to do it.’
‘Well, however it came about that’s what he wants you to do, and I’ve got to escort you with a turma of my cavalry to make sure that Macro obeys the order.’
‘You do get yourself into some unpleasant situations, dear boy.’
‘That’s not a helpful observation, Uncle,’ Vespasian replied tersely.
‘No, but it’s a pertinent one.’
‘Have you got the warrant?’ Vespasian asked Clemens, ignoring Gaius’ remark.
‘No; we’re to go to his Drusilla theatre; he said he’d see us there, after the show, as he put it, which doesn’t bode well.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ Vespasian got to his feet with a sigh. ‘Well, if I’ve got to do this then I might as well do it properly; I’ve just got to fetch something from my room before we go, Clemens.’
Caligula’s new theatre was not built on as grand a scale as he would have liked but this was for practical reasons; the semicircular structure filled the area between the Rostrum and the Temple of Saturn with its stage set hard against the steps of the Temple of Concordia, almost prohibiting access. However, it did hold over two thousand spectators who were thoroughly enjoying the show, much to the bemusement and disgust of Vespasian and the others of the senatorial order who had been forced to attend. In a humiliation of the Senate Caligula had dispensed with their reserved seating and they were forced to sit among the urban rabble. They had cheered as Caligula, dressed as Hercules in a golden lion-skin and brandishing a golden club, had slowly disrobed his sister. They had cheered louder as he had put her through a series of gymnastic poses, each designed to explicitly show off the female form. And then they had cheered even louder as he began to take her through a succession of sexual acts on the enormous, purple-sheeted bed, while she howled like a harpy.
‘Bring me my gladiators,’ Caligula shouted, pulling himself out of Drusilla, who knelt on the bed before him and then fell onto her belly, breathing deeply.
Vespasian was relieved to see four oiled, naked gladiators, an Ethiopian and three Celts, all at the peak of physical condition, striding onto the stage. He had been dreading a summons to join in the obscenity being acted out before him and now felt confident that his services would not be required.
‘This is going to be worse than you think,’ Clemens whispered in his ear as Drusilla turned her attention to the new arrivals clustered round her with an urgency and greed born out of uninhibited and shameless lust.
‘How can it be worse?’
‘You’ll see. I’ve got archers stationed around the theatre to make sure that nothing happens to Caligula — he was concerned about letting one of the gladiators have a sword so close to him in the finale.’
Hardly able to believe his eyes, Vespasian watched in mounting horror as the siblings created a scene with three of the gladiators of such carnality that it made Caligula’s behaviour in the circus with the catamite seem almost acceptable. The tangle of bodies began to writhe with escalating fervour, matched by the increasing clamour of the crowd, until reaching such a pinnacle of ecstasy that they were no longer aware of their surroundings. At this point a Praetorian walked onto the stage and handed a sword to the unoccupied fourth gladiator and then gave a signal towards the back of the theatre. Vespasian looked around and saw that archers were now standing at intervals behind the spectators; all had their bows drawn and were aiming at the newly armed man as he approached, from behind, the Ethiopian gladiator servicing Caligula. Sensing imminent blood the roar of the crowd, already deafening, swelled to ear-splitting proportions. Down on the stage, Caligula raised his fists to his shoulders and flapped his arms in imitation of a cockerel’s wings and then slumped down onto his sister’s back. Grasping Caligula’s hips, the Ethiopian threw his head back and let out a roar, unheard over the din of the crowd, of satisfaction; it was the last sound he ever made. With a lightning flash the fourth gladiator swept his head from his shoulders, sending it spinning into the audience, and releasing a powerful jet of crimson blood, shooting from his torso, high up into the air to splatter down on Caligula and Drusilla. Once the blood had stopped raining down on them Caligula reached back and pushed the decapitated corpse out of him; it crumpled to the floor. The executioner raised his sword in a gladiator’s salute to the crowd and was instantaneously struck by a dozen well-aimed arrows that hurled him back as if he had been yanked by an invisible rope. Seemingly oblivious of this development, Caligula and Drusilla were staring lovingly into each other’s eyes as they rubbed blood over one another. The two surviving gladiators rose warily to their feet, looking anxiously at the archers who had reloaded and were now aiming at them.