‘We’re just going to have to break in and steal it, then,’ Magnus said as they sat, drinking chilled wine, on the terrace of Vespasian’s second-floor suite watching the sun go down over the Great Harbour.
‘We can’t do that,’ Vespasian replied appalled.
‘Well, have you got any better ideas? How about going back to Caligula and saying that Flaccus wouldn’t let you take it?’
‘And whose neck’s going to be right in front of him when I do, mine or the prefect’s?’
‘Exactly. So have you got any other ideas?’
Vespasian took a consoling sip of wine. ‘No.’
‘Then we’re left with mine.’
Vespasian got up, walked to the marble balustrade and leant on it, deep in thought; Magnus joined him.
‘If we’re going to do that,’ Vespasian said after a while, ‘we’ll have to make it look like nothing has happened, otherwise the whole Greek population will rise up.’
‘You think that we should get a replica and do a swap?’
‘Exactly; and we’ll need to get in and out of the palace without anyone noticing.’
Magnus looked down at the fifty-foot drop to the water. ‘That’s the quickest way, straight down.’
‘We’ll need a boat.’
‘Well, I wasn’t planning on swimming.’
‘Then we’ll need to get past the guards, into the mausoleum and out again.’
‘We’ll do a recce.’
‘With our escort?’
‘Why not?’
‘Flaccus will find out.’
‘So? We’re just seeing the sights, aren’t we?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘What we will need is someone local who knows what the security arrangements are like inside the mausoleum at night and who can also provide the boat.’
Vespasian thought for a few moments. ‘Felix?’
‘Can we trust him?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Is there anyone else we could trust?’
‘Antonia trusted him.’
Magnus paused and then nodded. ‘We can trust him. How do we find him?’
‘He said that the Alabarch always knows where he is.’
‘So you’ll ask him tomorrow?’
A knock at the door interrupted their planning. They looked into the suite and saw Ziri open it to a very attractive slave girl.
‘Sir,’ Ziri called out to them, ‘she says that she’s here to escort you to dinner.’
‘Very well.’ Vespasian looked at Magnus; he was eyeing the girl. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Do you think that you could find your own way down to the triclinium?’
Vespasian raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m sure I could.’
‘Then I reckon that I’ll be in all evening, if you take my meaning?’
After a few wrong turns Vespasian eventually found his way through the labyrinthine palace to a long, high and wide corridor, lined with statues; at its end there was a doorway from which emanated the sound of animated conversation. Following the voices, he passed by the statues admiring every one; they were life-like representations of each of the Ptolemaic dynasty, both male and female, starting with its founder, Alexander’s general, Ptolemy Soter. Each of the men was dressed in original, full military uniform: helmets, muscled cuirasses, greaves and swords, all of great antiquity, had been buckled onto them. The women wore silken gowns, which fluttered slightly in the breeze, and their heads were adorned with lavish wigs. The stone limbs not covered by clothing had been painted in flesh tones and the faces were finished with realistic detail.
As he neared the end of the line he paused in front of the second to last, Cleopatra VII, and stared at the face that had beguiled first Julius Caesar and then Marcus Antonius. It was not classically beautiful, her nose was long and pronounced and her chin and mouth boyish, yet there was a sensuality in her appearance that he found very attractive; she had obviously been a striking woman.
‘Still staring at women, quaestor? Or should I just say “senator”?’
Vespasian spun round to see a woman silhouetted in the doorway.
‘At least that one isn’t trying to get you to listen to her.’
‘Flavia! What are you doing here?’
Flavia Domitilla walked forward into the light of the corridor. ‘I’ve been here since I escaped from the riots in Cyrene. What about you?’
Vespasian gaped at her, she had not changed, and, judging by the blood rushing around his body, nor had his desire for her; she was still his idea of a proper woman. ‘I’m here on the Emperor’s orders,’ he managed to get out, feeling light-headed as he caught her scent, inflaming him even more.
Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated; she took another step towards him and smiled enticingly. ‘Moving in high circles, are you? How fascinating; you must tell me about it at dinner.’ She took his arm and led him through the door; he followed willingly, enjoying the soft touch of her hand on his skin.
‘Ah, Flavia, you’ve found our senator, how very clever of you. Now we can eat.’ A dumpy little round-faced, smiling woman, in her late forties, with a twinkle in her eye, bustled towards them. ‘Senator Vespasian, I’m Laelia, the prefect’s wife.’
Vespasian gently squeezed her proffered fingers. ‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I apologise if I’m late.’
‘I sent a girl for you, did she not turn up? I’ll have her whipped when I find her.’
‘No, no, please don’t. She did arrive but there was um…there were some matters that needed attending to in my suite so I left her there to deal with them and made my own way.’
‘Well, no matter, you’re here now. Seeing as Flavia found you she wins the prize of reclining next to you. The other women will be so envious.’
‘She’s just doing that to make sure her husband keeps his hands off me,’ Flavia whispered in his ear as they followed Laelia towards the other five guests and Flaccus congregated around the low dining table.
Vespasian shivered involuntarily at the closeness of her mouth to his face, savouring the sweetness of her breath. ‘Does he try that often?’
‘Yes; sometimes I let him succeed.’
‘Why? You could say no.’
‘I’ve been here for over three years now, how else do you think I’ve survived without a man to provide for me?’
CHAPTER XVIII
Vespasian was woken by a knock on his bedroom door.
Magnus stuck his head round the corner. ‘I’ve ordered a chair to be…ah! I’ll leave you to it.’ He beat a hasty retreat.
Vespasian turned on his side and looked at Flavia; she opened her eyes.
‘When he says “it” I assume he means me?’ she said with a yawn.
‘He could have meant the act itself.’
‘That would be a preferable interpretation, but I’ll only believe you if you prove it to be the correct one.’
Vespasian smiled and kissed her while running the tips of his fingers down over her breasts, across her flat belly before easing them in between her legs. Flavia moaned softly as she had done for most of the night as she had sucked on his mouth and his nipples and his penis between bouts of intense sexual activity; he had made love to her in a way that he had done to no other woman except Caenis.
Vespasian had decided to bed her the moment that he saw her again; and the feeling had seemed to become very mutual, especially once he had explained to her that he had found Capella and had brought him back out of the desert; he had not let her down. She had not seemed too distressed at the news of Capella’s savage death and was genuinely surprised to learn that he had not been trading for camels. Vespasian did not, however, tell her what Capella had really been doing, and when she had pressed him on the subject he had just alluded to imperial business and it was better if she did not know; which, indeed, it was. Admiring his high connections, which she had evidently found irresistible, she had started to work her charms on him to the full, quite unnecessarily but much to Vespasian’s enjoyment and the other guests’ embarrassment. When the dinner broke up Flaccus appeared most aggrieved and a triumphant-looking Laelia did not even bother to ask Flavia if she wanted her litter called.