‘Quite so. I’m pleased to have seen you, albeit briefly. I believe your brother is to become suffect-consul next month?’
‘He is.’
‘Astounding, really, isn’t it? Second generation senators becoming consuls; where will it all end?’
‘With pompous arseholes becoming governors,’ Magnus muttered not entirely to himself as he came forward to pick up Vespasian’s folding chair. ‘Silly me, they’ve been doing that for ages.’
Corbulo bristled, rising to his feet, but refused to acknowledge the words of someone so far beneath him. ‘I wish you luck, Vespasian; no doubt you will be nominated as a consul in these strange times.’
Vespasian grinned, taking Corbulo’s proffered arm. ‘I fully intend to be; if only for the look on your face when you have to give way to me in the street.’
Corbulo shook his head in regret. ‘Indebted to freedmen, ordered about by lewd women and surpassed by New Men; I’m thoroughly looking forward to getting back to the certainties of a military camp.’
‘And I’m sure the men will welcome you, knowing how much they love strict discipline.’
Corbulo looked wistful. ‘Yes, at least in the legions decent ancient Roman values still prevail.’
Rome stood before them, her cluttered skyline glowing in the warm evening sun and crowned with a pall of thin, brown haze: the fumes of countless cooking fires, forges, tanneries and bakers’ ovens.
Vespasian stared with greedy eyes at the mistress of the world lying languidly on her seven hills, open to all who wished to enter her and share in her pleasures, her wealth and her power, provided they honour her. ‘Six years is too long to be away.’
Magnus roused himself from the slouched doze into which he had been falling sporadically throughout the twenty-mile journey from Ostia. ‘Mmm? Yes, I suppose so; six years is a long time. However, I’ve only been away for just over two and I’m wondering whether that’s enough, if you take my meaning?’
‘I’m sure that my uncle would have done everything within his power to sort out that misunderstanding over the burnt-out tenements.’
‘I hope so; but it’ll have cost him a few denarii in blood money and bribes so he’ll be wanting a good return on his investment. I reckon that I’m going to be very busy for him.’
‘And I reckon that you’re right; with Sabinus consul this could be a very good few months for the family.’
‘It’s always helpful to have a tame consul.’
Vespasian glanced at the long row of granaries lining the Via Ostiensis, blocking off the view of the Tiber, to his left. ‘And with reports of a good harvest the city should be peaceful and very conducive to business. I intend to make a lot of money.’
The carriage slowed as beggars gathered around it, thrusting their bowls, clutched in filthy fingers or between stumps, towards Vespasian, attracted by the broad purple senatorial stripe on his toga. A couple of lashes of the driver’s whip cleared the path and the carriage moved on towards the Porta Trigemina in the shade of the Aventine, rising up on the other side of the Servian Walls to their right.
Paying off the carriage driver — and almost giving him a tip for fighting off the beggars, but then thinking better of it — Vespasian stepped down and, as wheeled transport was forbidden in the city during daylight hours, walked through the open gates and entered Rome. Magnus followed with his own bag over his shoulder and Hormus brought up the rear, struggling with Vespasian’s baggage whilst jerking his head this way and that, looking with goggle eyes at the multitude of architectural wonders within the city.
A huge roar of an excited crowd from their right, emanating from behind the high frontage of the Circus Maximus, surprised Vespasian and Magnus as they turned a corner into the Forum Boarium, which was awash with chariots, teams of horses and scores of men all bearing one of the four racing faction colours.
‘A race day?’ Magnus questioned. ‘That’s unusual only a few days before the festival of Apollo.’
‘It’s also inconvenient,’ Vespasian observed, looking at the fenced-off forum filled with the bustling activity of teams preparing for the next race or rubbing down sweating horses who had managed to survive the ordeal of the last. ‘How do we get past?’
‘Wait here, sir. There’s bound to be someone here that I know and they can escort us through; no one is going to stop a senator.’ He followed the fence around, looking for an acquaintance from his favoured Green team, leaving Vespasian and a visibly overwhelmed Hormus to wait amongst the crowds of onlookers studying the racehorses.
‘Have you ever seen a chariot race, Hormus?’ Vespasian asked with mild interest.
Hormus looked surprised at being addressed directly in public. ‘Never, master.’
‘Then, during the festival of Apollo at the beginning of July, you should go.’
‘Go, master? Me? How can I?’
‘By walking to the Circus Maximus.’
‘But I’m your slave; I can’t leave your house.’
‘Of course you can — if I say so. We have a relaxed attitude to personal slaves here in Rome: if they aren’t needed by their masters, they’re free to come and go. You can go to the circus, the theatre, the arenas, wherever you like, so long as you have my permission. You must remember, Hormus, that we free our slaves so that they become freedmen who owe us total allegiance; they can be very useful in setting up businesses by proxy and circumventing certain laws that forbid senators from profiting from trade. If you serve me well I will free you one day; but what use will you be to me if you’ve never been outside of the house and have no contacts and know nothing of the city?’
Hormus raised his eyes a fraction, almost meeting his master’s. ‘Do you mean, master, that I will not always be a slave?’
‘Of course you won’t.’
‘But, then how will I live?’
‘We’ll talk about that when the time comes; in the meanwhile when you’re not busy you should get to know the city.’ The corners of Hormus’ mouth twitched and timidity flickered in his eyes; Vespasian felt a twinge of contempt. He subdued it and continued: ‘If you want to be of use to me then you should ignore your fear and do as I suggest.’
‘Yes, master.’ Hormus’ tone was less than convincing.
‘You’ll never guess who I’ve found, sir,’ Magnus announced, shoving through the crowd.
‘I’m sure you’re right, Magnus.’
‘Follow me.’ Magnus headed off towards the Tiber. ‘My mate, Lucius; remember? You saved him from execution in Thracia and then him and a few mates helped us get that disgusting weasel-like priest out of the fortress at Sagadava in Moesia.’
‘I recall the incident but I don’t remember him.’
‘His dad used to be the Greens’ stable-master and Lucius was a stable lad before he joined up.’
‘I remember you getting excited about someone being able to give you decent tips.’
‘Exactly; and fifteen years ago he was able to help me with quite a tricky situation involving a dodgy bookmaker, a monstrous consul and your brother’s inability to get elected as a quaestor. Very helpful he was too. Well, he’s finished his time with the IIII Scythica and he’s back working for the Greens as, er … sort of muscle for the faction-master, if you take my meaning?’
‘I do; very responsible work, I’m sure.’
‘That’s you mocking again. Anyway, he’s meeting us by the gates next to the Aurelian Bridge and he’ll see us through.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’
Vespasian did not recollect the face nor did he recognise it when Magnus and Lucius embraced in a joyful reunion under the watchful eye of a contubernium of eight men from an Urban Cohort on duty at the gate.
‘It’s an honour to see you again, sir,’ Lucius said, bowing his head to Vespasian once he had got them through the gate. ‘I will always be beholden to you for my life.’
‘Then I would suggest that you come to my morning salutio each day and greet me as your patron.’
‘I will do that with great pleasure, sir, and I will try to be as useful as possible to you.’