‘Becoming consul so soon after entering the Senate?’
‘You would have thought it impossible but the precedent was set by Claudius himself, remember; he was only an equestrian before Caligula made him a senator so that he could be his colleague in the consulship. Obviously, he did it as a joke, as well as to show the Senate exactly what he thought of us. This time, however, Claudius will have no idea that the joke’s on him if he honours his wife’s lover.’
‘So Corvinus has been passed over for someone too young to be consul and may be so again by a lover of his sister who this time last year wasn’t even eligible to become consul.’
Gaius’ smile was laden with false sympathy. ‘I know; it’s tragic for Corvinus. He must be so hurt by his sister; but that’s just the way she is: always alienating the people close to her through arrogance and a belief that her power is such that she needs no support. Take Asiaticus, with whom we’re dining later, for example: as you know he was always on very good terms with Claudius, being a favourite of his mother, Antonia — may the gods hold their hands over her shade — as he proved by being so helpful when he was consul by affecting to discover Poppaeus dead in his litter.’
‘I prefer not to be reminded of that, Uncle.’ The murder of Poppaeus that, at the request of Antonia, he and Corbulo had committed with Magnus’ help, twelve years before, was not a memory that Vespasian felt proud of.
‘Of course you don’t but it has to be remembered that killing Poppaeus left Claudius extremely rich. Everyone involved in the act, either directly or indirectly, has benefited in various ways. Pallas and Narcissus are now the two most powerful men in the Empire, Corbulo wasn’t executed for being the half-brother of Caligula’s Empress, you earned Narcissus’ gratitude and with it furthered your career and saved Sabinus’ life, and Asiaticus helped Claudius invest that unexpected windfall and in the process has become fabulously wealthy.’
‘Wealthy enough to purchase the Gardens of Lucullus?’
‘Exactly; and wealthy enough to improve them in a lavish manner. Now, being a good friend of Claudius’ he took care to ingratiate himself with Messalina, promoting her business in the Senate last year when he was consul for the second time and offering her the use of his beautiful gardens whenever she feels like it. But, of course, that’s not enough for her; she wants them for herself now. She tried to make him sell them to her and when he refused she told him that the best that he could hope for now was to give them to her.’
‘That’s a nasty threat.’
‘Yes, very sinister. Asiaticus has declined the offer and has declared that he would rather die than give up his gardens — which, I pray, will not be necessary.’
‘They must be very beautiful to risk so much.’
‘Oh, they are, dear boy; and you’ll see them this evening — Asiaticus is holding his dinner there.’
CHAPTER XII
Vespasian breathed in deeply the lush scents of a garden in full bloom. Enclosed by a high wall and set on the southwestern slope of the Pincian Hill, just beyond the Quirinal Gate, north of the Campus Martius, the Gardens of Lucullus offered the perfect retreat from the noise and bustle of the streets of Rome. Here, Vespasian noticed, the loudest sounds to be heard were the cicadas’ relentless creaking and the patter of water flowing from the fountains that stood in the centre of each of the many themed areas of the gardens laid out around the villa, which was accounted to be one of the most luxurious in Rome.
‘Claudius has used rather a clever trick to enable him to put on the Secular Games,’ Gaius informed Vespasian as they walked up a red-peony-lined path made of a fine mosaic illustrating the various forms of flora and fauna to be found in the gardens. A couple of other guests walked leisurely before them. ‘He reckoned on them being held every hundred and ten years as in the traditional Etruscan method of calculation rather than every hundred years as Augustus did when he revived them. It probably means that we’ll end up with two cycles, one every hundred years and another every hundred and ten, as no emperor would want to turn down the chance of holding such a prestigious event. However, Claudius has made himself very popular with the masses for his bit of false accounting and I haven’t heard any mumblings against it in the Senate. In fact, I’ve hardly heard anything in the Senate as opinions have become rather dangerous things to own since Messalina has persuaded her husband that every senator harbours treasonous thoughts.’
‘How has Messalina treated Flavia?’
‘Strangely enough, they get on very well and Flavia is as close a thing to a friend that a harpy like Messalina could have. Flavia, of course, has no idea of the potential danger that she’s in and spends her time flaunting her exalted position as the Empress’s companion to every other woman in Rome. I can’t say that’s gone down too well; you know what they’re like.’
Vespasian grunted, well able to imagine Flavia behaving like that.
‘I think that you’ll find this will make up for not seeing Flavia this evening.’
Vespasian breathed in deeply again, enjoying the warm evening sun on the back of his head and neck, and found himself agreeing with his uncle: it was much better than a reunion after six years with a wife who was liable to be in a foul temper. ‘I do feel a bit guilty about delaying seeing Titus and Domitilla, though.’
‘Nonsense, dear boy; you’ve never met Domitilla and Titus was just over a year old when you left so he won’t recognise you. What difference are a few more hours going to make?’
‘None, I suppose; but I am nervous about seeing Titus again.’
‘Don’t worry about him, he worships the memory of his father. Flavia, your mother and Caenis have all seen to that.’
Vespasian felt a certain relief as he admired a Pan-themed area to his left, surrounding a fountain of the goat-legged demi-god spurting water from his pipes into a pool in which grew the reeds from which the pipes were made. His imminent reunion with his son had been playing on his mind: the boy was almost eight and would already have his own character and opinions; if he was to mould the child he would have to make a big impact on him to make up for the lost time.
A shrill cry erupting from close by cut through Vespasian’s thoughts; he turned to see a bird, bigger than a cockerel but with similar legs and feet and with a long neck of intense blue plumage upon which was perched a tiny, crested head coloured blue, black and white. As Vespasian looked at the creature it cried again and then spread its magnificent tail feathers into a huge semi-circle, framing its body with colour: light and dark blues, turquoise, pale green and soft yellow-browns. Each feather was of a differing length but tipped with the same bright design that was like an eye with a dark blue iris within a turquoise, rather than white, sclera. ‘What’s that?’
‘I don’t know what it’s called but Asiaticus had three pairs of them imported at great expense from India, I believe. It’s only the male that has such a striking tail; the female is drab in comparison.’
‘They make a horrible noise.’
‘Yes; I’m sure that they would taste far better than they sound,’ Gaius opined as they passed through the warm shade of an apricot orchard, the descendants of the original trees imported from Armenia by Lucullus when he laid out his gardens over a hundred years before. As they cleared the last of the fruit-laden trees filled with songbirds celebrating the waning sun, the villa came into view: single storey with sloping terracotta-tiled roofs leaning upon elegant, towering columns painted yellow and red to contrast the umber and golden hues that adorned the walls. It was the height of refined taste and Vespasian understood why Asiaticus would rather die than give up this paradise — as they would say in Parthia — so close to the stews of Rome.
‘Vespasian, it is good to see you back in Rome,’ Decimus Valerius Asiaticus said, clutching Vespasian’s forearm with a huge hand as he and Gaius mounted the steps to the marbled terrace in front of the villa. ‘When I got your uncle’s message that you were here I was only too pleased to offer my hospitality.’