‘It’s good to see you again too, proconsul,’ Vespasian replied with genuine feeling, whilst suppressing surprise at Asiaticus’ appearance: he had lost all his hair since he had last seen him, which made his round, ruddy face with its pudgy nose and broad mouth seem even more Gallic now that it lacked a civilised Roman hairstyle. Despite having been consul twice, he now looked like what he essentially was: an old Gallic chieftain in a toga. ‘And it’s a great honour to able to admire what has to be the most beautiful place in the whole of Rome.’
‘But beauty always has a price, Vespasian, and in this case the price could be as high as my life.’
‘Surely Messalina won’t go that far,’ Gaius put in, taking his turn to grasp his host’s well-muscled forearm, whilst Vespasian took two cups of chilled wine from a passing slave. ‘She can’t be seen to have you killed and then steal your property.’
‘Why not? Emperors have always done that in the past so why not the Empress? What does she care how she looks to others? Everyone knows that she’s the biggest whore in Rome — mostly, like me, from experience — so why not add thief to whore?’
‘And murderer?’ Gaius asked, taking his drink from Vespasian with a nod of thanks.
‘No, she won’t go that far. She’s going to force me to take my life instead; in fact she’s already started the slanderous whisperings to her husband that will finish me, which is why I’ve started sending a lot of my wealth back to Gaul. That extortionist, Publius Suillius Rufus, is preparing capital charges against me — and he doesn’t even know how ironic one of the accusations is.’ He leant in closer so as not to be overheard by his other guests on the terrace. ‘He’s going to accuse me of adultery with Poppaea Sabina.’ He tried but failed to force down a guffaw, causing more than a few heads to turn in his direction. ‘Can you imagine it? I’m being accused of ploughing Poppaeus’ daughter after I was part of Antonia’s conspiracy, along with you, Vespasian, to murder him. Isn’t that rich? It’s almost as if Poppaeus is having his revenge from beyond the grave.’
Vespasian smiled despite being once again reminded of that ignoble deed. ‘But that’s not a capital crime.’
‘Not in itself it’s not; he’s also preparing a case accusing me of passive homosexuality. Me, of Gallic descent, taking it up the arse like some Greek after two cups of wine! Ludicrous! But he’s been clever; he’s claiming that whilst I was in Britannia with the reinforcements that Claudius brought, I let common legionaries do that in return for exempting them from the more arduous duties of the camp.’
‘But corrupting legionaries is still not a capital crime — although it’s a humiliation to be accused of it.’
‘I agree. But a few days ago I heard, from my good friend Pallas, what I was really going to be accused of. That’s why I rushed back from my estates at Baiae so that I can be arrested in Rome in front of witnesses — which I fully expect to happen this evening.’
Gaius’ jowls wobbled as he clenched his jaw nervously. ‘Arrested here, this evening; what makes you say that?’
‘Pallas sent me word that Messalina has paid Sosibius — who is Britannicus’ tutor and therefore has unfettered access to the Emperor when he comes to see how his son is progressing at his lessons — to tell Claudius that I was the unidentified man who helped assassinate Caligula.’
Vespasian felt himself go pale and snatched a quick, sideways glance at his uncle whose jowls were now in a state of constant motion.
Asiaticus picked up on his unease. ‘What, Vespasian? It’s always been known that there was another conspirator whom Herod Agrippa and Claudius himself both saw just prior to Caligula’s murder. Claudius never saw his face and Herod glimpsed it only fleetingly.’
‘It’s not that,’ Vespasian replied quickly. ‘My son, Titus, is being educated with Britannicus; I don’t like the idea that his tutor is so … er …’
‘So what? Of course he’s Messalina’s to command, she’s Britannicus’ mother so he’s beholden to her for his very influential job.’
Vespasian managed to conceal the relief that he felt at Asiaticus swallowing his not entirely untruthful excuse. ‘Of course he is.’
‘With all the other conspirators executed and Herod Agrippa dead from a pleasingly vile disease — when was it, three years ago? — there’s no one left who could identify me as the man or not. Which means there is no way that I can disprove it was me.’
‘But neither can they prove it was you.’
‘They don’t need to; Sosibius has sworn to Claudius that he heard me boasting about it and Claudius believes it because he’s recently become obsessed with uncovering who was the masked man who so nearly killed him. It’s a perfect charge and, backed up by Suillius’ lesser ones spells my death as surely as if I had been caught in the act of assassinating an emperor. The only thing that can save me is if it became known exactly who this mystery man was. So come, gentlemen, and enjoy what may be my last night not under a sentence of death.’
Vespasian took a pork, leek and cumin sausage from the platter on the table in front of him and chewed on it without the enthusiasm that its well-balanced flavours deserved. The meal had been exemplary, so far; the musical entertainment gentle and unobtrusive; the surroundings magnificent and the view from the terrace over Rome, with the sun setting behind it, unparalleled. But none of this could assuage his unease at the thought that Claudius was now obsessed with trying to identify the man who had helped to kill his predecessor.
Apart from himself and the close members of his family, Vespasian was aware of only four people of consequence alive in Rome who knew the masked man had been his brother, Sabinus; he had taken part in the assassination to avenge the brutal rape of his wife, Clementina, by Caligula. Magnus and a couple of his crossroads brethren also knew, as it was in their tavern that Sabinus, wounded in the violent aftermath of the killing, had sought refuge; they could be trusted, but what of the four? The first, Caenis, he could rely on implicitly; she would never betray Sabinus. But then there were Claudius’ three freedmen: they had promised to cover up Sabinus’ part in return for his and Vespasian’s efforts to secure their newly elevated patron in his position by retrieving the Eagle of the XVII Legion; this they had done and they had been rewarded by Sabinus being made legate of the XIIII Gemina and all mention of his role in Caligula’s death being dropped. But that had been six years ago and Vespasian was all too aware that promises, however iron-clad they may seem at the time, could rust away as easily as the metal from which they symbolically gained their strength.
He carried on picking at the ever-changing plates of food in front of him, whilst half-heartedly joining in the conversation around his table. Torches were lit around the terrace and throughout the gardens and the whole complex was bathed in shimmering firelight, giving the open blooms and lush foliage an artificial, gilded hue that, contrasted with the deep shadow of night, made it seem that Lucullus had sown his garden with seeds of fertile gold. That so much cultivated beauty could reside in one small area and yet be unable to repel the ugliness that surrounded it was an irony that Vespasian appreciated with a hardened heart and a resigned sigh as he watched Rufrius Crispinus, the Praetorian prefect, lead an unnecessary number of his men up through the gilt garden to fulfil Asiaticus’ prediction.
‘Decimus Valerius Asiaticus,’ the prefect proclaimed as he reached the top of the steps to the terrace, ‘I arrest you in the Emperor’s name.’
Asiaticus got to his feet and wiped his lips with a napkin. ‘Don’t you mean, Crispinus, that you arrest me in Messalina’s name? Are you fresh from her bed or has it been promised to you when you return with her prize? Whichever one it is, remember that I too have been there and I know that it doesn’t stay warm for long.’