CHAPTER XIIII
Claudius arrived first, a quarter of an hour later, causing the occupants of the room to spring to their feet and look at one another with barely concealed concern. Wearing a purple toga and a laurel wreath over his sparse grey hair, the Emperor shambled in on weak legs, which only just supported the extra weight that he had put on since Vespasian had last seen him at Camulodunum; he had to be helped up the steps to the dais by an accompanying slave. His expression, made sorrowful by a downturned mouth and eyes with drooping care-lines set in a long, slack-skinned face etched with the ravages of heavy drinking, changed to one of confusion as he noticed Messalina’s vacant seat. ‘W-where’s my w-w-wife? She should have b-b-been here b-b-before me.’
‘Indeed she should, Princeps,’ Narcissus agreed with a silken voice.
‘She arrived some time ago,’ Callistus lied, bobbing his bald head and wringing his sinewy hands, ‘but then she remembered that she had left an important item behind.’
No one raised an eyebrow at this patent untruth but it satisfied Claudius who chuckled as he sat down. ‘She’s a f-f-forgetful little thing sometimes; women can be so sc-sc-sc-scatter-brained. But we must get on as it’s the climax of my Secular Games and I d-don’t want the beast hunt to be delayed this afternoon because I’m late in arriving.’ He pulled a scroll from the fold of his toga and, with shaking hands, unrolled it. ‘The charges against D-Decimus Valerius Asiat-aticus …’ A spray of saliva erupted from his mouth as he enunciated the last word, splattering the parchment, but everyone in the room affected not to notice. Claudius wiped his lips with his toga and then began to read aloud.
Vespasian observed the two men in the room whom he did not know as Claudius stumbled through the list. Lucius Vitellius he knew by sight but he had never had any dealings with him; a martial-looking man, despite his baldness, with a square jaw and hooked nose, but running to fat in his old age, Vitellius had conducted a war against Parthia whilst Governor of Syria in Tiberius’ reign, concluding it on very favourable terms for Rome and had won the favour of successive emperors by his unabashed sycophancy. He had enthusiastically worshipped Caligula as a god and it had been to Vitellius that Claudius had entrusted Rome when he had rushed to Britannia to claim the credit for the fall of Camulodunum. But it was his attitude to his elder son, Aulus Vitellius, for which he was infamous. He had pandered him to Tiberius, who had greatly prized his oral favours and, no doubt, much else.
Publius Suillius Rufus, a nondescript man of medium height and unremarkable features — unless it was to comment on their blandness — Vespasian knew only by reputation. What he lacked in physical charisma he made up for with his vicious oratory; he was as skilled at reasoning with false, honeyed arguments as he was at cajoling with slanderous fabrications to ensure the condemnation of his victims whose only crime had been to cross him or his imperial patroness.
Claudius had finished reading the charges and was drawing to the close of a long, rambling speech about how saddened he was that his great friend Asiaticus should be appearing before him in such dismal circumstances, although he was sure that Vitellius’ eloquence would clear him, when a commotion at the door, two Praetorian Guards snapping to attention, heralded the arrival of Messalina.
‘My dearest!’ Claudius exclaimed, turning in his seat and almost falling from it. ‘You’ve arrived just in time.’
Messalina made her entrance with all the hauteur of one who revels in power: slow, self-assured and with no recognition of anyone else in the room; even Claudius got to his feet. Slight of build but made taller by the pile of intricately woven, jet-black hair that rose from the crown of her head, part-covered by a crimson palla and studded with jewels, she processed into the room attended by four slave girls so richly attired that they could have been mistaken for great ladies in their own right. She mounted the dais and held out a languid hand, weighed down by rings, for her husband to slobber over before turning her dark, kohl-rimmed eyes to Asiaticus; her full lips creased with a faint smile, which could have been interpreted as one of regret had it not been for the hardness in her eyes. She sat, adjusting her palla so that it flowed with studied elegance from her head to her shoulders and then, covering her left arm but baring her right, perfectly down either side of her body to the floor. Her poise was exquisite; beautiful and delicate, with fair skin, fine cheekbones and a slender straight nose, she exuded a sexual aura that was mesmerising and animal. Every man in the room was drawn to her whether they were for her or against. She had grown in presence since Vespasian had seen her last, six years ago, when Claudius had just become emperor; he now understood what Corbulo had meant when he had talked of her allure. Her delicacy made her seem almost fragile and brought out the urge to protect and cherish her, and yet all knew what ruthless power lurked behind that innocent façade. Vespasian drew a breath and wondered if he would have the strength to resist her if she tried to bend him to her will, but in his heart he knew the answer.
All eyes rested on the Empress and nobody in the room made a sound until she was comfortable.
‘D-d-did you find whatever it was you’d forgotten, my dearest?’ Claudius ventured as everybody sat back down.
Messalina frowned at her husband and then caught Callistus’ look and slight nod. ‘A trifling thing that I thought to give to you, my darling; but then I decided to wait until later — when we are alone.’ She brushed the back of her hand along the outside of Claudius’ thigh making his head twitch and his eyes blink rapidly. ‘Shall we read the charges that have been brought against this unfortunate man?’
‘I–I-I’ve already read them, d-d-dearest.’
‘Then read them again; I wish to hear them because I’m sure that they can’t be true.’ She cocked her head and looked at Claudius girlishly with wide eyes and parted lips. ‘After all, that’s why we decided to hear them informally, in private, so this calumny wouldn’t become public and ruin poor Asiaticus’ reputation.’
Claudius tore his eyes away from his wife’s inviting mouth and hastily stemmed a flow of drool with his toga. ‘Of course, anything for you, my darling; you are so considerate of others.’
Messalina composed her face into an ideal of feminine modesty and looked down at her hands folded in her lap as Claudius once more laboured through the list of charges. As he drew to a close with Sosibius’ accusation of Asiaticus being a party to Caligula’s assassination, she wiped a tear from her eye and let out a soft sob. ‘That we could have chosen such a disreputable man to tutor our darling Britannicus. Oh husband, once you’ve thrown these charges out we shall dismiss him and banish him to the most unwelcoming of provincial towns to rot in his own maliciousness.’
‘Then let’s just d-d-dismiss them now.’
With a sad sigh, Messalina shook her head. ‘Would that be wise, my darling? We must hear the arguments for and against, in case there be the slightest truth in one or two of the allegations. I’m sure that even dear Asiaticus would agree that he should be punished if he has any guilt; as a two-times consul he better than anybody else other than you understands that the rule of law must hold firm, and to ensure that, justice must be seen to triumph.’