There was a general muttering of agreement at that novel restructuring of the facts.
‘I am now in a position to nominate the Consuls and Suffect-Consuls for next year.’
This announcement caused genuine interest as the possibility of patronage was dangled in front of every man present.
‘For the first six months, the Senior Consul will be Aulus Vitellius followed in the last six months by his brother, Lucius Vitellius the younger.’
There was a communal intake of breath as well as a few expressions of surprise from senators less adept at concealing their feelings than was wise as they looked at the two portly young men, both far too young to receive the honour, seated either side of their beaming father, the elder Lucius Vitellius.
‘So that was the price that Vitellius extracted from Messalina to help her get hold of Asiaticus’ gardens,’ Gaius muttered ‘To persuade Claudius to nominate both his sons to the consulship ten years too early.’
‘But would Vitellius be foolish enough to allow one of them to marry the Empress?’
‘I’ve heard it said that Aulus had a horoscope cast at his birth that was, shall we say, imperial in its outlook. Perhaps old Lucius has decided that Fortuna is on the Vitellii’s side. He’s always used his sons to his own advantage; like pandering Aulus to Tiberius when he was fourteen, for example.’
‘I remember; Sabinus and I met him on Capreae. He offered Sabinus an interesting form of relaxation.’
‘I suppose it is a good choice from Messalina’s point of view: a patrician family that can trace itself back to the time of the Kings; even longer than her own. They would certainly be in line for the Purple if the Julio-Claudian blood failed.’
Claudius signalled for quiet and continued: ‘And as the Junior Consul for the first six months I nominate Lucius Vipstanus Messalla Poplicola to be followed by his brother, Gaius Vipstanus Messalla Gallus.’
At this announcement only the very self-controlled managed to contain their astonishment and many eyes turned to Corvinus who sat, rigid-faced, opposite Vespasian and Gaius.
‘Both Messalina and Corvinus’ cousins!’ Gaius hissed under the commotion.
But Claudius was not finished. ‘However, Conscript Fathers, there will in addition be one further suffect-consul for the last three months of next year. Gallus will stand down and in his place I nominate Gaius Silius.’
This time there was stunned silence. Vespasian caught Corvinus’ eye; to his amazement his old enemy’s look told him that he thought Silius was Messalina’s choice to replace her husband.
All eyes turned to a very good-looking young man, seated in the front row, who had only recently been made a senator by Claudius at the behest, as everyone present knew, of Messalina. Furthermore, everyone present, with the exception of Claudius, was well aware that Gaius Silius was the Empress’s lover and no one was under any illusion as to how and why this Adonis had risen so fast.
What they did not know was just how much further Messalina intended him to rise.
PART IIII
CHAPTER XVIII
Clutching at her mother’s waist the girl struggled against strong arms trying to rip her away. Her flame-coloured veil matched the colour of her shoes and covered her hair, which was dressed ritually in six locks fixed in a cone atop her head, but did not totally obscure her face; Vespasian enjoyed the expression of grim determination on it as Paetus tried to wrench his bride from her mother’s grip. With a small shriek that turned into a giggle, Vespasian’s niece, Flavia Tertulla, fell into the arms of her new husband.
‘Hymen, Hymenaeee!’ Vespasian shouted along with the other guests as Paetus released Flavia Tertulla; blushing, she stood next to her husband outside the open front door of Sabinus’ house on the Aventine Hill. Slender-faced with pale skin, auburn hair and young-leaf-green eyes, Flavia Tertulla was the image of her mother, Clementina, when Vespasian had first set eyes on her, seventeen years before. Paetus smiled jovially whilst exchanging crude banter with the more rakish of the guests, putting Vespasian in mind of his father, his long dead friend, whom he resembled so closely.
Spotting nine-year-old Titus, standing proudly in his boy’s toga praetexta in his capacity as one of the three boys with parents still living who escorted the bride, Vespasian ran a hand through his thinning hair and then clapped his brother on the shoulder. ‘Where does the time go?’
‘I know what you mean, brother, I’ve been feeling like that all day. It seems just a few days ago that Flavia Tertulla used to keep me awake with her mewling; now look at her, she’ll be producing mewling infants of her own very soon. In fact, with all the best appointments going to Messalina’s cronies, by the time I get a governorship she’ll probably have a whole pack of them.’
Sabinus threw a handful of walnuts, symbolising fertility, up into the air so that they rained down on the newlyweds as his fifteen-year-old son and namesake came out of the house with a flaming torch lit from the hearth with which he ignited a bundle of torches held by Paetus. With the torches, burning with the bride’s hearth-fire, distributed amongst the guests the procession from the bride’s parents’ house to that of her new husband on the Esquiline Hill was ready to begin. Flavia Tertulla took the spindle and distaff that Clementina offered her, representing her role as a weaving wife, and then, together with Paetus, set off down the hill, proceeded by the young Sabinus, Titus and a relation of Paetus’ whose name Vespasian was vague about.
Vespasian walked next to his mother, Vespasia Polla, on the bride’s side of the procession, smiling with a sense of wellbeing at the sight of so many of his family around him. His mood had been further improved by an excellent wedding breakfast and the sight of an emaciated Alienus hanging in the foul-smelling cage that had been his home for over a year now. Despite his condition he had still displayed defiance and had thrown a turd at the brothers as they gloated; it had fallen short. However, Vespasian had had a grudging respect for Alienus’ refusal to admit defeat; it had been Rome’s same stubbornness during the long struggle with Carthage, centuries before, that had eventually seen her through to victory. He foresaw a long struggle in Britannia if even half Alienus’ compatriots showed the same resilience; which, with the encouragement of the druids who were fighting for their very existence, he thought highly likely. His humour was even more enhanced by the knowledge that folly raging on in Britannia was no longer his fight.
With shouts of ‘Talasio!’ from passers-by — the ritual good-luck greeting for a bride, so old that its origin and meaning were now lost to time — the wedding party processed in a carnival atmosphere with much good-natured walnut lobbing.
‘I’m starting to feel my age, Mother,’ Vespasian commented. ‘Children grow so quickly.’
Vespasia snorted in derision. ‘Wait until you reach seventy and have outlived your spouse; that’s when you feel your age.’ She grabbed Domitilla by the shoulder as she went skipping past. ‘Child, show some decorum; you’re a member of a consular family and should behave as such.’
Domitilla looked up at her grandmother, evidently having no real understanding of what had been said.
Vespasia turned to Flavia walking behind her with Gaius. ‘You should keep the girl under control.’
Flavia’s lips tightened. ‘She was just enjoying herself on a happy day, Vespasia; leave her alone and don’t try to discipline my children again.’
‘I’ll discipline them as much as I like if I see them behaving in a way unbecoming for this family.’