And Claudius’ mouth dropped open in disbelief.
Every item was an heirloom of his house.
Vespasian recognised Antonia’s writing desk and polished walnut dining table with the three sumptuously upholstered matching couches that had once graced her private rooms. The much-copied original bronze statue of a young Augustus painted in breathtakingly life-like detaiclass="underline" in military attire, his right arm raised and pointing the way and with a cupid at his feet; it had been, Vespasian knew, the prized possession of Claudius’ grandmother, Livia. Statues of Claudius’ kin and ancestors going back to Julius Caesar littered the room as if they were just being stored there amongst the elegant furniture, bowls and vases, each with a story to tell about the family that had ruled Rome for almost a century.
‘Where d-d-d-did she g-get all this?’ Claudius spluttered, going up to a statue of his father, Drusus. ‘I’m sure I saw this in the palace on the day I left for Ostia.’
‘Grief and shock can play tricks on the memory, Uncle,’ Agrippina said, taking his hand and kissing it. ‘She’s had this for months. And then look at that.’ She pointed to two statues side by side taking pride of place in the collection as if overseeing the stationary horde. ‘On the left is Silius’ father. Well, his image has been banned by the Senate ever since he was executed for treason by Tiberius, hasn’t it? Her just possessing it is enough to send her into exile. But look, dearest Uncle, look at the one next to it.’
As Claudius examined it, Vespasian drew in a sharp breath; he was shocked not so much that there was a statue of Silius himself in the room but because of what was draped around it: hanging from a baldric over the figure’s right shoulder was a sword in a plain scabbard; a scabbard that Vespasian recognised as belonging to Marcus Antonius’ sword, the sword that his daughter, Antonia, had gifted to Vespasian on the day of her suicide. She had told him that she had always meant to give it to the grandson whom she thought would make the best emperor. Claudius had seen Vespasian with it during his short stay in Britannia and, jealous, had taken it for himself, knowing full well the story behind it.
‘My sword!’ Claudius exclaimed, spraying the scabbard with spit. ‘The bitch has even stolen my sword!’
‘Hush now, Uncle.’ Agrippina laid a soothing hand on his cheek. ‘Now do you believe?’
‘The wanton, the harpy, the goat-fucker, I’ll have her dead within the hour.’
‘You’re so wise, Princeps,’ Narcissus crooned, stepping forward with a scroll. ‘I’ve her death warrant drafted; here it is. You can sign it now.’
Agrippina turned Claudius away from his chief freedman. ‘Come, Uncle, decisions like that should not be made on an empty stomach.’
Vespasian looked at Pallas, puzzled as to why Agrippina should delay Claudius doing the very thing the freedmen wanted, but the Greek was looking down a corridor on the right as if he expected to see something imminently; and he did.
Two silhouetted figures, a boy and a girl, came running down the corridor. ‘Father! Father!’ they shouted in unison.
‘What’s that?’ Claudius asked, turning in the direction of the noise.
‘Oh Uncle, I’ll deal with them,’ Agrippina said. ‘You shouldn’t see your children whilst you’re in such a rage.’
Claudius looked at Britannicus and Octavia as they appeared in the atrium, tears running down their cheeks, and took a step forward as Agrippina spread her arms and stopped them in their tracks. ‘Come on, little chicks.’ She pinched their cheeks and turned them around. ‘Your father is very tired and emotional; you don’t want to upset him further, do you? Let him eat and rest and then you can see him after that.’ With an arm around each of them she led them back down the way they had come. ‘Oh, look at you both, so adorable, I could eat you.’
‘I think that your niece is right,’ Pallas said, walking towards the Emperor. ‘You should eat, Princeps.’ He gestured Claudius towards the corridor that led back to the palace. ‘But first you need to go to the Praetorian camp to pass judgement on Silius and then with a full stomach you should decide Messalina’s fate.’
With red, vacant eyes, Claudius moved off as if spellbound, assisted by Pallas. Narcissus stared at his colleague, unable to read his face and guess his motivation.
Looking forward immensely to witnessing the next choreographed moves in the unfolding drama, Vespasian followed them out, passing Lucius Vitellius staring at all the items crammed into the room.
‘Ahh, such villainy.’
CHAPTER XXI
The entire Praetorian Guard crashed a salute for their Emperor as he was borne, on a litter, into the parade ground at the heart of their camp. Birds, perched on the roofs of the long lines of two-storey barrack buildings, were startled into flight as thousands of arms slammed across chests and as many deep voices roared a greeting for the man who gave reason for their existence as a unit.
Yet it was not with unanimous joy that Claudius was greeted; kneeling before a dais in front of the massed ranks of Rome’s élite soldiery were two dozen forlorn figures, dressed only in tunics, humiliatingly unbelted, like a woman’s.
The sound of the Guard’s roar echoed around the camp, bouncing off the brick walls of the barracks, and eventually faded into no more than the fluttering of scores of standards and the complaints of the birds circling overhead.
The litter was placed on the ground and Claudius, resplendent in imperial purple and wreathed in laurel, was helped to his feet by the man who now commanded, for this single day, the true power in Rome. Narcissus escorted his patron up the steps to the dais and saw him seated with as much dignity as an emotionally broken man in his mid-fifties could muster.
Vespasian stood to one side, next to Pallas and Sabinus, enjoying the sight of the two Praetorian prefects, Rufrius Crispinus and Lucius Lusius Geta, approach the Emperor with Gaius Silius grasped firmly between them. ‘They must be feeling particularly guilty if they’re demeaning themselves by acting as prisoner escort,’ he observed to Pallas under his breath.
‘Your brother negotiated with them on my behalf this afternoon when he brought Silius to the camp.’
Sabinus obviously enjoyed the memory. ‘Once they both understood that Silius wasn’t consul they realised that Messalina’s plot against Claudius had almost no chance of succeeding and were only too pleased to accept the terms.’
‘Which were?’
‘Lenient, considering that almost every man in the Guard over the rank of centurion has sampled Messalina’s wares.’
Pallas watched with satisfaction as Lucius Vitellius mounted the dais and placed himself next to Narcissus behind the Emperor. ‘That won’t help soothe Narcissus’ growing agitation. As to the prefects, all I asked is that they provide two dozen of their number for Claudius to punish however he pleases. How they chose them was up to them. The two prefects keep their posts-’
‘And are well and truly in your debt,’ Vespasian butted in, understanding completely.
‘Precisely; I deemed it safer to hold something over the present incumbents rather than replace them with new ones who might not be as loyal to me as I would wish.’
The two prefects stamped to a halt in front of the dais and thrust their charge down onto his knees. Claudius began shaking visibly at the sight of the man who now claimed Messalina as his wife. Vitellius laid a firm hand on his shoulder and his body calmed.
‘W-w-w-well, wh-what have you to say for yourself, S-S-Silius?’
Silius held his head high and stared Claudius in the eyes. ‘I am guilty of everything that I’ve been accused of; I took your wife and planned to take your place with her. However, although I am guilty of these charges I am not guilty of conceiving the plan that, in my weakness, I consented to go along with. That was Messalina’s idea alone and if she is to be granted the mercy of a quick death then I ask for myself the same favour.’