Vespasian looked over to Pallas who twitched the corner of his mouth into a satisfied half-smile and nodded almost imperceptibly.
After a few moments, Vespasian rose from his couch making his excuses and followed Narcissus out.
‘The Emperor assures you that he will allow Messalina a fair hearing tomorrow,’ Narcissus informed a tall woman in white as Vespasian came out into the atrium. ‘In the meantime he requests that you do not allow this matter to interfere with your sacred duties.’
Vibidia put her hands to her chest and dipped her head. ‘I shall go and inform the Empress of that good news.’
‘The Emperor asks that you return to the house of the Vestals immediately with his thanks and has requested me to send Tribune Burrus to Messalina with the news.’
‘It is good of him to spare me the journey.’
‘Your wellbeing is always at the forefront of his thoughts. Where would Burrus find Messalina?’
‘She’s at the Gardens of Lucullus; her estranged mother, Lepida, has joined her there to bring her comfort. Tell the Emperor that he has the prayers of our house at this delicate time.’
‘I shall, Lady.’
Vibidia turned and walked away with gliding grace.
‘Burrus!’ Narcissus called to the waiting tribune. He pulled a writing tablet from his satchel as Burrus approached. ‘This afternoon, Claudius gave me charge of the Guard to deal with this crisis; you can understand why, can’t you?’
‘Yes, imperial secretary.’
‘Take eight men to the Gardens of Lucullus and execute Messalina on the Emperor’s orders.’
Burrus held Narcissus’ gaze for a few moments and then acquiesced. ‘It shall be done.’
As the tribune marched away Narcissus turned to Vespasian. ‘I don’t know what you were playing at in there, Vespasian, but you can make up for it by going with him and making sure that he does as I’ve ordered.’
‘It’ll be my pleasure, imperial secretary.’ As he turned to follow Burrus, Vespasian marvelled at the panic he had seen in Narcissus’ eyes; panic that Pallas and Agrippina had sown by delaying the Emperor signing the death warrant. Panic that Claudius would calm down and forgive Messalina had just forced Narcissus into making his first, and quite possibly his last, political mistake.
The contrast in the appearance of the Gardens of Lucullus between that evening and the one before could not have been more acute: gone were the multifarious points of light outlining a solid rectangular shape on the southwestern slope of the Pincian Hill and in their stead was a solitary glow from what Vespasian knew to be the villa at the heart of the gardens.
He walked in silence next to Burrus as they approached Messalina’s retreat from the Quirinal Gate. The sound of the measured footsteps of the contuburnium of Praetorian Guardsmen following them, echoing off the buildings to either side, was sufficient to clear their way; carts and pedestrians moved aside as they passed, not wishing to interfere with what was obviously an imperial matter, and it was not long before they reached the locked gates in the whitewashed wall, guarded by two new sentries.
The glint of Burrus’ blade leaving its scabbard and a growled order were hint enough for the two guards to place the keys in Vespasian’s outstretched hand and make off into the night.
With a metallic clunk the lock turned, the gates swung open with a high-pitched creak, the execution party crunched onto the gravel beyond and then began to snake its way along the stone path up the hill. Even with no torchlight and the moon yet to rise, the gardens’ beauty and variety could still not be disguised; the sweet scent of rosemary shrubs gave way first to the sea-air aroma of autumn-blooming crocuses and then the musk of deer resting by freshwater pools. As they climbed, the different scents blended into one another, and Vespasian remembered Asiaticus’ words about how the gardens represented everything that was good in Rome but that their beauty would attract what was bad, and he understood finally what the condemned man had meant. He was aware of, but unable to see, the beauty all around him that harboured the cause of so much of Rome’s present troubles. He was now to witness the canker being cut out, but what would grow in its stead? Who would desire these gardens once Messalina had gone? And for what reason?
Instinctively he knew the answers to those questions. With the memory of the look that Agrippina had given Pallas earlier that evening in his mind, Vespasian prayed that his old acquaintance would use the evident influence he had with the Empress-in-waiting to ensure his and his family’s safety and prosperity during the coming changes.
They passed into the gloom of the orchard, hobnailed sandals striking the mosaic path in unison with a sharp clatter and the occasional flash of sparks. Up ahead, silhouetting the dark forms of Asiaticus’ beloved apricot trees, Vespasian could see the glow of two torches on the terrace in front of the villa. Gone were the couches, tables, silent slaves, strident musicians, tubs of grapes and mounds of naked flesh; instead, in the dim light, sat two women, one feverishly writing as if her life depended on it — which it would have done had Narcissus’ fear of her being forgiven and returned to power not pushed him into going behind his patron’s back.
The sound of the arriving footsteps reached Messalina’s ears and she stood and stared down the path, one hand reaching instinctively for the woman next to her; her mother, Lepida, Vespasian surmised.
As he cleared the final apricot tree, with Burrus at his side, Messalina screamed. It was the cry of one whose worst imaginings have suddenly materialised before them and who is forced to accept that what had been deemed impossible has come true. The shriek pierced the night, filling it with the sound of terror; Messalina turned to run but her mother caught her arm, clutching it tightly, and pulled her back into an embrace as her executioners mounted the steps, two by two, their hands grasping the hilts of their swords.
Messalina stared at them from her mother’s arms. ‘Tell them to go away, Mother! Tell them I command it!’
‘You command nothing now, my child; your life is over.’
‘It can’t be; my husband would never order that.’
‘Your husband is dead,’ Burrus informed her. ‘It’s the Emperor that has ordered this.’
‘My husband is the Emperor!’
Lepida stroked a hand through her daughter’s wild hair and kissed her brow. ‘That ceased to be so when you divorced Claudius and married another man.’
‘But he was consul, I was safe and then they cheated me!’ Messalina spat and hissed like a goaded serpent. ‘How dare they change things; it wasn’t fair.’ Now tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘Can’t they give me another chance, Mother? Can’t they forget a little wrong? I’ve so much life left to enjoy, so much pleasure yet to feel, so much want to be satisfied; I need to be allowed that. Who would dare deny me?’
‘Child, no one would have denied you that had you not tried to have everything all at once. You have brought yourself here and the manner of your doing so means that you will not be allowed away from this place alive.’
Messalina looked her mother in the eyes, screamed at her and pulled away, before landing a ringing slap across her face. ‘You bitch! How dare you say things like that? Now I remember why I banned you from my sight for so long; you always blame me and poison everyone against me. It’s not my fault! I would have been safe if they hadn’t changed things and somehow stopped that idiot being consul. I would have been safe, do you hear? Safe! They must be told to give me another chance. They must, Mother!’
‘They’ll never do that. Now all that remains to you is to seek death with honour.’
‘I — will — not — die!’
‘For the first and only time in your life, child, you will do as you are told.’
Vespasian stepped forward and offered Messalina his sword, hilt first. ‘If you don’t do it, Messalina, it will be done for you.’
‘You!’ she shrieked, ignoring the proffered sword and seemingly noticing him for the first time. ‘Why are you against me? Flavia is my friend.’