Vespasian felt the weight and balance of the weapon, his eyes fixed on the neck just three paces in front of him; the image of Sejanus’ freedman, Hasdro’s, head, spiralling through the air flickered across his inner eye. He recalled the sensation of decapitation that he had first felt as a sixteen-year-old and the finality of it made his heart sing with joy as the blade hissed through the air; the impact of iron on flesh and bone juddered up his arm but the honed edge was true. It carved through the neck’s flesh, muscle, sinew and bone, sending the head up and forward, spinning on an axis through the ears but spraying very little fluid to mark its passing. The body remained upright, its limbs in spasm; the guttural roaring had ceased and in its place came the rush of expelled air. The head bounced on the ground and then rolled to where Sextus lay unconscious, coming to rest in the crook of his arm as the noise of rushing wind increased, seemingly from nowhere. The loose flesh around the gaping neck wound vibrated as if being blown upon and then the noise stopped with an abruptness that was almost a sound in itself and a faint scream could be heard; but no one could ascertain whence it came.
The headless corpse of Alienus collapsed to the floor and Vespasian stared at it with his chest heaving. Sabinus jumped over it and rushed to his wife’s side. Vespasian joined him but one glance at her skinned arms and slashed face was enough to assure him that there was no hope. He left his brother to his grief to help Magnus rouse Sextus.
‘I thought I’d seen the last of them when we left Britannia,’ Magnus muttered as he pulled his crossroads brother up into a sitting position. ‘How did they get here?’
‘Myrddin said that they would find Alienus to punish him and they did once Narcissus restored Theron’s licence to trade in Britannia. He also told me that he still demanded my death but I never, in my darkest dreams, thought they would leave their island to pursue it.’
Magnus hawked and spat at the corpses. ‘They should have stayed there and we should leave them well alone.’
‘I agree; it’s a worthless island and I don’t know anyone who’s been there, other than the Emperor and his freedmen, who think the effort spent subduing it is worthwhile; especially with that canker at the heart of it.’
‘What was that about letting cankers grow?’
‘Magnus, I have no idea; but at Messalina’s death I did realise she was a canker growing in the very heart of Rome’s beauty and wondered what would take her place. Perhaps the next canker that grows here will threaten the old ways. The druids needn’t worry; they’ll all be dead before it will have had the chance to mature. If we really are going to stay in Britannia then such abominations cannot be allowed to survive.’
Magnus did not look so sure. ‘The trouble is that abominations can be very difficult to kill.’
Vespasian looked down at the five druids. Blood further matted their beards and hair and befouled their filthy robes, but in death their malevolence had disappeared. Their faces were serene, as if merely asleep, and showed no hint of the pain that had ripped their lives from them. Vespasian still felt fear as he beheld them. ‘I’m afraid that you’re right, Magnus; and even if you do manage to get rid of one, another will always come along to replace it.’
EPILOGUE
Agrippina gazed up at the slobbering fool that she took for husband; her eyes filled with a love that Vespasian knew did not exist. ‘Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.’
Claudius recited the formulaic words with excruciating difficulty as the guests all hid their feelings behind their happiest faces. Vespasian knew that the only people truly happy at the ceremony were the bride herself, her son, Lucius, and their surreptitious supporter, Pallas. But it had been Agrippina’s triumph and it had shown on her face as she revelled in the executions that morning of the men condemned for associating too closely with Messalina and Silius. Juncus Vergilianus, Vettius Valens and a dozen others had all been executed, although Suillius Caesoninus was spared because he only ever took the passive role in Messalina’s extravagances; Plautius Lateranus had also been spared as a mark of respect for the conduct of his uncle, Aulus Plautius, in the invasion of Britannia.
And now as Claudius eventually concluded the ceremony Agrippina’s triumph was complete; she was the Empress. She took Claudius’ hands and smiled with such innocence that all who beheld her would be tempted into thinking that here was the most honest and unselfish person in Rome. ‘Come, dear husband, we should consummate our love.’
Claudius gibbered something to the affirmative.
‘But before we do you should complete our family; I will not be able to relax and be truly comfortable with you until we do.’
Claudius’ head jerked to the left a couple of times in alarm. ‘W-w-what w-w-would you have me do, little bird?’
‘I am your wife, so my son should be your son.’
‘B-b-b-but of course he is.’
‘Then give him your name.’ The steel in her voice was palpable; no one present moved.
Claudius had a blinking fit that was rounded off by a couple more jerks of his head. ‘Of course, little bird, I shall do that; he shall have my name, your father’s name and your elder brother’s name. He shall b-b-be, he s-s-shall be: Nero Claudius Caesar Drusus Germanicus.’
‘And when will you adopt him?’
Narcissus stepped forward. ‘Princeps, is that a wise course-’
Claudius did not turn to face him. ‘Silence! You’ve overstepped your limit once in my family’s business, Narcissus, do not do it again. I may have given you the rank of quaestor with the right to sit in the Senate but I can no longer trust you completely, especially as you wanted me to marry someone whom I’ve already d-d-divorced once. In future when I want your advice, I sh-sh-shall ask for it.’
Vespasian could guess what the once all-powerful imperial secretary would think about being given the rank of a mere quaestor. Narcissus retreated with haste, back to where Callistus stood looking forlorn having never returned to favour after the disaster for him of Asiaticus’ hearing.
Agrippina stared at her husband’s out-of-favour freedman with cold contempt before turning to Pallas. ‘What do you think, Pallas? Is the Emperor embarking on a wise course by adopting my son?’
Pallas inclined his head a fraction. ‘Indeed, domina, all the Emperor’s decisions are wise; like his decision to marry you, for example.’
Agrippina raised her carefully plucked eyebrows. ‘But that was your idea.’
Claudius started. ‘I thought that it was Sabinus’ idea.’
‘No, my sweetest husband, Sabinus was acting under Pallas’ instructions; we have him to thank for our happiness.’
Claudius put an imperial hand on his freedman’s shoulder. ‘I am grateful indeed, Pallas, that you should have understood what would make me happy. You shall escort me to the bridal chamber once my little bird has prepared herself.’
‘An unimagined honour, Princeps.’
‘Before I do that, husband, I have one more favour to ask.’
‘Anything on your wedding day, little bird.’
‘Seeing as Lucius is to be the Emperor’s son, should he not have the best tutor that money can buy?’
‘Of course he should.’
‘Then recall Lucius Annaeus Seneca whom that bitch, Messalina, in her spite, persuaded you to banish to Corsica; only he has the intellect to educate the son of an emperor.’
‘As s-s-soon as we are man and wife in body as well as in spirit, it shall be done.’
Agrippina went up onto her toes and, leaning forward, gave her drooling new husband a passionate kiss.
Vespasian looked around the gathering of Rome’s élite; from his family only Sabinus was missing, having left for Moesia two months previously to drown his grief in work.