‘Well, I wasn’t at your naming ceremony, so I can’t comment.’
‘If you had been you would be sworn against commenting anyway. But I’m beginning to have a suspicion that is so outrageous that I might as well discuss it with you.’
‘So that’s what you were brooding about all through dinner; I was thinking that you and Flavia had had another dispute over your differing attitudes to expenditure. Try me.’
Vespasian took a deep breath and hoped that the cause of his last few hours of contemplation would not provoke ridicule. ‘It was Sabinus who originally put it into my mind when Claudius came to Britannia. Claudius noticed that I had Marcus Antonius’ sword that had been given to me by the Lady Antonia; only Pallas and Caenis knew that it had been a gift from her, as they had brought me the sword after she had used it to open her veins. Claudius asked me how I got it because it was well known in the imperial family that his mother would only give it to the person that she thought would make the best emperor. I lied and told him that Caligula had given it to me. Pallas told me never to let the truth be known because, if Claudius found out, my life could be in danger. Sabinus witnessed the incident and asked me about it; I laughed it off saying that it was a simple gift and, besides, I didn’t have the blood of the Caesars. He then asked how long that bloodline would last.’
‘That’s a treasonous question.’
‘But it’s a pertinent one. If Claudius does die soon, Britannicus will be moved aside and Nero will become emperor having married his stepsister who is also his first cousin once removed; it’s not quite Egyptian but it’s getting close. How long can a bloodline like that last? Suppose it finishes with Nero, what then?’
‘Then the Guard will proclaim an emperor.’
‘That only works if there is a suitable candidate from the imperial family. But each province with legions will want their own generals, because if they support a man to the Purple they know they’ll be very well rewarded.’
‘Civil war, you mean?’
‘Of course. And there’re no rules about what blood a man needs running in his veins in order to win a civil war; he just needs to ensure that it stays in them.’
Gaius turned his hooded face towards Vespasian, his voice conveying his consternation. ‘You, dear boy?’
‘Why not? Sabinus was at my naming ceremony; he saw the auspices but has always refused to talk about it because of the oath. However, he asked me, after Claudius had taken back the sword, what if Antonia had not given it to me as a simple gift but had actually given it to the person that she thought would make the best emperor, as she had always said she would? And at that moment I thought: Why not? Why not me? Because someday it will be someone from a different family; it has to be if Rome is to survive. Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius? If Nero is like any one of them then …’ Vespasian trailed off; the point did not need to be made.
‘You think that Sabinus believes you could become …?’ It was Gaius’ turn to leave a question hanging.
‘I’m not saying that; all I’m saying is that he put it into my mind. And I think that Pallas also has a suspicion; I think Antonia said something to both him and Caenis when she gave them her father’s sword to pass on to me before she died, but I’m willing to bet that she swore them to secrecy. But I think that Pallas managing to help me to a position which is obviously so fraught with danger that Agrippina does not expect me to survive is his way of testing whether Antonia was right.’
‘You mean if you survive you’ll eventually become …?’ Gaius tried but again failed to complete the sentence.
‘I expect that if I survive Pallas might look at me in a different light.’
‘You don’t seriously think that you could be the …?’
‘Why not, Uncle? Look at me: look at how far I’ve come since being brought to your house when I was sixteen with lofty ideals of serving Rome for the greater good. I’m now consul, admittedly only for two months, but I’ve reached that rank because of what I’ve achieved and not because of what blood flows in my veins. I’ve commanded a legion in the field for six years, four of those in Britannia against some very unpleasant tribes; I’ve spilt blood when necessary and sometimes when not. Here, in Rome, I know how the politics of the city and of the palace work because for years now I’ve been unwillingly wading through their mire; I’ve become just as ruthless as the practitioners whom I’ve learnt from and whom I’ve come to admire. I understand the power of money, fear and patronage and know that any man can be bought by a mixture of all three; it’s just a question of finding the right levels of each ingredient. I’m ideally qualified.’
Gaius’ jowls quivered with fear. ‘You can’t believe that you’ll succeed to the …?’
‘No, Uncle; but I may fight my way there one day. If the blood of the Caesars fails there’ll be a scramble for the Purple and who better than someone like me? But if it’s to be someone like me then why not me?’
‘And you think all this just because of a mark that looks like a “V” on a liver?’
‘Not just that. I think this because then many things, strange things, that have happened in my life start to make sense: the Phoenix, the prophecy of Amphiaraios, Myrddin, the Oracle of Amun telling me that I had come before it too early to know the right question to ask; every weird thing that has happened to me would be explained by that.’
‘This is something that you should keep to yourself, dear boy; it won’t do to go about shouting that you’re a potential …’ Gaius still could not bring himself to say the word.
‘Oh, I will keep it to myself, Uncle. And I won’t dare to believe that I’m right until it happens. However, because I know the possibility is now there I shall watch out for sensible opportunities and will not do anything rash in the meantime.’
‘Like agreeing to secret meetings with scheming imperial freedmen in the middle of the night, for example?’ Gaius suggested as they came to the acute junction of the Alta Semita and the Vicus Longus at the apex of which stood Magnus’ tavern.
Vespasian smiled at his uncle. ‘This may well be an opportunity; and besides,’ he added as he pushed open the door, ‘it’s not a secret.’
Vespasian did not pull back his hood as he entered the crowded fug of the parlour; sweat, stale wine, cheap-whores’ perfume and burnt pork fat assaulted his nose, his ears rang with drunken shouting and harsh laughter and his eyes immediately moistened with stinging charcoal fumes from the cooking fire behind the amphorae-lined bar at the wider, far end of the tavern. Gaius’ girth caused some comment — not all of it good-humoured — as they followed their escort across a wine-sticky floor, through the shadowy crowd of drinkers and whores filling the widening room. To quizzical looks they passed through a leather-curtained doorway and then turned right into an unlit corridor. At the far end on the left, the leader of their escort, a huge bald man in his late fifties, knocked with a ham-sized fist on a substantial iron-reinforced door and opened it at the sound of a response from within.
‘Well done, Sextus,’ Magnus said, getting up from his seat behind the desk as the door swung open. ‘Any trouble?’
‘No, brother,’ Sextus replied, stepping aside to allow Vespasian and Gaius into the room.
‘Good. Now take your lads outside and keep an eye out for our two guests.’
Sextus hesitated for a moment and then rumbled slowly into a guttural laugh. ‘Aw, very good, Magnus,’ he managed between bursts of mirth. ‘Keep an eye out! I like that.’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Magnus said, shaking his head, exasperated. ‘It was almost funny the first time we had that joke, three years ago.’ His one good eye looked at Vespasian apologetically while his glass replica glared at Sextus, adding to the man’s enjoyment of the humour. ‘Now get out and do what you’ve been told.’
‘Keep an eye out,’ Sextus chuckled as he left with his brothers, ‘right you are, Magnus.’