Authors: Robert Fabbri
‘One of us is going to have to face its charge,’ Magnus said out of the corner of his mouth, ‘while the other takes it from the side.’
‘Well, you were the one who was so keen to go lion hunting; I’ll take it from the side.’
‘I was hoping that you would’ve forgotten about that.’
Vespasian started to edge to his left. The lion tossed its head and gave out another mighty roar as it spotted the movement; Vespasian froze.
‘Here puss, here puss,’ Magnus called out.
With a low growl, the lion turned its attention back to Magnus, and Vespasian carried on moving cautiously a couple more paces to the left.
‘Ready, sir?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’
Magnus tensed himself; the lion crouched on Capella’s chest, sensing a threat. With a yell Magnus leapt forward, sword arm extended; the lion pounced straight at his head. Vespasian sprang
to his feet and ran, aiming the tip of his spatha at the beast’s muscular neck as Magnus ducked under the outstretched paws, punching his sword blindly up at the mass of fur flying over him.
The lion twisted around, swiping a paw at Magnus’ back as Vespasian jumped at it, thrusting his spatha into its mane; with an agonised roar the beast thrashed round at his new assailant in a
blur of fleet motion, snapping his teeth at him, catching his tunic sleeve and bringing its hindleg up to claw its way bloodily down Vespasian’s left thigh. Magnus propelled himself upright,
punching his shoulder into the beast’s soft underbelly to send its hindquarters up into the air and pushing its head forward and down. It crashed to the ground, dragging Vespasian with it by
his sleeve; he landed on its right shoulder blade, his spatha still lodged in the neck. The lion twisted onto its back, throwing Vespasian off it as Magnus dived between the claw-tipped legs
scrabbling in the air and thrust his sword into the midriff, rotating it as it sliced through muscle and gut and pushed it on up under the ribcage. With the unnatural strength of a desperate
animal, the lion flashed a giant paw at Magnus’ chest; claws sliced through his skin. The blow knocked him away, leaving his sword still buried within the creature. Vespasian grabbed the
sword, heaved his body up and fell on its hilt as the lion sank a claw into his shoulder. Screaming with agony, he pushed down with all his might and forced the point into the beating heart of the
beast. He felt the lion’s claw in his shoulder tense as its heart exploded inside it; its thrashing hindlegs suddenly stiffened then went limp, and it fell back pulling Vespasian with it, the
claw still lodged in his flesh.
Magnus got painfully to his feet and stumbled over to him. ‘Hold still, sir,’ he said, and grasping the huge paw he prised it off Vespasian’s shoulder, tearing the claw out of
the puncture.
Vespasian felt dizzy with pain. ‘Fuck me, that was one savage beast,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘But what a fight, eh?’ Magnus grinned, breathing heavily; blood oozed from four slashes running diagonally across his chest.
‘Worthy of the circus back home,’ Corvinus agreed, walking up to them. ‘You two have got balls of iron taking on that thing, I’ll give you that much.’
‘It didn’t give us much of a choice in the matter,’ Magnus muttered while helping Vespasian to his feet.
‘It didn’t give poor Capella any choice,’ Vespasian said, limping over to the twisted and bloodied form of the wild-beast master. ‘Get the column formed up again,
Corvinus.’
He knelt next to Capella and gently turned his head. His eyes slowly opened and focused on Vespasian; his breathing was light and irregular and his chest was shredded.
‘A delicious irony, wouldn’t you say?’ Capella wheezed; he essayed a thin smile as blood spilled from both corners of his mouth. ‘The beast master killed by the
beast.’
‘You’re not dead yet,’ Vespasian replied as Magnus joined them.
‘I will be soon, I can’t feel my body. Now listen, Vespasian, I’m forced to trust you; you must ensure that my chest gets to my patron. He’s a freedman in the household
of Claudius, the son of Antonia; his name is Narcissus.’
Vespasian kept his face neutral. ‘I know of him,’ he said, not quite truthfully.
‘Then you may know that he’s a ruthless man and not to be crossed.’
That had not been Vespasian’s experience of Narcissus but he could well imagine that Capella’s assessment of him was correct. ‘Most people who move in those circles
are.’
‘It’s imperative that you get the chest to him without it coming to the notice of anyone else in the imperial family. That’s why I met his agent in Siwa, so as to smuggle it
out of Egypt. Had it been put on a ship in Alexandria it would have been inspected by the customs officials, impounded and no doubt given to the prefect, Aulus Avilius Flaccus. He’s
completely loyal to Tiberius and would have sent the chest to him, which is something that my patron would wish to avoid at all costs.’
‘Then what you’re asking of me is treason, isn’t it? What makes you think that I will agree?’
‘Money. Take the keys; they were around my neck so they should be close by. In the chest there’s some gold, not much, fifty aurei or so, what’s left of my travelling
expenses.’
‘That’s not enough.’
‘My business isn’t done with cash. There’s also a bankers’ draft, payable to the bearer, for a quarter of a million denarii, drawn from Thales of Alexandria; it’s
redeemable either with him for a five per cent fee or with the Cloelius brothers in the Forum Romanum for twenty per cent.’
Magnus sucked in a breath through his teeth. ‘Either way that’s a lot of money, sir.’
‘Narcissus will consider it well spent if you make sure the other contents end up with him.’
‘And these other contents are?’ Vespasian asked, wondering what could be so valuable.
‘Land deeds. Over the last three years Narcissus has been buying up huge tracts of land in Egypt on behalf of Claudius.’
‘What’s wrong with that? His mother, Antonia, owns masses of land in Egypt.’
‘Yes, but she’s not a potential heir to the Purple.’ Capella’s voice was getting fainter; he was fading. ‘In a year with a good harvest the income from this land is
enormous; Narcissus has made fortunes for his master.’
‘Fortunes with which he hopes to make him emperor?’
Capella nodded weakly, his eyes closed. ‘Exactly, by buying the loyalty of the Praetorian Guard; Claudius must be the next Emperor.’
‘What about Caligula?’
‘Caligula will be the ruin of Rome.’
‘Caligula is my friend.’
Capella’s eyes half opened in weak alarm. ‘Gods below, what have I done?’ he croaked; his breathing became more erratic. ‘Narcissus will have my family killed for
this.’
Capella took another faint breath, then, with a choke, died.
‘What are you going to do, sir?’ Magnus asked as Vespasian closed Capella’s eyes.
‘Find the keys to that chest.’ Vespasian got up with difficulty and started looking around; the gashes on his thigh stung and his shoulder throbbed.
Magnus made no attempt to help him. ‘I mean with that chest.’
‘Take it to Antonia, of course, and let her decide what to do with it.’
‘I’ve got a much better idea. Why not just take the gold and the draft and then burn the rest of it? That way you’ll keep well clear of imperial politics. Last time you got
involved I seem to remember nearly being thrown off a cliff.’
‘Found them,’ Vespasian said, bending down and picking up the missing keys. ‘I’m afraid it’s too late for that; I’m already involved. When Capella
doesn’t show up in Rome with the land deeds, Narcissus will do some investigation; it won’t take long for his agents to find out that I rescued him from the Marmaridae but he died on
the return journey. He will assume, rightly, that I have the deeds and, even though he’s in my debt, he’ll come after me to get them. If I’ve burned them, he won’t believe
me and I’ll have nothing to use against him. So I’ve only got two options: give them to him immediately and incur Antonia’s wrath or give them to Antonia and incur
Narcissus’ wrath.’
‘Antonia needn’t find out.’
Vespasian looked at his friend with raised eyebrows. ‘You really think that would be possible?’
‘Well no, I suppose not; she’ll have a spy in Claudius’ household. In which case you’re right, Antonia’s your best bet.’
‘I think so, she’ll be able to protect me from Narcissus much better than he’d be able to protect me from her; and besides, if I went against her I would lose all contact with
Caenis.’
‘That may not be such a bad thing, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, with Capella dead who’s going to have the job of looking after Flavia? You struck me as being rather keen to fill that particular vacancy, if you take my meaning?’
Vespasian smiled. ‘Oh I do, but this is a rare stroke of luck; the money in that chest will help me to set up both of them.’
Vespasian was becoming increasingly concerned as they approached Cyrene’s southern gate in the evening two days later; what had seemed from a distance to be just the
normal discharge of fumes from the city’s bakeries, forges and cooking fires was now quite obviously thicker over the northeastern part of the city.
‘It looks like there’s a fire in the Jewish Quarter in the lower city,’ he said to Magnus, who was riding between him and Ziri.
‘Well, as long as it doesn’t spread to the bath house in the Governor’s Residence, I couldn’t give a fuck,’ Magnus replied, scratching his heavily bandaged chest,
‘I’ve got a whole desert to scrape off me.’
Vespasian felt his injured shoulder; it still throbbed incessantly and had started to ooze yellow pus. ‘You’re right, I’m not going to do anything either until I’ve had
this cleaned and cauterised. I’ll send for Marcius Festus, the prefect of the auxiliary cohort, when I get back; whatever it is that’s burning I’m sure he’s got his men
dealing with it.’
They clattered through the gate, strangely devoid of beggars, and headed towards the Governor’s Residence at the heart of the city. Behind them the column dissolved as the exhausted people
went their separate ways knowing that they could expect no more help from Rome. The lucky few had homes within the city but the rest would have to rely on the charity of kin, friends or strangers
to take them to their final destinations.
As the last of the ex-captives disappeared down side streets the lack of anyone else abroad became apparent to Vespasian. ‘Corvinus,’ he called back to the cavalry prefect behind
him, ‘does this look normal to you?’
‘No, and look at the windows, most of them are shuttered.’
‘Perhaps there’re some games going on,’ Magnus suggested. ‘There is an amphitheatre here, isn’t there?’
‘Yes, but even then there would be a few people around, those who couldn’t get in or the squeamish.’
‘I hate the squeamish.’
Upon reaching the Forum they found it deserted too. Vespasian eased himself down from his horse in front of the Governor’s Residence and looked at Corvinus and the small body of surviving
auxiliaries. ‘Prefect, you and your men are dismissed, thank them for me.’
‘What’s left of them,’ Corvinus replied sourly, ‘and I doubt that your thanks will recompense them for their lost comrades or the hardships that they have faced on this
ill-considered mission that you led them on.’
‘Take the camels and sell them and use the money to raise replacements,’ Vespasian offered, ignoring the jibe.
‘Very well.’
‘You are welcome to spend the night here and dine with me before you return to Barca.’
‘Thank you, quaestor, but I prefer to choose my own dinner companions.’ Corvinus turned his mount. ‘You’ll be hearing from me one day, Vespasian,’ he said
menacingly as he kicked his horse and cantered away; his men followed with the camels.
‘You were right,’ Magnus observed, ‘he really doesn’t like you.’
‘Sod him,’ Vespasian said, mounting the steps. ‘I held out the olive branch to him and he didn’t take it. If he wants to be my enemy let him.’
‘Let’s hope that you don’t come to regret that.’
‘Quaestor, thank the gods that you’re back,’ Quintillius, the quaestor’s clerk, said rushing over to Vespasian as he entered the atrium.
‘What’s going on, Quintillius?’
‘The Jews have been fighting among themselves for the last three days; there have been hundreds of deaths all over the city.’
‘Where are Marcius Festus and his auxiliaries?’
‘He’s managed to contain the fighting now, just to the Jewish Quarter.’
‘Have him come here to report to me and get the doctor to attend to my wounds.’
‘We’ve managed to put most of the fires out but there are a couple still burning in the area controlled by the rioters,’ Festus reported, holding an oil lamp
for the doctor to see better in the fading light. ‘There’re a couple of thousand of them but we’ve bottled them up into eight streets in the Jewish Quarter; they’ve built
barricades, which I plan to storm at dawn tomorrow.’
‘So you’ve no idea what started the violence?’ Vespasian asked Festus through gritted teeth as the doctor swabbed out his shoulder wound with vinegar.
Festus shook his head; in his late thirties he was a career soldier who had worked his way up from the ranks. ‘No, quaestor, not for certain but it seemed to start in the lower
city’s agora. There’s been a young man preaching there regularly and more and more people have been coming to hear him. I’ve watched him a few times but he never says anything
against Caesar or Rome so I’ve ignored it as you ordered.’
‘What does he preach?’
‘I don’t know; stuff about their Jewish god. I’ve heard him say “redemption at the End of Days” a few times but I don’t really pay much attention; he always
has a young woman with two children with him but she never says anything.’
‘Ah yes, I remember seeing him a couple of days before I left for Siwa; do you know who he is?’ Vespasian grimaced as the doctor began applying stitches to his shoulder.
‘All I know is that he arrived on a Judaean trading ship just over a month ago.’
‘What sort of trader?’
‘Tin, according to the port aedile’s records.’
‘Tin? Is the ship still here?’