Authors: Robert Fabbri
Vespasian leapt off his horse and joined the headlong rush to get to a chariot, there being more willing drivers than vehicles. Grabbing a set of reins from one of the Celtic-looking slaves in
charge of each chariot, he clambered aboard the nearest one. It was a simple design: a rectangular wooden base set on iron-rimmed wheels, two feet in diameter, with a semicircular wicker frame on
either side and left open at the front and rear. The ponies were attached to the up-curved central pole by a yoke and controlled by reins running from their bits.
‘Can you drive one of these things?’ Sabinus called, grinning wildly as he leapt onto the chariot next to him.
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Vespasian shouted back, flicking the reins as the slave jumped in behind him.
‘Kneel, master,’ the slave said as the chariot moved forward, ‘like this. That way the reins are not high.’
Vespasian glanced back to see his companion kneeling low on one knee and immediately copied his position so that the reins flowed along the ponies’ backs. He pulled slightly to the right
and the little beasts responded, edging the chariot out into the centre of the road. All around, the other drivers were getting the same lesson from their instructors with varying degrees of
success.
Once all the chariots were occupied and in position behind him, Caligula waited no longer and, with his gilded sword raised in the air, set off at a walk towards Puteoli, shimmering in the
morning sun and crowned by dun-brown hills climbing up behind it. Those senators who had been unable or unwilling to get a chariot followed on horseback along with the near thousand-strong
contingent of Praetorian cavalry. Just under a half-mile further back up the hill the dark mass of the Praetorian infantry, followed by hundreds of carriages, could be seen approaching Baiae.
Vespasian pulled his chariot closer to that of Corbulo. ‘How did you do this, Corbulo? It feels so stable.’
Corbulo glanced over with an expression that looked remarkably close to enjoyment on his normally rigid face. ‘A lot of slaves; I commandeered every healthy male slave within fifty miles.
There are more than a few fat merchants who’ve had to go without their massages or a decent fish stew for the last two months.’ He snorted a few times in what Vespasian assumed was a
valiant attempt at a laugh.
As they passed the first of the peninsulas, a third of the way across, Caligula increased the pace to a trot. The extra speed meant that Vespasian was more aware of the gentle roll of the bridge
as he moved from ship to ship more rapidly and their slight difference in pitch registered quicker. To his right the curve of the causeway leading to the peninsula made a harbour in which were
moored leisure boats, too small to be of use in the bridge, but plentiful enough to provide everyone with some aquatic amusement later on.
Behind them the carriages rolled onto the bridge followed by the infantry.
Just over the halfway point, marked by a causeway extending out on either side, Caligula cracked his team into a canter. The exhilaration among the charioteers began to grow as, looking left and
right over the wicker sides of their vehicles, they were too low to see the bows of the ships supporting them and could only see water; apart from the masts flicking by they had the sensation that
they really were riding over a vast expanse of sea.
A quarter of a mile from the end of the bridge Caligula let his horses loose into an outright gallop; the hardy Celtic ponies followed suit and behind them the cavalry thundered on. The pounding
of thousands of hoofs echoed strangely through the hollow hulls of the ships below, amplifying the sound fivefold into a deafening drumming, drowning out the cries and hollers of the charioteers
and troopers. Oblivious to all else but the sensation of great speed, the tumult in his ears and the wind in his face blowing his cares from his mind, Vespasian followed Caligula blindly, screaming
at the top of his voice.
As the bridge came to an end Caligula did not stop.
On he went; on towards the mass of citizens of Puteoli who had turned out to watch the extravaganza. Brandishing his gilded sword he swept his team into the unbelieving crowd, skittling over and
trampling under hoof those too slow to move out of his way. An instant later, unable to pull up short because of the cavalry pressing them from behind, the rest of the chariots hit the fragile wall
of unprotected flesh and bone. Screams and wails rent the air, louder even than the drumming of the hoofs still pounding the bridge behind, as the momentum of the stocky ponies, with the weight of
their burdens behind them, drove ragged gashes through the throng that only moments earlier had been in a holiday mood.
Vespasian looked in horror as his team ploughed into a family, sending a howling infant flying up into the air as its parents and elder siblings, with shrill curtailed screeches, disappeared
beneath his ponies’ hoofs, to reveal another set of faces, petrified with fear, taking their last look at a bewildering world. On either side of him, Sabinus and Corbulo were causing equal
carnage, while behind them, the cavalry, also unable to stop suddenly due to the weight of numbers to their rear, fanned out left and right and hurtled into parts of the crowd as yet untouched but
trying desperately to escape.
In among the pandemonium of broken limbs and cracked skulls, Vespasian managed to bring his terrified team to a halt; his incredulous slave ran along the pole and jumped down between the necks
of the rearing beasts, grabbing their bits and pulling their heads down, stilling them. All along the line a gradual loss of momentum telegraphed itself back through the main body of cavalry still
on the bridge and the column slowly came to a halt. The pressure eased on the crowd who were able to stampede towards the bottlenecked streets leading away from the harbour, trampling the weakest
underfoot with the abandon of those who just want to live at any cost.
From amidst the tangle of crushed and broken bodies Caligula emerged on foot, leading his team and laughing hysterically. The wheels of his chariot bumped over the dead and the injured, of whom
he took no notice. ‘Back to the bridge, my friends; we shall offer a sacrifice to my brother Neptune in thanks for the smooth sea without which this glorious victory would not have been
possible.’
Vespasian and Sabinus looked at each other, horror stamped on their faces and shame burning in their hearts. Horror at what they had taken part in and its consequences and shame at being gulled
into believing, at first, that it was a magnificent and exciting feat, a prelude to greater things to come, and taking part in it with such fervour.
There was nothing to be said as their slaves, still shaking their heads in disbelief at what they had witnessed, turned their teams, which remained wide-eyed with fright, away from the long pile
of mangled bodies and remounted the chariots. All around them on the quayside and back along the bridge the Praetorian cavalry were trying to regroup from the chaotic aftermath of the charge and
form into the regimented lines that they so prided themselves on.
Caligula, however, was not interested in military precision; as soon as the Celtic chariots were turned behind him he leapt onto his quadriga and whipped his team forward into the disorganised
Praetorians, who had no option but to part and make way for their Emperor. Those still on the quay had little trouble doing so but as Caligula mounted the bridge, pressing his team ever forward,
the cavalry struggled to make room for him in the closer confines of the relatively narrow road. Not wishing to be the trooper who delayed the Emperor, each man in his path pulled his mount
forcefully to one side, pushing the horse next to him to produce a domino effect that sent whinnying horses and their riders tumbling or jumping off the side of the road and onto the decks of the
ships, thankfully, only four feet below. Vespasian and the other charioteers followed Caligula through the shambles until he burst through the rearmost ranks and onto a clear road where he whipped
his team into a canter and headed off, straight towards the carriages and infantry.
Vespasian’s ponies were blown as they reached the central point of the bridge where the causeway to the largest peninsula curled off to the south. Caligula had arrived
there well before them but at the same time as the carriages, judging by the overturned vehicles still attached to screeching horses both on the road and to the decks on either side. He had
abandoned his quadriga and, having unhitched Incitatus, he and his favoured horse were now leading the senators and their wives on foot along the curved, one-vessel-wide causeway at the end of
which stood what looked to be a temple, complete with columns and steps on every side. In the harbour formed by the causeway and around the temple platform scores more small boats were moored, but
unlike those in the first harbour these were manned and their furled sails were raised or their oars were already set in their rowlocks.
Vespasian, Sabinus and the rest of the charioteers hurriedly dismounted and ran to catch up.
‘Ah, dear boys, I was waiting for you,’ Gaius called out from beneath a parasol held by Aenor; the other boy was doing his best work with a fan to keep his master cool in the growing
heat. ‘How was it? It looked spectacular from the other end.’
‘It was murder, pure murder!’ Vespasian spat, gratefully taking a water-skin from Magnus. He took a deep draught and passed it to Sabinus, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘And now we’re to give thanks to Neptune for allowing Caligula to slaughter half the population of Puteoli.’
‘He only slaughtered half?’ Magnus questioned. ‘He must be losing his touch.’
Vespasian scowled at his friend and stalked off down the causeway.
Flanked by eight of his German Bodyguards and Incitatus, Caligula stood in front of the temple, his arms covered in the blood of a bullock. ‘Fearful of my power, my
brother Neptune has gratefully accepted the sacrifice so as not to cause me offence,’ he announced to the massed ranks of senators and their wives crowded onto the temple peninsula. The
temple itself, Vespasian had noticed, was not a proper building but constructed of canvas cleverly painted as marble, with tree trunks, likewise coloured, as columns. ‘Seeing as he is so
evidently terrified of me, we have nothing to fear from him, so before the victory feast we shall all take to the sea. To the boats, my sheep, to the boats!’
Leading his bodyguard he strode to the edge of the platform and jumped down into an eight-oared, flat-bottomed boat of a sleek design; his Germans got in after him and manned the oars.
‘I suppose a little boating before dinner could be convivial,’ Gaius commented as Vespasian, Sabinus and Magnus helped him down into a small sailing skiff crewed by a foul-smelling,
weather-beaten old man and his grandson. He made himself comfortable in the bow with Aenor with his parasol and the other boy with his fan in close attendance. The brothers and Magnus settled
amidships, while the grandson pushed off and the old man unfurled the triangular leather sail; the boat slipped slowly on the light breeze out into the bay.
As they embarked in various craft, the mood among the senators and their wives, who had not witnessed the slaughter at Puteoli, was jolly as most took Gaius’ view that some pre-dinner
boating would indeed be convivial. Before long over a hundred small vessels, under either oars or sail, were bobbing around on the smooth water between the temple and the bridge upon which the
Praetorian infantry and cavalry had formed up in long, dark lines. Those who had been unable to find a berth or thought that their constitutions were not up to braving Neptune’s element,
strolled along the causeway, admiring the pretty scene and waving to friends who had been luckier or braver than themselves.
Caligula’s boat skitted around, turning left and then right, while he stood in the stern holding the steering oar, whooping madly. As he passed close to the Flavian party, Vespasian
noticed him cock his head and look quizzical as if he suddenly did not know where he was. He sat down and looked at his German rowers. ‘Ramming speed!’ he ordered with a shrill shout.
The lead oarsman responded immediately and his rhythm was taken up by his heavily muscled fellows. The boat accelerated forward towards a cluster of slow-moving sailing boats.
Unaware of the threat coming towards them the vessels did nothing to alter course. Within moments Caligula’s boat was upon them and its solid wooden prow cracked broadside into the hull of
the nearest, overturning the flat-bottomed boat with remarkable ease, spilling its occupants into the sea. Caligula’s boat carried on at speed as with two hands he adjusted his steering oar
so that it smashed into the next small craft with the same effect. On he went for another two successful rams as panic spread around him. Suddenly he turned the boat and aimed it back the way he
had come.
Passing by his floundering and spluttering victims he took his steering oar from its housing and, two-handed, cracked it down onto their heads, laughing maniacally, as the unfortunates, both
male and female, sank unconscious below the surface. ‘My brother Neptune deserves some dinner guests too, give him my regards,’ he shouted after them as his boat ploughed on, still at
ramming speed, directly towards the Flavians’ small craft.
For a shocked moment they watched it approach and then all turned to the old man who, judging by the terror in his eyes, had seen it too. With no chance to manoeuvre quickly out of the way due
to the light wind the old man sat paralysed, staring at the oncoming threat. It was pointless shouting at him to do something, there was nothing that he could have done; instead they grabbed on to
anything solid and prepared for impact.
It came moments later with a shuddering jolt.
Vespasian hit the water as the boat rolled over. He had the presence of mind to dive deeper so as to avoid the thrashing of Caligula’s oar. He counted to thirty before considering it safe
and then kicked for the surface. He and Sabinus appeared at almost the same time and quickly looked about. Magnus suddenly bobbed up.