Rome's Executioner (38 page)

Vespasian, much to his consternation, found himself able to.

‘Then,’ Clemens continued, ‘he had a century of Praetorians – infantry, not my cavalry boys – go up and down the line strangling the slaves as they orgasmed and reminding those who hadn’t what would happen to them if they stopped, even if they were pumping a dead man’s arse.’

‘That’s not really the action of a Scipio or a Julius Caesar,’ Vespasian agreed.

‘What was Tiberius doing whilst all this was going on?’ Sabinus asked, mildly fascinated by the whole image.

‘He had the fifteen-year-old son of Lucius Vitellius Veteris fellating him.’

‘What about Caligula? Was he there?’ Vespasian asked hoping for an insight into his friend’s eccentric behaviour that afternoon.

‘Oh yes, and positively encouraging the old man,’ Clemens replied, shaking his head. ‘He’s worked out that to stay alive around Tiberius you’ve got to seem to be interested in his new hobbies. The first couple of months he was there he was in a constant state of terror, thinking that Tiberius was going to execute him on a whim at any moment, which I think has unhinged him a bit.’

‘A bit?’ Vespasian queried. ‘He was having sex with his sisters when we arrived.’

‘He’s been doing that for the last couple of years,’ Clemens replied dismissively. ‘He just can’t help himself when it comes to women, including his own blood. What I mean by unhinged is that he seems to find it hard to concentrate on any one thing for too long and he’s become prone to hysterical laughter for no reason; but other than that he’s still very much the same: sexually insatiable but good company and full of life.’

‘Well, I’m pleased to hear it,’ Vespasian said, strangely unsurprised by Caligula’s relationship with his sisters; he now understood the reason for Antonia’s disapproval of his visits to Misenum.

Further discussion of the subject was put off by the arrival of the house steward to announce that dinner was ready. They followed the steward into the villa as the sun finally disappeared beyond the horizon leaving the evening star burning brightly over the placid Tyrrhenian Sea.

‘Tiberius doesn’t like to be surprised,’ Caligula announced as the
gustatio
was cleared away, ‘even if it’s someone with good news or even a present.’ He took a sip of his wine and then laughed briefly, before putting his hand on Vespasian’s, who was reclining to his left on the same couch. ‘Last month a fisherman scaled the cliffs to bring Tiberius the largest mullet I’ve ever seen. The old man was so unnerved by someone being able to get into his presence unannounced that he ordered one of his guards to scrub the man’s face raw with the scales of the fish.’ He paused whilst he adjusted something on Drusilla’s dress; she reclined on Caligula’s right and had her back towards him talking with Corbulo, who was uncomfortably sharing the next couch with a very friendly Julia Livilla.

‘Anyway,’ Caligula carried on, happy with whatever adjustment he had just made, ‘the fisherman showed spirit and despite his obvious agony managed to crack a joke.’ He started to giggle almost hysterically and eased himself closer to Drusilla. ‘He said … he said: “Thank the gods that I didn’t offer Caesar the huge crab that I caught.”’ Caligula broke off into peals of laughter whilst seemingly trying to get himself comfortable on the couch. Vespasian joined in the mirth along with Clemens and Sabinus, who reclined on the couch to the left.

‘But then …’ Caligula continued as he managed to get himself under control, ‘but then Tiberius orders the crab to be found and has the fisherman’s face rubbed with that; it almost took all his features off.’ Caligula dissolved into hysterical laughter, which ended with a sudden jerk of his lower body and an abrupt grunt of pleasure. He reached for his wine cup. As Caligula drank, Vespasian took the opportunity to raise himself up slightly and look over him at Drusilla. He looked away very quickly. Her stola was raised above her buttocks; Caligula had evidently penetrated her, but, judging from the angle of their bodies, it was not by the standard method. Drusilla was carrying on her conversation with Corbulo as if nothing had happened; from the look on Corbulo’s face Vespasian could guess that he knew perfectly well what was going on.

‘So I’ve made sure that Uncle Tiberius is expecting you, without unsettling him,’ Caligula continued as the next course – two large platters of mixed seafood – was served. A soft sea breeze blowing through the open window gently billowed the slaves’ tunics as they padded around the table.

‘How?’ Vespasian asked, selecting a crayfish.

‘He has an old charletan of an astrologer living over there called Thrasyllus who, incidentally, is the father of the lovely Ennia whom I met at dinner at my grandmother’s house.’

‘Macro’s wife?’ Sabinus queried.

‘I believe that she is; far too good for him, I’ve a mind to try her myself. Anyway, this Thrasyllus spends most of his time telling Tiberius that he is going to live to oversee the changes that will start when the Phoenix flies again in Egypt in three years’ time.’

‘What’s the Phoenix?’ Corbulo asked, anxious to be distracted from the outrage being perpetrated so close to him.

‘It’s a bird that has a life cycle of five hundred years, at the end of which it bursts into flames and a new Phoenix is born from its ashes heralding the beginning of a new age. Anyway, Tiberius likes the fact that he’s predicted to live for at least another three years so he listens to Thrasyllus; so I’ve persuaded him to predict that I’ll receive important news from my grandmother brought by a friend.’

‘But how will we get to Tiberius?’

‘Every morning, after he’s finished his … er … exercises, Tiberius and I go down to the unfinished part of Villa Iovis to check on the progress – he’s particularly interested in a frieze he’s having done in what will be his bedroom. So if we hide you in that room overnight I can warn him that the predicted news from Antonia has arrived and that I feel it’s so important that I think he should hear it; hopefully he’ll consent to seeing you.’

‘Just make sure that there’re no mullets or crabs handy,’ Vespasian said, breaking open the crayfish and rubbing his finger up and down the sharp shell.

Caligula laughed slightly more uproariously than the remark merited and adjusted his position against Drusilla. ‘Crabs!’ he guffawed, passing a whole grilled baby octopus to his sister, who was having trouble reaching the platters on the table.

Vespasian had noted with a good deal of relief that the siblings seemed content to remain surreptitiously coupled and were not writhing around next to him. Corbulo just carried on staring at them in disbelief and seemed not only to have lost his appetite but also the battle with Julia Livilla, who now rested a friendly hand on his thigh.

‘My men meeting you at the cove will take you to the perimeter wall of the Villa Iovis,’ Clemens said, getting the conversation back on track. ‘I’ll join you there once I’ve taken Caligula back to his quarters, and escort you to the room. My men will guard the door to make sure none of the artisans see you in the morning. Once you’ve seen Tiberius you’ll stay in the room until it’s dark and then we’ll get you back to the cove; that way you shouldn’t come to the attention of any of Sejanus’ men.’

Vespasian and Sabinus both nodded in approval.

‘If you think that it’ll work, Clemens,’ Sabinus said, ‘then I’m happy.’

‘It’ll work,’ Clemens replied, breaking off a hunk of bread and soaking it in the seafood juice at the bottom of the platter in front of him. ‘The problem’s going to be Tiberius’ state of mind.’

‘But Caligula said that he would forewarn him – didn’t you?’ Vespasian nudged his friend, who was now engrossed in feeding Drusilla prawns.

‘What?’ Caligula asked, teasing Drusilla with a prawn.

‘I said: you were going to forewarn Tiberius so he should be in a decent mood when he sees us.’

‘Oh yes, yes, absolutely,’ Caligula replied turning his attention away from his sister. ‘He should be, but that’s just the trouble. Recently, when he’s in a good mood, he’s taken to having people thrown off the cliff-top just for fun; he finds it very amusing. He’s been doing it so regularly to people he’s invited over to the island as guests that he’s even had a unit of marines, armed with clubs, stationed at the base of the cliff to finish off anyone unfortunate enough to survive the fall; he told me that doesn’t want his guests to suffer unnecessarily for his pleasure. That’s why a lot of the people whom he invites over commit suicide rather than accept the invitation.’

Caligula gave a short high-pitched laugh and went back to feeding Drusilla.

Vespasian looked aghast at Sabinus and Clemens and wondered just how much of this Antonia had known before she had sent them to see this madman on Capreae.

‘C
AREFUL WITH HIM
,’ Vespasian whispered to a couple of frightened-looking crewmen as they lowered the semiconscious body of Rhoteces down to Magnus and Pallas waiting in a rowing boat at the stern of the decked bireme.

‘Got him,’ Magnus hissed up from the gloom below.

The crewmen then lowered down the party’s bags before helping Corbulo and Sabinus – fresh from another bout of retching – over the side. They were all unarmed as it was a capital offence for anyone but a Praetorian Guardsman and the Emperor’s German bodyguard to carry arms into Tiberius’ presence.

Caligula clapped Vespasian on the shoulder as he prepared to follow. ‘Another fun wheeze, eh, my friend?’ His white teeth were visible in the dark as he grinned at Vespasian. ‘And, if this works, it’ll clear the way for me to become Emperor; just imagine the fun we’ll have then.’

Since finding out what Tiberius considered amusing, Vespasian had started to wonder just what Caligula’s definition of fun really was. ‘You just make sure that Tiberius isn’t in a cliffhurling mood,’ he replied, swinging his leg over the rail.

‘I will. I might even get little Vitellius to join us on the walk down; that always seems to soothe Tiberius.’

‘Do anything you want if you think it’ll help make him reasonable.’

‘Reasonable? Now, there’s a strange word.’

Vespasian smiled despite himself; he slapped Caligula’s arm and, with a brief nod to Clemens, lowered himself down the rope and into the boat.

‘I’ve had enough of boats for a lifetime,’ Sabinus said miserably as Vespasian took his place by the steering-oar. Corbulo pushed the little boat away from the bireme, Magnus and Pallas took up the oars and they started towards the shore. Above them the forbidding cliffs of Capreae, haloed by the silver light of the moon rising beyond them, loomed menacingly; Vespasian swallowed hard, imagining the terror of Tiberius’ guests as they were hurled from them for no apparent reason.

The bireme was soon lost from view, heading towards a flaming beacon, half a mile up the coast, which marked the entrance to Capreae’s harbour.

With a sudden jerk, Sabinus vomited over the side. ‘This is agony,’ he moaned, keeping his head lowered towards the water.

‘Not as much agony as last night,’ Corbulo observed; he was still in a state of shock at the conduct of his hosts at dinner. As the wine had begun to flow more liberally, Caligula’s and his sisters’ behaviour had deteriorated from what already was (to Corbulo’s way of thinking) an outrageous affront to anyone brought up with Augustus’ ethics into a scandalous breach of all Roman moral standards and of the etiquette governing behaviour not only at the dining table but everywhere in the Empire, both in public and private. Livilla’s lewd attack on him with a goose leg had been the final straw and he had managed to withdraw, without causing too much offence, claiming to have eaten a bad prawn. Vespasian, Sabinus and Clemens had been forced endure it a while longer but had eventually been able to make their excuses, after politely declining offers to join in, once the writhing that Vespasian had dreaded had started in earnest. By this point Livilla had begun to apply her goose leg to Caligula, and the three siblings had been too involved in their own strange world to be unduly worried by their guests’ departures.

After a few hundred pulls on the oars Vespasian saw a couple of glowing points of light on the coast and steered the boat towards them. Not long later, guided by the torches, the boat’s hull scraped on shingle and two Praetorians waded out into the gently lapping waves to help haul it in.

‘Troopers Fulvius and Rufinus of the Praetorian Guard Cavalry, reporting on Decurion Clemens’ orders, sir,’ the older of the two said, snapping a salute to Sabinus as he climbed unsteadily but gratefully out of the boat, helped by the other trooper.

Sabinus staggered slightly as the solid ground caused him to sway. ‘Thank you, troopers.’

Within a short time the boat had been secreted in a cave, Rhoteces had been loaded on to Magnus’ back (with, naturally, a lot of moaning from Magnus concerning the state of the priest’s personal hygiene) and, with their bags slung over their shoulders, they were ready to move. Fulvius started to lead them up a steep but passable path that traversed back and forth up the cliff, which was not quite as sheer as it had first appeared. The going was slow and methodical as the torches had been extinguished and they were relying upon the light of the moon, but eventually they reached the summit.

Following the cliff line, they made their way, in silence, east over moonlit, uncultivated land. To his left Vespasian could see the flickering lights of Pompeii, Heraculaneum, Neapolis and Puteoli reflecting on the swelling water; they were interspersed with fainter points marking the positions of the grand coastal villas of Rome’s élite. Here and there in the darkness between the mainland and the island were dotted the solitary lamps of night fishermen. From below came the sound of waves breaking on the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff. A warm breeze blew from the west carrying upon it the scent of wild thyme.

After almost half an hour of steady walking they came to a high stone wall at the eastern tip of the island. Much to Vespasian’s surprise Clemens was already waiting for them, sitting astride a horse.

‘Any problems?’ he asked, uncoiling a rope.

‘None, sir,’ Fulvius replied.