Sertes was affronted, but thought better than to remark on such blasphemy. “You will welcome the news that Vespasian is dead.”
Atretes glanced at him. “Murdered, I hope.” He snapped his fingers. “Wine, Lagos. Fill the goblet to the brim. I feel like celebrating.”
Sertes laughed softly. “You will be sorry to hear he died of natural causes. Not that there weren’t those, like you, who wished him ill, especially the old aristocracy who found themselves sharing the senate with provincials recruited from Espania. Vespasian’s father was rumored to be a Spanish tax collector, but then, who knows?”
“Who cares?”
“I imagine those in Espania. He did seem to favor them. He granted Latin rights to them as well as Roman citizenship to all the magistrates.” He laughed. “Something that hardly sat well with the old families who considered Vespasian a plebeian.” He raised his goblet again. “Despite his bloodlines, he was a great emperor.”
“Great?” He muttered a foul word and spit on the marble tiles.
“Yes, great. Perhaps the greatest since Julius Caesar. Despite his reputation for avarice, Vespasian’s tax reforms saved Rome from financial ruin. His philosophy was to first restore stability to the tottering state, then adorn it. He accomplished much of that. The Forum and Temple of Peace stand in Rome as tribute to his efforts. A pity he was not able to finish the colossal arena he began building on the foundations of Nero’s Golden House.”
“Yes, what a pity,” Atretes said sarcastically.
“Oh, I know you hated him. With good reason. After all, wasn’t it his cousin that crushed the rebellion in Germania?”
Atretes cast him a dark look. “The rebellion lives.”
“No longer, Atretes. You’ve been away from your homeland a long, long time. Vespasian annexed Agri Decumates in Southern Germania and cut off the reentrant angle formed by the Rhine at Basel. Germans are too fragmented to be of any threat to Rome now. Vespasian was a military genius.” He could see Atretes did not like hearing plaudits for his nemesis. It fanned the hatred within him. Exactly what Sertes wanted. Keep the fire hot.
“You will remember his younger son, Domitian.”
Atretes remembered all too well.
“I believe he arranged your last match in Rome,” Sertes said casually, driving the knife in deeper. “His older brother, Titus, is now emperor.”
Atretes downed the rest of his wine.
“His military career is as illustrious as his father’s,” Sertes said. “It was Titus who crushed the rebellion in Judea and destroyed Jerusalem. Other than his unfortunate attachment to the Jewish princess Berenice, his career is flawless. Pax Romana at any price. We can only hope his talents extend to administration as well.”
Atretes set his empty goblet aside and took another towel from the shelf. He dried his hair and upper body, his blue eyes glittering.
Sertes studied him with veiled satisfaction. “Rumors abound that you were in the city a few nights ago,” he said, as though remarking on some casual occurrence. He didn’t add that Gallus had confirmed the rumors, though he had not known the reason for Atretes’ clandestine visit. Something important must have been transacted, and Sertes wanted to know what it was. It might prove useful in getting Atretes back into the arena.
“I went to pay my respects to the goddess and found myself mobbed instead,” Atretes said, the lie coming easily.
Seeing an opportunity, Sertes grasped it. “I know the proconsul very well. I’m sure, with a word, he’ll put a company of legionnaires at your disposal. You can enter the city anytime you want and pay proper homage to our goddess whenever you choose without worrying about whether you’ll live through it.”
Sertes smiled inwardly. Such measures as he was suggesting would draw attention. Once Atretes was recognized, the excitement would spread like a fever, and such a fever could heat Atretes’ cold blood. Let him hear the masses screaming his name. Let him see how they still worshiped him.
“I’d like the mob to forget I ever existed,” Atretes said. He wasn’t fooled by Sertes’ machinations. “And your measures would merely serve to whet their appetite, wouldn’t they?” he said, raising one brow sardonically.
Sertes smiled drolly and shook his head. “Atretes, dear friend, I’m dismayed to find you don’t trust me. Have I not always had your best interests in mind?”
Atretes gave a cold laugh. “As long as they coincided with yours.”
Sertes hid his annoyance. Atretes’ perceptiveness had always been a problem. His success in the arena hadn’t hinged merely on physical prowess and courage. Atretes was surprisingly intelligent for a German barbarian. The combination of hatred and sagacity was dangerous, but made him that much more exciting.