Felix did not seem surprised by this news. ‘I’m sure; it’s spreading all the time and we haven’t the power to stop it because they can whisper their lies and convert people faster than we can kill them.’
‘It’s already reached Rome; my slave has heard it spoken of by fellow slaves. In such a crowded city, it will spread like fire.’
‘It is, according to my agents. Paulus has written to his growing number of Roman followers saying that he plans to visit them on his way to Hispania.’
‘Hispania?’
‘I know; throughout the Empire. That’s how grand their ambitions are.’ Felix grabbed Vespasian’s forearm and looked him right in the eye. ‘I’ve tried to warn my brother in my letters to him of the seriousness of their threat and their blind fanaticism. For example, a couple of years ago they cut down a condemned man from his cross in Philippi.’
‘Yes, I remember, I was there when it happened; he must have been almost dead.’
‘Then it might surprise you to know that Paulus’ followers claim that not only is the man alive but he has made a full recovery.’
‘That’s impossible.’
‘Is it? These people believe it isn’t.’
‘What proof do they have?’
Felix tightened his grip on Vespasian’s arm. ‘Proof? Who needs proof when you’ve got faith? If this does spread throughout the Empire, it would have the potential to destroy all that is good. I know these people, having tried and condemned hundreds of them; they don’t care for their lives and people who don’t care for their lives are dangerous fanatics. When you see Pallas, impress upon him the need to take this threat seriously before it’s too late.’
Vespasian was surprised by the vehemence of Felix’s appeal and the look of worried concern in his eyes. ‘Yes, I will, Felix. I’ve seen enough of it to share your concerns; I’ll make sure that he understands the danger.’
‘Thank you, my friend; it’s for all our sakes. The sooner we act the better.’
‘And the sooner I get back to Rome the better.’ Vespasian looked out over the variety of vessels moored in the port as the sun touched the surface of the sea. ‘When do you think I’ll be able to take a ship?’
‘I’ve already given orders to look for a suitable one.’
‘Oh, I don’t need anything fancy; just a seaworthy ship that will get me back swiftly.’
‘It’s not you that I was thinking of; I was assuming that you wanted to take the gift that Malichus, that rogue out in the desert, sent you.’
Vespasian had half-forgotten about the promised gift in return for Vespasian’s help with his citizenship. ‘Well, I suppose so; but why does it need a special ship?’
‘Because you wouldn’t want to damage them; I’ve never seen more beautiful Arab stallions.’
PART IIII
ROME, OCTOBER AD 54
CHAPTER XVII
‘SO WHERE ARE you going to keep them?’ Magnus asked as he and Vespasian watched the five stallions being led at dawn down the gangplank of the wide-bellied trader in which they had made the journey from Caesarea to Claudius’ new port on the northern bank of the Tiber estuary. Built around a central, manmade peninsula, supporting the biggest lighthouse in the world after the Pharos in Alexandria, the modern port could hold double the amount of ships than its older, fouler-smelling rival, Ostia, on the southern bank of the estuary. Equipped with tall cranes and lined with warehouses, the quay bustled with activity as trading ships from all over the Empire were offloaded of the essentials that would keep the Roman mob fed and docile and the luxuries that kept Rome’s élite contented.
They had hauled-to just up the coast overnight and had entered the magnificent, circular construction in the half-light before dawn. But despite it being his first time in the new port, as the sun rose, Vespasian only had eyes for his horses. ‘You keep on asking me that,’ he replied, admiring the beasts’ condition after twenty days at sea.
‘And you keep on avoiding giving an answer.’
‘That’s because you keep on trying to persuade me to give them to your beloved Greens.’
‘Not give them but loan them. What else are they for other than racing? Look at them, they’re magnificent.’
And they were magnificent; Vespasian could not deny that, nor, for that matter, could anyone with an eye for horse-flesh. Five Arabian Greys: dished profiles, arched necks, level croups and high carried tails; they were beautiful and drew looks and comments of admiration from everyone on the crowded quayside watching them disembark. The stallions, for their part, seemed to realise that they were the objects of much attention and responded by tossing their heads and snorting while regarding the onlookers with their intelligent dark eyes, their high-stepping hoofs clattering down onto the stone quay lined with recently built brick warehouses.