Rome's Lost Son(119)

‘Who’s that?’ Vespasian asked Pallas out of the corner of his mouth as he lowered his cup.’

‘Hmm?’ Pallas looked up. ‘Oh, don’t you recognise him? Try adding long hair and moustaches.’

It took Vespasian a couple of moments. ‘Caratacus?’

‘Tiberius Claudius Caratacus, citizen of Rome, recently awarded the rank of praetor and now looking no different from any other Romanised barbarian.’

Caratacus smiled over to him as the recognition of his old enemy spread over Vespasian’s face.

‘He’s a particular favourite of Nero’s,’ Pallas explained, whispering. ‘He likes to have him around to remind everybody of his magnanimity in recommending his pardon. Caratacus is also—’

The arrival of another course interrupted the Greek as Claudius, roused from his melancholy by the smell, blurted, ‘Ah, mushrooms! At lasht something I can trusht.’ He downed the contents of his cup in celebration and then held it out to Agrippina to refill.

The company laughed sycophantically at the poor attempt at wit and then busied themselves in making appreciative noises in anticipation of the tasty dish. Conversation suddenly escalated as all began discourses on the safe topic of mushrooms and their preparation.

An elderly female slave placed a large bowl, with care, on the table in front of the Emperor and Empress, adjusting its angle slightly once it was down. Claudius looked at it with wine-stained drool oozing from his mouth as Agrippina dipped her fingers in and took a small specimen from her side of the dish and savoured its aroma. ‘They’re good, my dear,’ she said before placing it in her mouth.

Claudius watched his wife eat, his eyes struggling to focus.

Agrippina swallowed and smiled at her husband. ‘Delicious.’

Claudius grabbed one from his side of the bowl and chewed on it with gusto as Agrippina helped herself to another; all around the room people tucked into the dish and the atmosphere relaxed now that the Emperor seemed to be more content.

Claudius heaved out a huge belch and then took another couple of slugs of wine before choosing the largest and juiciest of the mushrooms on his side of the bowl and held it up to Agrippina, slurring what Vespasian took to be a phallic joke, judging by the Empress’s dutifully coy reaction. Claudius put the head to his lips and licked it suggestively and then pushed it slowly into his mouth before withdrawing it. Uncharacteristically, Agrippina simpered, but her eyes remained hard, focused on the mushroom. She rubbed Claudius’ thigh and whispered something to him; her mouth then pouted and her head tilted in the affirmative with the promise of a treat to come.

Claudius bit the mushroom in half, slavering on its juices. He swallowed and stuffed the remainder in as Agrippina recharged his cup even though it was not quite empty. A thunderous burp announced the disappearance of the last mouthful; it was quickly washed down with the full contents of the cup. Agrippina immediately refilled it, spilling some over Claudius’ unsteady hand; conversation throughout the room had grown more animated.

Vespasian sipped his wine and nibbled on a mushroom as Gaius, next to him, tucked into their bowl with undisguised relish; Pallas, to his other side, tensed, his hand, white-knuckled, clutching the edge of the couch. Vespasian looked to see what had startled him.

Claudius’ body spasmed, his face a slimed rictus; the contents of his shaking cup slopped over Agrippina who laid a soothing hand on his cheek. The palpitations ceased, his face relaxed and he slumped down, his chest heaving for breath.

Silence spread like a wave throughout the room as people realised that the Emperor had collapsed. Nero stood and looked down at Claudius in wide-eyed, open-mouthed horror with the back of his right hand on his brow like some tragic actor seeing the lifeless body of a lover.

‘My husband has drunk his fill!’ Agrippina announced looking down at the prone form next to her. ‘He has, after all, drunk enough to sink Neptune himself in the last few days.’

Nervous laughter greeted this bald statement of fact, indicating that no one present believed for one moment that it was an alcohol-related incident; however, everyone knew that they would be able to swear to this cover story.

Agrippina turned to an elderly slave woman whom Vespasian recognised as the same woman who had served Claudius his mushrooms. ‘Fetch a bowl and a towel.’ The woman bowed and padded off as Agrippina got to her feet, a picture of unworried calm. ‘I shall have my personal physician attend him to apply an emetic.’ She clapped her hands and four bulky slaves appeared from the shadows around the edge of the room and surrounded Claudius’ couch. ‘I suggest that we curtail our revels; goodnight.’