Rome's Lost Son(134)

But now they were in the hands of a professional.

With seeming effortlessness the four Arab greys lengthened their stride and almost glided away while the White and Blue drivers, their leather-strapped chests heaving with the exertion, slashed their four-lashed whips over the withers of their teams to no discernible effect. The Green supporters howled their joy as the seventh dolphin tilted and the Green charioteer raised an arm in a victory salute.

‘They weren’t even at full stretch by the end!’ Gaius yelled in Vespasian’s ear. ‘That could be the best team in Rome at the moment.’

Vespasian beamed at his uncle, his thoughts focused on all the prize money that was now a very real possibility as a Praetorian Guardsman pushed his way along the row to them. With a perfunctory salute he delivered his message: ‘The Emperor commands you and your son to join him for dinner after the last race.’ Without waiting for a reply the man moved off.

‘Oh dear, dear boy,’ Gaius said, the joy of winning slipping from his face. ‘I’ve a nasty feeling that I’m not the only one who thinks that.’

Vespasian looked over to Nero and had the suspicion that his uncle was right.

‘You must understand, Vespasian,’ Seneca said, coming straight to the point, as he met Vespasian and Titus in the palace’s atrium, ‘that to keep the Emperor … how should I say? Mollified? Yes, mollified, that’s the word, exactly right; to keep the Emperor mollified we need to give him what he wants.’ He placed an avuncular arm around Vespasian’s shoulders. ‘If he gets what he wants then we find him far more amenable to acting with reason and restraint.’

‘We?’ Vespasian asked pointedly as Seneca led him at speed through the once dignified chamber designed, by Augustus, to overawe visiting embassies with Rome’s majesty rather than ostentatiously show off its wealth as Nero had evidently decided to do. Hugely expensive works of art were now scattered about the room; not garish and brash as they had been in Caligula’s time but, rather, exquisite in their beauty and workmanship. There was, however, vulgarity in their abundance.

‘Yes, me and Burrus.’

‘What about Pallas?’

‘I’m afraid that your friend staked rather too much on Agrippina’s support; although, perhaps “support” is the wrong choice of word considering the entirety of what she gives him.’ He paused for a short chuckle, his eyes almost disappearing in his well-fleshed face; Vespasian checked himself from asking what support Agrippina still gave Nero. ‘But then I expect that you suspected as much as it was to me that you brought Malichus’ petition for citizenship.’

‘Indeed; and I put myself in your debt knowingly. I trust you have benefitted from the information that I supplied you with.’

‘Very much and you’ll be pleased to know that Paelignus is er … “financially debilitated” is the expression that best sums up his position.’ Seneca rumbled another chuckle and looked at Titus. ‘Learn from your father, young man, he’s got political – how should I put it? Ah, yes, that’s an excellent word: nous. Yes, political nous is exactly what he’s got.’ He slapped Vespasian on the shoulder and then gave it a friendly squeeze. ‘Now, I shall be candid with you, Vespasian.’

‘You want me to give the Emperor my team of horses.’

‘I didn’t say that. No, no, no, far from it; I didn’t say that at all.’

‘You said we have to give Nero what he wants.’

‘I did; but only if he asks. So if he asks, give him your team.’

‘And what will I get in return?’

‘Well, well, that’s a difficult question. That is … what’s the best word for what that is? Ah, yes: that is an imponderable. Yes, it is. It could be anything from nothing at all to your life itself. That’s how things work with Nero; there’s very little … er … middle ground – for want of a better expression. But, who knows, he may have forgotten all about your horses if the dinner is sumptuous, the lyre player talented and the conversation centres around him, which I shall do my best to see that it does.’

As they walked into the soft music and quiet chatter of the triclinium, Vespasian reconciled himself to losing his team and gaining nothing by it; why else was he there?

‘We will have to save our reminiscences for a more private occasion, Vespasian,’ Caratacus said, breaking off from a conversation with one of the dozen or so other guests and walking to greet Vespasian as he entered the room.

‘Now that I’m back we should make the arrangement.’ Vespasian indicated to Titus. ‘This is my son and namesake.’