Rome's Lost Son(26)
‘Precisely, because both will believe that you are working solely for them until the moment that you hand over the information to the other one. And I will be able to take my position back with whomever we choose because I will be seen to have done no wrong in their eyes.’
‘That, my love, is cold, dispassionate politics worthy of Pallas or Narcissus themselves.’
Caenis cupped his face with her hands and kissed his lips. ‘Thank you; but you must remember that I’ve lived and breathed their world all of my adult life and I know how they function better than anyone. But my loyalty is not to them, only to you, my love, and when they threaten you I will always help you defend yourself. I will always see you safe.’
Vespasian returned the kiss with full measure, feeling shame welling up inside. ‘I’m sorry that I doubted you.’
‘Doubted me? Why?’
He told her of the timing of the attack on the tavern and how only Pallas knew when he and Narcissus would be there.
‘You think that if I knew of that then I might not have told you? Of course I would. But I can honestly say that Pallas had nothing to do with it; I would have known.’
‘Then who did organise it? Callistus perhaps, trying to edge his way back into power by eliminating Narcissus?’
‘No, he’s just happy to keep his position as secretary to the Law Courts; it’s very lucrative. He knows that Agrippina has her eye on him, firstly for being Messalina’s creature and secondly for not supporting her becoming empress. He wouldn’t do anything to attract her attention.’
‘Who, then?’
‘It was coincidence, my love; a brotherhood turf war that you got caught up in. Now put it from your mind and get some sleep.’
Vespasian kissed her again and lay back down. But sleep would not come; he found it very hard to believe in coincidences.
The summons from Claudius came as a surprise to Vespasian as he left the Senate House that afternoon preceded by his lictors. The immaculately presented Praetorian centurion, waiting at the foot of the steps, snapped a rigid salute, his right arm thumping his highly polished scale-armoured chest and causing his transverse white horsehair helmet crest to judder. With military brevity he begged leave to report that the Emperor wished Vespasian to accompany him back to the Palatine as soon as the trial, over which he was presiding at the far end of the Forum Romanum, concluded. Vespasian found himself with little option but to process slowly towards the open-air court, receiving petitions from the importunate and cursing Claudius for his inconsideration in keeping him from a reviving bath that he hoped would wash away the fatigue he felt at having had very little sleep.
‘I can’t imagine what good they think it’ll do giving a petition to a consul who has only two days left in office,’ a clipped voice observed as Vespasian dismissed a supplicant with platitudes about looking into his appeal concerning his right to contest his father’s will.
‘Corbulo!’ Vespasian exclaimed, his expression turning from irritation to mild pleasure as he spied his old acquaintance watching him from beside the Rostrum. ‘I didn’t know that you were back in Rome.’
‘I’ve just got back today,’ Corbulo said, walking forward, looking down the long nose of his horse-like face at Vespasian and proffering his right arm for him to grasp. ‘I’m here to pay my respects to the Emperor and thank him for giving me Asia.’
Vespasian took Corbulo’s arm, astounded. ‘But you’re the Governor of Germania Inferior.’
‘I was, Vespasian, was.’ Corbulo drew himself up and adjusted his face into a picture of aristocratic smugness as they continued progressing towards Claudius’ court. ‘But I did such a fine job of dealing with the Cherusci and Chauci trying to take advantage of our weakened state on the Germanic frontier. I killed thousands of the bearded barbarians and taught them that just because we’ve taken three legions away from the Rhenus and one from the Danuvius to subdue some fog-drenched island that no one is interested in, that’s no reason to stop paying tribute to Rome. The Emperor’s very pleased with me – or at least his freedmen are.’ Corbulo wrinkled his nose in patrician distaste. ‘I’ve been summoned back to Rome to be presented with Triumphal Regalia.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything these days; Claudius gave every one of the hundred or so senators who accompanied him to Britannia the right to wear Triumphal Regalia. Even my uncle, who’s never done anything more martial in his life than inspect the monthly payday parade, has that privilege; it’s completely reduced the status of the award.’