‘Do they, though? Do they really?’ With a questioning look, he walked past her into the atrium where the city worthies waited and a steward had assembled slaves with trays of refreshments.
Half an hour later, Vespasian stood on a terrace overlooking the city of brightly painted public buildings and whitewashed, Greek-style houses. Sipping pomegranate juice from a blue glass goblet engraved with Bacchus – or more probably, Dionysus – enjoying the nectar of the vine, he rested one hand on the balustrade and looked in amazement at the huge amphitheatre that dominated the view even though it was outside the city walls.
‘Some consider that it should be ranked amongst the wonders of the world,’ Tryphaena’s voice said softly in his ear. ‘It’s over a hundred and fifty paces across and its walls are taller than your Circus Maximus.’
‘It’s an impressive building.’
‘It’s more than that; it’s a work of brilliance. It’s built on top of a river that’s covered over but can be dammed so that the arena floods and naval battles can be staged there.’
Vespasian was genuinely impressed but concealed the fact. ‘Claudius is going to stage a naval battle on the Fucine Lake before it’s drained.’
‘But, my dear Vespasian, that’s a one-off event and it’s miles from Rome; here we can entertain the people without them having a two-day journey either way. I’ve suggested to my cousin Agrippina that when Nero succeeds his father it might be a project worthy of a great emperor to be remembered by: an amphitheatre that can be flooded, as large, or larger, than this, built in the centre of Rome for the people of Rome.’
‘That could be a monument that stands forever,’ Vespasian agreed. ‘After all, who would want to destroy a place of public entertainment?’
Tryphaena took a fruit juice from a passing slave and said casually, ‘But you believe Agrippina has other plans for her son?’
Vespasian stroked the smooth white marble of the balustrade in thought. ‘So your agents do indeed keep you up to date.’
‘Yes, they do and you are both right and wrong. Right in that Agrippina wants to secure her son’s accession as soon as possible. But wrong in that you believe that she instigated the Parthian embassy and wanted to keep it secret from me.’
‘You have very good agents, Tryphaena, and fast. They must have travelled at a great speed to bring that to your notice before we arrived; I only said it three days ago. And I spoke quite quietly at a private dinner.’
The former Queen was unapologetic. ‘To survive one often needs to hear the quietly spoken private word.’ She looked over to Sabinus deep in conversation with a city worthy whose name Vespasian had instantly forgotten upon being introduced. ‘The man to whom Sabinus is talking is furnishing him with the names of the chieftains of my former kingdom whom I would consider to be less than happy with Rome’s annexation of Thracia six years ago. You see, Vespasian, with what alacrity I press to prove my loyalty to Rome?’
‘So you did have a hand in removing Mithridates and replacing him with your nephew? Otherwise you wouldn’t feel induced to make such a swift protestation of loyalty before it’s even been questioned.’
‘Oh, but it has been questioned, quietly and in private. I had more than a hand in the coup: I got my brother-in-law to suggest it to my nephew and provide him with the army. It was easy to do: I just made him think that Radamistus was plotting to murder him and take his throne, which I did without difficulty as it was the truth.’
Vespasian shook his head in disapproval. ‘Is this how eastern politics work?’
‘It’s much the same as Roman politics, proconsul: power and position. The only real difference is that we have fewer families fighting each other, which means that there’s a much higher incidence of patricide, fratricide, infanticide and any other type of family “cide” that you can think of.’
‘Charming.’ Vespasian’s gaze wandered over to the dun-brown mainland strewn with rugged formations of rock and copses of leafless trees housing hundreds of birds; the sun was weak and the land was still in winter’s grip. Goats tore at rough grazing watched over by small boys wrapped in cloaks made from the skins of their charges. Here and there a slender spiral of smoke rose to the sky, marking the position of a mean dwelling where the boys’ elder brothers and fathers worked with their hands, chopping wood, repairing tools, roofs and fencing, while sisters and mothers fetched, carried, cleaned, mended and cooked as the family struggled to survive the winter. It was a view, Vespasian surmised, that had not changed in centuries: the common man scraping a living. ‘But I imagine that it was ever thus for the royal houses of the East just as it was ever thus for those farmers.’