‘Do you disapprove?’
‘Who am I to judge?’ As he looked back to the mainland all the birds rose as one from the trees and flew off, out to sea. ‘The rural poor have the same choice everywhere inside and outside the Empire: stay where they are and work the land or join the army and fight for the powerful. Whereas for the powerful families it’s the opposite: fight to maintain your position or eventually become a part of the rural poor. If that means killing your father, son, uncle or whatever, so be it; but we try to do things differently in Rome.’
‘Do you, though? Do you really?’
A trembling in Vespasian’s legs distracted him; all conversation on the terrace died off as people looked around, startled. Vespasian felt the tremble grow, accompanied by a deep bass, distant rumble and the closer rattle of cups and plates shaking and clinking on vibrating tables; his drink formed concentric circles, the waves moving outwards with increasing rapidity.
Tryphaena put a reassuring hand on his forearm. ‘It’s just a tremor, nothing to worry about. We have them all the time in this area; the people believe that it’s because we live close to an entrance to the underworld. I should have read the signs; the gods always warn the birds. I’ll offer a sacrifice to Hades and Persephone; perhaps that will help to restore harmony between them before she returns to this world to bring spring and summer back to us.’
The sea seemed to shudder, waves breaking irregularly; beyond, on the mainland, the goats ran in fluid groups, changing direction at random, flowing hither and thither as their small minders huddled for safety beneath trees and boulders, terrified of the wrath of the gods that the tremor might well presage.
But the gods’ anger did not boil over and calm soon returned; the conversation on the terrace picked up with the forced nonchalance of people wishing to mask their fear.
Tryphaena breathed a deep sigh as if she had been holding her breath; she looked over to her steward who had noticeably paled. ‘Have a pair of the blackest bulls brought to the priests of the chthonic gods. They’re to sacrifice them to Hades and Persephone in the name of the citizens of Cyzicus; but let it be known that it is at my expense.’
The steward bowed and went about his errand.
‘Displays of piety have a twofold benefit if they are made publicly,’ Tryphaena remarked, ‘wouldn’t you agree?’
‘In that they gain the favour of the gods and the popularity of the people?’ Vespasian was relieved to see that his pomegranate juice no longer vibrated.
‘I may not be a queen any longer but the people of this city look to me for leadership and patronage; all the new building that you see was paid for out of my own coffers. That buys me influence just as it would in Rome. It’s no different here.’
‘We don’t go around killing close family.’
‘And you don’t consider Tiberius’ great-nephews or Caligula’s cousin and great-uncle to be close family?’
Vespasian did not offer an opinion.
‘You accepted my assertion that Nero will inherit?’
Vespasian saw where she was heading with her argument. ‘Yes and he’s bound to kill Britannicus; but Britannicus is only a stepbrother.’
‘Indeed; but although it will be Nero who orders the knife wielded or the poison poured, Britannicus will have actually been killed by his own father. Claudius committed infanticide the moment he adopted Nero. So don’t try to pretend that you act in anyway different in Rome than we do in the East. Agrippina will kill her uncle and husband, Claudius, just as Caligula killed his great-uncle, Tiberius, just as Radamistus killed his uncle and father-in-law, Mithridates.’
‘So Mithridates is dead then?’
‘Smothered; and both his sons too.’
‘Smothered?’
‘Yes, Radamistus swore to his uncle that he would never harm him with blade or poison. Whatever may be said of my nephew, he’s no oath-breaker, so he had Mithridates smothered under a pile of clothes and then smothered his sons for mourning their father openly. I’m sure that comes as no surprise.’
‘Not really, no; it was the logical thing for Radamistus to do.’
‘As you said quietly in private the other night.’
Vespasian could not help a half-smile. ‘You’re not as well informed as you think. It was Sabinus who actually said it; I just agreed with him.’
‘I should have my agent strangled for that error,’ Tryphaena said lightly.
‘Then perhaps you will be able to tell me who it was?’
‘That would be the act of a fool.’
‘As would be having such a useful, active agent killed.’ Vespasian noted that Tryphaena did not dispute the point and immediately changed the subject. ‘So my embassy is a waste of time; I can’t restore a dead man to the throne, and yet if I don’t remove Radamistus Parthia will attempt to do so by force and we will be heading for war.’