‘Jupiter’s arse, cock and balls, that was close,’ Magnus whispered.
‘Yes,’ Gobryas agreed, ‘I have never known the Great King to be so merciful.’
Gobryas’ garden was cool and peaceful, its atmosphere calmed by the gentle patter of fountains and the trilling of songbirds. It was a garden in bloom; some of the plants were exotic to Vespasian’s eye and some familiar, but all shared a sweetness of scent that infused him with a sense of wellbeing. Over the last ten days since the interview with Vologases, Vespasian had sought refuge in this little paradise, healing the wounds of the long months of darkness that had been reopened by his brief reincarceration.
During this time he had had many conversations with his host and the two other surviving brothers of his late freedman; the family had proved courteous and surprisingly free from rancour and he answered their questions about Ataphanes’ life at Aquae Cutillae, the Flavian estate near Reate, fifty miles up the Via Salaria to the northeast of Rome. He told them of Ataphanes’ great friendship with his fellow freedman, Baseos the Scythian, who had also been a master of the bow; he spoke of their shooting competitions and their deadly accuracy with the weapon when it came to defending the estate from mule-thieves and runaway slaves. He also told the family of Baseos’ lack of interest in gold and how he had given all that he earned to Ataphanes. He confirmed that, as far as he knew, Baseos was still alive and he promised that he would extend an invitation to the old Scythian to visit the family and receive the honour due to such a good friend of the dead youngest son.
The talk of Aquae Cutillae and the doings of the freedmen there made him long to return home and enjoy the rural life for a while, a life of mule breeding, wine making and olive pressing. He began to yearn for the peace of the estate and also of his other one at Cosa that had been left to him by his grandmother, Tertulla. He was sure that his lot was not to retire to the country life, at least not yet, not until he had done all that he could to follow the path set out for him; however, he was weary and he promised himself six months to a year of tranquillity upon his return to Rome. It would be time to rest while he watched from a distance the battle to succeed Claudius unfold and to see whether Tryphaena’s grandiose scheme to secure both sides of her family in power would work. And then, if it did, how best to exploit the inevitable mayhem and misery that the incestuous reign of Nero and his mother Agrippina would bring. As he contemplated the realities of that, he began to think that perhaps he would be best served by remaining inconspicuous during that time; perhaps he would spend a few years on the estates after all.
It was as he was mulling these things over in the shade of a mature almond tree on the last afternoon before the caravan departed that a worried-looking Gobryas approached him accompanied by another man, grey of beard and with dewy eyes.
‘Vespasian, this is Phraotes,’ Gobryas said, showing courteous deference to the stranger.
Phraotes stepped forward and gave him the Parthian greeting-kiss of an equal, on the lips. ‘Titus Flavius Vespasianus, the Light of the Sun, Vologases, the King of Kings, commands that you join him to enjoy the sport provided by the game in his paradise.’
Vespasian clung onto the side of the two-horse chariot with his left hand as its driver steered around a majestic Cedar of Lebanon; in his right hand he hefted a light hunting spear over his shoulder as he gauged the ever-changing distance between him and the Persian Fallow Deer doe that both he and Vologases were chasing. Both chariots were driven with prodigious skill over the smoothly manicured lawns of the royal hunting paradise; the speed at which they travelled was exhilarating and Vespasian managed to forget the two horse archers following him with their bows ready to take him down should he threaten the Great King with his weapon. Vespasian had no intention of doing harm to Vologases but he understood the precaution; Vologases was showing him, as a Roman, a great deal of trust to allow him to bear both a bow and a spear in his presence.
The doe twisted to her left and Vespasian braced his knees as his vehicle swerved accordingly to keep the quarry to his right. He felt the wind pulling at his long beard and he smiled involuntarily at the thrill of the high-speed chase. As the chariot straightened up he glanced ahead to Vologases; the Great King stood tall on the platform of his chariot, ready to cast his spear; however, he looked back to Vespasian and with a small head gesture invited him to throw first.
Vespasian pulled his right arm back, his eyes fixed upon his prey, just thirty paces away, and hurled the spear with a mighty grunt, aiming a fraction in front of the doe. It flew true and the deer ran straight but the instant before impact it bucked and the spear just grazed under the beast’s belly and entangled in its hind legs, bringing it tumbling down in a flurry of thrashing limbs. Vologases’ driver hauled on his reins, slowing his team up, so that the Great King could jump clear. Vespasian joined him kneeling by the stunned creature; the doe breathed in fast, regular breaths as it lay on its side.