The Furies Of Rome Part 1

The Furies of Rome.

Robert Fabbri.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

For my cousin, Aris Caraccio, his wife, Nathalie, and their children, Mathilde, Arthur, Victor and Margaux; as well as my uncle, Giuseppe 'Pino' Caraccio, with much love.

Also to George and Ice, their Corsa hounds upon whom with a lot of lat.i.tude! Castor and Pollux are based.

PROLOGUE.

Rome, November ad 58.

FEW ENJOYED NERO'S feasts; each seemed interminable and this occasion was no exception.

It was not because of the endless courses, all exquisitely presented, paraded out by dozens of scantily clad if clad at all slaves of either s.e.x or none. Nor was it the conversation: anodyne, occasional and humourless; neither was it the entertainment, which had been a repet.i.tive series of heroic odes in the Emperor's favourite styles, both in Greek and Latin, performed with the sickening smugness of a lyre-player who doubted not his own ability and knew himself to be high in the Emperor's favour. Even the vulgarity of the size of the dinner thirty couches, each with three guests reclining at their own low table, arranged in a 'U' shape around the entertainer could be forgiven as it had become the norm in Nero's reign.

No, it was none of these things that made t.i.tus Flavius Sabinus loathe every moment of the gathering and pray to his lord Mithras for its end. It was a completely different factor: it was the fear.

The fear swathed the room like an invisible, gladiatorial net, with lead weights holding it down to the ground and the retiarius, wielding it, pulling on the drawstrings so that it entrapped all within its grasp, making escape impossible. Most of the guests were entangled in this net of fear although none would let it show in their outward behaviour; recently, after four and a half years of Nero as emperor, the elite of Rome had begun to learn that to show fear in front of him was to encourage him into worse excess.

It had not always been so: in the early years of his rule Nero had shown restraint at least in public although he had raped and then poisoned his adoptive brother, Britannicus, the Emperor Claudius' true blood heir who had been pa.s.sed over because of his youth. However, that outrage, or the fratricide part of it at least, could be justified by political necessity: had he lived, Britannicus could have become a figurehead for dissension that may have turned into conflict; his death, it was argued, prevented the possibility of another civil war and therefore his sacrifice was made for the good of all. Because of that, people were willing to overlook the boy's murder on the eve of his becoming a man on his fourteenth birthday.

After the death of his only serious rival as well as the elimination of a couple of lesser ones Nero had settled down to a life of pampered luxury, leaving the running of the Empire mainly to his former tutor and now advisor, Lucius Annaeus Seneca, and also the prefect of the Praetorian Guard, s.e.xtus Afranius Burrus, preferring instead to indulge in his two pa.s.sions, chariot racing and singing, both of which he, naturally, conducted in private. It was unthinkable for a patrician, let alone the Emperor, to be seen indulging in either of those demeaning pursuits in public, and so Nero, aware of the dignity of his position, had not displayed his taste for the activities of freedmen and slaves to anyone outside a very tight inner circle on the Palatine Hill. As far as the people of Rome were concerned, the Golden Emperor, as they liked to think of their Princeps, whose hair blazed with the colour of the dawn, was an upright and generous ruler as witnessed by the magnificence of the games and public feasts that he provided. Outwardly he was soberly married to Claudia Octavia, Claudius' daughter, and conducted himself in a very worthy and Roman fashion the fact the marriage was technically incestuous was quietly forgotten, again for the greater good but inwardly it was quite a different story.

However, now, to those close to Nero, it had become clear that only he could curb his own behaviour; but if he chose not to then that was his prerogative. Seneca and Burrus, who between them had taken on the task of moulding the young Princeps into a temperate and just ruler, could do nothing to restrain the desires within Nero that had grown with each of his twenty-one years.

And his desires were great.

Too great to be satisfied by the patrician rigidity of his young wife, reclining to the left of her husband with the blank look on her face that she had worn for the past four years since Nero had humiliated her by taking a freedwoman to his bed and withholding from her the chance to produce an heir. But even the charms of the freedwoman, Acte, had not been enough to fulfil the l.u.s.t of a young man who had come to realise that he could do anything that pleased him to anyone he chose.

It was now becoming clear that many things pleased him and ordering the elite of Rome to join him for lavish dinners at a few moments' notice was, however inconvenient, the most innocuous; there were far darker activities that pleased Nero even more. One of those activities, Sabinus guessed, as Tigellinus, the prefect of the Vigiles, approached his couch, the Emperor was going to indulge in, yet again, later.

Dark-eyed and sharp-featured, Tigellinus leant down to whisper in Sabinus' ear. 'The Quirinal from the fourth hour.' With a smile like a rabid dog's snarl, he patronisingly patted Sabinus on the cheek before walking away.

Sabinus sighed, reached for his cup, downed its contents then held it behind him for a naked slave boy, smeared all over with silver lacquer, to refill as he turned to his corpulent neighbour, keeping his voice low. 'You should get home quickly as soon as the dinner finishes, Uncle, if it ever does. He's planning on going out again tonight; Tigellinus just informed me that there are to be no patrols of his Vigiles around the Quirinal Hill after the fourth hour of the night, apart, of course, from the one that shadows Nero to keep him safe.'

His uncle, Gaius Vespasius Pollo, flicking a carefully tonged ringlet of dyed-black hair away from his kohled eyes, looked at Sabinus, alarmed at the lack of Rome's Night Watch in his neighbourhood. 'Not the Quirinal again, dear boy? The area is still reeling from his rampage through it last month.'

Sabinus nodded, thoughtfully sipping from his replenished cup. 'One tenement block and two houses burnt to the ground, half a dozen rapes, countless broken bones and several murders as well as the forced suicide of Julius Monta.n.u.s for daring to try to defend himself when set upon by what he thought was a slave in a ridiculous wig.'

Gaius' jowls and chins wobbled in indignation; he reached for another anchovy pasty. 'A man of senatorial status ordered to kill himself for apologising when he recognised that his attacker, whom he now had in a headlock, was in fact the Emperor; it's too much. It's been going on for more than a year now; how much longer will we have to stand for this sort of thing?' The pasty disappeared whole into Gaius' mouth.

'You know the answer to that: as long as Nero subjects us to it. It's his idea of fun, and with his friend Otho and other young bucks encouraging him it can only get worse.' Sabinus looked over at the tall, well-built and exceedingly handsome man reclining to the right of the Emperor: three years older than Nero, Marcus Salvius Otho had been the Emperor's lover on and off since Nero's tenth year.

'And as the Urban Prefect, responsible for law and order in Rome, it's you who's made to look stupid, dear boy.' Gaius joined in the rapturous applause led by Nero, weeping freely, for the conclusion of the performer's latest rendition.

Sabinus raised his voice over the exaggerated adulation. 'You know perfectly well there's nothing I can do about it. Tigellinus tells me where he's withdrawing his patrols from so that I can order a century of one of the Urban Cohorts to be on standby in the area in case Nero needs to be extracted in a hurry or his activities cause a riot. He claims he tries to keep the violence to a minimum.'

'My flabby a.r.s.e he does!' Gaius scoffed and reached for another pasty. 'The more violent it becomes the happier he is because it adds another element of fear for us all and the more we fear Nero the more secure his position becomes and Tigellinus' with it. Thankfully, I've got four of Tigran's lads waiting to escort me home; although since he took over from Magnus as the leader of the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood I'm obliged to do more favours in return for the service. And it's all because you're failing in your duty.'

A disturbance at the far end of the room saved Sabinus a bl.u.s.tered answer; to the not-that-well-hidden outrage of most present, the Emperor's mistress, the freedwoman Acte, entered, garbed, coiffured and bejewelled with a vulgarity that was unsurprising in one newly come to money and position. Pausing as her entourage of attendants and again there was vulgarity in their number unnecessarily adjusted her costume and her intricate and towering arrangement of blonde hair as well as putting a final touch to her excessive make-up, she glanced around the chamber with a haughty triumph, until her eyes fell on Nero. Slapping away the women surrounding her, she glided towards the Emperor.

A tense silence fell on the room; all eyes went to the Empress.

'I feel that it is time to take my leave, dearest husband,' Claudia Octavia said, rising with fluid elegance to her feet. 'I caught a faint whiff of something that doesn't agree with me and it would be best if I were to lie down and let my stomach settle.' Without waiting for Nero's leave, as his attention was on the sheerness of Acte's attire and the lack of anything beneath it, Claudia Octavia progressed with rigid-backed, patrician dignity from the room.

'She has the support of many,' Gaius whispered to Sabinus, 'Calpurnius Piso, Thrasea Paetus, Rome's dourest Stoic, and Faenius Rufus, for example.'

As Nero made a great fuss of greeting his slave-born mistress and Acte made it a point that all should see how favoured she was, Sabinus glanced over to three middle-aged senators on a couch opposite him, their visages clouded with disapproval as they witnessed the supplanting of the daughter of the previous Emperor by a coa.r.s.ely arrayed s.e.xual-acrobat; their wives, on the couch next to them, pointedly refused to look in the direction of such an affront to female pride. 'I was going through Faenius Rufus' annual report as prefect of the grain supply and it would seem that he's hardly used his position to enrich himself, just a few kick-backs here and there.'

'He's always had a reputation for honesty to the point of recklessness, dear boy; he has the morality and sympathies of an upright republican of old a Cato not a Cra.s.sus. And as for Piso and Thrasea, the G.o.ds alone know what they must think of the Emperor behaving in such a way to a daughter of the Claudii, even though her father was a fool who drooled. And what they all think of Nero's rampages through the city I wouldn't try to imagine, if I were you.'

Sabinus did not answer but, rather, devoted his attention to his cup, frowning at his perceived inability to keep the better quarters of Rome safe as the lyre-player launched into yet another ode. Since his recall, almost two years previously, from the provinces of Moesia, Macedonia and Thracia, where he had been serving as governor, and his surprise appointment as the prefect of Rome, the magistrate overseeing the day to day running of the city, Sabinus had been trying, to no avail, to work out who had used their influence to secure him the position; neither his uncle nor his brother, Vespasian, could help him in uncovering the ident.i.ty of his anonymous benefactor. Naturally Sabinus found it disconcerting not knowing whose debt he was in and when it would have to be repaid, but he was very happy with the position and the status that it conferred on him: he was one of the five most influential men in the city after the Emperor himself officially, that was.

Unofficially there were others who had closer access to the Emperor's ear than he did, namely Seneca, Burrus and the consuls, but the main two were Otho and Tigellinus. Although Sabinus was his superior, in that the Vigiles, as well as the Urban Cohorts, were under the command of the prefect of Rome, Tigellinus was impossible to control. He had used his unabashed depravity to ingratiate himself with the Emperor whom he had recognised immediately as a kindred spirit; it had been Tigellinus who had held Britannicus down whilst Nero had b.u.g.g.e.red him at what was to be the boy's last and fatal dinner in this very room. This inability to control his underling was taking the gloss off Sabinus' status; he felt it made him look as if he condoned all the violence that had gradually increased as more and more young men realised that with the Emperor running amok in the city they too had licence to do the same.

'I a.s.sume from that exchange earlier,' a voice said, impinging on his thoughts, 'shall we call it an exchange? No, we can't because you didn't say a word back to Tigellinus, did you, prefect? So let's say it was a command, yes, a command, prefect, from your underling. I a.s.sume from that command, Nero's going out again tonight.'

'Very astute, Seneca,' Sabinus said without bothering to look round.

'Another triumph for Roman law and order; it makes me wonder if I was right to take the very substantial bribe I was given to have you confirmed in your post. Perhaps for the good of all I should have taken less money and got someone more competent.'

Still Sabinus did not look round. 'When did you ever do anything for the good of all?'

'That's harsh, Sabinus; I've moderated the Emperor's behaviour for the past few years.'

'And now you can barely restrain him. I suppose you enjoy making me look stupid as the Urban prefect. By the way, who did bribe you on my behalf?'

'I've told you before, that as a man of a strict moral code I could not possibly divulge such confidences; without the appropriate, what's the best word ... er ... inducement, yes, that's it, inducement. Anyway, that's by the by; it's about your enquiry that I wanted to speak to you.'

'Oh, yes?' Still Sabinus did not turn.

'Yes. The consulships are all spoken for ...'

'Bought, you mean.'

'Don't be ridiculous; the Emperor does not buy his consulship.'

'More's the pity for your purse.'

'I'll ignore that. Three years' time is the earliest that your son-in-law could expect one and the price is non-negotiable: two million sesterces.'

'Two million! That's twice the threshold for admittance into the Senate.' This time Sabinus did turn round but only to see the portly form of Seneca walking away; he watched as Nero's chief advisor sidled up to Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus, Sabinus' and Vespasian's sworn enemy since he had abducted Sabinus' late wife, Clementina, and taken her to Caligula for repeated and brutal rape. His outrage at Seneca's price was immediately replaced by curiosity. 'What's Corvinus negotiating with Seneca about, Uncle?'

'Hmm, what, dear boy?'

Sabinus repeated the question.

'A lucrative governorship. It's rumoured that he's trying to get Lusitania because of the tax possibilities on the garum trade; as you can imagine, there's a lot of money in fish sauce.'

'It makes you wonder where he's getting the money to bribe Seneca with.'

'That's easy; if Corvinus doesn't mind paying the exorbitant interest rates, Seneca will lend him the money for his own bribe, provided he can get someone to stand as a guarantor; which will be yet more expense for him but well worth it if he gets Lusitania.'

And that was how it now worked, Sabinus reflected: Seneca, it seemed, cared only for ama.s.sing a fortune from his position much to the private amus.e.m.e.nt of the few who had read his philosophical tracts. However, Seneca was not unusual in this; his predecessor, Pallas, the Flavian family's chief supporter during Claudius' reign and the early part of Nero's, had made his fortune as Claudius' most trusted advisor before he had fallen from Nero's favour at the same time as his lover, Nero's mother, Agrippina; he was now exiled to his country estates, no longer playing a role in imperial high politics. Pallas was more fortunate than Narcissus, the man he had outmanoeuvred and replaced; Narcissus had been executed, despite his fortune or, it could be argued, because of it.

Unable to think where he would come up with the outrageous amount Seneca was asking for his son-in-law, Lucius Caesennius Paetus', consulship without borrowing it from the man himself something he would never allow himself to do Sabinus cast his mind back to the issue from which he had been dragged away when the Emperor's summons to dinner had arrived that afternoon. Some of the duties of the prefect of Rome were less onerous than others and the questioning of prisoners who posed a threat to the security of the Empire was one of the more pleasant tasks; and when that man was no longer a citizen and therefore Sabinus had a freer rein then it could be a positive pleasure. That pleasure was made all the sweeter in this case by the fact that this was not necessarily an imperial matter as the man in question had been sent to him by his brother, Vespasian, to be incarcerated and questioned as a favour that he needed to repay; although what that favour was owed for and to whom, Sabinus knew not.

'My friends,' Nero's husky voice cut through the applause for the latest ode that had finally ground to an end, drawing Sabinus out of his thoughts. 'I would that we had time for more of this sublime gift of the G.o.ds.' Nero raised a hand to the heavens and gazed after it for a few moments, his expression composed into one of deepest grat.i.tude; he then looked over to the lyre-player and inhaled, long and deep, his eyes closed as if he were smelling the sweetest of scents. 'Terpnus, here, has received the blessing of Apollo with his honeyed voice and skilled fingers.'

There were general mutterings of agreement from the audience, although those with a true ear for music found Nero's statement exaggerated.

Nero nodded at Terpnus before drawing himself up and filling his chest with air. Terpnus plucked a chord and then, to everyone's astonishment, some more obvious than others, Nero let out a note, long and quavering; it was reasonably close to the chord that Terpnus had plucked but not nearly as strong nor as constant. Nero's audience, however, chose to interpret the sound as a harmony of infinite and intricate genius rather than the lamentable discord that was the reality; they burst into unrestrained applause as soon as the note died a miserable death on the Emperor's lips. Ladies who had suffered violent rape at Nero's hands and those others who feared it would soon be their turn clapped demurely whilst their husbands cheered the man who would sully their womenfolk and steal their fortunes and their lives. Sabinus and Gaius joined in the lauding wholeheartedly, refraining from catching the other's eye.

'My friends,' Nero rasped, 'for three years now Terpnus has been training me, bringing out the innate talent within your Emperor. I have lain with lead weights on my chest; I have used enemas and emetics as well as refraining from eating apples and other foods deleterious to the voice. I have done all these things under the guidance of the greatest performer of the age; so, soon I will be ready to perform for you!'

There was a momentary silence as the hideous thought of breaking the taboo against people of consequence let alone the Emperor performing in public sank in, before the audience burst into rapturous cheering as if Nero had just announced the very thing that each had desired most in life and yet, up until now, none had thought it possible to attain.

Nero stood, side-on, left hand on his heart and right hand extended to his guests; tears trickled down the pale skin of his cheeks to catch in the wispy, golden beard that grew thickest under his chin, which, despite his youth, had begun to sag with the weight of good living. Thus, he let the adulation wash over him. 'My friends,' he said eventually, his voice imbued with rich emotion, 'I understand your joy. To be finally able to share with me my talent as expressed through my voice, the most beautiful thing I know.'

Acte, now in Claudia Octavia's place, looked less than impressed by this a.s.sertion.

'As beautiful as my new wife, Princeps?' Otho asked with a note of drunken laughter on his voice; his closeness to Nero for so long meant he was the only man in Rome with licence to exchange banter with the Emperor.

Nero, far from being aggravated at his announcement being interrupted, turned and smiled at his friend and sometime lover. 'You've boasted all evening of Poppaea Sabina's charms, Otho; when you bring her to Rome I shall sing to her and then you can judge the relative beauty of your new wife and my voice.'

Otho raised his cup to Nero. 'That I shall, Princeps, and I shall ravage the winner; she will be here in four days.'

This produced raucous and ribald cheers from the young bucks who considered themselves part of the Emperor's close a.s.sociates; they were soon stilled by a withering look from Nero that, once silence had returned, transformed into an expression of abject humility. 'Soon, my friends, I shall be ready for you; until then I shall practise more. Adieu.' With mannered gestures to Acte, Otho, Terpnus and his young sycophants to follow him, Nero turned and left the room, bringing the dinner to an end and taking with him, much to the relief of all those remaining, the fear.

'I'll be fine, dear boy,' Gaius insisted as he and Sabinus came to the Forum Romanum, its flagstones wet from a light drizzle, glowing in the light of the many torches of their bodyguards and those of other groups pa.s.sing through on their way home. 'It's only half a mile up the hill and, besides, I've got Tigran's lads looking after me.'

Sabinus looked dubious. 'Go quickly anyway.' He slapped the shoulder of the largest and most bovine of the four men with flaming brands accompanying them. 'Don't pick any fights, s.e.xtus, and keep to the better-lit thoroughfares.'

'No fights and keep to the better-lit thoroughfares; right you are, sir,' s.e.xtus said, slowly digesting his orders. 'And give all the lads' greetings to Senator Vespasian and Magnus when you see them.'

'I will do.' Sabinus clasped his uncle's forearm. 'We leave for Aquae Cutillae at the second hour of the day, Uncle.'

'I'll be at the Porta Collina, waiting with my carriage. Let's hope my sister can hang on for the two days it'll take us to get there.'

Sabinus smiled, his round face, semi-shadowed in the torchlight, was thoughtfully sad. 'Mother is very resolute; she won't cross the Styx until she's seen us.'

'Vespasia has always been a woman who enjoyed trying to dominate her menfolk; it wouldn't surprise me if she died on purpose, before we arrived, just to make us feel guilty at being forced to delay our departure by a day.'

'It couldn't be helped, Uncle; the business of Rome takes priority over personal affairs.'

'It was ever thus, dear boy, ever thus. I shall see you tomorrow.'

Sabinus watched his uncle make his way through a colonnade, into Caesar's Forum at the foot of the Quirinal and then disappear from sight, with his bodyguards surrounding him like four torch-bearing colossi, warding off the dangers of a city made feral by night.

With a prayer to his lord Mithras to preserve his dying mother for just two more days, he turned and headed the few paces to the Capitoline Hill and the Tullianum at its base.

'How is he, Blaesus?' Sabinus asked as the iron-reinforced wooden door to the prison was opened by a heavily muscled, bald man, wearing a tunic protected by a stained leather ap.r.o.n.

Blaesus shrugged. 'I haven't touched him, prefect; I hear the odd moan from down there but other than that he's been quiet. He certainly hasn't volunteered to talk, if that's what you're asking.'

'I suppose it was.' Sabinus sighed as he sat down on the only comfortable chair in the low-ceilinged room and looked at a trapdoor towards the far end just visible in the dim light of an oil lamp set in the middle of the sole table. 'Well, we'd better get him up then and carry on. I think we'll try slightly stronger encouragement this time; I need the answer tonight as I'm leaving the city for a few days tomorrow morning.'

Blaesus beckoned to a corner. A hirsute giant of a man, dressed only in a loincloth, unfurled himself from where he had been curled up on a pile of rags in the shadows; he held a bone in one hand whose provenance Sabinus did not like to guess at. 'Down you go, Beauty,' Blaesus said as he hauled on a rope that raised the trapdoor. 'Bring him up and don't bite him more than once.'

Beauty grunted, his face, flat as if it had been pummelled by a spade, cracked into a leer and he nodded furious understanding of his instructions, dropping his bone. Sabinus watched the monstrosity lower himself through the floor and out of sight, revolted by his grossness and briefly wondering what his real name was before deeming it far beneath his dignity to ask.

A cry of pain echoed around the bare stone walls, emanating from the cell below, which was the only other room in Rome's public prison; the cry was followed by a deep snarl, which Sabinus took to be Beauty encouraging his charge to move. A few moments later, the head of the only occupant of the Tullianum appeared through the hole in the floor, his arms pulling himself up, wriggling his body in his desperation to get away from the hideous beast below him. After a couple more racing heartbeats of scrabbling, the terrified prisoner emerged, whole but naked, from the dark pit below, his long hair and moustaches matted with filth.

'Good evening, Venutius,' Sabinus crooned as if the sight of the prisoner was the most pleasing thing in the world. 'I'm so pleased that you managed to avoid becoming Beauty's dinner; now perhaps we can get back to what we were discussing this afternoon.'

Venutius drew himself up; the muscles in his chest, thighs and arms were sculpted and p.r.o.nounced, and, despite his nudity, he managed to exude an air of dignity as he looked down at his gaoler. 'I have nothing to say to you, t.i.tus Flavius Sabinus; and as a citizen of Rome you can do nothing to me until I've exercised my right to appeal to the Emperor.'

Sabinus smiled without humour. 'You betrayed that citizenship when you led the Brigantes in revolt against Rome; your citizenship, as I told you earlier, is revoked and I don't think you'll find anyone who would argue against a traitor having his legal protection removed. The Emperor is unaware of your presence in Rome, which is just as well for you as I believe he would order your immediate execution. So, I'll ask you again, nicely, and for the last time: who gave you the money to finance your rebellion in Britannia?'

Venutius flinched and moved away from the trapdoor as Beauty reappeared, snarling softly to himself in what could be described as a form of singing as of one happy in his work. 'I'm protected by someone very close to the Emperor; you can't touch me,' Venutius said once Beauty had retrieved his bone and retired to his rags to gnaw on it.

'And I've been asked by someone very close to the Emperor to find out where all your cash came from.' That, Sabinus knew, was a lie; however, it was close enough to the truth for it to be believable. 'And that someone is very anxious to find out quickly; tonight in fact.' Sabinus nodded to Blaesus.

'Beauty!' Blaesus shouted in a commanding voice. 'Put the bone down.'

The monster growled deep and long, as he, with obvious reluctance, complied with his master's will.

'He'll start getting hungry soon if he's not allowed to gnaw on his bone,' Sabinus observed to Venutius, who looked sidelong at the hair-covered thing in the corner, concern showing in his expression.

A couple more growls caused Venutius to glance at Sabinus before looking back at Beauty. 'No one financed my rebellion, it was my own money. It was after my b.i.t.c.h of a wife, Cartimandua, replaced me as her consort with that upstart, Vellocatus, I decided to have my revenge and remove her; which I did with pleasure.'

'But it cost a lot of money to raise so many warriors and to keep them with you; and then taking on the survivors of Cartimandua's army was yet more expense.'

Beauty growled again and let out a reverberating fart as he got to his feet, slavering at Venutius.

Venutius spoke quickly: 'I found Cartimandua's h.o.a.rd, there was plenty in it; all freshly minted silver denarii tens of thousands of them as well as hundreds, perhaps thousands of gold aurei.'