If Felix was not still the procurator and Pallas had fallen from favour, Vespasian would find out from his replacement whether Narcissus had now been reinstated as Claudius’ preferred freedman. As long as one of them was in a position of power, Vespasian hoped that he could use his knowledge either to protect himself from Agrippina if he imparted it to Pallas, or to help bring her down if he imparted it to Narcissus
What Vespasian was sure about was that if Pallas or Narcissus still remained unaware of what Tryphaena was trying to achieve and how she was going about it, then his information would be of great value to one of them. What was more was that the conversation that he had had with Vologases on the day before his departure from Ctesiphon would be of much interest to either of the Greek freedmen; at least the part about being willing to continue a manufactured war to help secure Nero in power would be — he would not be mentioning anything about the Great King’s real motivation for doing so, the motivation that was identical to his own: the end of the Julio-Claudians.
It was with these thoughts going round his head that the sun faded and the caravan halted for the night on a stony knoll, a barren island in the midst of a flat sea of desolation.
Vespasian lay with his hands behind his head just gazing up at the stars. Although it was their eleventh night sleeping out in the open he was still in awe of the vastness of the sky and the multitude of tiny points of light; the heavens seemed far bigger and fuller here, out in the desert, than they had anywhere else. ‘How many people have lain on their backs, gazing up at the night sky and been overwhelmed by its splendour, do you think, Magnus?’
Magnus, lying next to him, contemplated the question for a few moments. ‘Not as many as will do.’
Vespasian frowned to himself. ‘That’s remarkably philosophical for you.’
‘What do you mean “for me”? And anyway, why are you accusing me of being philosophical? I’m just being logical.’
‘Logical?’
‘Yes, taking the facts as we know them and following them through to a conclusion based solely upon those facts without the influence of sentiment, wishful thinking or exaggeration.’
‘Oh, I really have caught you on an evening of deep thinking. So, give me the benefit of your logic, if you will.’
‘Well, it stands to reason, don’t it, sir. If, despite all the efforts we make to the contrary, people are continually being born and then survive infancy, it follows that no matter how many people have already been born, that number will be topped by those yet to be born.’
Vespasian was surprised by his friend’s insight. ‘Provided that the world doesn’t end, of course.’
‘I can’t see how it will.’
‘The Jews believe that it will; and those who follow Paulus or his rival sect that worship Yeshua believe that it will end very soon. Remember him going on about the End of Days which is at hand, or some such thing; so if he’s right, your theory, however deeply thought, is wrong.’
‘Yes, but who can believe him? He also believes that Yeshua’s mother was a virgin.’ Magnus chuckled. ‘Really? A virgin in Judaea after our lads had been marching up and down it for a few decades since Pompey conquered Jerusalem?’
‘It had reverted to being a client kingdom at the time when Yeshua would have been born so there would’ve been hardly any of our boys stationed there.’
‘Yeah, well, the only virgins I’ve ever heard getting pregnant were Vestal ones and they ended up being buried alive with a jug of water and a loaf of bread.’
Vespasian sat up and looked over to Hormus who was roasting slices of meat over a smoky, camel-dung fire. ‘You’re our expert on this, Hormus; have you heard people say that Yeshua’s mother was a virgin?’
Hormus looked up from his cooking and grinned. ‘No, master; no one would say that if they wanted people to believe the rest of the things that are spoken about Yeshua.’
Vespasian smiled back at his slave. ‘I can see that we’re all thinking deeply this evening; it must be the scale of the sky inspiring us to greater things.’ He lay back down and returned to his contemplation of the vastness above him and was about to make an observation concerning the whereabouts of the gods amongst all those stars when a series of shouts disturbed the peace of the camp. Men, clustered around other cooking fires, sprang to their feet and grabbed their weapons. But there were no sounds of conflict. Vespasian unsheathed his sword and stood cautiously, looking towards the direction of the disturbance. From out of the blackness of the desert a darker shadow emerged; none of the Royal Guards made any attempt to stop it — in fact, quite the reverse: they backed away from it. As the shadow came within range of the glow of the fires it resolved into a group of men, almost two dozen, Vespasian estimated. They came unarmed and made no threat to any man. In their midst were a couple of the royal archers who had been on sentry duty out in the darkness; they were unharmed and released in full view of everyone to show that the newcomers came in peace.
The party then stopped and one man stepped forward and looked around. Eventually his eyes rested on Vespasian and he smiled the smile of a man who had just had his suspicions confirmed. ‘Greetings, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, former Consul of Rome. My name is Malichus; I am the second of that name to rule the Kingdom of the Nabataeans. I have come to inform you that you are trespassing on my land.’ He hefted a full goat skin, his smile growing ever broader beneath his bush of a beard. ‘However, I am willing to overlook that for a little while and share my wine with you.’
‘The truth of the matter is that I need a favour,’ Malichus told Vespasian through a mouthful of roasted meat.
‘And how did you know that I would be out here in the middle of nowhere?’ Vespasian asked, warming to the man despite his better instincts.
Malichus waved a dismissive hand as if he bumped into ex-consuls every day in his vast but empty domain. ‘Caravans cross my kingdom regularly, Vespasian; if I come across them they pay a toll whether it be in coinage, goods or information.’ He paused to spit out a well-chewed lump of gristle, wiped the grease from his beard and then grinned at Vespasian, his teeth glowing in the firelight. ‘When I heard that you would be passing through in a few days I praised the gods of my ancestors and sacrificed two camels and a slave in thanks for them hearing my prayers and answering them so swiftly.’
‘I’m pleased that you have such a close relationship with your gods.’
Malichus looked hard at Vespasian, unsure whether he had heard sarcasm in the last remark. Vespasian kept his face neutral, masking his thoughts on human sacrifice.
Malichus burst into laughter and leant over to slap Vespasian’s knee. ‘All great men have close relationships with their gods; how could it be otherwise?’
‘Indeed, Malichus. So what is this favour that your gods have brought me here to grant for you?’
Malichus became suddenly pensive, shaking his head at the remembrance of the weight of his problem. ‘I’m a powerful man; a great man, you understand, Vespasian. I am independent from both Parthia and Rome. I rule my kingdom justly and with thought for my neighbours. But do my neighbours have the same consideration for me? Pah! They treat me worse than I treat my women!’