Vespasian was surprised by the vehemence of Felix’s appeal and the look of worried concern in his eyes. ‘Yes, I will, Felix. I’ve seen enough of it to share your concerns; I’ll make sure that he understands the danger.’
‘Thank you, my friend; it’s for all our sakes. The sooner we act the better.’
‘And the sooner I get back to Rome the better.’ Vespasian looked out over the variety of vessels moored in the port as the sun touched the surface of the sea. ‘When do you think I’ll be able to take a ship?’
‘I’ve already given orders to look for a suitable one.’
‘Oh, I don’t need anything fancy; just a seaworthy ship that will get me back swiftly.’
‘It’s not you that I was thinking of; I was assuming that you wanted to take the gift that Malichus, that rogue out in the desert, sent you.’
Vespasian had half-forgotten about the promised gift in return for Vespasian’s help with his citizenship. ‘Well, I suppose so; but why does it need a special ship?’
‘Because you wouldn’t want to damage them; I’ve never seen more beautiful Arab stallions.’
PART IV
CHAPTER XVII
‘So where are you going to keep them?’ Magnus asked as he and Vespasian watched the five stallions being led at dawn down the gangplank of the wide-bellied trader in which they had made the journey from Caesarea to Claudius’ new port on the northern bank of the Tiber estuary. Built around a central, manmade peninsula, supporting the biggest lighthouse in the world after the Pharos in Alexandria, the modern port could hold double the amount of ships than its older, fouler-smelling rival, Ostia, on the southern bank of the estuary. Equipped with tall cranes and lined with warehouses, the quay bustled with activity as trading ships from all over the Empire were offloaded of the essentials that would keep the Roman mob fed and docile and the luxuries that kept Rome’s élite contented.
They had hauled-to just up the coast overnight and had entered the magnificent, circular construction in the half-light before dawn. But despite it being his first time in the new port, as the sun rose, Vespasian only had eyes for his horses. ‘You keep on asking me that,’ he replied, admiring the beasts’ condition after twenty days at sea.
‘And you keep on avoiding giving an answer.’
‘That’s because you keep on trying to persuade me to give them to your beloved Greens.’
‘Not give them but loan them. What else are they for other than racing? Look at them, they’re magnificent.’
And they were magnificent; Vespasian could not deny that, nor, for that matter, could anyone with an eye for horse-flesh. Five Arabian Greys: dished profiles, arched necks, level croups and high carried tails; they were beautiful and drew looks and comments of admiration from everyone on the crowded quayside watching them disembark. The stallions, for their part, seemed to realise that they were the objects of much attention and responded by tossing their heads and snorting while regarding the onlookers with their intelligent dark eyes, their high-stepping hoofs clattering down onto the stone quay lined with recently built brick warehouses.
‘Malichus even gave you five,’ Magnus went on, his expression increasingly anxious, ‘so that you’ve always got a spare.’
‘I don’t gamble, Magnus.’
Magnus winced in frustration, clenching his fists by his side. ‘How many times must I tell you: it’s not gambling! You don’t have to bet on them; all you have to do is watch them win.’
‘And what do I get from that?’
‘I’ve told you, we can work something out with the Greens. My mate Lucius, one of your clients, well, he’s quite high up with the Greens now. You can get him to organise a meeting with the faction-master and come to some financial arrangement. Then the horses can live at the Greens’ stables on the Campus Martius, you can visit them whenever you like, take them for a spin around the Circus Flaminius now and again if you want, and meanwhile the faction pays for their very expensive upkeep and you share the profits of their prize money when they win. Not to mention the stud price of five champions; you’ll make a fortune from that. I can’t see what the problem is.’ Magnus threw his arms in the air in frustration as he had done many times during the voyage; it had been a daily subject of conversation as they spent their time watching the two slaves who had come with the gift taking care of their charges.
Vespasian kept his face solemn although inwardly he was laughing; he had already decided to have a conversation with Lucius the following day, at his first morning salutio upon his return. Ever since Magnus had suggested the idea of loaning the horses to the Greens, Vespasian had been in favour of the notion, if only because the expense of looking after five such valuable creatures would be met by someone else. However, to help pass the time he had not shared his agreement with Magnus and his friend’s attempts at convincing him had grown more desperate by the day. When Vespasian had suggested, innocently, that Magnus should perhaps make enquiries of the Whites, Reds and Blues to see if they would be interested and so have a bargaining point to get a better deal — should he eventually decide to race them — his friend had almost screamed in horror and his good eye had stared at him with almost the same blank, uncomprehending expression as his glass one. ‘I’ll think about it,’ Vespasian said, using his stock conversation closer that had served him well over the voyage. ‘I’ll see you later.’ He pulled up the hood of his travel cloak partially concealing his face, and followed the horses down the gangplank, leaving Magnus looking with yearning at the five stallions, shaking his head incredulously; no doubt, Vespasian thought, calculating how much money he could win by betting on them the first time they raced.
Keeping his head bowed so as to be unrecognisable, Vespasian slipped into the crowd, leaving Magnus and Hormus to bring the luggage and the horses while he went ahead, incognito, so that news of his arrival back in Rome would not be generally known until after he had spoken to his uncle.
‘Vespasian!’ Flavia blurted in shock as her husband walked into the atrium of their house in Pomegranate Street on the Quirinal Hill, halfway through the third hour of the day. She covered her open mouth with both hands before running and flinging herself, in a very un-Roman-like fashion, at the man she had not seen for almost three years. ‘I thought that you were dead, we all did, until Pallas told us a couple of months ago that you were in Ctesiphon.’
Vespasian held his wife close, marvelling at just how pleased he was to see her. He signalled with his head that the two waiting slaves should leave the room. ‘There was a time when I thought I was dead too. How are you, Flavia?’
Flavia pulled away and looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears; suddenly they hardened and she brought her right palm across his face in a brutal slap. ‘How do you think I am after you go missing for such a long time? You didn’t even write!’ Another slap stung his cheek and Vespasian was forced to grab both his wife’s arms to restrain her.
‘Calm yourself, woman. Of course I didn’t write; I was in a cell for two years that wasn’t equipped with letter-writing materials.’ He pulled her back to him and felt the sobs shuddering up from deep within her. He stroked her hair and murmured soothing words in her ear as Flavia let out the anguish of the past few years, drenching his tunic with her tears.
‘Are you going to leave me on my own for years on end again, husband?’ Flavia asked as she began to pull herself together.
Not being possessed of foresight, Vespasian could not say, although he rather thought that the answer was affirmative. ‘How are the children?’ he asked to change the subject.