Agrippina, Nero, Pallas and Burrus were now acting as if nothing were amiss as Claudius, having summoned Paelignus to the box to play dice between races, could barely remain upright in his seat and seemed to be in considerable difficulty each time he attempted to cast his throw.
The crowd, though, took little notice of the inebriate in the imperial box as they urged on the great-hearted equine teams seven times around the spina, the barrier running almost centrally down the middle of the arena upon which were mounted the bronze dolphins that marked the passing of each lap. Twelve races of twelve teams, three from each of the factions, were cheered on that afternoon and the celebrations for the winners were raucous; however, they were loudest for one team, when the neutrals and sycophants in the circus joined the Prince of the Youth in his extravagant poses of joy on the four occasions that his beloved Blues were first to tip the seventh dolphin.
With theatrical aplomb the dashing, current heir to the Purple presented the huge prizes to the triumphant Blue charioteers, basking in their glory as if he himself had driven the winning team. From the back of the box, the boy with whom Claudius, in his befuddled mind, planned to replace the glamorous poseur looked on unnoticed by the crowd as his rightful position was unashamedly usurped.
As Nero finished presenting the final prize of the day to the victorious Blues both his mother and Pallas conferred with him. He glanced at Claudius, then over to the senators’ enclosure and then gestured, with studied melodrama, for quiet; almost a quarter of a million people obeyed the request.
‘People of Rome,’ he declaimed in a voice that was husky and far from strong. ‘My father,’ he paused and indicated with a flourish the bewildered sot oblivious to what was happening as he struggled to read the dots on the dice of his latest throw, ‘invites you all to feast at his expense this evening. Tables have been set up throughout the city and will be supplied with food and drink for four hours. He wishes you the joy of the Augustalia!’ Standing side-on, Nero held one hand to his heart and extended the other out and up and then turned slowly to take in the entire screaming crowd. With a flick of his wrist and a downward motion of his arm, he silenced them and turned to the senators’ enclosure. ‘As a personal favour to him, my father requests the company of all senators of Praetorian or consular rank to join him for an intimate dinner at the palace. He expects you there at your earliest convenience.’
Vespasian swore to himself now that his first meeting with Caenis in nearly three years would have to be postponed.
Nero turned back to the crowd and struck a heroic pose, hands on hips, one foot forward, head held high and eyes gazing valiantly into the distance as his adoptive father was helped to the exit, leaving Paelignus, for once, staring at two large piles of winnings, one silver and the other gold.
‘I can’t imagine that he was in any state to make that invitation,’ Gaius observed, watching Claudius being restrained as he lurched to embrace his natural son as he passed.
‘No, Uncle,’ Vespasian replied, ‘it was Pallas and Agrippina who made it.’
Gaius looked over to Agrippina who now held her son’s right arm high in the air as if he had won a race. ‘Oh dear, dear boy, oh dear.’
CHAPTER XVIIII
‘N-n-none off yoush shup-p-p-ported me!’ Claudius muttered, returning to his favourite topic of the evening and pointing a trembling finger around the palace’s vast triclinium, built by Caligula. ‘N-n-none of yoush wanted a cr-cr-cripple for your Emperor.’
Not one of the hundred or so senators present bothered to gainsay him; instead they picked in embarrassed silence at the delicacies set on the tables before them and tried not to notice the fact that their Emperor had wet himself.
Agrippina laid a soothing hand on Claudius’ arm and plied him with yet more drink as slaves padded about bringing in fresh dishes and clearing those either empty or cold.
Nero, on the couch to Claudius’ right, took no notice of his drunken adoptive father, preferring instead to alternatively feed titbits to his wife and be fed the same by his slightly older friend, Marcus Salvius Otho.
Vespasian and Gaius reclined to the Emperor’s left, sharing their couch with Pallas; both trying to think of any small talk with which to bridge the uncomfortable near-silence now shrouding the room as Claudius took slow, methodical sips of his refilled cup until it was dry. The feast was in its fourth hour and no one, apart from Nero, could have claimed to be enjoying themselves.
‘Where’s Narcissus?’ Vespasian eventually asked, turning to Pallas.
‘He’s gone to his estate near Veii to try to help relieve his gout.’
‘Voluntarily?’
‘Agrippina did suggest that it might be very good for his health, if you take my meaning, as Magnus would say.’
‘Indeed he would and I do.’
Vespasian cast his eyes around the sombre gathering of Rome’s élite as Claudius slurred on, spiralling down into introspective self-pity as only a man well into his cups can do. Again he noticed Galba was next to the Vitellius brothers, reclining on the same couch, all three of them looking openly disgusted at Claudius’ appearance. As Vespasian began to wonder again just what Galba and the Vitellii were doing together, a pair of pale eyes, which seemed vaguely familiar, caught his gaze; they belonged to a huge man reclining on the couch placed next to Galba’s. The man raised his cup and drank to Vespasian; not wanting to appear rude, Vespasian returned the toast unable to work out where he knew the face from. His hair, clipped short, and clean-shaven face accentuated a vast, bony head, supported by a bull neck that in turn protruded from a powerful torso.
‘Who’s that?’ Vespasian asked Pallas out of the corner of his mouth as he lowered his cup.’
‘Hmm?’ Pallas looked up. ‘Oh, don’t you recognise him? Try adding long hair and moustaches.’
It took Vespasian a couple of moments. ‘Caratacus?’
‘Tiberius Claudius Caratacus, citizen of Rome, recently awarded the rank of praetor and now looking no different from any other Romanised barbarian.’
Caratacus smiled over to him as the recognition of his old enemy spread over Vespasian’s face.
‘He’s a particular favourite of Nero’s,’ Pallas explained, whispering. ‘He likes to have him around to remind everybody of his magnanimity in recommending his pardon. Caratacus is also-’
The arrival of another course interrupted the Greek as Claudius, roused from his melancholy by the smell, blurted, ‘Ah, mushrooms! At lasht something I can trusht.’ He downed the contents of his cup in celebration and then held it out to Agrippina to refill.
The company laughed sycophantically at the poor attempt at wit and then busied themselves in making appreciative noises in anticipation of the tasty dish. Conversation suddenly escalated as all began discourses on the safe topic of mushrooms and their preparation.
An elderly female slave placed a large bowl, with care, on the table in front of the Emperor and Empress, adjusting its angle slightly once it was down. Claudius looked at it with wine-stained drool oozing from his mouth as Agrippina dipped her fingers in and took a small specimen from her side of the dish and savoured its aroma. ‘They’re good, my dear,’ she said before placing it in her mouth.
Claudius watched his wife eat, his eyes struggling to focus.
Agrippina swallowed and smiled at her husband. ‘Delicious.’
Claudius grabbed one from his side of the bowl and chewed on it with gusto as Agrippina helped herself to another; all around the room people tucked into the dish and the atmosphere relaxed now that the Emperor seemed to be more content.
Claudius heaved out a huge belch and then took another couple of slugs of wine before choosing the largest and juiciest of the mushrooms on his side of the bowl and held it up to Agrippina, slurring what Vespasian took to be a phallic joke, judging by the Empress’s dutifully coy reaction. Claudius put the head to his lips and licked it suggestively and then pushed it slowly into his mouth before withdrawing it. Uncharacteristically, Agrippina simpered, but her eyes remained hard, focused on the mushroom. She rubbed Claudius’ thigh and whispered something to him; her mouth then pouted and her head tilted in the affirmative with the promise of a treat to come.