‘Oh dear, dear boy, oh dear.’ Gaius’ jowls and chins wobbled in outrage at the thought of a woman being so forward. ‘That would be the end: women making decisions in public; unthinkable.’
Seneca and Burrus evidently held the same opinion; they called up advice to Nero as Agrippina came nearer and nearer. Pallas then joined the two advisors, giving what appeared to be a contrary opinion and, after what seemed to be a short but heated debate, he was rebuffed by the Emperor, who rose from his seat and inclined his head to Seneca and Burrus.
As Agrippina approached the tribunal, Nero descended the few steps and met her at the bottom. ‘Mother! How good of you to come and support me.’ He embraced and kissed her, making a great show of filial affection to warm the hearts of the crowd. ‘Over here would be the best place for you to watch from.’ He held her elbow in a firm grip and steered her away from the steps as Seneca indicated to the slave with the chair to place it down by him, next to the tribunal. Agrippina, with a fixed smile on her face, allowed herself to be seated with much courtesy by Burrus as Pallas stepped back, disassociating himself from the struggle for precedence. Agrippina’s eyes flashed first at her son, as he remounted the tribunal, and then at Seneca and Burrus.
‘I think Agrippina has just declared war on her son and his two advisors,’ Vespasian observed to his uncle.
‘I saw the look too, dear boy, and that’s a struggle that a woman cannot win; not even that one. I think Pallas’ days are numbered.’
Vespasian nodded slowly. ‘Yes, it really is Seneca’s time now.’
‘I’m pleased that we have finally got the chance to meet,’ a voice said as Vespasian contemplated the best way to approach Seneca.
He turned and saw a huge man now standing next to him. ‘Caratacus!’
‘I have not presumed to invite you for dinner, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, being ranked only as a mere praetor and you of consular rank.’
Vespasian took his old adversary’s proffered arm and grasped it firmly; it was as if he was clutching an oak branch. ‘I must apologise to you, Tiberius Claudius Caratacus, for neglecting to pay my respects but as I’m sure you’re aware …’
‘You have only been back for a few days and they have been eventful. It’s a sad time for us all.’
Vespasian was surprised by the statement; he could not tell whether Caratacus was referring to Claudius’ death or Nero’s ascension and decided not to respond one way or the other. ‘I’m sure we have much to talk about concerning the conquest of Britannia.’
‘A conquest that is far from over.’
‘So I believe; it should make for an interesting dinner conversation.’ Nero got to his feet to officially welcome the Armenians; Vespasian lowered his voice. ‘I shall be making a tour of mine and my brother’s estates soon. I should be back after the Saturnalia at the end of December, we shall dine then.’
Caratacus inclined his head. ‘It’ll be my pleasure, Vespasian,’ he said before disappearing back into the crowd.
The speeches had been long and formal and the people’s interest had waned as the sun had fallen and the crowds had thinned out to the point that it had become noticeable. With an eye to the possibility of completely losing his audience, Nero interrupted the latest in the line of Armenian delegates in the middle of an impassioned speech about his country’s love of Rome and Rome’s new Emperor and hatred for all things Parthian, which, considering his eastern attire, was raising more than a few eyebrows.
As soon as it was clear that Nero was about to speak the background chatter that the Armenian delegates had been forced to fight against immediately died down. The Golden Emperor got to his feet and graciously indicated to the Armenians to rise from their bellies, from which position they had voluntarily made their cases. For quite a while Nero made a great show of contemplating everything he had heard, scratching his downy beard, rubbing the back of his neck with a pained expression on his face and then gazing into the middle distance over the heads of his adoring audience, seeking inspiration from afar.
‘I have made my decision,’ he eventually announced. ‘This golden age shall have peace and I shall soon be able to close the doors of the Temple of Janus. But before that happens we shall have war!’ He stood with one hand in the air and the other on his hip, the soldierly image of a general addressing his troops, and the crowd roared their approval. He silenced them with a swipe of his raised hand. ‘I shall prosecute this war in a firm and positive way and not in the haphazard, half-hearted manner of my father, who despite his many qualities could not be considered martial.’ As the crowd cheered their agreement to this point Nero signalled to Burrus to hand him up his sword. Nero held it aloft. ‘I will give Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, our most competent general in the East, full powers to resolve the Armenian question and beat the Parthians back to their homeland. He shall report only to me and shall have the benefit of my advice.
‘And so I shall deal with our external problems, safeguarding the sanctity of Rome’s borders; but whilst doing this I shall also address an internal infestation: I have been told that there were a few, this morning, who refused to take their oath to me, your Emperor. These people, I have been informed by Lucius Annaeus Seneca, do not acknowledge me as the supreme authority in the Empire but, rather, some crucified criminal called Chrestus. Find them for me, people of Rome; root them out and bring them to me for judgement and sentence. Together, my people, together we shall fight our enemies within as well as without and together we shall be victorious.’
Vespasian looked at Gaius as the people screamed their love for their Golden Emperor; he smiled. ‘Now he’s united them with common enemies both here and abroad, Uncle. He’ll secure his position and then we shall see how he handles absolute power.’
‘I’m sure we will, dear boy; let us pray to the gods of our houses that we don’t get to see too closely.’
‘I’ve found it!’ Caenis said, handing an unrolled scroll across the garden table to Vespasian. ‘It’s all there: the clause, the amount of the bequest and then the original valuation of Paelignus’ father’s estate as registered in the will at the House of the Vestals. It specifies its actual size in terms of land, goods, chattels and cash. Narcissus must have had this stolen.’
‘Or paid the Vestals for it.’ Vespasian read through the scroll, smoke from the bonfire occasionally wisping into his eyes. ‘But this doesn’t tell us how much was paid to the imperial treasury.’
‘It doesn’t need to. All bequests made are logged and filed at the treasury; you just have to get Pallas to cross-check what was received from Paelignus against what’s in that record.’
Vespasian looked at the valuations, did some mental arithmetic and then whistled. ‘I make the total value about twenty million denarii, which means that Claudius should have got ten but only received a quarter of that. Paelignus swindled the Emperor out of seven and a half million. That’ll do nicely.’ He slapped the scroll down on the table.
Caenis pointed to the rest of Narcissus’ records that they still had not read through. ‘Do you want to carry on looking through?’
Vespasian glanced at them and then across at the bonfire consuming the rest. ‘Burn them, my love. I’ve got what I need on Paelignus and we’ve got a few other useful things too. If we keep too much, it might become apparent to somebody just exactly what Narcissus did with his records.’
Caenis signalled to her steward to carry on feeding the fire. ‘How are you going to explain to Pallas how you come to have an original valuation that had been lodged with the Vestals?’
‘I won’t; and I also won’t be giving it to Pallas, as it would seem to me that his time is coming to an end. I’ll use this to buy favour with Seneca. For this he’ll be more than happy to get Nero to grant Malichus his citizenship and then, I imagine, he’ll come to an arrangement with Paelignus that he pays the balance of what he owes to him in return for his silence on the matter.’