‘Father, eh? You’re the son? Never heard of you,’ Tiberius said crushingly. ‘Well, tell me what you saw.’
Corbulo gave his account, mentioning Hasdro’s and Rhoteces’ part but, as instructed, not Poppaeus’.
Tiberius looked at him dully when he had finished. ‘So what were you doing in Thracia?’
‘I was a tribune on Poppaeus’ staff.’
Tiberius seemed uninterested. ‘And who else saw this?’ he asked dismissively, as if Corbulo’s word was worth nothing.
‘I did, Princeps,’ Vespasian said.
‘Ah, my sweet’s friend,’ Tiberius crooned. ‘My sweet, your friend says he saw a box of money given by Sejanus’ freedman to a Thracian tribe to encourage them into rebellion against me.’
‘Then you should believe him, Nuncle,’ Caligula said, still with his eyes closed, ‘he’s a very good friend.’
‘But I do, I do!’ Tiberius was now almost in a state of ecstasy. ‘Yes, I can see that he’s a very good friend indeed.’
‘We have brought the priest with us, Princeps,’ Vespasian ventured, ‘so that you can question him yourself.’
Tiberius’ joy was complete. ‘Ahh, pain,’ he moaned feverishly. ‘Where is he? Bring him to me.’
Rhoteces’ broken body lay strapped to a sturdy wooden table in the middle of Tiberius’ study. He had just passed out for the second time, his right foot being no more than charred, smouldering bones, some of which had fallen off into the mobile brazier below. The stink of burnt flesh filled the smokeenveloped room; a strong shaft of sunlight cut through the heavy atmosphere and fell on to the contorted priest.
Tiberius had administered the torture himself, taking, as Vespasian had expected, an inordinate amount of pleasure in Rhoteces’ every scream and cry for mercy, as if he was listening to the most beautiful and relaxing music. Although he had told them everything that he knew the moment his foot was placed upon the brazier Tiberius had persisted in his pleasure.
‘So this man says that it was Asinius whom he was working for,’ Tiberius said. He was quite lucid again, looking with deep interest at Rhoteces’ charred foot; he gingerly touched one of the blackened bones and, finding it still scalding hot, withdrew his finger quickly and sucked away the pain.
‘Yes, Princeps,’ Pallas answered, ‘but he described Hasdro perfectly. Hasdro told him that he was working for Asinius to protect his master, Sejanus, in the eventuality that something like…’ He paused, and waved his hand at what remained of the foot. ‘Like this should occur.’
‘I suppose that makes sense,’ Tiberius agreed, ‘but then what was Poppaeus’ part in this?’ He turned to Corbulo. ‘You, you were on Poppaeus’ staff, did you ever see him with Hasdro?’
‘No, Princeps,’ Corbulo lied; Vespasian could see that it stuck in his craw to do so.
‘Well, I’ll forget about him for the time being,’ Tiberius said to himself, sucking his burnt finger again. ‘But one day he’ll pay for allowing his army to address him as “Imperator” — when he’s no longer of any use to me.’ He looked around suddenly, aware that he had externalised a private thought. ‘So it seems that I was right all along,’ he carried on cheerfully. ‘Sejanus is a traitor. I knew it, but it takes my dear, dear sister-in-law to show me the evidence and you…’ He held his arms out, encompassing them all; a look of deep emotion came over his face and Vespasian thought for a moment that he would burst into tears. ‘You brave, brave, loyal men, good men, men with my peace of mind in the forefront of your hearts, you men have risked so much to bring it to me. You will go back to Rome and tell Antonia that I will act at once. Come, we shall all take a walk together.’
The gardens on the inhabited side of the Villa Iovis had been laid out on a slope that ran down to the cliff-top; a tall wall masking off the building works gave them privacy.
Tiberius led them, escorted by Clemens and his two men, down a set of grand steps lined with statues of naked gods and heroes on to a wide marble path that bisected the gardens and terminated, as far as Vespasian could make out, at the cliff’s edge, two hundred paces away. On either side, shrubs and bushes were bursting into life encouraged by the spring sun and an irrigation system that pumped water at regular intervals through pipes directly into the beds.
This same system provided the water for the many fountains that fed ornamental pools set on descending levels so that the water cascaded downhill, falling from one pool into the next. The pools were surrounded by small, lifelike statues that, to Vespasian’s amazement, came alive as the Emperor approached. The statues turned out to be children, adolescents and dwarves, who began to cavort lewdly around the pools’ edges, occasionally jumping in, either in pairs or groups, to copulate freely in the shallow water.
‘My fishies have awoken,’ Tiberius cried, waving his hands with joy. ‘Swim and play, my fishies; I will join you later. Will you come and play with the fishies with me, my sweet?’
‘Yes, Nuncle,’ Caligula replied with what Vespasian hoped was feigned enthusiasm, ‘but after my friend and his companions have gone.’
‘Perhaps they would like to join us?’
‘I’m sure that they would, Nuncle, what could be more fun for them? But unfortunately they must return to Rome, as you’ve instructed.’
‘Yes, yes, Rome; they must go back to Rome,’ Tiberius said sadly.
‘And you said’, Caligula carried on carefully, ‘that you would tell them what course of action you’ll take against that wicked man, Nuncle, so that they can warn Antonia, who’s your friend, and she can be ready to help you.’
Tiberius stopped abruptly and glared at Caligula, who looked momentarily afraid but then managed to cover it with a look of placid innocence.
‘I didn’t say that, you little viper!’ Tiberius roared. ‘Are you trying to upset my peace of mind?’
Caligula went down on to one knee. ‘Forgive me, Princeps,’ he said humbly, ‘sometimes I’m just so happy here that I muddle things up.’
Although terrified and unable to take his eyes off the potentially fatal situation in front of him, Vespasian noticed that the fishies had become living statues once again; all had frozen in whatever act they were performing at the point of their master’s roar.
Tiberius stared down at Caligula; rage burned all over his face and he clenched and unclenched his fists. He cocked his head a couple of times, clicking his neck, and then, gradually, he began to calm.
‘Yes, yes, my sweet, I know,’ he eventually sighed, ‘it’s so easy to muddle things up when one is so happy.’ He held out his hand and helped Caligula up. Vespasian and his party, who had all been holding their breath, exhaled with relief simultaneously; the noise caused Tiberius to spin around and stare at them as if he had forgotten that they were there. After a terrifying moment his eyes registered recognition.
‘When you get to Rome tell Antonia that next month I will resign my consulship,’ he said evenly. ‘That will force Sejanus to do the same and his person will no longer be inviolate. I will write to the Senate detailing his treacheries and demanding his arrest and trial; then I shall replace him. I know this Macro whom Antonia has recommended in her letter; he’s married to my good friend Thrasyllus’ daughter Ennia. I’m sure that he is up to the job and and able to shoulder some of my burden; he’s a good man.’
‘He is a good man, Princeps,’ Pallas confirmed, using a definition of “good” that Vespasian had never heard before.
‘And his wife is a beauty, Nuncle,’ Caligula informed him. ‘I dined with her at Grandmother’s house once; I’d like to see her again.’
‘That settles it. I shall arrange for him to visit me here; he can bring his wife so that she can play with my sweet. Come and look over the cliffs with me.’ Tiberius turned and walked purposefully down the path.
The fishies resumed their play.
At the end of the path a brown-skinned, grey-bearded man wearing a leather skull-cap and a long, black robe embroidered with astrological signs and symbols stood looking out to sea.