‘Why tell me this?’
Sejanus gave him a mirthless smile and shook his head. ‘Now put an end to it; come, Strabo, my son, we face the river together.’
‘I do so gladly in your company, Father.’
Sejanus took Strabo’s hand and they knelt on the floor; he pushed his head forward whilst his son remained upright.
‘It’s not the sword, Father.’
‘No, it’s the twister,’ Spurius said, coming forward with one of his mates. Both brandished a garrotte.
‘Lucius Aelius Sejanus and Lucius Aelius Strabo,’ Vespasian said, ‘the Senate has sentenced you both to death by strangulation; do you have anything to say?’
‘I’ve already said it,’ Sejanus said as nooses of rope were placed around his and his son’s necks.
Strabo shook his head.
‘Spurius, do your duty,’ Vespasian commanded.
The two gaolers each placed a short oaken rod into the rope nooses at the back of their victim’s necks and then twisted them around until the slack had been taken out of the ropes and they were tight, biting into their skin.
Spurius looked at his mate and nodded. Slowly and methodically they twisted the rods around, each turn tightening the garrottes. Hand in hand Sejanus and Strabo submitted to this slow death. First their eyes started to bulge and a strained gurgling sound emanated from their throats. Then their tongues protruded, waggling unnaturally far out of their drooling mouths and a pool of urine appeared about their knees. Their faces became almost purple, their heads went back with bulging eyes staring maniacally at the ceiling and lips curled up over their teeth; but they still clasped hands, their knuckles whitening. The gurgling stopped and the smell of fresh faeces filled the air. With a look of straining agony contorting their faces their hands fell away from each other, their heads lolled to one side and their bodies slumped forward, held up by the bloody garrottes now embedded in their throats. The executioners let go of the rods and the bodies fell into the pool of their own waste.
Vespasian looked down at the man who had come so close to breaking the Julio-Claudian grip on power. Their final conversation echoed around his head; why had he told him these things? How would he ever be in a position to sieze power? Then the last line from the prophecy of Amphiaraos came unbidden into his mind: ‘So to gain from the Fourth the west on the morrow.’ Was he the one who would gain? He shook his head and tore his eyes away from the man who had failed to gain the west. ‘Throw the bodies on to the stairs, Spurius,’ He turned and walked to the door.
Outside, the Vigiles, along with Magnus and his mates, were having trouble holding back the crowd from the prison door. Vespasian and the two Praetorians joined the security cordon and helped them push back the surging mob enough for Spurius and his colleagues to drag the bodies of Sejanus and Strabo unceremoniously out of the Tullianum and fling them in a contorted heap on to the Gemonium Stairs before beating a hasty retreat back into their cheerless domain.
At the sight of Sejanus’ and Strabo’s lifeless bodies the citizens of Rome roared out their pleasure and rushed towards them, each eager to be the first to desecrate the corpses. The entrance to the Tullianum was left clear.
‘I think it really is time for dinner now, sir,’ Magnus suggested again.
‘I think that you may be right, Magnus,’ Vespasian replied, breaking into a run.
They made it to the relative safety of the Senate House steps and looked back into the Forum. In amongst the chaos, elements of the ever-growing crowd had now turned their attentions to the cohort of Praetorians, with Macro at their head, who were trying to make their way out of the Forum and back to their camp. Pieces of broken statues, sticks and stones and other improvised missiles were being hurled into their ranks, felling a few of their number as the crowd vented their anger on the men who had maintained Sejanus in power for so long.
At a roared order from Macro the cohort stopped and drew their swords from beneath their togas. Macro bellowed another order and they turned outwards to face the mob on both sides of them.
Then they charged.
Showing no mercy for their fellow citizens, they cut down those nearest to them and stepped over their bodies to get at those behind. The howls of hatred and abuse from the crowd swiftly became screams of terror and pain as the mob turned and fled in all directions, with the pursuing Praetorians pitilessly cutting down those not swift enough to avoid their blades.
On the steps of the Temple of Concordia those senators brave enough to emerge watched helplessly as the massacre progressed, seeping out of the Forum Romanum into the Forum Boarium and on into the surrounding streets.
Vespasian looked over to the Gemonium Stairs, now deserted apart from the two broken bodies and a woman, Apicata, tearing at her hair and rending her clothes in furious mourning.
From beyond the House of the Vestals at the far end of the Forum came a massive roar and the sound of thousands of hobnailed sandals pounding on stone tore Vespasian’s eyes away from Apicata. A quick look at the source was enough to make him turn and run.
‘Definitely time to go,’ Magnus shouted as he and his brothers pelted after Vespasian down the steps in the direction of the Quirinal Hill.
Behind them the rest of the Praetorian Guard spilled into the Forum and fanned out across the city to exact their vengeance on and reassert their authority over the citizens of Rome.
CHAPTER XXI
‘How’s the house coming along?’ Vespasian asked Sabinus as they took some afternoon refreshment of chilled wine and honeyed cakes in Gaius’ courtyard garden.
‘We should be able to move in very soon,’ Sabinus replied. ‘The sooner the better, in fact, as Clementina is pregnant again.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you, brother. I want her to be settled as soon as possible; you know how stressed women get when they move house.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Vespasian lied.
‘I’ve been waiting for things to quieten down, though. Now that the Senate is finally meeting again today we should see a degree of law and order return.’
‘I certainly hope so,’ Vespasian replied, thinking of the violence that had recently engulfed the city.
For two days and nights Macro had allowed his men to loot and pillage Rome, before recalling them to their camp outside the city’s walls, leaving its citizens poorer and subdued but in no doubt as to who was the real power within the city.
It had taken half a dozen more days for life to get back to normal, although there had been sporadic outbursts of violence, aimed mainly at Sejanus’ supporters, whether real or imaginary. After a few more days the Senate had managed to reconvene, most of the senators having fled Rome for the safety of their country estates during the Praetorian Guard’s occupation of the city.
‘Did you get on the list of prospective quaestors for next year?’ Vespasian asked, changing the subject; he had only enquired after Sabinus’ new house out of politeness and was still in fact deeply disapproving of the way that his brother was financing it.
‘Yes, I did,’ Sabinus replied gloomily, ‘but there seems to be a candidate from every patrician family on it this time. Plebeians like us don’t stand a chance. I’ve a nasty feeling that I’m going to fail for a third time.’
They were interrupted by Gaius bursting into the garden accompanied by Aenor, who was trying to relieve him of his toga.
‘I sometimes think that my fellow senators are a bunch of brainless sheep,’ he boomed furiously. ‘Aenor, bring me a cup.’
The young German boy scurried off; Gaius plonked his ample behind down on a bench next to Sabinus and reached for a calming honeyed cake.