Gaius smirked. ‘Even if his favoured freedman is beginning to act like one?’
Vespasian looked away so as not to laugh and saw an unwelcome sight walking through the main doors: Marcus Valerius Messala Corvinus, the man who had, by abducting Clementina and delivering her to Caligula, knowingly set in motion the train of events that had led to Caligula’s assassination and his sister, Messalina’s, rise to empress. His striking, patrician face had an expression of immense satisfaction on it as he strode through the atrium as if he owned the place.
Vespasian had first encountered the man whilst serving as a quaestor in Cyrenaica and they had become enemies. Now he turned his head to avoid being seen; but too late.
‘What are you doing here, bumpkin?’ Corvinus sneered, looking down his long, aristocratic nose. ‘I can’t imagine that there are any positions for foolhardy country boys who enjoy abandoning their social betters to slavers and losing over a hundred men in the desert.’
Vespasian got to his feet, his jaw rigid. It was true that his venture against the desert-dwelling Marmarides tribe had been foolhardy — he had undertaken it solely to impress Flavia — but he did not like being reminded of the fact. ‘My family still have a score to settle with you for what you did to Clementina, Corvinus.’
‘Really? I should say we’re equal.’
‘Not after what Caligula put her through.’
‘Would it help to know that it was mainly business? Although, I will admit there was a sweet mix of pleasure in it as well; I knew that the only person who stood a good chance of assassinating Caligula would be one of the Praetorian prefects. So Clementina was just perfect to have my revenge on you and to goad Clemens into clearing the way for my sister to become empress. Your idiot brother even unwittingly told me where she was; I was surprised he didn’t join with Clemens in the assassination — or is he happy being a dishonourable cuckold?’
‘You don’t want to make it any worse.’
‘An empty threat, bumpkin. I’ll speak to you any way I want; Messalina’s empress now and if you want my advice you should consider us square.’
Vespasian opened his mouth to argue as a clerk cleared his throat next to them. ‘The imperial secretary will see you now, sirs.’
Corvinus creased his nose as if he had trodden in something unpleasant and then turned on his heel and strolled away, seemingly without a care.
‘Follow me, sirs,’ the clerk said, turning to go.
‘That, my dear boy,’ Gaius whispered, ‘is a very wellconnected man whom you’d be wise to steer clear of.’
‘Thank you, Uncle,’ Vespasian snapped. ‘But I think that I’ve got more pressing issues to worry about at the moment; Sabinus’ life, for example.’
CHAPTER IIII
Away from the atrium, the palace seemed almost completely deserted. They passed the occasional imperial functionary in the high, wide corridors as they snaked their way deep into the complex. The overcast day allowed for very little light or heat to enter through the few, high-set windows and the atmosphere was chill and gloomy; the clacking of the hardened leather soles of their red senatorial shoes echoing around them made Vespasian feel that he was being led to a place of incarceration rather than to the centre of power.
Eventually the clerk stopped outside a grand set of double doors; he knocked on the black lacquered wood.
‘Enter,’ a familiar voice ordered languidly.
The clerk swung the heavy door open, slowly and soundlessly, and then ushered Vespasian and Gaius into a room, predominantly decorated in deep red, awash with flickering golden light.
‘Good day to you, Senators Pollo and Vespasian,’ Narcissus crooned from behind a sturdy oaken desk littered with scrolls; he did not get up. Five chairs were placed opposite him in a semicircle; the left-hand one was already occupied.
‘Good day, imperial secretary,’ Vespasian and Gaius replied, almost simultaneously.
Narcissus indicated the slight, shaven-headed man already seated. ‘Do you know my fellow freedman, Callistus?’
‘Our paths have crossed,’ Vespasian confirmed.
Callistus nodded briefly to them. ‘Senators.’
‘Please, have a seat,’ Narcissus offered.
They walked forward. In each corner of the room, standing in front of a curved, polished bronze mirror, was an identical silver candelabrum. All had ten arms and were set on four legs ending in perfectly formed lion’s feet; each was as tall as a man, and gave out a beautiful golden light.
Gaius and Vespasian took the two central unoccupied chairs and sat stiffly on the hard wooden seats; Narcissus evidently did not want his interviewees to feel comfortable. The scent of his lush pomade enshrouded them as they sat.
The freedman considered them for a while with his extravagantly ringed fingers steepled, resting against full, moist lips protruding from a neatly combed beard. He cocked his head slowly as if to get a better view; two weighty, gold earrings rocked gently, glistering in the magnified candlelight. Behind him rivulets of rain trickled down the outside of a window, crisscrossed with lattice work supporting the individual, almost translucent, glass panes. Next to it, a heavy curtain blocked the draught from a door leading to the outside world.
Vespasian had not seen Narcissus up close for two or more years and he noticed new lines of stress etched into his wellfleshed, fair-skinned face. He was also evidently greying as there were tell-tale signs of dye staining the skin around his hairline.
Vespasian and Gaius sat in uncomfortable silence as they were scrutinised, unsure of whether it was their place to open the conversation or not.
A merest hint of amusement flickered across Narcissus’ iceblue eyes as he sensed their unease; he linked his fingers and gently laid his hands on the desk. ‘So what is a life worth?’ he mused, almost rhetorically. He let the question hang in the air for a few moments before gazing directly at Vespasian.
‘That depends on who is buying and who’s selling.’
The corners of Narcissus’ mouth rose slightly and he nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘Yes, Vespasian, market forces are always at work, especially in the commodity that we’re trading in at present. That’s why I find myself in such a delicate position in this case. There have been prior investments made by both parties in this deal and I’m forced to admit that one outweighs the other.’
Vespasian tensed inwardly; was Narcissus remembering his debts? A knock at the door ruptured the silence; Vespasian almost jumped.
‘Ah!’ Narcissus exclaimed with interest. ‘That will be the arrival of the object of our bargaining. Enter!’
Vespasian frowned; how did Narcissus know of Sabinus’ presence? Gaius shifted uncomfortably in his seat, which was too narrow to fully support his ample behind.
The door opened and Pallas walked in; Sabinus followed, supported by Magnus.
‘Secretary to the treasury, how good of you to bring the masked assassin.’
If Pallas was surprised that Narcissus was expecting them it did not show on his face. ‘I am glad to be of service in clearing up this matter, imperial secretary.’
‘Of great service, my dear Pallas, please stay,’ Narcissus urged, his voice brimming with overly genuine entreaty. ‘I have had five chairs put out.’
Pallas inclined his head. ‘It would be my pleasure, my dear Narcissus; I wouldn’t wish to upset your seating arrangements.’ He took the chair between Gaius and Callistus.
Vespasian was confused: who was surprising whom? Or were the freedmen acting and this meeting had been planned in advance?
Narcissus looked over to Sabinus, pale and resting on Magnus’ shoulder. ‘Our surprise visitor: the legate of the Ninth Hispana; and so far from his posting. Or ex-legate to be more accurate, which is a pity really as my people in that legion tell me that Camp Prefect Vibianus and Primus Pilus Laurentius are very impressed by you, but no matter. I guessed it was you when one of my agents saw a hooded man being taken secretly into Pallas’ apartments earlier. Well, well. Please sit down, ex-legate; you, out of all of us, look like you most need a chair.’