Free Rome’s Fallen Eagle by Robert Fabbri Page B

smiled to himself despite the truth of Magnus’ observation. They had, indeed, nothing to offer Narcissus in return for Sabinus’ life; nothing, apart from the hope that he, Narcissus, would remember the two debts that he owed them. Ten years previously, Vespasian and his brother had kept the secret of a coded, treasonous letter, written in Claudius’ name – and with his connivance – by his deceased freedman Boter. They had shown it only to Claudius’ mother, the Lady Antonia; she had it read to a mortified Narcissus. He had vowed to keep a firmer hand on the affairs of his malleable but overly ambitious patron. Narcissus had expressed his gratitude to the brothers for their discretion in the matter – it was information that in Tiberius’ or Sejanus’ hands could have meant the banishment or execution of Claudius and the end of Narcissus’ career. He had promised to repay the favour when he could.
    The second debt was a more ignominious memory and Vespasian still felt the shame of it. At the Lady Antonia’s behest he and his aristocratic friend Corbulo had murdered Poppaeus Sabinus, who had been financing Sejanus’ successor, Macro’s, bid for power. The deed had taken place in Claudius’ house, with Narcissus and Pallas’ help, during the exchange of Claudius’ debt of fourteen million denarii to Poppaeus for seven of his valuable estates in the province of Egypt. Claudius had been left very wealthy, retaining both the debt marker and the seven estates. This was the favour that Vespasian hoped Narcissus would repay. Although Narcissus had acknowledged his obligation to him at the time, Vespasian knew that there was no way that he could force the issue as it was completely deniable – for they had made it seem Poppaeus had died of natural causes.
    These thoughts played around Vespasian’s mind as they trudged up the Palatine, in foreboding silence, until they arrived at the front of the palace complex.
    Vespasian was shocked by the sight that greeted them: in the open space before the building, now very cramped owing to Caligula’s ill-considered extensions to Augustus’ once grand house, milled hundreds of senators and equites, stamping their feet and hunching their shoulders in the miserable weather. ‘What are they all doing outside in the cold?’ he wondered. ‘The atrium can’t be full yet.’
    ‘All of Rome wants to know how they stand with the new regime,’ Gaius suggested. ‘Magnus, stay here with Sabinus and the lads, we’ll go and see what’s happening.’
    Vespasian and Gaius eased their way through the disgruntled crowd, offering greetings to rivals and acquaintances, until they saw the cause of the impasse: arranged in front of the main doors was a century of Praetorians, still, outrageously, in full military uniform. In front of them were four desks manned by imperial clerks to whom senators and equites alike were giving their names to be checked against a list of people due to be admitted that day. The look on the faces of those who had been turned away told of the indignation and humiliation felt by those of the highest classes being refused access to their Emperor by mere slaves.
    ‘Not even Caligula went this far,’ Gaius fumed quietly. ‘In fact, he positively welcomed people coming to greet him every morning.’
    ‘That’s because, being an immortal, he had no fear of assassination.’
    Gaius and Vespasian turned round to see Pallas who had once more managed to catch them unawares.
    ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ he said, again putting an arm around their damp shoulders. ‘I’ve been waiting for you in order to help Sabinus circumvent Narcissus’ new admittance policy. Where is he?’
    Vespasian pointed through the crowd. ‘Back there with Magnus in a handcart; he can’t walk too well.’
    ‘I’ll have my men take them through a side entrance.’ Pallas signalled to a couple of clerks waiting on him to come closer. After a brief muted conversation, during which