Vespasian: Tribune of Rome (8 page)

This sense of mutual reliance plus the knowledge that each was indebted to the other for their life precipitated a thawing in their relationship.

The following weeks surprised not only themselves but also their parents; dinner in the early evening stopped being such a confrontational event, becoming instead a review of the subjects mastered or feats achieved during the day.

November passed quickly in this pleasanter atmosphere. The snows arrived on the surrounding peaks and the activity on the estate slowed down for winter, entering a period of make and mend. Walls were repaired, new tools fashioned, a new barn erected and countless other jobs, which had been waiting throughout the summer, were tackled and completed.

Sabinus took advantage of this industry to have a light ballista constructed, so that he could teach his brother the rudiments of artillery fire. He set up an ox head in front of a large sheet of leather and instructed his brother in the science of trajectory, speed and wind variation. Within a week Vespasian could hit the ox between the eyes at a hundred paces with the same ease that Sabinus could write a work roster for fifty slaves and their overseers or tally a profit and loss account.

The season of goodwill, the Saturnalia, came and went with its round of feasting and gift-giving. Three days after its close, on 25 December, Sabinus had just finished celebrating the miraculous birth in a cave, witnessed by shepherds, of Mithras, a new god from the East into whose mysteries he’d been enrolled whilst in the army, when their father called the brothers into his study.

‘Well, my boys, January is almost upon us,’ he began without inviting them to sit down. ‘You have kept your side of the bargain, so I shall keep mine. I have arranged for us to stay, as you did, Sabinus, four years ago, at the house of my brother by marriage, your uncle, Gaius Vespasius Pollo. There we shall have access to the highest social circles in Rome and even to the imperial household itself. Gaius now counts amongst his patrons Antonia, sister by marriage to our illustrious Emperor.

‘As you know, Gaius has no children and is therefore eager that you, his sister’s offspring, should thrive. He will introduce you to wealthy and influential people and write many letters of recommendation and introduction. He is to be respected and honoured; who knows, he may even decide to adopt one of you.’ He paused and looked sternly at his two sons. ‘I have been most impressed by the progress you have both made, not least in your abilities to set aside petty personal differences and work together. This is one of the most important attributes for a Roman nobleman. You will be in a society that is ruthless and competitive where everyone is out for themselves and their family. You will be elected to offices or serve in the legions alongside men who for no apparent reason are your enemy and only see you as someone to outdo. Yet for the good of Rome you must work with these men, as they must work with you. Keep your eyes on them, never trust them, but co-operate with them; if you do that you will be serving both Rome and yourselves well.’

‘Yes, Father,’ the brothers said in unison.

Titus rose and guided both his sons out of the study into the atrium, past the rainwater pool with its spluttering fountain, to the alcove by the household altar where the death masks of the family’s ancestors hung on the wall. He stopped in front of the sombre array of lifelike, or deathlike, waxen images.

‘Each one of these men had a life with its own successes and failures, and every one of them did his utmost to serve our family and
the Sabine tribe. Then, after they had won for us our citizenship, they served Rome. You, my sons, will build on what they have done and raise the family of Flavius from obscurity here in the Sabine Hills to greatness in the greatest city of all. I’ll do everything in my power to aid you; provide money and use what contacts I have, but I shan’t be around for ever. When I’m gone you will have to support each other. To this end I have brought you here before our ancestors. Here you will swear to be ever faithful to one another, always to look out for each other and, above all, to support each other in whatever enterprises you find yourselves in.’

‘But, Father, to be bound by oath as well as blood is unnecessary. Our blood-tie compels us to do all that is being asked in the oath,’ Sabinus argued.

‘I understand that, but this oath will be made in front of not only all our ancestors, but also all our gods, including your Mithras. It will therefore be the most binding oath you have ever taken and so will supersede any other. If there comes a time when one of you is unable to properly aid the other because of a previous oath this will nullify it. Do you see, Sabinus?’

Sabinus met his father’s eye for a few moments, then he nodded and looked at Vespasian, who played dumb. He now felt certain that Sabinus knew of the prophecy since his father was giving him a way to break his mother’s oath. At some point in the future, when Sabinus felt the time was right, Titus wanted him, Vespasian, to know its content, and because of this oath Sabinus would be able to tell him.

Titus then looked at Vespasian. ‘This is the last time you will be addressed as a boy.’ He lifted the leather thong of the bulla over Vespasian’s head. ‘I decree that from now on, my son, you, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, are a man. Take up a man’s duty, dignity and honour and go out into the world and thrive in your own right to your greater glory and to the glory of the house of Flavius.’

Vespasian bowed his head in acknowledgement of his father’s wishes.

Titus then turned to the lararium, where the images of the
lares domestici
, the household gods, were kept. He placed the bulla on the altar and arranged around it five small clay statuettes that he took from a cupboard next to it. He pulled a fold of his toga over his head, muttered a short prayer, and then filled a shallow bowl with wine from the altar jug. Standing with the bowl in his right hand he poured a libation over the altar in front of the largest of the figures, the
lar familiaris
, who represented the founder of the family. He then motioned his sons to join him, one on either side of the altar, and gave them each a sip of wine, before draining the rest himself and setting down the bowl.

In the fading light the three men stood in front of the altar whilst Titus, invoking the gods and the spirits of their ancestors, administered the oath to his sons. The words he used to bind them together echoed through the columns of the atrium as the death masks, staring down with unseeing eyes in the half-light, bore witness to the solemn ritual.

Once he had finished the ceremony he removed the toga from his head and embraced each son in turn, wishing upon them Fortuna’s blessing and placing the honour of the family in their hands.

‘Always remember where you come from, and to what family you belong. Each time you return home do so with greater
dignitas
, so that this house may grow in stature through the glory of its sons.’

They stood together in silence, each making their own requests of the gods in private prayer. The room was now almost completely dark. The household slave whose duty it was to light the lamps and the fire waited at a respectful distance in the corner of the room, not daring to disturb the paterfamilias as he prayed with his two sons. The only sound to be heard was the gentle patter of the fountain.

After a short while Titus clapped his hands, breaking the silence. ‘Varo, where are you? Bring wine, and why are we in the dark? What’s going on in this house? Have you all fallen asleep?’

Varo came scuttling in, aiming a kick for good measure at the backside of the lamp slave, who leapt into action.

‘I’m sorry, master, we were waiting for . . .’ Then he trailed off.

‘Yes, yes, I know, and you did right. But now I want wine and light.’

A short time later the room was filled with the light of numerous oil lamps scattered around the room and a fire crackled in the hearth. Vespasia arrived to find her menfolk seated near it with cups of wine in hand.

‘Ah, my dear,’ Titus said, standing up, ‘you are just in time. I am going to propose a toast; take a cup.’ He handed her one that was already filled with slightly watered best Caecuban wine. Lifting his own he raised it above his head, spilling a few drops in his enthusiasm.

‘Tomorrow we leave for Rome and the household of your brother. We shall make a sacrifice to the gods before we depart, so that they will favour our endeavours and to ensure that we may all return here safely. To Rome and the house of Flavius.’

‘To Rome and the house of Flavius,’ echoed his family as they drank the toast.

R
OME

T
HE BROWN CLOUD
on the horizon was growing larger. It was the morning of the third day of their journey and as they neared the greatest city in the world Vespasian could feel its wealth seeping out into the surrounding countryside and beyond. Evidence of it could be seen everywhere. Farmland and farm buildings gave way to extensive market gardens where thousands of field slaves tended the long rows of lettuces, leeks, onions and herbs. Armed gatekeepers eyed passing travellers, as if each one was a potential housebreaker, from behind lavishly gilded gateways that led up to imposing villas with magnificent views on the slopes above. The road itself was busier than he could have imagined; every imaginable form of transport passed them heading back up the Via Salaria, and overturned carts with broken axles, spilt loads and slow-moving columns of shackled captives meant that they found progress was quicker just to the side of it, and easier on the hoofs of their mounts.

Their party was made up of Vespasian, his brother and father all riding horses; next came Vespasia in a four-wheeled, mule-drawn, covered carriage, a
raeda
. She sat on deep cushions under the awning being fussed over by two maidservants as the cumbersome vehicle rattled and jolted its way down from the hills. Behind the raeda came a cart with their luggage, driven by two household slaves. Finally came three more household slaves, the men’s body servants, riding mules. As guards, Titus had hired three mounted
ex-legionaries, who had so far proved to be forbidding enough to ensure a trouble-free journey.

Progress down the Via Salaria had not been quick, owing mainly to the painfully slow speed of the raeda. This had had its advantages in that they had spent two nights on the road rather than one, staying with families with whom they had ties of hospitality. At dinner the families had traded favours to their mutual advantage. Titus offered promises of his brother-in-law Gaius, the ex-praetor, interceding in a court case or a civic matter in return for a letter of introduction to a magistrate or a member of the imperial household. Titus had been happy to trade on the name of his brother-in-law as Vespasia had assured him that all reasonable promises would be honoured, at a price – naturally – to himself some day in the future. For Vespasian it had been interesting to see at first hand the heads of two families supporting each other for common benefit one day, knowing that they could become arch-rivals the next.

As the small party drew closer to their destination Vespasian contemplated how he would advance himself in this highly competitive society that he was being forced into, where the only permanent loyalties were to Rome, one’s family and one’s personal honour and dignity. He looked up at the brown cloud in the distance as his horse pressed on up a hill and wondered whether he would be suited to, or even wanted, such a competitive life. The road ignored the steep incline as it forged ahead and before he had arrived at any firm conclusion it reached the summit.

Vespasian stopped and gasped. Forgetting all else he stared in disbelief at the most magnificent sight that he had ever seen. Five or so miles before him, crowned with a thick brown halo formed from the smoke of half a million cooking fires and the discharge of countless forges and tanneries, its seven hills encircled by huge red-brick walls punctuated by mighty towers, stood the heart of the most powerful empire in the world: Rome.