empire. Soldiers forced their way through the crowds. Sailors and marines, up from the docks, searched out the ladies of the town. Fruit and vegetable-sellers shouted and sold their produce whilst trying to evade the market police. Astrologists, soothsayers, magicians and conjuring men clustered about. I heard at least thirty different tongues being spoken. I wondered if it was the last time I’d see this city. Some wit cracked a joke about the nag I was riding but I ignored him. We were soon through the city gates, onto the broad road to Ostia.
A trireme was waiting at a well-guarded quayside, Tiberius’s personal craft. It was a grim-looking vessel, it flew the imperial colours, but its sails were black and white, and the marines and officers on board were all dressed in dark leather corselets or tunics. It was the quietest ship I have ever sailed on and provided an insight into Tiberius’s suspicious mind. No one trusted anyone and the best way to keep your head was to have a quiet tongue. We were welcomed gruffly aboard, and our baggage was stowed away. Orders rattled out and we were soon leaving the quayside, as the trireme’s prow, curved in the shape of an eagle, sliced through the water. The fishing smacks and pedlars’ boats kept well away from our vessel, recognising the colours: the red and gold prow, the silver gilt along the rail and the dark sails.
The sea was calm, the winds favourable, the journey short; I was pleased to see the Minion was as seasick as I. At last Capri came into sight. Tiberius had chosen the island well. It was only a short distance from Rome, but well protected by its soaring cliffs which allowed only one natural harbour. Even as the trireme skimmed towards this, I glimpsed the armed men on the cliff tops. The Minion whispered to me that the Emperor had constant lookouts posted there with beacons at the ready, vigilant for the hint of any danger, any threat to the Emperor. Tiberius truly hated Rome. He viewed it as a place full of devils and went there as little as possible. He had even failed to return for his own mother’s funeral: her corpse had begun to decompose before Tiberius allowed the funeral rites to take place. Sometimes he travelled to outskirts of Rome, issuing orders, receiving envoys and quickly departing.
Tiberius also hated religion. He had no time for the Roman Gods or any others and neglected the temple ceremonies. He was, however, deeply interested in the science of the Chaldeans: the soothsayers, diviners and oracle-tellers who might predict the future. The most famous, Thrasyllus, had once promised that Tiberius would be Emperor. Consequently, Tiberius took such men and women seriously. But woe betide any whom Tiberius considered charlatans. They were invited to Capri and, once they had completed their business, were taken down the steps along the cliff edge. If Tiberius was unhappy with his soothsaying guest, a burly guard had secret orders to tip him onto the rocks below. A sinister, ominous place!
The trireme soon docked, and ran down its gang-plank. I had been in many harbours and ports throughout the Roman world, but found Capri was the quietest. Everything was closely regulated, and there were none of the usual swaggering sailors or tempting courtesans. We were welcomed by the commander of the Emperor’s bodyguard, a stocky, thickset man, dressed in full armour. At first I thought he was the usual dim-witted bully boy until he clasped my hand, and I saw that the eyes beneath his heavy brows were bright and cynical. He looked me over from head to toe.
‘Another of Sejanus’s creatures,’ he murmured. ‘I am Macro.’ and withdrew his hand. He nodded at the Minion and ordered us to follow him.
Capri had been taken over completely by the Emperor. Macro explained, as we followed the path up to the cliff top, that there were twelve villas in all for the Emperor, his guests and household. Gardens and temples had also been laid out and built. We were
A trireme was waiting at a well-guarded quayside, Tiberius’s personal craft. It was a grim-looking vessel, it flew the imperial colours, but its sails were black and white, and the marines and officers on board were all dressed in dark leather corselets or tunics. It was the quietest ship I have ever sailed on and provided an insight into Tiberius’s suspicious mind. No one trusted anyone and the best way to keep your head was to have a quiet tongue. We were welcomed gruffly aboard, and our baggage was stowed away. Orders rattled out and we were soon leaving the quayside, as the trireme’s prow, curved in the shape of an eagle, sliced through the water. The fishing smacks and pedlars’ boats kept well away from our vessel, recognising the colours: the red and gold prow, the silver gilt along the rail and the dark sails.
The sea was calm, the winds favourable, the journey short; I was pleased to see the Minion was as seasick as I. At last Capri came into sight. Tiberius had chosen the island well. It was only a short distance from Rome, but well protected by its soaring cliffs which allowed only one natural harbour. Even as the trireme skimmed towards this, I glimpsed the armed men on the cliff tops. The Minion whispered to me that the Emperor had constant lookouts posted there with beacons at the ready, vigilant for the hint of any danger, any threat to the Emperor. Tiberius truly hated Rome. He viewed it as a place full of devils and went there as little as possible. He had even failed to return for his own mother’s funeral: her corpse had begun to decompose before Tiberius allowed the funeral rites to take place. Sometimes he travelled to outskirts of Rome, issuing orders, receiving envoys and quickly departing.
Tiberius also hated religion. He had no time for the Roman Gods or any others and neglected the temple ceremonies. He was, however, deeply interested in the science of the Chaldeans: the soothsayers, diviners and oracle-tellers who might predict the future. The most famous, Thrasyllus, had once promised that Tiberius would be Emperor. Consequently, Tiberius took such men and women seriously. But woe betide any whom Tiberius considered charlatans. They were invited to Capri and, once they had completed their business, were taken down the steps along the cliff edge. If Tiberius was unhappy with his soothsaying guest, a burly guard had secret orders to tip him onto the rocks below. A sinister, ominous place!
The trireme soon docked, and ran down its gang-plank. I had been in many harbours and ports throughout the Roman world, but found Capri was the quietest. Everything was closely regulated, and there were none of the usual swaggering sailors or tempting courtesans. We were welcomed by the commander of the Emperor’s bodyguard, a stocky, thickset man, dressed in full armour. At first I thought he was the usual dim-witted bully boy until he clasped my hand, and I saw that the eyes beneath his heavy brows were bright and cynical. He looked me over from head to toe.
‘Another of Sejanus’s creatures,’ he murmured. ‘I am Macro.’ and withdrew his hand. He nodded at the Minion and ordered us to follow him.
Capri had been taken over completely by the Emperor. Macro explained, as we followed the path up to the cliff top, that there were twelve villas in all for the Emperor, his guests and household. Gardens and temples had also been laid out and built. We were
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