The Furies of Rome by Robert Fabbri Page A

description, Princeps; in a category of its own.’
    ‘You have both earned my gratitude.’ Nero turned to Otho as senators congratulated Vespasian and Gaius through gritted teeth at their audacious sycophancy, wishing that they had had the sense to see the ballad for what it was. ‘So, Otho, now has come the moment when you must judge: Poppaea’s beauty or my voice; which of the two do you deem the most beautiful?’
    Otho had no doubt. ‘Your voice, Princeps; your voice every time. How can mere womanhood compare with a voice lubricated with ambrosia?’
    Poppaea held the same view. ‘My beauty is nothing in comparison to the voice of a living god, Princeps.’ She ran the tip of her tongue lightly along her upper lip and looked at Nero with smouldering, half-closed eyes in a vain attempt to prove the fact that her looks were as nought compared to Nero’s voice and were unable to move anyone in such a degree.
    This, however, was more than Nero could bear. ‘Otho, you said that you would ravage the winner, so, therefore, I declare it a draw.’ He took both Poppaea and Otho by the arm and led them, with undignified haste, towards his private chambers whence, Vespasian assumed, they would not emerge for some time.
    With a howl of rage, Acte stamped her foot, tearing at her elaborate coiffure and throwing hairpins after the retreating trio. No one took the slightest notice of her as her time was now over.
    ‘That was, how should I put it, a flagrant, yes, flagrant is the perfect word, a flagrant piece of sycophancy that has probably done you both a great deal of good.’
    Vespasian turned in the direction of the voice. ‘Thank you, Seneca. I’m surprised that you didn’t think of it first.’
    Seneca’s flabby features took on a conspiratorial aspect and he placed an arm around Vespasian’s and Gaius’ shoulders. ‘It wouldn’t have worked for me seeing as I was already privy to the secret, having sat through the whole thing four times yesterday and failed to find a way of persuading the Emperor to keep his genius to himself. Let us hope for dignity’s sake that this is the most public stage on which he ever decides to perform.’
    Vespasian declined to offer an opinion on the subject.
    ‘Yes, you are unfortunately right,’ Seneca said, reading Vespasian’s silence correctly. ‘The question is: how do we limit the damage that this will cause to the, what’s the best word in this case, decorum, yes, that will do nicely, the decorum of the Principate?’ Seneca paused but did not seem to be expecting an answer. ‘One thing I will suggest is that your flagrant sycophancy has made it much more likely that Nero will pluck up the courage to perform in public sooner than he would have done had you stayed quiet.’
    ‘Had we stayed quiet, Seneca,’ Vespasian replied, ‘then some other sycophant would have done the very same thing. We just took advantage of the situation because, as it may have escaped your notice, neither of us seems to be in the greatest of favour with the Emperor at the moment.’
    ‘Which is exactly why I have taken you aside.’ Seneca beamed in an avuncular manner at each of them. ‘I have a little proposal that will help your standing in Nero’s eyes; a mission that, now he has bestowed his favour upon you, he will be only too pleased to see you perform. Who knows, but it may even get your son Titus that posting as a military tribune that you both so wish for.’
    Vespasian remained non-committal. ‘Oh yes?’
    ‘Yes, and with a chance to see real action on the Rhenus in Germania Inferior; interested?’
    ‘Obviously.’
    ‘Good. I want you to organise a meeting; no, that isn’t the correct word. A reconciliation, yes, I want you to organise a reconciliation; and when I say “I”, I mean “we”.’
    ‘“We” being you and Burrus?’
    ‘Oh, no, no, no. “We” being the Emperor and me, or, rather, the Emperor.’
    ‘With whom does he wish to be reconciled?’
    Seneca