Rome’s Fallen Eagle Read Free

added. They snaked their way forward, each more vulgar and ill-conceived than the one before, and cascaded down the hill to the Temple of Castor and Pollux at the foot of the Palatine, which now – sacrilegiously in the secret part of many people’s minds – served as a vestibule to the whole palace complex. It was to the closest of these extensions, just ahead of him, that the centurion led Sabinus.
    Taking a key from his belt, the centurion unlocked a heavy, oaken door and pulled it open, noiselessly on goose-fatted hinges, to reveal a wide passageway. ‘To the right, sir,’ he said, stepping aside to allow Sabinus past. ‘We’ll stay here to prevent anyone following you down.’
    Sabinus nodded and passed through; sunlight washed in from regularly spaced windows on either side. He swept his sword from its scabbard beneath his cloak, pulled a dagger from his belt and strode forward; the hard slapping of his footsteps reverberated around him off the whitewashed plaster walls.
    After a few dozen paces he heard voices from around a bend to the left; he quickened his pace. From the theatre below came another burst of laughter followed by applause. Sabinus approached the corner; the voices were close. He raised his sword and readied himself to strike as soon as he made the turn. Swinging sharply left he pounced forward. He felt his heart leap in his chest as a shrill shriek greeted him and he stared into two terrified eyes set in a long, down-turned face; mucus oozed from a pronounced nose. Claudius’ cry died in his throat as he gaped at the sword pointing directly at him and then back at Sabinus. Herod Agrippa stood stock still, his face frozen in fear, next to him.
    Sabinus pulled himself back; he had given Clemens his word not to kill Claudius. ‘Get out of here, both of you!’ he shouted.
    After a moment’s dumbfounded delay Claudius lumbered off, twitching and muttering, leaving a pool of urine behind him. Herod Agrippa, breathing deeply, stooped and stared up, under the hood, at Sabinus’ concealed face. For a moment their eyes met; Herod’s widened slightly. Sabinus made a threatening gesture with his sword and the Judaean pelted off after Claudius.
    Sabinus cursed and prayed to Mithras that it was not recognition that he had seen in the King’s eyes. Voices from further down the corridor drove the worry from his mind; one of them was most definitely that of Caligula. He retreated around the corner and waited as the voices grew closer.
    ‘If those Aitolian boys are sweet-looking I might take a couple to the baths with me,’ Caligula was saying. ‘Would you like a couple, Clemens?’
    ‘If they’re sweet-looking, Divine Gaius.’
    ‘But if they’re not then we can always have Chaerea; I’d love to hear that sweet voice moan with ecstasy.’ Caligula giggled; his companions did not join in.
    Sabinus surged around the corner, sword raised.
    Caligula’s mirth faltered; his sunken eyes went wide with fright. He leapt backwards; Chaerea’s strong hands clamped onto his upper arms, pinioning him.
    Sabinus swept his sword through the air; it sliced into Caligula’s flesh at the base of his neck. Caligula shrieked; a gobbet of bloodslopped onto Chaerea’s face. Sabinus’ sword arm jarred and he lost his grip as the blade wedged, abruptly, into the collarbone.
    There was a moment of shocked silence.
    Caligula stared down, eyes gaping, at the sword embedded in him and then suddenly burst into manic laughter. ‘You can’t kill me! I’m still alive; I am a g …’ He juddered violently; his mouth froze open, mid-laugh, and his eyes bulged.
    ‘This is the last time you’ll ever hear my sweet voice,’ Chaerea whispered into his ear. His left hand was still grasping Caligula but the other was now hidden. Chaerea jerked his body, forcing his right side forward, and the tip of a gladius burst through Caligula’s chest; his head jolted back and he exhaled violently, spraying a fine crimson mist into the