Extract from Book One of the Aquila series: Child of Rome featuring Gaius (Caligula) Julius Caesar

  Today, I killed Caligula. I did not wield the blade but the keys of my laptop were just as effective. To celebrate (and mourn) the demise of a villain close to my heart I will share two extracts today. This first one is from Aquila Book One: Child of Rome.

Warning: extract contains sexual references

CAPRAEA- Villa Jovis 

GAIUS 

Gaius lay in bed, tracing her dark nipple with his finger until it rose to attention. 

‘You should insist he finds you a new wife, Gaius. I hear he is looking for one for young Gemellus.’ 

Gaius laughed, ‘What would that baby do with a woman? Last time Tiberius spoke of another marriage for me he threatened me with my brother Nero’s former bride, the last thing I need is a frigid spy in my bed.’ He squeezed her nipple and she squeaked. ‘Besides, I have you, Ennia, and all the whores on the island.’ 

She slapped his hand and rolled face down, protecting her vulnerable nipples and facing him. ‘I am only on loan and the whores on this island are all boy.’ 

The door crashed open. Caligula spotted his door slave’s apologetic face before the doorway was filled with Macro’s impressive frame. 

‘Get up, Gaius. The Emperor wants you.’ 

‘Ah, Prefect Macro, you have developed something of a habit of bursting in on me in delicate situations.’ 

‘You have nothing I haven’t seen and my own cock is far more impressive than that little thing.’ He didn’t spare a glance at his wife, sprawled naked on the bed, though she smiled at her husband’s reference to cock size. 

‘Is that true, Ennia?’ 

She smiled and raised an eyebrow. 

With a slap to her rounded white rump he rocked out of the bed and strode across the chamber to a bowl and ewer waiting on the sideboard and splashed water on his face. The movement sent his personal slave who had been obscured by a curtain into action, rushing to retrieve his master’s tunic and sandals. 

‘What have I done now, Macro?’ 

‘It seems you have been conspiring with Agrippa.’ 

Gaius frowned but let the slave tug down the tunic, belting it around his waist before kneeling to apply the leather sandals. 

‘I hope you are being careful, woman,’ groused Macro from behind him. 

‘Of course I am, I only let him spill his seed on my belly.’ 

Gaius turned to face them. ‘You do realise I am still in the room right? And I can hear that?’  

Ennia shrugged a white shoulder and reached for a wrap. ‘Yes, you are. But you should be on your way to Tiberius’ audience hall.’ 

Gaius spread out his arms, ‘Right, good to go. Am I a beautiful Macro? Will I impress my Grandfather?’ 

Macro merely lowered his brows and put a hand to the gladius by his side as a reminder of his role as escort. 

Gaius smiled and strode through the door, Macro following behind. 

The Emperor’s audience hall was really just an extension of his private rooms and though the Princeps himself was seated on his throne-like chair, the clothes on the bed behind him were still messed from sleep. Not that the Emperor seemed to do much of that and a lack of it made him increasingly crotchety in Gaius' opinion. 

Gaius came to a halt some paces back from the throne, ignoring completely the gaggle of onlookers who had gathered for the show. He bowed deeply and pressed his hand to his heart. ‘I wish you a Good morning Princeps, I hope you slept well. May the gods grant you health and prosperity this day.’ He avoided the smug tone he felt but was too practised to allow surface and looked up at the old man, whose cheeks and neck were raw from the rash that he just couldn’t seem to be rid of. No wonder his temper was foul. The man’s piggy eyes glared at him. 

‘I don’t need your good wishes, boy. I need you to answer some questions.’ 

‘Of course, Princeps. How may I assist you?’ 

He had noted Agrippa from the corner of his eyes, standing head-high between a pair of praetorians, but did not spare him a glance. Another man, a slave who looked to have been flogged was lying on the floor not far from the Princeps chair, another pair of praetorians beside him. 

Macro stepped from behind him and went to stand by the Emperor’s chair, staring grimly at Gaius who, for the first time, felt a frisson of alarm. 

‘This man, Eutychus,’ Macro kicked the prone slave who groaned and turned slightly, his face a mass of bruises but somehow familiar, ‘was arrested selling his master’s clothes to a merchant.’ 

Gaius affected a shrug, ‘I am uncertain Prefect, how I can assist in this matter. The slave is not mine, nor did I buy his clothes.’ 

‘Silence, boy. Let the Prefect speak,’ Tiberius rumbled. 

The Prefect resumed. ‘While under torture the man admitted knowledge of a conspiracy against the Princeps. One which, it seems, involves you.’ 

Fear dismissed sense and caution. ‘Then let him speak, I would hear my accuser.’ 

Tiberius growled but it ended in coughing. When he stopped, Macro continued. ‘Unfortunately, he is unable now to speak, but it seems he was a driver for his master, Marcus Julius Agrippa.’ 

Startled, Gaius realised now where he recognised the man from and frantically flew through his memories, searching for any occasion that he might have spoken in the man’s company. 

‘He recounted to the examiners a conversation between his master and yourself on the occasion of a journey to Pompeii.’ 

Gaius recalled the journey, an opportunity to watch the Gladiatorial Games in Pompeii’s modest arena, but not the conversation, so he kept silent. 

‘It seems his master spoke of a desire to see the swift end of the rule of Tiberius and the grand beginning of the far superior rule of Gaius Julius Caesar...’ Macro paused, looking down at Gaius from his superior height. 

Behind him, Gaius heard a scuffle and a crash and he glanced in that direction. Agrippa, still dressed in his purple robes, was struggling to rise from his knees where the praetorians had pressed him. A gag had been shoved into the man’s mouth, but his eyes were defiant as they lingered on Gaius. It gave him confidence. He turned back to Macro and Tiberius. ‘And did he recount my part in this conversation that I have no recollection of, though I do recall the jaunt. It was a particularly good selection of fights. As I recall the Thracian Celladus defeated three men in his bout, impaling the last on his helmet. The inn in Pompeii left a lot to be desired though, the mattresses reeked of piss and there were bed bugs.’ He was scratching behind his ear. 

A chortle behind him lent buoyancy to his recount. He turned to Agrippa, ‘There was that very pretty whore though, the Dacian girl… or was it a boy? I cannot remember—Agrippa, can you?’ 

More laughter accompanied the man’s stifled attempt to reply. 

‘Never mind. So. Prefect. What did this slave say of me?’ 

Macro met his eye, his gaze steady. ‘Nothing.’ 

‘He said nothing of me? Was this before or after his tongue was removed?’ 

More chuckles. 

‘Before.’ 

Gaius frowned and theatrically rubbed his temples. ‘Prefect, I am confused. I was brought here to answer questions about an accusation against me that was never actually made?’ He looked to the Emperor. The man was fuming, clearly, his entire face almost as red as the rash but he did not speak. He glanced back at Macro whose face was expressionless. ‘Prefect?’ 

‘The slave said you did not respond.’ 

‘Then there you have it. I cannot be accused of a plot that I was not involved in. Clearly, I was too busy planning my attack on the brothels and gambling houses of Pompeii to even hear the statement, since I do not recall it. Perhaps it was not even said. We all know the tales a slave will tell to get out of trouble.’ He cast a look at the battered man, lying in his own blood. ‘Though in this case it does not seem to have helped him much. If you have nothing else, Prefect? I have better ways to spend my morning. I have a copy of Sappho beside my bed I have been waiting to read and a jar of Ercolano red to wash it down.’ 

‘Stand down, Gaius Julius Caesar.’ 

Gaius stepped back to be consumed by the crowd. An anonymous hand clapped him on the back, he did not turn. He folded his arms before him, tucking his hands beneath his armpits. It would not do to allow their trembling to be seen. Macro had turned and was engaged in discussion with the Emperor. 

When the man turned back he nodded at the praetorians beside Agrippa. They pulled him to his feet and shuffled him forward. Agrippa for his part, kept his head high. 

‘Marcus Julius Agrippa, it is the Princeps decision that you have been found guilty of maiestas.’ A ripple of murmurs and the intake of breath surrounded Gaius. ‘You are to be exiled from Capraea so as not to be any further malign influence on his grandsons and will be held in the villa in Stabiae until further notice.’ Macro spoke now to the guards holding the unfortunate Eutychus, ‘See him immediately to the docks. Take this rubbish with you, perhaps we can sell him to the ludus seeing Gaius is so fond of games.’ 

Gaius was relieved that as the guards shoved Agrippa from the room the man did not seek his eye. 

‘Gaius Julius Caesar, I will see you back to your rooms, it would be wise for you to stay there today.’ It was spoken as though to a rebellious child being confined to quarters and yet Gaius was grateful. This way at least he would not have to listen to the sycophantic gushing and questions that would inevitably ensue. 

‘With your permission, Princeps?’ Macro bowed before the great chair and Tiberius waved a withered hand in dismissal. 

They did not speak as Macro strode beside him through the palace and to the solitude of his rooms. 

‘Get out.’ The Prefect spoke and the pair of slaves standing by the doorway scattered. He slammed the door behind them. Gaius glanced around the space, Ennia was gone, no doubt back to the children she and Macro shared. 

‘I hope you realise how fortunate you are?’ 

Gaius threw himself on his couch and reclined, hands behind his head, grinning at the bigger man. 

‘How many times must you be warned to guard your tongue.’ 

‘Now, Macro, that’s hardly fair. Even the slave said I didn’t say anything and in truth, I do not even recall the conversation. Though, I doubt it was the first time Agrippa expressed the sentiment.’ 

The bigger man growled. ‘Do you realise the precariousness of your position? Gemellus is on the brink of manhood…’ 

Gaius sniffed, recalling the five years he had spent in enforced childhood, waiting to be allowed to take up his toga and duties. ‘Long may he wait.’ 

‘And the Princeps has begun to seek a wife for him.’ 

‘So your wife tells me. Thankfully, I am still consumed with grief for the loss of my own dear wife in childbirth to seek such a thing.’ 

‘Gaius. If Gemellus weds and sires a child he will look like a surer bet than you.’ 

‘I care not.’ 

‘Liar.’ 

‘Go away Macro, I am in no mood for your lectures. The boy,’ he wanted to call him Sejanus’ son but remembered the Prefect’s blow the last time he had spoken the words aloud, ‘is the size of a twelve-year-old, and has the voice of a castrato. He will be siring no sons in a hurry and if you are worried pay the cooks to put something in her tea.’