Rome's Lost Son Read Online Free Page B

the Emperor did while he held the office of censor, four years ago, cannot be undone, Laelius,’ Vespasian said, having heard the final plea for favour from a balding citizen wearing a very finely woven crimson tunic under his plain white toga. A heavy gold chain glinted around his neck.
    ‘I understand that, patronus ; however, the situation has changed.’ Laelius produced a scroll from the fold of his toga and stepped up to the desk to hand it to Vespasian. ‘This is a receipt from the Cloelius Brothers’ banking business in the Forum Romanum. It is for exactly one hundred thousand denarii, the financial threshold for admittance to the equestrian order. When Claudius stripped me of equestrian rank four years ago he was perfectly right to do so as, owing to a series of unwise investments, my combined wealth in property and cash had fallen well below the limit. But now, thanks to your brother, at your behest, securing me the contract to supply chickpeas to the Danuvius Fleet, I’ve reversed my fortunes and am now financially eligible for readmittance.’
    Vespasian glanced at the receipt; it was genuine. ‘The Emperor may not revise the rolls for a few years yet.’
    Laelius wrung his hands; there was a hint of desperation in his voice. ‘My son is now seventeen; only as an eques can I hope to secure him a post as a military tribune and start him on the Cursus Honorum. In two or three years it’ll be too late.’
    For all his client’s outward appearance of confidence Vespasian could perceive that Laelius was just another middle-aged man dogged by the spectre of impending old age with nothing to show for his life. But, if he could get his son started upon the succession of honours, the military and political career that could lead to a seat in the Senate, then he could justifiably claim to have done honour for his family by bettering it. Vespasian could understand his position well; it had been his parents’ ambition for their family that had driven Vespasian and his brother Sabinus to the highest office that a citizen could achieve – barring, of course, becoming emperor; that was the prerogative of one family alone. ‘Do I take it that there are two favours that you are asking me: firstly to use my influence with the imperial household to have Claudius enrol you in the equestrian order, and then to ask my brother to get your son a post as a military tribune in one of his two Moesian legions? Having already got him to award you the chickpea contract.’
    Laelius winced and produced another scroll from his toga. ‘I know I ask a lot, patronus, but I give a lot in return. I know that senators are forbidden to conduct trade; however, I know of no reason why a senator should not benefit from trade that is conducted by someone else. This is a legal document that would make you a sleeping-partner in my business with an interest of ten per cent of the profits.’
    Vespasian took the scroll, perused it and then handed it over his shoulder to Hormus standing behind him. ‘Very well, Laelius, if you make it twelve per cent I’ll see what I can do.’
    ‘Have Hormus make the alteration in the contract, patronus.’
    ‘It will be his pleasure.’
    Laelius bowed his head repeatedly in thanks and gratitude while rubbing his hands and calling down the blessings of all the gods onto his patron as Hormus escorted him out through the curtains.
    Vespasian took a few sips of watered wine while he waited for his final supplicant of the morning, contemplating, as he did, just what a client of Narcissus’ could want from him.
    ‘Tiberius Claudius Agarpetus,’ Hormus announced, showing in a clean-shaven, wiry man of evident wealth, judging by the heavily jewelled rings on each of his fingers and thumbs. He had the olive skin of the northern Greeks, which was stretched tight over his high-cheekboned, sharp-nosed face. Regardless of having two Roman names he disdained the toga, despite the formality of the occasion.
    Vespasian did