People called Caligula deceitful. It was certainly said that when Tiberius had summoned him to Capri, he willingly joined in the foul practices, and he turned himself into Tiberius' agent and spy; this hardly fitted the personable image he first tried to cultivate as Emperor. He had previously acquiesced in silence to the exile and death of his mother, Agrippina, and his two elder brothers. Yet perhaps if he had not done so he might have ended like his brother Nero Caesar, who was forced to commit suicide on a remote island, or his brother Drusus, who was starved in a cellar under the Palace until he choked to death on pieces of flock from his mattress. Perhaps an adolescence spent in such danger and an apprenticeship under Tiberius explained, if they did not excuse, Caligula's unhinged mind.

Under Macro's tutelage he cultivated a pious image at first. Among his first popular actions was a journey to fetch the ashes of his mother and brother from their island prisons for ceremonial interment in the Mausoleum of Augustus; at the same time he renamed the month of September after his father, Germanicus. Even then there were signs of extravagance, for in honoring his sisters, particularly his favorite, Drusilla, he went to extraordinary lengths, giving them the privileges of the Vestal Virgins, allowing them, though women, to watch the Games from the imperial seats, featuring all three on the coinage, and including them in the vow of allegiance that the consuls swore.

He did banish all the painted androgynous perverts who had entertained Tiberius. For a time he set to with political will, reducing taxation, relieving censorship, reinstating the independence of the courts, compensating householders for losses through fire, purging scoundrels from the lists of senators and knights. But Rome was his plaything. There he could soak in baths scented with exotic oils, invent extravagant cuisine, dress in outlandish tunics and footwear, flood the Saepta for naval battles, build his own racetrack, gamble like a fanatic, and indulge in chariot races and theatrical shows to his heart's content. He was a man who had been an underprivileged child, now given a whole city as his personal toy.

His relationship with his grandmother became prickly right at the start. Shortly after his accession the new Emperor sponsored a decree in the Senate to confer upon Antonia all of the honors that had been awarded to the Empress Livia during her lifetime. Antonia had always taken a sour pride in refusing to emulate Livia. She had rejected every title offered by Tiberius, even after she informed him of the dangers of Sejanus. Now it made no difference. Respect for his noble grandmother would enhance Caligula's reputation; the honors were hers. It was as useless to refuse the gifts as to hope the respect was genuine.

Caenis noticed Antonia began to look physically gray. People wondered afterward if Caligula tried to poison her. It was not so. He simply eroded her spirit. She had been responsible for him after Livia died, and she was aware of the danger in overloading him with honors—or even too much responsibility. Antonia felt bound to attempt to restrain him, which inevitably turned him against her.

Caenis found her one day with her face streaming with silent tears. "Never have children!" she said bluntly. "Never marry, and be thankful that you have no family!"

Caenis remained still, allowing Antonia the opportunity to speak. "I have been to see the Emperor. He makes unfortunate friends; he is too easily influenced. But I am accused of interference, of course."

During those first few weeks of his reign she was still the only real influence for good upon Caligula. She alone dared urge restraint. But when she requested a private interview, he offended against all decency by bringing Macro, his unsavory commander of the Guards. It was an insult to his grandmother, and perhaps a threat too. If Caligula had been truly mature he would not have needed to do it. Still, it was now being said openly that Macro was grooming a protégé who would soon need no tutor.

Caenis was furious at the insult to Antonia. "I would have come with you! I am not afraid."

"Perhaps we should all be afraid, Caenis."

Antonia was heavy with despair. Caenis lifted away the mantle she wore outdoors, helped her to her long chair, settled feather-filled cushions under her spine, pursed her mouth in warning to disperse the house slaves who were flitting about in uncertainty.

Antonia sighed wearily. "My grandson Gaius Caligula informs me he can do whatever he likes to anybody. It is effrontery—but it is all too tragically true!" Caenis had never heard her speak with such bitterness. "The fate of everyone in Rome and the Empire rests in his hands. He is not fit. Not even his father could control him—not even Germanicus. And the fools have given him unrestrained power!"

They were silent for some time, Caenis hoping that her patroness would share whatever had occurred; however, Antonia had regained her rigid self-discipline. When she did speak, it was to say in her normal abrupt tone, "You are expecting your friend. Is he here?" When Caenis was with Antonia, Vespasian usually waited in another room. "Call him in!" commanded her mistress, for once surprising her.

He entered quietly, a sturdy figure with all the well-tempered qualities the latest wild crop of Claudians completely lacked.

"Flavius Vespasianus, there is no point lurking in corners. Caenis has the sensitivity of a guardian goose on the Capitol; the girl can hear your footfall three streets away, and I know she has heard your arrival by the way she jumps!"

For a moment the old lady's attention seemed to wander. She had become markedly frail lately, although six months earlier she had been still strong enough to have visited her villa at Bauli, where she had defiantly tackled Tiberius about his treatment of her rakish, debt-ridden protégé Herod Agrippa, walking alongside the Emperor's litter until he acquiesced to her demands for leniency. That spirit seemed to falter lately. Now when she gave Vespasian her hand Antonia held on to his much longer than he expected, gazing at him as if she had forgotten to let go. Her fingers were ridged like the bark of a carob tree. In the end she did release him; then he bent to kiss Caenis on the cheek, though he murmured "Excuse me—" politely to Antonia first.

"Well; I have not seen much of you!" Antonia scolded him; it was slightly unreasonable, since she had always remained impatient of their friendship. "Caenis tells me you are standing for aedile?" This post, as one of the curators of the city, was the next step in the cursus honorum, his upward progress through the various ranks of the senate. "Confident?"

"Not in the least!" Vespasian returned frankly. "Too provincial and too poor."

Antonia considered the point. "Too much the bachelor."

There was a complex array of legal discouragements to the single life, partly hitting a citizen where it hurt most, in his bank box, but also giving precedence to married men and fathers at elections. Not only were bachelors disreputable they were disloyal to their ancestors and the State. Even so, Antonia seemed comparatively indulgent. "Your day will come. Caenis believes in you. Take my word for it; that makes you exceptional!"

Vespasian was standing just behind Caenis' couch, and although public gestures of affection were traditionally improper, he set one hand on her shoulder and kept it there, his thumb moving fitfully against her neck. Old-fashioned as she was, Antonia seemed not to object. Caenis herself peacefully laid her hand upon Vespasian's to still his caress.

After one of the remote pauses that were becoming characteristic, Antonia observed unpredictably to Caenis, "Always favor a man who is tolerant of old ladies; you will be an old lady yourself one day."