B007IIXYQY EBOK (134 page)

Julianus passed these months in covertly approaching each Senator in turn, employing Domitia Longina’s help in arranging meetings ostensibly for other purposes. Patiently he tricked or cajoled from them the name of the most trusted and best loved of their colleagues. Many were openly terrified of him, supposing it some ruse to test their loyalty. When he had polled all save the dozen or so Senators no longer of sound mind, he found he had marked down the name of one man more than any other—that of the aged and amiable Senator Cocceius Nerva.

For a month Senator Nerva avoided him, guessing what was coming. And then one day Julianus intercepted him just when his quarry thought he had outmaneuvered him by leaving the Imperial Baths through a humble, little-used entry that opened onto the cook stalls. With Julianus hard in pursuit, Nerva walked with swift, angry strides, his gaze locked steadily ahead as if he thought it possible to pretend he did not know him.

“Off with you!” Nerva sputtered breathlessly. “Go annoy someone younger. And in a better humor. I’ll have no words with a man who makes me feel like a bullock prodded to sacrifice.” He brushed his arm with annoyance as if Julianus were some stinging insect that had settled on him. From behind them came the hollow shuddering of the gong that signaled the closing of the baths. Both men frequently collided with people in the crowd, most of whom either hurried frantically to evening engagements or felt the necessity to pretend they did so.

Julianus struggled to stay abreast of the surprisingly vigorous old man, while silently wagering that Nerva had not moved this fast in a decade.

“Now
that’s
an ungrateful thing to say to someone who is trying to place two-thirds of the known world into your hands,” Julianus replied, “not to mention immortal fame, and the peace of mind that comes with knowing you’ll always have a seat in the theater even if you’re late.”

“Your father was a vexatious troublemaker, and you are many times worse.” Nerva gave him the comically exaggerated frown of one who did not have the face for a convincing fierce expression; age had softened it into comfortable shapelessness, and a mild, gentle nature gave him a sheepdog’s eyes, full of patience and understanding. “I did not ask for this.” He looked at Julianus accusingly. “What if I decide, after a year, that it’s a life I despise? What then?
Did you think of
that
while you were making plans for me? It’s not a post a man can exactly step down from—not with his head on his shoulders.”

“Well then, if after one year you decide you dislike what I got you into, I invite you to seek me out and avenge yourself upon me in any way you like.”

“I retire to my estates next year. Now I’ll never retire. You are too late. You should have come to me thirty years ago.”

“I beg you, slow your pace and listen!” A cart stacked with crates of hens blocked Julianus’ way and Nerva almost got away from him. He cursed, ran to catch up, then continued on with quiet fervor—“It will be you
and no one else.” He forced himself to smile blandly so a suspicious eye in the crowd might imagine they discussed the yield of their vineyards in Gaul or the weather in Umbria. “You alone rouse no jealousies. You’ve held no high military command, and to our colleagues it’s a great point in your favor. In you, they see a way to give power and dignity back to the Senate. You may count it ill, but they don’t, that you are distantly of the family of Claudius and Nero. Like it or not, you’ve got the most illustrious lineage of any man living. A lesser man the army would throw off like a testy horse an unfit rider. Three-quarters of your fellows named your name and the reasons to me are obvious. You’ve a reputation for firmness and for speaking your mind, yet at the same time you’ve got fewer enemies than any man—how you manage that, you alone know. You know the government better than any of them. And you’re as utterly different from
him
in temperament as it is possible to be. All will welcome a man who
lives
by the laws he makes.”

Julianus was encouraged when Nerva’s strides slowed somewhat. Then he thought it might only be that the old man was finally becoming winded.

“I cannot believe,” Nerva said almost wistfully, “that they truly want such an old man.”

“Even that
they count in your favor. It’s an unflattering reality, but one that must be considered. As one man who I’ll not name put it: ‘He will die before he becomes dangerous.’ No one believes any longer in the ability of
any
man
to withstand the temptations of absolute power for long. But whatever their reasons, you are their choice and you cannot run from this.”

Before Nerva could object, Marcus Julianus pressed on in a grimmer tone. “There are other arguments I could make. Do it, or die in your turn. He’s had a dream about you, you know, and it gnaws at him. He dreamt your mother lay a night in the temple of Apollo and a serpent came to her, and so you were conceived—just as the ignorant said of Augustus.
Take heed. And what if his new astrologer claims you are destined to rule? No man of high birth is safe from his suspicions—if you don’t use your birth to your advantage now, it will be your doom later. I don’t see you have a choice.”

For a bare instant Nerva’s features seemed to settle into weary acceptance. Then he vigorously shook his head. “Curses on you,” he muttered. Then he turned sharply, narrowly avoiding a procession of dancing matrons in swirling robes who were sprinkling the street with sweet-smelling balsam, doing homage to the goddess Isis amid airy tunes played on pipes and the rhythmic clicks of silver rattles. Both men were blinded for a moment by the bronze mirrors the celebrants held while the women gestured with ivory combs, miming combing the goddess’s hair. The procession forced Julianus to one side of the street and Nerva to the other. This time Nerva escaped.

But on the next day at dusk, Nerva found himself purposely taking a route from the Curia that was certain to bring him across Julianus’ path as he departed from the Council chambers in the West Palace. Nerva was a skillful enough actor to make the meeting appear entirely accidental. This time he listened attentively to Julianus’ arguments. By the time they turned into the Street of Booksellers, Nerva had nearly surrendered.

“But I have no sons,” he said in a last weak protest. “Vespasian at least had sons.”

“One of whom was Domitian. To my mind, adoption brings better results anyway. But you must do it soon as you take up the purple. Give the people a sense of continuity at once,
and your position will be that much stronger.”

“This has the stink of dreams about it. You are mad, and I’ve caught it.”

“Steady on, I wager you’ll get used to it soon enough. I can think of one or two worse lots in life. Now, you must begin at once rewarding those members of the Guard who are with us. I know exactly what he’s giving each of them—you must double it. Don’t trouble me with high-minded arguments. It is necessary. I’ll match what you give them from my own purse. Others will do the same—”

“What of the two Prefects?” Both men knew it would be disastrous to proceed without the support of both Guards’ Prefects—without them the conspirators could never win a sufficient number of Domitian’s pampered, well-paid Praetorians to their cause. With the Praetorians’ blades lay ultimate power; the consent of the Senate was empty noise without them.

“There’s work to be done there, admittedly. Both have been shy of me, but do not worry over it. Mark my words, I will win them. But there is one more matter. We’re never going to secure the whole Guard, that’s plain to me now. The ones that remain loyal are going to demand the death of the conspirators.
But whatever happens after the deed is done, you must hold your ground.
You will seriously undermine your rule if you give in to them. Do not advance the loyalists. Stand firm against them. And you stand a fair chance of cheating the probabilities and becoming one of the best rulers we have ever had.”

Nerva was actively silent for a time. Then he frowned and looked at Julianus. “You haven’t told me something. Why do you risk so much? What prize do you seek for yourself?”

“Only that monster’s death.” His steps slowed slightly as he permitted himself to reflect. “All my life I’ve never been able to shake the darkness of Nero. It clings like dye to cloth, like infernal slime…. At times I fall into a belief that destroying this
tyrant might somehow nullify the curse of the one I could not stop.” A restrained anguish crept into his voice. “Though I suppose it is, in the end, for my father, as well…and for another poor old man who died with him, who was also my father,” Julianus added, feeling a need to do some small homage to Lycas. He was silent for several strides, then he firmly met Nerva’s gaze. “However, my good friend, here is
one small gift I desire of you…afterward.”

“Ah.
Of course. If we prevail, there is nothing I would deny you.” Nerva thought—I know what gift this man wants. It must be so.

Watching Julianus’ face intently, Nerva said, “The Asian province. Ask for it, and it is yours. No, Egypt.
I would even give you Egypt, in the face of all custom.” The governorship of Egypt, the most prestigious post in the Empire, was not normally entrusted to a Senator, for the extraordinary fertility of the Nile Delta made this land crucial to the well-being of the state. It was feared an ambitious Senator might seize bread-producing Egypt, form an independent state and wreck the economy of the Empire. The post was given usually to a distinguished member of the Equestrian order, a man who was a trusted friend of the Emperor’s.

“An impressive offer and a noble one! But you should have come to me ten years ago,” Julianus replied, echoing Nerva’s words of the day before. “Power doesn’t beckon anymore…only understanding beckons. No, what I would ask for is a minor civil post in the province of Upper Germania, something with little to do directly with governing—for example, to be your First Engineer in charge of public works in the province or perhaps legal counsel to the Governor there. And I would ask for a tract of good land on the west bank of the Rhine in Upper Germania, above the confluence of the river Main.”

“My hearing comes and goes. I think it just went. You cannot mean this.” When he saw that Julianus smiled tolerantly but held firm, he went on, “If you really want to be sent into exile, it can be arranged without
my
help. That’s an insulting post in a barren waste.”

“It is fertile waste to one who wishes to teach and write of what he has learned and pass time in considering the words of the philosophers. There, I mean to resurrect my beleaguered school, though admittedly it will be difficult to get learned teachers to follow me. Theophila has said she would come, as has Galerius—”

“If all
of them followed you, it is still mad. Even the civil population out there barely reads. They chase down boar with fire-hardened sticks, not the newest theories of the origins of the universe.”

“If a dozen pupils come, it will suffice. I do not need great numbers. A lust for knowing can be born in the forest as well as in the civilized places. In that country, it seems the very air purifies and leads us back to nature’s first causes—”

“Your father was just a common eccentric,” Nerva interrupted, shaking his head, “but you
are perverse. You would trade all our gilded cities’ centers of learning, and the company of the philosophers themselves, as well as all the life of cities, not to mention the authority and renown of a post second only to the imperial office itself—for trees and silence. The frontier line comes close there, too close. You might as well leap about a fire in fawnskins and dig yourself into a mud hut. I never judged you to be one ready to turn his back on all humanity. Come to your senses. I need you here.”

“If a man takes time to reflect on the mysteries, is he wasted? There are other worlds in this world, my good friend, besides government.”

“You
are a mystery. I will agree to this only if you understand that in time of peril and great need, you stand subject to recall. And you shall advise me by correspondence as an additional duty.”

“Well and good then. We’ll worry over that in time. There’s much unpleasant work to be done as yet.”

Soon after Auriane regained enough strength to return to practice, Erato summoned her to his chambers. He was wrapped tightly in a blanket and burning hellebore for a stubborn winter cough; the biting smoke stung her eyes. The generosity and warmth in his smile caught Auriane by surprise.

“I am well pleased with you, well pleased!” he said hoarsely but happily. “Everywhere I go I hear talk of you. I feel I have uncovered a treasure hoard. The mob knows you’re at practice again, you know—they’ll not wait for you much longer. The patrons of the next three games insist on having you, and they want you matched with a man. They’ll not have it any other way. Don’t fret over it, we’ll make sure it looks more difficult than it is. I’ll ferret out some opponents I know you’re more than a match for, and we’ll let it out that they were selected by lot. You’re going to be celebrated, my little Aurinia—and if you do as I say, wealthy and free!”

Erato hesitated, aware for the first time of a new fragility in those gray eyes. “Your mind is not set against…fighting again?” he probed gently.

She met his eyes solemnly. “I welcome it, Erato.”