Blood Games (20 page)

Drusillus hurriedly filled the conversational gap. “I will be most happy to apprise you of all our plans and progress as we go. In a few months, our hopes should be realized. Before then, I will bring you happy news, and you will be able to speak for us with a clear conscience.” He got to his feet, very pleased with the way things had gone.

There was almost no sport to this deception, Justus lamented inwardly. Drusillus was so blind, so willing. “As you gather your allies,” he said hesitantly, as though it was all he dared to do, “will you tell me who they are? When the time is a little more...auspicious, perhaps I can do something with them on Vindex's behalf."

Pride at his success with his imposing brother-in-law was growing in Drusillus with every breath he took. “Oh, certainly,” he said importantly with a wave of the hand that showed the matter was trivial.

"I'd like to know that soon, so that we might arrange things here more to the advantage of Vindex.” This request, if made of a more experienced man, would be dangerous, but when dealing with Drusillus, no concern at all.

Drusillus realized he should have thought of that himself and knew a moment's chagrin. “Naturally. I'll see that you have the names today. I'll send my body slave."

"Do you think that's wise?” Justus asked, smothering a spurt of annoyance at Drusillus. If all the men Vindex depended upon were as inept as this one, his rebellion was doomed before it began.

"Oh, yes. Cyncadis is completely devoted to me.” The Greek-Syrian slave had been given to Drusillus when he was ten years old and since then they had lived as closely together as twins. Drusillus never considered the inequality of their positions as important, and would have been genuinely disbelieving if anyone had told him that Cyncadis hated him.

"I think, perhaps,” Justus said thoughtfully, “that I will send one of your sister's slaves to fetch the list. I have bought her a new household of her own, you know.” He made this treacherous act sound like the most gallant generosity. “One of her creatures, coming to you, will not be suspect. Sisters and brothers are always sending messages between one another. Aren't they?"

Drusillus found the idea very clever. “Yes. And no one will think anything about it. It's good of you to take so many precautions, Justus. Not that anyone will notice.” He straightened his lorica, and the scales tapped and rang.

"Let us hope not,” Justus said heavily, knowing how many spies Ofonius Tigellinus had in the city. He knew that much of the army was watched, and the families of discontented nobles were checked often. Justus was reasonably sure that someone had made note of Drusillus’ visit today, and might also learn that Olivia's slave had visited her brother, and the whole thing would appear innocent. “It is better to be too careful than not careful enough."

"Yes.” He nodded earnestly. “I must leave you. I will look for my sister's slave...when?"

"The hour before sundown, if that's satisfactory. Most of your men will be going to supper then, and this should not inconvenience you.” He rose at last and put his big hand on Drusillus’ shoulder. “This is quite an enterprise to be entrusted to one so young."

"Younger men than I have toppled nations,” Drusillus responded, his cheeks flushing again. “To be an officer at my age is not unusual."

"That's true,” Justus agreed, recalling how much of the senior military staff Gaius Caligula had had killed for their involvements in the plots that had tortured his imagination. “Advancement has been fairly swift of late."

"That's changing.” Drusillus sulked. “Nero refuses to fight any wars, and there are soldiers enough in Judea. There may be another uprising among the Jews, but it would not be enough for all the officers."

"Are you eager for such a battle?” It was an unnecessary question, but he was glad of the reaction it got.

"I have proved my mettle,” Drusillus insisted because he knew he had not.

"Certainly,” Justus said soothingly, with a moment of sympathy for the soldiers who served under such an inexperienced leader. He consoled himself with the thought that Drusillus would not survive his plot against the Emperor long enough to lead his men in battle. “However, conspiracies are not like war. The secret path to power is difficult to tread. Those older and more accomplished than you or I have lost everything to that path. Think of Piso and Vinicianus. Both were sponsored by some of the most powerful men in the empire, men close to the Emperor and enjoying his highest esteem, and where are they now?—Seneca, who was guilty, is dead, and so is that fop Petronius, who was not.” He sighed again and favored Drusillus with his gravest expression. “I depend upon you, Drusillus, but I must warn you that it is harder to come through this pass to victory than it is to conquer Persia with half a legion.” He sank back into his chair as if fatigued.

"I will not fail you,” Drusillus promised with youthful intensity. He turned on his heel and left the study, crossed the atrium with long strides and was let out of the house by the large Boetian who guarded the door at this hour.

Justus stayed in his chair, one finger pressed into the curve of his lower lip. How best to do this? he asked himself. It was tempting to wait to see what Drusillus might bring him, but it might also seem that he was actually supporting Vindex. Better to dispatch a note at once to Tigellinus, with a promise of more to come. That would alert the Praetorian spies, but it was a chance he was willing to take. As he glanced around the room and it occurred to him that no one had brought the wine and cakes he had requested, he grew irritated. He rose, clapping sharply.

"Master?” The slave was bent humbly, her blonde hair in thick braids.

"I ordered cakes and wine. They are not here.” His voice was flat, emotionless, and everyone in the house lived in fear of it.

"They were sent for. I saw Nyso go for them upon your order.” Her voice was hushed.

"Then where is he?” was the honeyed question.

"He has not returned. Perhaps he could not get the wine from the steward. You yourself ordered that only the steward could dispense wine."

The audacity of the slave was reprimanded quickly by a blow to the head. Justus stood over the woman as she fell, so that when she began to crawl away from him, he kicked her, catching her just below the ribs with such force that she made hardly a sound as she collapsed to the mosaic floor.

Three other slaves had hurried to the atrium in answer to the imperious sound of Justus’ hands. They faltered as they saw the blonde woman lying unconscious at her master's feet, blood at the corner of her mouth.

"Where are the cakes and wine I requested?” Justus demanded of the three. “Where is Nyso?"

"In...in the kitchen....” the nearest responded unwisely. “Shall I get him for you, master?"

"No, no, little man.” Justus was starting to enjoy himself. “I won't have any of you scum warning him. Take that"—he nudged the prone woman with his foot—"and drag it out of here. Drag it, I say. Don't carry her. Leave her in the stableyard until she wakens.” He waited while two of the men took the blonde woman by the heels and set about pulling her from the atrium. The slaves made no complaint, only exchanged quick, cold glances as they tugged at the woman's thin ankles.

Justus paced as he waited for Nyso to return, his eyes going occasionally to the third slave, who stood away from him, clearly hoping to escape. “Fetch me my rods,” Justus said to him at last. “I want the triple rod, with the long braided thongs."

The slave ducked his head, obviously very frightened. He moved slowly, for he had personal experience of that rod.

"Hurry, or you will share with Nyso in punishment.” The sight of the slave scuttling away toward his private suite of rooms gave Justus a great deal of pleasure. He locked his hands behind his back, rocked into his toes and gave a brief, tuneless whistle.

When the slave returned, he had the specified rod, which he held as if it were poisonous. “I must warn you,” he said with the implacable calm that comes beyond desperation, “what you do is against the law. If you beat Nyso, he will bring suit against you. If you beat me, I will bring suit against you. We have not been rebellious, we have obeyed your orders. We have not stolen from you, made attempts on the well-being of any member of your household, profited by your misfortune, or corrupted anyone living within these walls.” He folded his arms and waited for the blows that would have to kill him.

Justus had stared in disbelief as the slave recited the law in that cold voice. Rage welled up in him, and he wanted nothing more than to lay the slave's back open to the ribs and hang him like meat while he bled to death. With formidable effort he kept his temper, as he realized the other slaves must also have learned something of the law. “You want to be rid of me as a master?” Justus mocked when he could trust himself to speak.

"Yes,” was the answer. There was no flicker of fear in the word, no quaver.

"Very well. Since you wish it. I have no desire to keep those slaves who cannot and will not do as they are required. You will have a new master? So be it.” He turned abruptly and strode back into his study, reaching for a sheet of parchment and the container of ink as he sat down. His slaves wanted a new master, did they? He began to write quickly, smiling as he wrote. Nyso and...what was the other's name? Fidelis. Yes, Fidelis, they would have their wish. It was a pity he was not empowered to send slaves to the galleys, but there were other tasks almost as unpleasant. Titus Flavius Vespasianus required thousands of slaves to maintain the quarries in Syria and Egypt. Two more slaves, both fairly young and strong, would be welcome to him. Justus finished the deed and signed it with a flourish, then scrawled a short letter to accompany the slaves. At last he rose, and without turning, addressed Fidelis.

"I have granted your request. A new master you shall have. In five days, when the next transport of soldiers leaves for Egypt, you will leave with them. I am sending you to Ostia tomorrow, under guard."

The slave was silent as new apprehension turned to fear.

"And while you labor with the stones and ropes in the full glare of the sun, think of this place, and remember it was your wish to leave.” He faced Fidelis, and was gratified by the expression in the slave's eyes. “Go now."

Fidelis stumbled from the room, his feet leaden.

Justus watched him leave, then resumed his seat, to write to Ofonius Tigellinus of the morning's development. He was almost finished with the letter when Sibinus slipped through the door and waited, expectant, in the shadows. “Well?” Justus did not look around at this slave.

"I have found a gladiator for your wife,” he said, an unpleasant laugh rising through the words.

"A gladiator?” Justus asked, disappointed. There had been so many gladiators, but Sibinus had never found one that was as brutal with his wife as he was in the arena.

"I think this one is somewhat different. I think he will surprise you.” Sibinus moved a little nearer his master. “You have heard about him, haven't you, the one who is endowed most...lavishly. They say his spike hangs halfway to his knees."

"And does it?” Justus wanted to know. He was familiar with such boasts.

"I didn't bother to assess that,” Sibinus answered, his rat's face brightening. “I did determine that it is as long as his foot. He is quite robust, and it is not like some with great length who never stiffen sufficiently."

"You begin to interest me,” Justus admitted.

"I have asked three gladiators’ whores about him, and most of them would not discuss him at all, beyond saying that he is capable and willing. I learned more in the lupanar. The whores there don't like him at all. Pulcheria says that she will never have to do with him again, because when he was through with her, she could not take another man for three days, and he did not pay enough to compensate her for the business she lost.” Sibinus had waited to be certain that Justus would want to see this gladiator. “He will come tonight, if I send him word. He's never had a patrician lady before, he said. I doubt he'll disappoint you,” Sibinus said more earnestly.

"He had better not,” was Justus’ answer. “What is the name of this paragon?"

"Something unpronounceable. He's from somewhere beyond Dacia. He'll answer to Maius."

"In other words, a barbarian,” Justus said with a condemning shrug. “There's nothing to them. A few pants and the whole thing is over."

"That's not what the whores say,” Sibinus reminded him cautiously. “He's a big man, master, quite tall, and broad as a wagon in the chest. The rumor is that he was the torturer for one of the local rulers; he developed a taste for it, and the ruler had to get rid of him. You've seen him in the arena, remember? The one you said fought for the joy of it?"

In an instant Justus recalled the man—he was large, with thick, heavily muscled arms, who had disdained to use his sword on a fallen opponent, but had crushed the life from him slowly, with his foot. Justus began to smile. “You may be right about this gladiator. Very well. Tonight, then. I will deal with Olivia when she returns from the springs.” He looked over the letter before him, then folded and sealed it. “Sibinus,” he said.

"Yes, master?” The little slave had been edging toward the door.

"On your way to arrange things with this gladiator, I want you to go to the Praetorian camp.” It was a long way to the camp, and in a different direction from the Great School, where the working gladiators were barracked during the Games, but if Justus was aware of this, he gave no indication of it. “This letter is most private. It is for the eyes of the Commander Ofonius Tigellinus and none other, not even Sabinus. I want you to hand it to him yourself. Tell him that it concerns a private matter. If you fail me in this, I will have you turned over to the Emperor to work on the Golden House.” He held out the letter and waited while Sibinus, with a sour expression, took it. “I have told Tigellinus that the seal is intact. If it is not, he will make short work of you."

Sibinus slipped the letter inside his tunic, under the belt. “No one will know I carry it, master. You may rely on me.” He lowered his head and left the room. It was a short time later that he left the house on his inconvenient errand.