Blood Games (43 page)

"Good.” Phillipus sighed, and came across the room to take the box.

"The records go back ten years. If you need those before, you will have to send me word.” He held out the box to the procurator junior. “We will need to have them back if we're to keep them accurate."

"Of course,” Phillipus agreed. “I doubt we will need them for more than a month.” He took the box with a strange sense of relief. He had not relished the thought of forcing Ragoczy Saint-Germain Franciscus to do anything.

As soon as Aumtehoutep was gone from the room, the other three men crowded around Phillipus.

"Come,” said Octavius. “Open it. Let's see what we've got.” He almost knocked the box from Phillipus’ hand in his eagerness to look inside.

There were eight neat stacks of fan-folded scrolls in the box, and each had a seal on it, showing the eclipse, a disk with wings spread above it with the Year of the City incised into each seal. The progression was neat and orderly.

"Here, let me have this one,” Senator Bonaro said as he lifted one of the scrolls from the box.

Terentius took one of the fan-folded scrolls into his hands as well, then hesitated, looking at the other two Praetorians from under his lowered brows. “I don't know. We should have made him an ally."

Phillipus shrugged. “You know what Senator Silius told us when Domitianus asked his opinion on the man."

"I know. But all the same, what damage would have been done if he had been told that the unknown informant told us Franciscus is having illegal dealings with Egypt? I don't care if the Emperor is still in Egypt, there's no reason to think that Franciscus plots against him. What reason would he have? He said he would help us if we were candid with him.” He worked to loosen the seal on the folded scroll.

"According to Senator Silius, all that is a ploy,” Terentius repeated automatically.

"Why does he know any better than the rest of us, except that Domitianus dines with him?” Octavius remarked as he spread out the scroll before him. He stared at the page, and then started to laugh. “We'll have to confide in him, I think,” he said when he could speak again, and held out his scroll for the others.

They took the proffered scroll, Senator Bonaro letting the one he held drop to the floor. As they passed the scroll from one to another, the reactions ranged from outrage to delight.

For the scroll was written in an ancient tongue that was old when Rome was founded.

TEXT OF A LETTER TO ATTA OLIVIA CLEMENS, DOMITA SILIUS, FROM HER MOTHER, DECIA ROMOLA NOLUS, DOMITA CLEMENS. INTERCEPTED AND DESTROYED BY CORNELIUS JUSTUS SILIUS.

To my unfortunate daughter Olivia, greetings:

I had hoped that there would be word from you this month, but no letter has come, and I fear that you have not forgiven me. It would be easier for me now if I knew you do not hate me, though I realize that your hatred is completely justified. It was wrong of me, very wrong, to have agreed with your father in persuading you to marry Cornelius Justus Silius. It was not the same with your older sisters, for our fortunes were better when they married and it seemed that their husbands could only profit from alliance with us. When we lost so much, I was frightened. Surely you can understand that, my child. Senator Silius’ offer was a gift of the gods, one which we would be fools to refuse, for it would establish us once again in the proper place of society. At one moment it seemed we would have to sell all the slaves and go live like peasants on our land in Dalmatia, and the next moment, there was the chance to save all, and present you with a splendid husband. Your reservations sounded so callow, so trivial, that I shut my ears and my heart to you, acts which I have come to regret most bitterly.

What you told me about Silius has disturbed me greatly. At first I did not want to believe that you were being treated so, and your father attributed your tales to disappointment. I admit that I thought you were exaggerating about the way he used you. Since I have lived on this barren patch of ground that Justus calls an estate, I have learned otherwise from the slaves that are sent here. To work here is a punishment, and for me it is a prison. One of the women arrived here two years ago and confirmed all that you had told me and much more. Olivia, if Mother Isis were to give me one gift now, it would be a way for me to undo the harm I have done you. But you must understand; it seemed so simple, so easy when Silius offered for you. I would never have insisted on the match if I had been aware of what he would do to you.

I have written to your sister, but she has not been able or willing to reply. Her husband, I am told, does not want her communicating with her family. It is easy to see why: he has a career to think of, and it has already been damaged by our folly and your husband's malice. Now I must turn to you, though I realize it is dangerous for you to act on my behalf, and there is no reason for you to do so. I have thrown away my right to your respect. Yet I hope that you have more kindness than I.

The weakness I wrote you of before has grown worse. My side aches much of the time, and it feels, on occasion, that there is a vast knot in my bowels. Nothing but syrup of poppies alleviates my suffering, and there is very little syrup of poppies to be had here. If you are willing to see that I am sent more, I would be grateful. The local physician is generally incompetent, but is willing to admit it in this case. He estimates that my death will come by winter. I think that it will be sooner. I hope it will be sooner.

At least you will be free when I am dead. I know now that Justus used your family as hostages, holding up their safety to keep you compliant. He saw to the death of your father and brothers, and left you with me. I will be glad, knowing that you may divorce Justus and reveal him in open court for what he is. Your sister will survive the scandal; do not be deterred by anxiety on her behalf.

Though you may not be able to forgive me, please accept from me this last and genuine token of my love for you: there is in our house in Rome a statue of Minerva, and within it is your father's record of what Justus had done to him. He wrote it the night he was condemned and hid it away so that the family might, at some later time, regain its honor and integrity. Go there. The statue of Minerva is in the niche opposite my room. It is yours, the only legacy I can leave you now.

If you despise me, do not scorn this record of your father's. It is the only document that will expose your husband. You told me the last time we spoke in Rome that you had one friend. Seek him out, if there is affection between you still. Then you need never again suffer at the hands of the man you married.

My daughter, my daughter, answer this letter, I beg of you. To die in pain without the comfort of your forgiveness is more anguish than I can bear. Let me know at least that you have found your father's papers and that you will use them in court against Justus. Without this assurance, I am in despair. Surely the Senate will act against Justus to condemn him when the full scope of his perfidy is known, and in that you will have some revenge. It may be little enough, but those with nothing must make banquets of such scraps, as I have learned.

It is a pity I did not learn to love you sooner.

Your mother,?

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IN THE PERISTYLE of the Palace of Claudius, the roses were full-blown and starting to fade. The air was hot and still and not even the fountain that spurted perfumed water lessened the hammerlike force of the sun.

The two brothers lounged there, the older one nude, the younger in a short tunic of thin cotton. The family resemblance was strong, though Titus Flavius Vespasianus was handsome and his brother, Titus Flavius Domitianus, was not. As the older brother had the same name as his father, he was called Titus instead of Vespasianus, as his father was.

Titus scratched meditatively at the stubble on his chest, then squinted up at the sun. “I hope it's cooler tonight,” he remarked.

"It won't be,” Domitianus said, an unwelcome touch of jealousy giving him an odd satisfaction at his older brother's discomfort.

"At least it will be cooler when our father comes from Egypt. We have just under two months to prepare for that.” Titus was tan, lean and athletic, just thirty-one.

"All will be ready,” his younger brother said grimly. “You have my word on that."

Titus nodded. “You've been very good at that,” he said in an offhanded way. “The Praetorians like you. It's a shame you aren't a little older. The people would like you better.” He could not quite disguise the smug pleasure in his voice: he was a hero of the moment, and enjoying his fame. “To think that not so many days ago I was fighting Jews in Jerusalem. At least the revolt is over."

"Yet you have a fondness for Jews, don't you?” Domitianus said nastily. “What does Berenice think of this war of yours against her people?"

"We don't discuss it,” Titus snapped, and lay back on the couch, letting the heat spread over him like hot oil.

"Too busy doing other things?” Domitianus suggested. Now that he had succeeded in irritating his brother, he was determined to make the most of it. “Romans won't like your affair with a foreign queen, you know. They'd be more tolerant of your boys and eunuchs than they'd be of her."

"Don't be an ass, Domi,” Titus murmured. “No one will object to Berenice. A smart, lusty woman like her—she's just in the Roman style."

"Except that she's Jewish,” Domitianus pointed out, pressing his advantage.

"You said you wanted to discuss the celebrations welcoming our father to the city. Why don't you get on with it?” He stretched languidly, wiping his forehead where damp curls clung. His searching fingers touched his receding hairline. How he hated the idea of going bald! In a few years, he thought unhappily, he would have to do as Otho had done, and have a wig made.

Domitianus glared at his brother. It infuriated him that Titus should be the favored one, the one to be the lover of the Jewish Queen Berenice, the handsome brother, the military hero, the one who had been raised at court, surrounded by favor and riches, while he, Domitianus, had to be satisfied with a few tutors in Egypt and Syria. Now he had word from his father that Titus would be replacing him as prefect of the Praetorian Guard, and that was worst of all, for it was in that capacity that Domitianus had known his first taste of success and power. He loathed the thought of giving that up to Titus, who had had so much already. “The city will have more than ten days of festival,” he said as if reciting by rote. “There will be four days of Games, and a full Triumph with appropriate religious observances. There will be an imperial guard of honor at the temples of Jupiter the Biggest and Best and Mars the Victor. A special camp will be constructed for our father's legions on the south side of the city, and there will be displays of battle skills there on the days when there are no Games."

"A pity we can't change the law about the legions. It would be splendid to have them march into the city with our father at their head. Think of all the people cheering, and the great impression such a gesture would make.” He grinned at Domitianus. “Tell me, Domi, do you think the Senate could be persuaded to make an exception to the law in this case?"

"I doubt it,” Domitianus said. “It's a good law, and the day may come when you'll be grateful for it. If a general can't bring in legions inside the gates of the city, then there is likely to be easier going for the Emperor.” He mopped at his brow with the hem of his tunic. What had possessed Titus to want to talk in the peristyle at this time of day? “There will be representatives from all our provinces and client nations here. We'll have to make some arrangements to house them properly, and that must be seen to quickly. There are Senators who would be willing to have a distinguished guest or two in their homes, so that they can use their influence...."

"You're becoming a cynic,” Titus said mildly.

"If you had been in Rome these last few months, instead of off looking for glory besieging Jerusalem,” Domitianus shot back, “you might share my opinion. If you're going to have the kind of power our father seems determined to give you, then you'd better learn quickly whom you can trust and whom you can't. Most of the Senators are more interested in protecting their own fortunes than the fortunes of Rome. Face that now."

Titus stretched into a different position on the couch. “I have complete faith in you, little brother. If there is a Senator who is not worthy of our favor, no doubt you'll point him out to me, and save us all from embarrassment."

Never had Domitianus wanted so much to strangle his brother. The tranquil, unctuous assumption that he had no other purpose than to serve Titus rankled Domitianus increasingly. “I will give you my opinion if you ask for it. Otherwise, it is your place to find out these things. If our father restores the office of censor, it will probably fall to you, and you won't want to be coming to me every minute of the day."

"No,” Titus agreed, “I won't. But you can give me that information later. For the time being, I should find out who is deserving of special attention at our father's entrance into Rome. I understand that you have a list of those who have helped us.” There was an annoying sound to Domitianus’ voice, Titus thought, a whine that bothered him.

"You know several of them yourself. There's Urbanus Horatian, Nigrus Marco, Flaccus Aulus Semprius, Justus Silius, Italicus Livicus, Gaius Vitens..."

"Make a list of them.” Titus sighed. “I'll look it over before I leave for Egypt. It's amazing, I spend a few days here, and then have to go back to Egypt so that I can return to Rome. It's good that our father is Emperor, of course, but these preparations are beginning to bore me."

"You haven't done enough of them to be bored.” Domitianus sulked. “You've left most of it to me."

"Well, you've been here. Why shouldn't you help with it?” Titus asked reasonably. He cupped one large hand around his genitals. “All I'd need is sunburn."