Blood Games (64 page)

The sudden gasp of the crowd brought his head around a moment too late. Four razor teeth gouged his side and he fell back, nearly unconscious. The crocodile was turning, getting ready for the final rush, when another one of the boats came gliding down the now-shallow water, iron spikes held at the ready. Before the crocodile could charge again, one of the sharp spikes was driven home through its back. It jerked violently, upsetting the boat, drifted away and died.

Blood ran through his fingers pressed against his side as Saint-Germain took uncertain steps toward the imperial box. In a small part of his mind, he mocked himself for this gesture, but it had become a point of honor for him. The water was no higher than his calves as he stopped under the imperial box, taking his hand away from the wounds in his side as he raised his arm in a Roman salute. “Hail, Caesar,” he croaked up at Vespasianus. “Though I did not die."

Vespasianus leaned forward. “The odds were against you, however.” His bright eyes were amused. “A fine gesture, Franciscus."

"Do I appeal to you or the Vestal Virgins?” Saint-Germain asked weakly.

"To me. I think you must have paid for anything you might have done. By the look of those scars, you've paid a greater price before. It would be convenient for me, however, if you would leave Rome for a time after this. You might require an extended recuperation.” He patted his older son on the shoulder. “Titus has a pleasant estate in Egypt you might enjoy."

"I might join you there,” Titus said quickly with a too-wide smile that was directed more at Domitianus than at Saint-Germain.

"Thank you. I can fend for myself.” Saint-Germain never knew exactly when he sank to his knees. He was aware that the Emperor was speaking to him and that the crowd was cheering. The world spun in his head and his eyes felt hot and cloudy. Someone who might have been the Master of the Games had waded out to him and stood beside him to place a wreath on his dripping, blood-matted hair. All at once it was deliciously funny to be standing before the Emperor and more than eighty thousand Romans, naked, with only a laurel wreath on his brow. Laughter threatened to overcome him.

The Master of the Games had given a signal and a moment later a red caracalla was thrown over Saint-Germain's shoulders. He was pleased that it did not hurt. There was just enough sense left to him to be alarmed. The world wobbled around him.

"Get my boots,” he muttered before he fainted.

EXCERPTS FROM THE COMPLAINT OF CORNELIUS JUSTUS SILIUS AGAINST HIS WIFE, ATTA OLIVIA CLEMENS.

...Though no man wishes to think ill of his wife, I have had to learn to distrust this woman and regard her as a subtle enemy. You have already seen the report from the physician, revealing that I have three times been poisoned. Those occasions always followed evenings spent in the company of my wife. It could be that I have an unknown enemy who has ingratiated himself with my wife, or it might be that she is being used without her knowledge, and that it is her cook who has been dragged into a plot. I realize that this possibility is somewhat remote, but I would prefer to believe that than to believe that Atta Olivia Clemens could have been so unhappy or ambitious that she felt she must be rid of me entirely rather than divorce me. I will not believe that such a noble and refined woman could be so perverse.

There is testimony with these documents that shows that my wife had a desire to take her sexual pleasures with gladiators and other rough men, that she was most pleased when the act was accomplished violently. I understand that such was her conduct from the time of our marriage, but, as you can see by these papers enclosed, I did not know of it until we had been married for more than five years. It is often true that older men are not adequate lovers for their young wives, and this may have been the case with my wife, for her wants did often exceed my abilities, and if she has erred, it may be that her passions were greater than even I knew and that because she was a woman of honor and good family, she could not dishonor me with my associates and sought those who were removed from me. It would make me happy to think that this is the case. No man, I suppose, likes to think of his wife in the lascivious embraces of another, and Roman wives have made a virtue of chastity that is of great credit to them. Is it to be held against me that I chose to think that my wife behaved as Roman women of her station were trained to behave? Certainly I thought that if she took a lover, it would be one worthy of her, not some ignorant barbarian who would treat her cruelly because that was what she most desired.

A few of you have been unkind enough to mention the execution of her father and brothers, and it is true that her family was dishonored, but that was in the reign of Nero, when it was not quite so reprehensible to oppose the purple as it is now. Atta Olivia Clemens was greatly distressed at the death and condemnation of her male relatives, as were a great many other patricians who shared my shock at their treason. But to suggest that she is somehow tainted by her family, and that she must therefore be incapable of good conduct, is more for the theatre than for our lives here. There is nothing in that woman that would reveal her to be of a traitorous nature. Let those who died be enough.

...The testimony of my former library slave, Monostades, tells what he learned of the clandestine meetings of my wife with the foreigner Ragoczy Saint-Germain Franciscus. Their meetings took place after she went to the house of her father to live, and from what Monostades learned, they did not meet often. My slaves there, who had much of my interests at heart, did mention that her conduct there was strange, but I did not then suspect that there was any reason more than our separation. Also, the testimony of the Armenian scholar Led Arashnur, written in Greek, enclosed, tells of his seeing them together, but not often. Those who have said that my wife had anything to do with the Armenian's still-unsolved murder are being spiteful, I am sure, for there is no indication that she knew he had been following her lover. If you insist on pursuing her unlikely complicity in Arashnur's death, I will most certainly object to such an investigation.

...Much of what is included in this collection of documents would demand the death penalty for my wife. I would not like to have that happen, but I will not stand in the way of the laws of Rome, for the law is the strength of the empire. Rather, let me request that if it is found that my wife has committed those crimes which will require the ultimate penalty, that there will be some dignity left to her, and that she will not be humiliated by a public execution, where the most disgusting inhabitants of the city may watch her suffering. Let any punishment be private and respectful. As I am the man she has most wronged, let me have some say in her death, if that is what you will demand of her....

It is true that her flight puts all she may have done in the most negative aspect, but there could have been extenuating circumstances. She may have felt a deep remorse and decided to leave rather than face what she feared must be the end of her. I beseech you good men of the Senate not to be too severe in your judgment of her. There was so much confusion in her then, that her actions ought not to be thought of as a tacit admission of guilt. Though it is true it would be difficult for you not to believe the worst of her, make allowances for her troubles.

Apparently she has told a few people that it was I who abused her and I who ruined her family. Since she so obviously hates me, I can understand why she might come to think this of me. When you hear her testimony, I hope you will not forget that she does not say this out of an innate tendency to lie but because she has come to believe this about me most sincerely. You will have to show your compassion for her. She has suffered a great deal through her family's dishonor and her own appetites, and this has preyed much upon her mind. Like chastity, charity is a Roman virtue, and I feel I must importune you to keep that in mind when you question my wife...

The documents are clear in their intent, but remember that the documents are not the whole of the case, and withhold your judgment until you have heard her speak in her own behalf. There may be extenuations of which you and I know nothing.

...Remember that Atta Olivia Clemens thinks she is unfortunate. What woman, believing that, would be satisfied with her life, no matter how fine, how luxurious? In that, she is like her father, for he was not pleased with the sad deterioration of his fortunes. That is an unfortunate comparison. Be assured that she is not very much like her father despite this similarity. Children almost always retain some quality of their parents.

In honesty I must say that our marriage was not happy and that my wife feels, perhaps with some justification, that much of it was my fault.

...In order to avoid further hostilities between us, I trust that you good Senators will decide this matter quickly, and whatever decision you make regarding my wife's punishment will be carried out swiftly and mercifully. Let this whole disgraceful and sordid case be concluded as rapidly as the law allows. Why prolong my wife's suffering? Why subject her to greater indignities than she has experienced already?

I most respectfully urge you to listen to what she tells you with patience and indulgence. Do not condemn her out of hand. When she rails at you, remember that it is her disappointment speaking, not a lack of appreciation of any of you. If she accuses me, let her say what is in her heart. She has had much to distress her, and she can do me no worse harm than she has already.

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SAINT-GERMAIN had left Villa Ragoczy flanked by soldiers and now he returned there with an escort of forty Praetorians. All along the road to his villa, slaves were waiting for their master's return.

The laurel wreath was still on his hair, but the short, loose curls were now clean and shining. The caracalla that had been draped around his shoulders in the Circus Maximus was there now, but under it he wore a knee-length tunica of rare brocaded black silk. His red Scythian boots were on his feet. Pale, haggard, with a weary and ironic smile creasing his face, Saint-Germain turned to the men accompanying him. “Thank you, tribune. I'm quite...honored."

The tribune was properly stiff, standing at rigid attention as he reached the colonnade of Villa Ragoczy. “Very kind, sir,” he barked, and ordered his troops to salute as Saint-Germain walked toward his garden.

A door in the northern wing opened and Rogerian stepped out. “I'm glad you're back,” he said in an unperturbed way.

Saint-Germain nodded his approval. “I'm not alone, as you see. Is there anything ready that they can eat?"

Rogerian blinked in confusion. “I don't know. We were so worried, I don't think the cooks have fixed meals today or yesterday. But I'm certain,” he said, making a smooth recovery, “that given the greater part of an hour, there can be quite a satisfactory meal."

"The greater part of an hour?” Saint-Germain inquired, one brow elevating. He knew well the consternation such orders caused in the kitchen. “If you can persuade the cooks to do that, you will have my everlasting gratitude.” He had come up the three shallow steps, back onto his property, in the building that was constructed over a foundation laid with his native earth. Some of the fatigue that had possessed him began to vanish.

"The arena...” Rogerian began uneasily. “Yesterday when you fought, we were deeply concerned."

"So was I,” Saint-Germain said as lightly as he could; then he swung around to the forty Praetorians. “You're welcome, Praetorians. There will be a meal for you spread shortly. In the meantime, you might like the chance of examining my stables and the various pens and cages here. I am certain Raides will be pleased to escort you.” He beckoned to Rogerian and said to him quietly, “Go to the stables and tell Raides that I'm sending these soldiers out to him. He's to answer any questions they have, of course, and if they want to try out any of the horses, unless they're one of my personal mounts, let them."

Rogerian nodded and hurried away through the garden as Saint-Germain bowed the Praetorians toward the south wing of Villa Ragoczy. He took them not to the silver-and-blue reception room but to the largest dining room in the wing. “Good tribune,” he said to their leader, “I'm going to the kitchen to issue orders for wine to be brought. In the time I've been gone, it seems that there has been a shocking lapse on the part of my staff."

"Slaves are like that,” the tribune agreed sagely, not hearing the sarcasm in Saint-Germain's voice.

In the kitchen Saint-Germain issued a number of orders to the cooks. “And if there is any suckling pig, fill it with onions and raisins. That's nine dishes. What else can you do in an hour?"

The chief cook patted his girth at its widest part. “May I suggest geese on a spit? That will make ten dishes, and with fruits and breads, that should be enough, even for soldiers. If it's good enough for charioteers, it's good enough for soldiers,” the chief cook maintained, then saw the unhappiness in his master's face. He rushed on, “These are Praetorians, though, and it probably wouldn't hurt to make them something fancy as well. While they are eating the main part of the meal, I will think of a special sweet for the end of the feast."

"I thank you,” Saint-Germain said to the cook, knowing that the man had misunderstood his expression. But there was no way he could tell the large, good-natured man that his words had reminded him of Kosrozd, and Tishtry, his charioteers for whom he still mourned, and Aumtehoutep, who had been with him for the greater part of a millennium. He forced cheer into his face. “It's unforgivable of me to give you such a task with so little notice, and it would be no more than I deserve if you refused to do more than bake a currant pudding for them. I'm most grateful."

The cook beamed over all of his wide face. “My master, excellency, it is my pleasure to do this for you.” He was much too proud of himself to remind Saint-Germain that he had never tasted his food.