Blood Games (7 page)

Taking her hand, he led her from the bath to his bed, and tenderly lifted her onto it. She smiled up at him. “You did not do that before,” she whispered.

"You didn't want it before.” He sank down beside her. “You are learning to have fulfillment."

"But you?” she asked, a slight pang of guilt coloring her contentment.

"There is time enough for that,” he said as he parted her robe.

This time she warmed quickly, eagerly, her appetite sharpened by her earlier enjoyment. She moved into his hands, meeting his lips, hoping to call him from his essential remoteness. When she was certain that she could endure no more pleasure, she heard his soft voice. “Come to me.” There was one keen instant as his mouth touched her throat, and then the surge of his ardor carried her to satiety and wonderful languor.

TEXT OF A LETTER TO THE SENATOR CORNELIUS JUSTUS SILIUS FROM SUBRIUS FLAVUS.

To the Senator Silius, greetings:

I and my associates have reason to believe that you are as unhappy about the state of rule in this empire as we are, and for that reason, we ask that you consider well what follows. Should you decide to stand with us, we welcome you. If not, we charge you upon your honor not to reveal what is set down here, as more than our lives are at stake.

What Julius and Augustus built, Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, who now wears the purple and calls himself Nero, has done his best to destroy. You may argue that he promised well at first, and there is no one who will deny that he was a charming lad when he was twenty. Those abuses which seemed to be the product of youth have grown since that time, and his judgment and good sense are no longer in evidence. When he was young, I loved him, as did all worthy soldiers. As long as he was deserving esteem as Emperor, I was the most loyal of his men, and my oath to him was doubly sacred. Yet how can any Roman, from the highest noble to the lowest slave, feel he merits anything but odium. His stepfather, his mother and his wife have died at his orders. For that alone I have learned to hate him. My hatred grows with each new atrocity. I have seen my Emperor change from an intelligent, respectful youth into a greedy and debauched tyrant, an actor, a singer of Greek nonsense, a charioteer and a burner of cities.

This man must be removed from power if the empire is to continue. Rome is without virtue while Nero rules us. The philosopher Seneca, who was Nero's tutor, is with us. He knows more profoundly than any other man how far Nero has turned from the path the Emperor should tread. If Seneca opposes Nero, who loved him once as a son, it is sign enough that his Emperor is no longer deserving of the loyal love of his people.

We have others with us, men of judgment and rectitude who have given unstintingly of their minds and fortunes that we may bring about the changes that are so desperately needed.

In place of Nero, we have proposed to elevate Gaius Calpurnius Piso. There are those who claim that he is a trivial young man, given too much to light pursuits. It would be useless to deny that he gambles, and fancies himself something of a singer, but were it not imperial fashion, he would comport himself with more dignity. He has assured us that he will seek our guidance and be attendant to our advice. The people like him, as much for his winning ways as for his handsome appearance. There are those, of course, who admire him for little more than his beauty, but this has ever been a problem with the lower ranks, who are more easily swayed by appearances than the more intelligent nobility. Be certain that Calpurnius is an acceptable candidate for the purple, more modest and less headstrong than Nero.

In less than a month the ill-advised Neronian Games will begin, and that will give us the opportunity we need to strike out at the Emperor who so greatly abuses us. There will be great confusion, and we may take advantage of it. It will be appropriate to bring Nero down at his own Games, as it will show our intentions to be rid not only of him but of everything he has come to represent.

Say you will help us to restore honor and order to the purple. We place our faith in you, Justus. Join with us and be rid of Nero. It is true that the undertaking is dangerous, but think of the reward, not only in dignity, but of the opportunity once again to be near the seat of power. You have suffered much at imperial hands. Take your destiny now, and help us to triumph over Nero. There is nothing more honorable than service to the empire, and there can be no greater service than aiding in the end of the Neronian reign.

In the hope that you are with us,

In faithful confidence,

[Back to Table of Contents]

THERE WOULD BE twenty-seven guests tonight, and Petronius was determined that nothing would be lacking for them. The dining couches had been set up in his arbor and six specially built fountains cooled the warm May evening.

Artemidorus, dressed in the Greek fashion as a compliment to the Emperor, made one last check of the three U-shaped dining areas, each with the proper nine couches. He frowned, not wanting to forget any detail.

"Have the chickens been drowned yet?” Petronius asked after sneezing violently. “I thought I told you to remove all the roses."

"They were removed. There are four bushes of them in the adjoining garden, in full flower,” he reported sadly. “I went to speak with Corrastus, but he wasn't willing to cut the blooms off, not even for money."

Petronius sighed. “I may sneeze most of the night. Hardly proper for the Emperor's host, but I can't change my plans now. Tigellinus would never let me forget it. I wonder if I have time to send a message to Saint-Germain? He made me a concoction once that stopped my sneezing awhile."

"I'll send a messenger to him,” Artemidorus offered.

"It might be wise.” He took one end of his toga and wiped his eyes. “Yes. Do that. He is staying in the city for a few days, at the house of that Greek physician. Now, about the chickens?"

"Triges drowned them half an hour ago. He used a red Lusitanian wine. And I have made him promise not to use one drop of liquamen."

"Good.” He managed to stop another sneeze. “Roses are the curse of the gods! Let me see: tarts with honeyed wine, asparagus, kid cooked in milk, Gallic ham dressed with Mauretanian pomegranates, oysters from Britannia, pickled vegetables from Baetica, wines from Jura and Pannonia, the chickens, lamprey in a sauce of herbs, salmon roe in cream"—he ticked off the menu on his fingers—"dormice in cheese bread, calves’ livers with mushroom, geese with garlic and snails, pears, apples, grapes, berries...Will it be adequate? Nero has sworn that he has given up elaborate dining, but I don't know.” Petronius’ face tightened about the eyes. It was difficult to know what Nero would want from day to day. He had taken him at his word and arranged for a simple dinner, yet now he was unsure if it had been the wisest course. He had invited those guests Nero had wanted, including Cornelius Justus Silius and his wife. Thinking about it, he anticipated a miserable evening. If only the dancers from Hind were all that Saint-Germain had promised they would be. Without unique entertainment, Petronius had a ghastly fear that his banquet, charming though the concept might be, would certainly be a failure, and that, coming now, would be disastrous. Petronius had been losing influence with the Emperor, who was now showing increasing favor to the Praetorian captain Tigellinus. For Petronius, an unsuccessful party could set the seal on his influence and lead to ruin.

"Master?” Artemidorus interrupted these disheartening thoughts. “Shall I send the messenger?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. I'm going into the house for a bit. It may help. Send word to my wife that I would like to speak to her before the guests arrive.” He gave one last apprehensive look to the couches and the specially created arbor, then hastened through the garden to the rear entrance to his home.

He was at his desk, stylus in hand, when his wife tapped at the open door. Petronius put his writing aside as he smiled. “Come in, Myrtale."

"You wished to speak to me?” She was a tall woman, almost as tall as her husband, and was attractive without being pretty. Her most arresting feature was her dark auburn hair, which she wore simply dressed. There was a serenity in her face that found no reflection in her husband's expression.

"I'm worried.” As always, he was direct with her. “I'm afraid I've made a serious error with this banquet."

"Why?” She sat in a chair not far from him. “Do you think there will be trouble?"

"I hope not, but I'll admit I'm preparing for it.” He rubbed his chin. “I wanted you to be warned. I know the slaves will gossip, no matter what happens. I wanted you to be prepared."

"That's kind of you.” They regarded each other affectionately but without passion. Theirs had been an arranged marriage, and though each respected the other, their interests were almost in diametric opposition, Myrtale being as drawn to religion and scholarship as Petronius was drawn to entertainments and pleasures.

"Nero is coming. I had planned an outdoor supper, nothing too fancy. There will be dancers to perform later, not Greeks, but new slaves from Hind.” He reached for his stylus, but only held it, and he made no move to pick up his tablet.

"There is novelty there,” she said. “It would be to your credit."

"So I've told myself,” he responded, not quite laughing. “If the festivities seem to end early, you will know that it did not go well."

Myrtale studied her long, tapering hands. “Husband, I know you will do as you think best, and I am certain that you have not acted foolishly. However, if you are inclined, we may retire to my estate in Dalmatia, and give it out that I have been ill. I am not seen enough to have any doubt this.” She smiled, and her sober expression was transformed. “It might be best. You have wanted more time for writing."

"I'll consider it,” he said, knowing he would refuse to leave. “I thought you ought to be prepared for unpleasantness, however."

"It is kind of you,” she said again.

"Since that revolt of Subrius Flavus has been stopped, Nero sees enemies in the branches of trees.” He put the stylus aside once more. “I can't blame him. They came very close. If he hadn't been warned..."

His wife watched him. “Would that have been so terrible, to lose Nero? You have said yourself that he is not the man he was five years ago."

"Oh, that's true enough. It saddens me. But I can't think we'd be better off with Gaius Calpurnius Piso wearing the purple. He's nothing more than a puppet.” He rose suddenly. “I must go. I can't imagine any god would favor me, but you might give an offering for me."

Myrtale wanted to make light of his concern. “The Greek Dionysus might be appropriate. He is fond of ceremonies and performances and wine."

"And madness,” Petronius said, looking away. “Don't be anxious, Myrtale. No doubt I'm allowing myself to magnify the situation. Forgive me for burdening you with my foolishness.” He stepped out of the room, unable to face her. What would become of her and their two children if he did indeed lose Nero's favor? He could not bring himself to think of it.

He was almost at the garden gate when Artemidorus hastened up to him, a little flushed and out of breath. “Master. The slave has returned from Saint-Germain."

Petronius paused. “And?"

Artemidorus held out a little alabaster jar. “He says that half the contents mixed with wine should get you through the banquet."

With a sense of relief far greater than such a minor consideration warranted, Petronius took the flask. At least he would not sneeze the evening away.

"I've taken the liberty of sending for wine,” Artemidorus said, glancing toward the kitchen area at the back of the house.

"Excellent.” For the first time in several days, Titus Petronius Niger dared to hope that the evening would not be a catastrophe.

Most of the guests arrived late, but that was to be expected. Secundus Marcellus was the first to arrive, and he was annoyed to find only his host waiting. Within half an hour, most of the others had assembled, but no one dared suggest that the meal should begin, for the Emperor had not arrived.

Saint-Germain came a little later than most of the guests, and he brought with him the three slaves from Hind, as he had promised.

"A thousand thanks,” Petronius said.

"For what? You knew I would bring the dancers.” He was magnificently dressed in a long robe of Persian design. The black silk of which it was made had been brought from the fabled lands to the east, and had taken more than a year to make its journey along the trade route that bore the name of the precious fabric, the Silk Road. Sumptuary laws limited the jewelry any foreigner could wear, even a wealthy and noble foreigner, and so Saint-Germain had limited himself to a large pectoral of onyx and electrum in representation of his signet, the eclipse.

"For the flask. Not one sneeze for more than an hour.” Petronius was chagrined. “What an absurd complaint."

Saint-Germain dismissed this with an idle gesture. “There are many such antipathies. Look about you. Hadrianus Tullian, there, cannot endure the taste of anything from the sea. With you, it is the scent of roses.” He walked beside Petronius into the garden. “It's really quite beautiful here. The night, the fountains, so many lanterns..."

This was precisely what Petronius wished to hear. “I wanted to get away from the elaborate. These banquets are becoming nothing more than competitions in excesses."

"Which is hardly elegant. I agree.” Saint-Germain looked across the grass to the artificial arbor. “Positively arcadian."

Petronius caught the slight sarcasm in his guest's cultured voice, and stiffened. “It disgusts you?"

"No.” Saint-Germain laughed outright, which was rare. “I was thinking of Arcadia. A more desolate, bleak bit of land would be hard to imagine, but because shepherds graze their flocks there and pipe to relieve their unutterable boredom, the region has got a reputation which, believe me, it does not deserve."

This was an intriguing beginning, and Petronius was eager to pursue it, but a blare of trumpets announced the arrival of the Emperor, and he excused himself to greet his august guest.