One With the Darkness (12 page)

At first he had won the favor of the people by pardoning the many prisoners his uncle Tiberius had taken for imagined treason. Caligula had staged elaborate games in the arena, in some of which he fought himself, though his opponents were wounded by the Guard before they were allowed to step onto the sand with him.

But then his mask had slipped. Paranoid, his sense of humor vicious, his elaborate jokes often resulted in death. Now he held Rome in a nightmare of dread.

He arrived at the head of his retinue—among them Decimus Valerius Asiaticus, his chief counselor, and the head of his ever-present Praetorian Guard, Cassius Chaerea. Livia glanced to Chaerea’s impassive face and quickly away. She dared not betray that she had ever spoken with him.

Caligula’s gaze swept the room.

“Hail, Caesar.” The murmured greeting swelled as all bowed. The slaves knelt. Livia elbowed Jergan and surreptitiously pointed to the marble floor. Did he not know the result of refusing to kneel to Caesar? After a hesitation, Jergan fell to his knees and bowed his head.

Gaius Caesar looked over the silent crowd with disdain.
“We wonder that so many tarry here tonight, Melanus. Did you not know there is an official celebration scheduled?”

“A thousand pardons, my emperor. I provide refuge only for those who did not merit a place at the official table.” The ruddy host bowed lower. He apparently remembered Caesar’s sisters. “Or those on their way to your own illustrious event.”

Why was Caesar himself here, instead of at his palace? She glanced to his sisters. Fear lurked in their eyes.

Gaius pushed past Melanus and approached his sisters. “Slumming, Sisters, or on the hunt?” His eyes passed over Livia and came to rest on Jergan.

Livia was disconcerted. Caligula seemed genuinely not to notice her. Wouldn’t he acknowledge in some way that he knew she was his enemy? Wouldn’t some spark of hatred, or at least recognition, betray the fact that not two nights ago he had sent assassins after her, if indeed it was he behind the attacks?

“On the hunt, we see.” His gaze roved over Jergan. “About to enjoy the spoils of our northern victory. Not unattractive….”

Oh, dear. This was not an improvement. Caesar was known to like the services of both men and women. She could not compel him to leave Jergan alone in such a public venue without revealing the red eyes that came with her Companion’s power. Livia racked her brain. She couldn’t publicly refuse the emperor anything he might want. So he must be brought not to want Jergan. Very well. “I, too, thought him attractive, my emperor. But … but not being as brave as your sisters, I have not yet mustered the courage to make use of his body.”

Gaius looked down his nose at her. “You have not the spirit to master a slave, Livia Quintus Lucellus?”

“Celt barbarians from Britannia are known to be afflicted
with syphilis,” she apologized. “I have only had the courage to make him my bodyguard.”

All three of the imperial family visibly shrank from Jergan. He himself glared at her, but then something of an appreciative crinkle emerged around his eyes. Not a smile precisely, which was a good thing. More a hint of admiration.

“I … I thought you said he had been satisfactory,” Agrippina managed.

“He has. He is quite skilled with a short sword.”

Gaius Caesar, called Caligula behind his back, snorted. “We wager you’ll find your courage soon, Livia Quintus.” He stepped past her to his sisters, and gave each one a kiss that was far from brotherly. “Perhaps you’re right, my pets. The official ceremonies are quite stultifying.”

Livia sighed in relief as his attention passed on.

“May I offer you slaves, wine, food?” the host inquired, most humbly.

“Yes, we will take all you have. Asiaticus, see that his goods are confiscated.”

A hush fell over the room. Melanus’s ruddy complexion drained of all color.

“We don’t believe you provided a haven for those not invited to our banquet, Melanus. We think you thought to compete with us.” The emperor’s eyes were heavy lidded, but that did not conceal the maniacal gleam in them. “What?” he challenged, looking around the room. “Why do you not continue your revels?”

The room burst into counterfeit gaiety. “To our emperor’s victory!” someone shouted. Raucous applause ensued, lest the emperor think they were less than loyal for being at Melanus’s gathering and confiscate their worldly goods as well.

Livia gestured for Jergan. He tried to make himself
unobtrusive as he slid to her side, which was almost laughable. He would never be inconspicuous among Romans.

“Let us go, my lady, before these vipers strike again,” he whispered.

“Leaving before he does would be considered a slight. That would not be healthy for either of us.” She led him to a corner by the door. “He will move on shortly. He must return to his own banquet.”

They watched in morbid fascination as Gaius paid a lover’s attention to both his sisters, fondling their breasts, even fingering their private parts as the wine continued to flow. They accepted his attentions with loud protestations of pleasure. Livia wondered if they were as enthusiastic as they made out. Did Julia care that her brother had had her husband killed? Did Agrippina resent that Gaius had forbidden her to remarry after her husband died? Or were they both so jealous of their dead sister, Drusilla, and the place she had in Caligula’s heart that they would do anything to emulate it? Some said that Drusilla’s death was what had snapped her brother’s balance. He’d had her deified and mourned her like a lover. Not surprising. Livia thought all the rumors were true. He emulated the eastern potentates, who carried on their line by marrying their sisters. Caligula didn’t actually marry them, but she would wager he wanted to get them with child. It was a miracle it hadn’t happened already.

Caesar did not leave. Apparently the official celebrations would have to proceed without him. The evening stretched on, taut. Finally, Asiaticus leaned over and whispered in the emperor’s ear. He frowned. But then his brow cleared, and without even a farewell, he swept from the room, leaving his retinue to scramble after him.

There was a distinct sigh of relief in the hall, after which
everyone began to disperse. Livia touched Jergan’s arm and nodded toward where Melanus had given way to gusty sobs. Jergan followed her, eyes hooded and watchful as she went to comfort Melanus, and offer him her support. Then Livia and Jergan slipped into the night.

Outside in the street Jergan took deep gulps of air as if he had been holding his breath all evening. But Livia’s relief was tempered by niggling doubt. Why had Caesar materialized here? Was it only to spy on his sisters? Was it to frighten her? Did he have that much control that he could pretend not to recognize her and succeed in giving away not even so much as a flicker in his eyes? And why would he bother to conceal his enmity? What just happened to Melanus proved that Caesar had no fear of public action against the senatorial classes. Again she returned to the fact that if Caligula knew she was behind the plot, he wouldn’t send anonymous attackers. He would send the Praetorian Guard.

So who was organizing the attacks upon her?

“Shall I call for your litter, my lady?” Jergan asked, bringing her back from her unanswered questions. Several of Melanus’s slaves had scurried up, ready to do her bidding. Actually, they were probably Caesar’s slaves now.

She shook her head, staring off into the dark streets. It had rained while they were inside, and the moist, cool air was refreshing. “Tell the Nubians to take the litter home. I need the breeze off the Tiber in my face.”

Jergan looked concerned.

“I want to walk,” she insisted.

He nodded to the slaves around them in silent command, and the slaves hustled away. He was born to lead, she thought, and the fact that he was a slave did not conceal that. As she started off down the street, he grabbed a torch
from its bracket on the wall and stalked behind her, holding it high, his other hand on the pommel of his sword. The streets were deserted. Either everyone was still celebrating or the rumor that Caligula was abroad had everyone staying behind doors.

“I must free the city of him,” she muttered. She couldn’t kill him herself, though. It must be done by someone whose action would in itself create the possibility of a republic. She had to wait for her planning to bear fruit.

“He is a bad man. The whole world knows it,” Jergan agreed from his place at her shoulder.

“You must not think all Romans are like him. Rome is the city of light.” Now she was talking to herself as much as to him as she hurried through the shiny black streets. She shivered. “He can destroy it all, rot it from within….”

Jergan started to say something. Probably he wanted to contradict her about Rome. She heard him clear his throat. But then he thought better of it. She took another breath and slowed her pace deliberately. She mustn’t let the fiend rattle her. They were walking up the Capitoline Hill now. The villa was not far.

“The dream last night—the one that woke you—I had a premonition of tonight,” she said. Perhaps that was what rattled her. She expected him to snort in derision.

“Are you a witch?” he asked. He sounded serious.

She laughed. “No. At least I don’t think so. But that has never happed to me before. I imagined all of it—the fountain, the smell of lust in the air.”
The need to rescue you from Caligula’s sisters.
She didn’t say that part. And what about the other part? The part where she felt full to bursting, and on edge about something, something she needed to do? She shook her head. This conspiracy was
making her nerves raw. She brushed at her forehead as though she were brushing away cobwebs and picked up her pace again. “Let’s get home. Your poultice needs changing.”

7

J
ERGAN WATCHED HER
slip behind the screen to remove her clothing in preparation for retiring. The sun had risen. Lucius had closed up the house hours ago. She had come back from that awful “banquet” and forced herself to sit down at her desk. A servant girl had changed the poultice on Jergan’s healing wound. He had to admit he wished Livias had done it herself. She had scribbled on scrolls for several hours. She bade him eat from the food laid out on the long table but did not touch any herself. Afterwards, he sat near her, drinking cool water with lemons she said were from Amalfi, watching her as she drove herself to finish whatever task she had set for herself. When the scrolls were sent off with her servants as messengers, she seemed to deflate.

Now he watched her shadow on the changing screen. He’d wager she didn’t know how the lamplight outlined her form as she moved behind it. As concealment it was almost useless. Perhaps more than useless, since the shadows made her form even more seductive for the pretense of being hidden. His testicles tightened. He seemed to be constantly in a state of arousal. Was it Rome, or was it her? He was being corrupted.

But she was not corrupt.

What kind of a woman was this?
A woman of honor.

That concept—that a Roman woman could possibly have honor—was so foreign, it struck him like a blow. The reason she could believe he was honorable was that she possessed honor herself. She emerged from behind the screen, attired in a shift of some fine fabric he did not recognize.

She could wear such light cloth only because the house was so miraculously warm. It had started to rain outside. He could hear water dripping from the eaves. The house was a strong shelter, more comfortable even than the wooden halls at home made of bound poles. He thought of the mud in winter, the smoky air, the rank smell of men and women who rarely washed. Maybe Rome
was
more civilized….

He pushed that thought away. He wanted to get back to his home in Centii, however civilized Rome was. “What is that cloth? My lady,” he added as an afterthought.

“Cotton. It comes from India. It is lighter than flax or even linen and smoother to the skin, though not so fine as silk from China.” She moved about the room, turning down the lamps. Her dark hair hung down her back in loose waves from being braided.

He did not know these places. That brought home the fact that Rome was the trading hub of the world. His owner’s life was complex. He had been shocked that she was the driver behind the conspirators who met in the audience room this evening.
She
was complex. Not what he expected at all. He could feel she was tired. The vibrant aura she always seemed to have about her hadn’t lessened. But it had taken on a subtle sadness, as if she were a light that pulsed against an endless night, knowing it was useless.

She smiled at him. “Lay yourself down, Jergan. Rest.” A shadow crossed her face. “I’m sorry those two creatures touched you so offensively tonight. I am grateful for your restraint.”

“Are they so powerful that you must convince them I am diseased in order to keep their hands off your property?” He was her property, if not in his own eyes, surely in theirs.

“Yes. Their brother could confiscate my property just as he did with Melanus tonight. Including you.” Her voice in the darkness turned thoughtful. She crawled into her bed. Jergan laid himself on the carpet. She had provided a small rolled pillow for his neck tonight.

“I’m not sure he knows about my plan,” she whispered in the darkness. “And if Caligula did not arrange the attack on me three nights ago, who did? I cannot see my way.”

“You must move quickly, my lady,” Jergan said. “There are vipers everywhere.”

“Yet I must let our little group do its work before any plan can do more than kill one viper and replace him with another.” She sighed. Silence stretched. He heard her breathing grow more regular. “And I have this feeling that there is something else I must do,” she murmured. “It’s the oddest thing. Because the more I try to think what it is, the more it seems to elude me.” More time elapsed. “Perhaps it will come to me….”

She was asleep. But Jergan was not. She was playing a dangerous game. And she was drawing him into it with her.

Out of the darkness they lunged. Why hadn’t she heard them? Metal glinted. Short swords and knives were wet with rain. So many! She pulled one off balance and broke his neck. Where was Jergan? There, his own sword drawn. He slashed, but they were on him. They thought to take him first, and leave her as easy prey. Another of them gripped her wrist. She twisted and jerked. He screamed as his arm broke. She plowed toward Jergan, but two others grabbed her, snarling like jackals. A sword raised high over Jergan. No! They mustn’t kill him. Couldn’t! Because she couldn’t imagine life without him.