One With the Darkness (22 page)

A single set of footsteps sounded outside the door, followed by a gentle tap. “Lucius, my lady,” he called.

She pulled the sheet up around herself and stood. “Come in.”

Lucius entered, bowing. He was becoming adept at ignoring Jergan’s nudity.

“What is it?”

“Decimus Valerius Asiaticus has sent an escort to the Senate floor so you may watch the naming of a new consul, my lady.”

Livia and Jergan both sighed in relief.

But their relief was short-lived. A man in full black armor pushed in, his hand on the pommel of his sword, his helmet clutched under the other arm. It was the captain of the Praetorian Guard, Cassius Chaerea. Behind her, Jergan growled. Livia pulled the sheet more tightly around her. She dared not let anyone know she had ever exchanged words with the captain. His gaze roved over the tangled bed, Jergan’s nakedness, and his brandished sword.

“Put down your weapon, Jergan,” she hissed. Even though it was Cassius, they could not afford to provoke the Guard. “Now,” she insisted.

Looking disgusted, Jergan threw his short sword to the carpet.

“Sorry to interrupt.” The captain bowed. “But we have little time before the ceremony.”

She glanced behind Lucius to the open door. The sun slanted low. It was perhaps five in the afternoon. It would be dusk soon. She could do this. Why the Senate was meeting
so late she didn’t know. “It will take me a moment to ready myself.” Jergan was already binding his loincloth around his hips.

“I shall wait. Order her litter,” Cassius said to Lucius, and turned on his heel and was gone.

All three stared after him. Lucius nodded to Livia. “Well, I suppose I had better obey.” He turned to go, then thought better of it. “Oh, and I have procured Jergan Britannicus Lucellus attire more appropriate to his current state.”

“I’ll not wear your damned togas,” Jergan warned. “A man can’t fight all wrapped up in a shroud, unless he wishes to need one.”

Lucius smiled enigmatically before bowing himself out.

“And sandals are no protection …” Jergan called out after him.

“Do not think you are going with me.” Livia wouldn’t let Jergan face whatever danger this command performance might represent. She hurried to one of the three chests that held her favorite winter clothing. He did not argue with her, half to her surprise.

She would wear the deep red color of her homeland.

“Do you think this Decimus Valerius Asiaticus is behind the attacks on you?”

Jergan was astute for having lived less than forty years. “It is possible. But it makes no difference in what we must do tonight.”

“And why would the captain of the Praetorian Guard come himself to escort you?”

She wouldn’t tell Jergan that.

“I do not like this. Any of it,” he muttered.

Actually, she didn’t much like it, either, but it would do no good to rail against it. She pulled open a second drawer, having rummaged without luck through the contents
of the first. Catia slipped through the door. “Catia, where on earth is my garnet-colored
stola
?”

“Let me,” the girl said, and opened a third drawer where the offending
stola
lay smugly on top of the pile. “And which
palla
, Mistress?”

“The one with golden threads woven through it.”

Lucius ducked back into the room. He carried a folded cloth with a snaking band of leather atop it. He offered it to Jergan. Livia smiled to see Jergan’s scowl as he shook out the bleached white wool. Lucius had, as usual, outdone himself. It was a simple tunic, cut in one piece with loose sleeves that would hit Jergan’s massive arms above the elbows. But the cloth was very fine. The hems were bound in embroidered bands of rich blue and red geometric figures. Catia’s mother was indeed a fine seamstress.

Jergan grunted his acceptance and pulled it over his head. His long black hair, tangled after their lovemaking, hung down his back. The tunic hit him just at the knee. It would shorten when he put on the belt and bloused the fabric above it for easy movement. Livia herself was pulling her
stola
over her head. It bared one shoulder and was tight enough so that easy movement was not a consideration. Lucius handed Jergan the leather belt. No longer worn leather with a simple iron buckle, this belt was finely tooled and studded with brass. It boasted a brass buckle. Lucius produced boots that laced up the front, tooled to match the belt.

Livia saw Jergan nod in approval. He cleared his throat. “Thank you. You are generous,” he said to Lucius.

“Livia Quintus Lucellus is generous,” Lucius returned, his eyes filled with even more sadness than usual. He looked away. “It was her money that procured them.”

What was wrong with Lucius?

Jergan cleared his throat again and turned to Livia.

“Thank you, my lady.” He picked up his sword and strapped on the scabbard. The way it hung across his slim hips made Livia ache for him. Could she not get enough of this man, even with the Praetorian Guard in the courtyard?

Catia wrapped Livia in her
palla.
It was a technical and difficult task, though in a pinch Livia could do it herself, unlike most Roman women. Livia felt like she was being prepared for a sacrifice. Could the fact that Asiaticus wanted to draw her to the emperor’s attention account for the feeling of itching urgency that scratched at her?
What
had she been dreaming? She couldn’t remember. She watched Jergan pull his hair back from the sides of his face, plait it deftly twice, and tie it with a leather thong. Long hair had never looked so masculine.

Livia clasped a garnet necklace around her neck and fastened garnet drops in her ears, while Catia pulled her hair to her nape and knotted it simply. She was ready.

Jergan led the way into the outer room. The light was fading. Lucius threw open the main doors. “Will this light burn you?” Jergan asked, looking concerned.

She shook her head. “The sun has set.” Still she pulled the translucent fabric of her
palla
up around her head and over her face. She marched ahead, Jergan at her shoulder, hand on the pommel of his sword. “You may accompany me to the courtyard, but no farther.”

Outside, Cassius Chaerea stood at the head of a dozen of his black-clad troops. Their helmets revealed only their stony eyes. The ebony brushes of horsehair gleamed in the glow of sunset. The captain glanced to Jergan and jerked his head toward the litter.

Jergan started forward, pushing through the guards.

“You will stay here, Jergan,” she snapped. The man seemed to ignore every order. Even now he made no move to obey her but only motioned her forward in his wake.

“His presence was requested also,” Chaerea grunted. “But he leaves his sword.”

Livia felt a sinking premonition, almost as strong as she had experienced in her dreams. Jergan stopped, surrounded by the guards. He unbuckled his scabbard, his lips a thin line. Chaerea took it and handed it to Lucius. Jergan pushed toward the litter. She knew how naked he must feel without his sword, surrounded by enemies. She took a breath and followed him.

Livia climbed into her litter. Jergan stalked beside it, flanked by the Guard. At least she was certain, with Cassius Chaerea in charge, they would not turn on her. But some part of her knew, with a terrible clarity, that she was heading into trouble and so was Jergan.

13

J
ERGAN GAZED UP
at the amazing marble rotunda that was the Roman Senate. The floor was laid with intricately cut marble, a mosaic, but on an enormous scale. The domed roof was supported by dozens of marble columns that glowed in the sunset. Inside, half of the aristocracy of Rome milled and whispered. Jergan stayed close to Livia’s shoulder as she moved through the crowd. But what could one do in these close quarters if someone lunged in for an attack on her just now? Titus Delanus Andronicus approached her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, concerned. “Did I not tell you to stay home?”

“Command performance, Titus,” she whispered in return. “By Asiaticus. And you should not approach me in public.”

“Why? They all know I’ve been your friend for these ten years,” he retorted.

“Then we had better disabuse them of that notion.” She raised her voice. “I wonder that you dare to greet me, Titus Andronicus, after your perfidy.” She thrust her chin in the air and pushed past the old man, who stared at her in surprise.

“Well, Titus, the scorpion stings at last,” someone laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder.

Jergan left the scene behind as he strode after her. She was protecting her fellow conspirators as best she could. She found a place to stand near the edge of the crowd even as the trumpet fanfare announced the arrival of the emperor.

The crowd made way as his procession entered, led by a company of the Praetorian Guard, followed by the emperor himself, wearing a golden facsimile of a laurel wreath as a crown, his purple cloak trailing behind him like a train. His sisters followed, decked out with so much gold jewelry they looked to be weighed down by it. And then, astoundingly enough, a guardsman led in a black stallion. He had a purple embroidered robe thrown over his saddle, and his bridle was laid with small golden plates. His hooves were painted gold. They echoed against the marble floor. He was unnerved by the sound and tossed his head. The guard could barely contain the horse’s prancing nervousness.

Caligula strode to the center of the rotunda and turned. “I give you Incitatus, the newest consul of your number.” He smirked, and pointed toward the horse. “Incitatus, may you serve Rome as selflessly as you have served me.”

There was a stunned silence in the hall. You could feel the tension in the room at the obvious insult. Caligula’s smirk turned to a petulant glower.

One pair of hands began to clap somewhere. Claudius limped out of the crowd. He continued to clap. In front of him, Jergan heard Livia snort her derision and begin to clap as well. Someone else joined them and soon there was desultory clapping all around the great rotunda.
Well
, thought Jergan,
Claudius knows how to practice survival.
And Livia had just planted in many minds the idea that she was a supporter of the emperor.

“Claudius,” the emperor called. He gave a very unimperial giggle. “Just the man. Perhaps you will read the new consul’s acceptance speech.”

Claudius closed his eyes for a single instant. His face suffused with color. His cousin was going to make him stutter through a speech in front of everyone. “Of … of c-course, m-my emperor.” Someone handed Claudius a scroll.

The public setting and the obvious desire to humiliate him would make the stutter worse. Jergan stood, stoic, while Claudius tried to get through the speech. Laughter coursed around the rotunda. It was not funny when the emperor made game of them by confirming his horse as a senator, but it was apparently fine to laugh when he made game of another. Jergan could feel Livia’s distress for Claudius.

The emperor grew impatient after the point had been made and snatched the scroll from Claudius’s trembling hands. “Enough, my idiot cousin. This august body has no patience for your mewling.” The horse began to rear and slip on the slick marble surface of the floor. “Even Incitatus has had enough of you.” Caligula signaled to the trumpeters, who blew another fanfare. The emperor came directly past where Jergan and Livia stood. Caligula’s cold eyes scanned the crowd and rested on them. Out of nowhere, Asiaticus appeared and whispered in the emperor’s ear. The emperor nodded once, then raised his chin and strode out of the rotunda. Asiaticus spoke to Cassius Chaerea, who looked annoyed.

“Let us go,” Livia murmured, turning. “While we can.”

Chaerea was suddenly bowing in front of them, his spine stiff. “His Imperial Highness wishes you to attend the banquet he is giving in honor of the newest consul.”

“I … I am feeling weary, Cassius Chaerea. Perhaps another time.” Gods above, but she was bold to refuse such an invitation.

The man’s face was impassive. “My guard will escort you to the banquet.”

Well, that was clear enough. Livia glanced back to Jergan, a dilemma written on her face. “Surely a bodyguard is not required at the banquet, and with your good escort, I shall pass safely through the streets. I shall send mine home.” She was trying to protect him? Jergan was about to protest her decision, but he needn’t have bothered.

“Your bodyguard is requested as well.”

“Very well,” Livia said with all the composure of a brave woman facing a death sentence. “Then lead the way.”

Jergan clenched his jaw and followed.

A
T LEAST THE
emperor and his sisters thought Jergan had syphilis. Livia tried to calm herself. With the maniacal gleam in Caligula’s eyes, it would be a rough night for whoever attended the banquet. Their guard waited until the rotunda cleared before they started out. They wended their way to Caligula’s palace. He had enlarged it from the one he inherited from his uncle, even expanding it until he encompassed the Temple of Jupiter as his vestibule. He wanted the Roman people to understand that he was as unstoppable as a god, as inevitable. Livia wondered if Gaius Caesar was actually mad, or whether he was just too young to inherit ultimate power. He might be twenty-nine, but making his horse a consul was the prank of an adolescent. Caligula could just be emotionally backward. Regardless, it was not safe for a twisted child to rule the most powerful empire in the world.

Jergan handed Livia out of the litter. They walked up the broad and shallow stairs among many others, flanked by the Guard. Some part of her knew that something bad would happen here tonight.

Chaerea left his helmet and sword at the door but was still dressed in full armor. Nervous guests filled the antechambers. Wine flowed, bloodred, from a fountain.

Slaves, dressed scantily if at all, offered goblets and guided guests to the main room. Huge doors of beaten gold were braced open, and music issued from beyond. Livia could feel Jergan hold himself tightly, disapproving. There was much to disapprove of. She wished with all her heart he were safe at home. But perhaps there was no safe place in Rome right now.