The Raven and the Rose (36 page)

“There is no debt,” Julia whispered. “I love you.”

He held her off to smile at her and then lifted her onto his horse.

“Aren’t they sweet together?” Larthia said to Verrix.

“Charming. You’ll pardon me, but I’m a little more worried about the fugitive slave laws than I am about your sister and her centurion. Consul Antony is not my buddy.”

“The fugitive slave cases are prosecuted by the slave owners. Since I am the owner of record, I don’t think anybody is going to be looking for you, do you?”

“What about your grandfather?”

“I imagine he has enough of his own problems.”

“I thought the assassins were pardoned.”

“No, the Senate agreed to forego prosecution for the good of the state, that’s a different matter. I don’t think Casca will be showing his face around Rome for a while.”

“Where do you think he is?” Verrix asked.

“Who cares? He’s not with me, that’s all I know, and his reign of terror has been broken. People will not forget Caesar’s murder for a long time.”

“There’s still my prosecution for stuprum,” Verrix reminded her.
 

“That’s a civil case. If I’m not around to remind everyone of your terrible crime they’ll forget about it.”
 

“Let’s go!” Marcus shouted from horseback.

“Still issuing orders,” Verrix muttered, getting up and pulling Larthia along with him.

“He saved your hide.”

“We saved each other’s,” Verrix corrected her, helping her onto his horse.

“The war in Gaul is over,” Larthia said to him. “You must be friends now. For my sake, and for Julia’s.”

He nodded, vaulting up behind her.

Marcus kicked his horse and cantered out to the road, and they followed him.

* * *

Antony rose to his feet when Livia Versalia entered his office at the Senate house. Lepidus did also, and the men exchanged glances as Livia stopped before the consul’s ornate desk, clearly in high dudgeon.

“You may go,” Antony said to the scribe sitting next to his desk. “Wait for me in the hall.” He nodded to the other servants to leave as well.

“I’ll go too,” Lepidus said, striding toward the door. “I’ll be in the assembly hall if you need me.” He rolled his eyes at Antony as he passed behind Livia’s back.

Antony waited for the room to clear.

He didn’t want any witnesses to this conversation.

“Please have a seat,” the consul said to Livia, when they were alone.

“I’d rather stand,” she replied.

Antony shrugged. “What happened to your face?” he asked, referring to the darkening bruise on her jaw.

“I had an accident. I assume you’ve heard what occurred at the Campus Sceleratus this morning,” she said coldly.

“I heard about it,” he replied.

“A prisoner of the state was permitted to elude custody as well as execution, and you are personally responsible,” she said accusingly.

He raised his brows. “How so?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I know that Sura told you about the prison escape and asked you for more men to cover the burial. I also know you refused the request.”

“That is so.”

“You WANTED Demeter to rescue that little Casca!” Livia said accusingly.

“I wanted all of my men to be available to me in case of civil unrest. That is a very different thing.”

“You expect me to believe that you couldn’t spare one or two soldiers to make sure Julia Rosalba wasn’t snatched? Do you think I am a complete fool? You have made me a laughingstock and I won’t forget it!”

“Are you threatening me?” Antony asked quietly.

“You can take it any way you want!” Livia said, drawing herself up proudly. “I have quite a bit of influence in this city, as you may learn to your cost.”

Antony got up from his desk and walked around it to confront Livia, his expression neutral.

“Now you listen to me, you dried up, hysterical, self important old maid,” he said to her, never raising his voice, his eyes locked with hers. “I am not Caesar, the Vestals never did me any favors, and you would do well to remember that the Imperator is dead. I am in charge now, and I regard you and your women as religious fanatics and freaks of nature and wouldn’t protest if you were all fed to a pride of Armenian tigers for dinner.”

Livia stared at him, aghast, silenced for one of the few times in her life.

“Marcus Demeter is a friend of mine, one of the best and bravest soldiers it was ever my privilege to command. He fought at my side through many bitter campaigns while you were warm and safe in your temple, burning incense and muttering incantations. I don’t care if Demeter is sleeping with a Parthian camel, I’m going to do what I can to help him. I couldn’t prevent his arrest, since he admitted his guilt publicly, but if you think I’m going to send a military force to chase after him just to save face for you and that hypocrite Sura you are sadly mistaken.”
 

“But Pontifex Sura...” Livia sputtered.

“Pontifex Sura’s favorite companion is a twelve year old Nubian catamite, and you can tell him for me that if he wants his wife and her wealthy family to know all about his games with that child he can take your side in this situation.”

Livia was speechless once more, stunned.
 

Antony took a step closer to her, and she backed away from him.

“And one more thing, Livia,” he said softly. “If you ever threaten me with your ‘influence’ again, you will find out what it means to make an enemy of ME. Now get out of my sight before I forget that I’m a gentleman knight who is duty bound to show deference to ladies.”

Livia scurried out of his office, her face chalk white, and Antony looked after her, wondering belatedly if he had been too harsh with her.

 
Even if he considered her to be half out of her mind, Livia WAS dedicated to her calling, and that was more than could be said for most people. She was also curiously naive; his comments about Sura had shocked her. Antony knew everything about everybody, and the information about the pontifex was a weapon to be withdrawn if Livia dropped her demands. In general Roman men could do just about what they wanted, but Sura was a religious figurehead who had set himself up in judgment over other people. His self righteousness had made him vulnerable.

Antony sighed. He was a military man and had little patience with these petty officials concerned about protecting their little bailiwicks; if men like himself and Demeter didn’t go out to fight Rome’s enemies there would be no bailiwicks for them to protect. But Caesar had romanced people like Livia all his life, and Antony knew he would have to do the same.

 
He would mend fences with her in the future. Once Marcus was safely away.

They would need each other in the long run.

He opened the door to the hall and called the scribe back into the room.

* * *

Senator Gracchus paced back and forth on the mosaic floor of his tablinum, his toga sweeping in circles as he turned, glancing up occasionally at his son, who stood before him in uncharacteristic silence. Drusus Vinicius, his cloak hanging from his shoulders, his helmet under his arm, waited near the doorway to the hall, clearly wishing he were somewhere else.

“So you have nothing to say for yourself?” Gracchus finally asked, stopping to confront Septimus.

Septimus was silent.

“Vinicius here says you could be arrested on charges of aiding an escape,” the Senator said.

“I gave the Samnian a few drinks, that’s all. If he passed out and then Marcus escaped it’s no concern of mine.”

His father’s face flushed deeply. “The guard was knocked unconscious, he has the broken bones to prove it. Did he hit himself on the back of the neck?”

Septimus shrugged.

“When will the Senate consider the warrant?” Gracchus asked the tribune.

“In the session tomorrow morning,” Vinicius replied.

Gracchus nodded. “Thank you for bringing my son home, Vinicius.”

The tribune glanced at his friend Septimus sympathetically, then made his escape.

The last few days had been brutal, calling upon him to do many things in the name of duty that he would rather have avoided. He was heading straight to the nearest
taberna
to get drunk.

The Senator waited until Vinicius had left the room and Castor had closed the door behind him before he said to his son, “Have you lost your mind?”

“I don’t think so,” Septimus replied mildly.

“You helped Marcus escape! He was a state prisoner, charged with defiling a Vestal, the daughter of one of the oldest families in Rome!”

“You thought he was a great guy until he did something that might embarrass you for associating with him. You were always inviting him here, you thought he was a good influence on me,” Septimus replied dryly.

“How could I know he would do something as insane as to sleep with a Vestal Virgin?” Gracchus countered incredulously.

“If you were really his friend you’d stand by him no matter what he did.”
 

“Oh, I see. This was a test of loyalty, you proved yourself by behaving just as stupidly as Marcus.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You’re right, I can’t understand it.”

“I don’t desert my friends when they’re in trouble.”

“He brought this trouble on himself! He has to diddle a Vestal when there are hundreds of available women in the Suburra every night? I saw Cytheris throwing herself at him in my own house. He is a national hero, he could have had anyone!”

“Maybe he doesn’t regard women as interchangeable commodities, as you do,” Septimus said coldly.

“What is that supposed to mean?” the Senator demanded, his eyes narrowing.

“A man who changes his teenage mistresses every six months might have difficulty grasping an enduring love for one woman,” Septimus replied.

His father slapped him.

“What I do in my private life is none of your concern,” his father said hoarsely, his voice shaking with anger. “I have spent my entire career upholding the name of my illustrious ancestors and you have spent yours playing at dice and drinking at parties.”

“You have spent your entire career shaking the right hands and paying off the right officials. You’ve never had a true friend in your life. When Marcus saved my skin in battle, dodging spears and catapult balls to drag me to safety, he didn’t stop to think whether it was politically advantageous for him to risk himself for me. All I did in helping him to escape from prison was return the favor. And if you think I was playing knucklebones and guzzling wine during the Munda campaign against Gnaeus, then your baby girlfriends have you more addled than even I have assumed. 30,000 men lay dead on that Spanish field while you debated policies in the Senate, came home to a perfectly run house organized by my mother, and spent your evenings playing sex games with your latest pubescent whore. Don’t talk to me about manhood and honor, Father. You know nothing about either one of those attributes, or you would be applauding my actions on the Esquiline hill instead of wondering what they might do to your political future.”

The Senator stared at him, too enraged to speak.

“I will be moving out of the house tonight,” Septimus added. “I’ll stay at the barracks until the army goes on the march. Antony is planning to undertake Caesar’s Parthian campaign so it won’t be long before I’m out of your hair again. And if I am charged with aiding in Marcus’ escape I will not expect any assistance from you with my legal concerns. Mother’s father has money and I’m sure he will see fit to help me. Goodbye.”

Septimus stalked out of the Gracchus tablinum, and the Senator heard the footsteps continue down the hall until his son was out the door.
 

Septimus’ father sat heavily on his couch and put his head in his hands.

* * *

The inn at Nomentum was more like a shack, with the upper floor divided into four cells, each containing a bed and a washstand and not much else. Verrix could not stand without putting his head through the low thatched roof, so he stretched out on the wood frame bed, watching as Larthia undressed, her clothes making a little pile on the floor. When he held out his arms she came into them naked, her silken skin warm and inviting.

There was no conversation for a long while, and then, just when he assumed she was asleep, she said, “I thought I was seeing things when you appeared at the burial site this morning. You and Marcus together, it seemed like a miracle.”

“We were locked up together in the Esquiline prison with a bunch of bums.”

“How did you get out?”

“His friend, the tribune, got the guard drunk and knocked him out, taking the keys. He sprung us.”

“Septimus Gracchus?”

“Yes.”

Larthia laughed. “The Senator will have something to say about that.”

“Are he and his son at odds?”

“Let’s just say that they don’t get along very well.” She rolled over and propped her chin on his chest. “Where will we be heading in the morning?” she asked.