Blood Games (14 page)

When Saint-Germain was gone, Olivia turned to face her husband. She crossed the room slowly, her naked body glistening in the soft lamplight.

A moment later the hidden door opened and Justus burst into her room. His heavy face was set and there was heightened color in his cheeks. “What in the name of Priapus was that?” he demanded as he lifted his hand to strike her.

She staggered under the blow, but met his ire with her own. “That was my satisfaction, Justus."

"Why did you permit it?” He reached for her shoulders in order to drag her back to the bed.

"Don't!” she screamed. It was too much to stand, going from Saint-Germain's ecstatic embraces to the malevolent hands that bruised her now.

"You don't defy me!” Justus roared at her. “One more evening like tonight and your father and brothers will suffer for it, I promise you!” He had almost decided to make her pay for her treachery this very night, with his Boetian bodyguard.

"I didn't know he'd be like that,” she protested as he flung her toward the bed.

He glanced down once, and the beginning of a smile curled his mouth. There was blood on the pillows. Perhaps the foreigner had been rougher than he thought.

Olivia saw the blood, and said, “The brooch on his robe cut me.” It was a convincing lie.

"Is that all? Why didn't you provoke him?” He stood over her, his large hands bunched into fists at his sides.

"How?” She knew he would have no answer to that question. “I didn't know what he was like. How could I?” She was breathing rapidly, and she grabbed for one of the sheets to pull around her.

Justus tugged it away. “You should have dismissed him, then."

"You mean I should have summoned slaves to throw him out bodily? Perhaps I should have said you were expected. I didn't know what he was like, Justus. I didn't!” Her protestation had the ring of truth, she knew. “You suggested I approach him."

"Liar!” The back of his hand lashed her, then the front.

"You did!” she yelled as she raised her arms to protect herself. “That night at Petronius’ home, after the dancers came back. Petronius told you that Saint-Germain had supplied the dancers, and you told me to try for him. You told me!” She knew she would be heard by the slaves, but it didn't matter.

He did remember, as he remembered the terror in her eyes as she saw the Emperor circle the waist of the smaller of the two women dancers. Olivia had felt sorry for the woman, and refused to believe that Nero's favor was a signal honor. “That was months ago."

"He didn't come the first time I asked, Justus. You were angry then, too. No, don't hit me again,” she said as she put out her hand to him. “You tell me that I've disappointed you, but how could I know? How could I know?"

"His reputation is...odd.” He put one knee on the bed and began methodically to slap Olivia, now on the shoulders and face, now on the stomach and breasts. “Lie back,” he grunted as he dragged his robe open.

Without meaning to, Olivia drew back from her husband, one arm thrusting out to push him away. It was too soon, she thought desperately. She had not had enough time to put her rapture behind her. She was still touched with pleasure and fulfillment, and to be violated by Justus was loathsome.

"Your brothers, Olivia.” Justus smiled as he inexorably pushed her back under his massive body. Perhaps Saint-Germain had not been quite as unsuccessful as he had thought. Certainly Olivia had never been so revolted by him before. He chuckled. He could not recall a time when she had fought him so much. It was a welcome novelty, and for that reason, if no other, contributed to his enjoyment.

Olivia willed herself to be still, to be silent as her husband moved on top of her. His presence was vile. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth to protest, she would vomit. It had been so little time, hardly more than an hour, since she lay beside Saint-Germain, ready to dissolve with satisfaction. Now this. Her body was slick with sweat; her arms felt leaden. Good Mother Isis, she begged, let him be quick.

A LETTER FROM RAGOCZY SAINT-GERMAIN FRANCISCUS WRITTEN IN HIS NATIVE LANGUAGE TO HIS BODY SLAVE AUMTEHOUTEP.

Aumtehoutep, old friend:

I am going to Cumae after all. Petronius is much troubled, and has renewed his request that I visit. I did not want to leave you just now, with all the recent changes around us.

Your idea of making small houses for the arena slaves is an excellent one. I should have thought of it myself. By all means, see that two-room cabins are built for all the bestiarii, and assign Tishtry and Kosrozd private ones. It will arouse little suspicion if you do the same for a few of the others. You should have the first of these built in a month, and I should be back well before then.

The larger cages that were ordered for the tigers are ready, and should be delivered in the next two or three days. Be certain that these are not put near the stables, or there will be panic. I have promised Tishtry the pick of the tiger cubs. The animal must be given to her within half a day of its birth, otherwise it will never be close to her.

On my way to Cumae, I will stop in Ostia and arrange for the new shipments from Sennistis to be brought to you. The designs for the mosaic in the transitoria are in my library, and as soon as the stones arrive, put Protuos and his crew to work on it.

There is a note enclosed with this that must be delivered to Olivia, Domita Silius. You must be very careful, for her husband has forbidden her, on pain of beating and worse, to have anything to do with me. Do not trust her slaves, but see if perhaps she may be approached at the Games. You might be able to speak to her when Justus sends her under the stands to approach gladiators.

Look for me in three weeks. I doubt that I can make my visit much shorter than that. There are rumors everywhere that Nero is going to banish Petronius, and he is preparing himself to leave for whatever distant and hostile outpost the Emperor selects. There is little I can do but bid him farewell, and that I must do.

Your loyalty and courage, as always, fill me with gratitude.

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PETRONIUS’ VILLA stood high on the cliffs overlooking the sea. It was a magnificent setting: a little promontory with wind-bowed cypresses on one side, and easy access to the beach below on the other. The garden flanked the long colonnaded transitoria and opened onto the unusual three-sided atrium. The building was painted a soft coral and in the evening sun it glowed like red gold.

From his study, Petronius could look out at the indigo ocean. His desk faced a large, unscreened window, and he sat there now, staring out into the smoldering sunset. In one hand he held an iron stylus; and in the other, an official document, the seal broken, dangled from his negligent fingers.

He was roused by a tap at the door. “Yes?"

"Saint-Germain. Your house slave said you wanted to speak to me."

"Come in.” He tore his eyes away from the window and rose to greet his guest. “Sit down. I suppose you've heard?"

There was no point in denying it. “About the soldiers? Yes, I saw them leave. The tribune has left six men at the foot of the hill, and one by the cliff.” He had gone out to check this not long ago.

Petronius sighed. “I have the order.” He held up the document. “Prison, and then death. For all my family. Tigellinus is determined.” He put the stylus aside and rubbed his face. “These are my instructions. I've made a copy for you, in case there are any questions later."

Saint-Germain glanced down at the neatly written lines. “It isn't necessary, Petronius."

"But it is. Someone, preferably someone who is disinterested, must have this. Otherwise I leave everything at the mercy of the august Emperor, and Nero, I find,” he went on lightly, bitterly, “is not well-disposed toward me."

There was nothing Saint-Germain could say. He held out his hand for the closely written sheets. “What shall I do with them?"

Petronius looked at them, then back out at the sea. The sun was down and a band of tarnished silver lay along the horizon. “Keep them for the moment. They are dated and have my seal. Three of the sheets are grants of freedom for some of my slaves. I want you, if you will, to be certain that the grants are honored. It would not be the first time that Nero seized all the household of such a dangerous criminal as I am.” He reached for the stylus again. “I've also prepared a few words for the Emperor. I will send it with the tribune outside. It would please me if you will find out if Nero sees it."

"Your tribute?” Saint-Germain asked, knowing it was proper for a man in Petronius’ position to send laudatory verses to the Emperor, exonerating him of blame and praising his rule.

"My tribute, yes.” Petronius’ smile was more of a sneer. “I want to do one honest thing in my life, Saint-Germain. I fear that Nero will find more bees than honey there, but as that has been my experience of him...” As if he were suddenly tired, Petronius sank into the chair at his desk once more, and motioned Saint-Germain to the long padded couch by the wall. “I am sorry that I have to ask anything of you, but there is no one else here who is as safe as you are. They are Romans, and for that reason, they are at the command of Nero. None of them is free to help me, and so, it must fall to you. I can't ask it of anyone else here, Saint-Germain."

"Yes.” He nodded slowly. “Very well. If there is anything else, let me have it before morning. I will want to be away before the soldiers return, or they may ask that I give up your effects, and I would have to.” He rolled the documents together and secured them with a ribbon that Petronius held out to him. “What time do you leave?"

"I'm not leaving,” Petronius said rather distantly when he was satisfied the roll was properly tied. “Keep that hidden, or there might be difficulties."

"Not leaving?” Saint-Germain looked across the darkening room.

"The Emperor wants to see me beaten to death with the plumbatae. I am going to disappoint him.” He rose to strike flint and steel to start the nearest lamp. “I've always loved solitude, but I never found the time for it. I kept thinking that there would be years for it, sometime later. Then I could write something worthwhile. It was so important to take advantage of imperial favor.” He lit a second lamp. “How I deceived myself!"

"What about your guests?” Saint-Germain asked softly.

"They are still my guests. I promised them entertainment tonight, and they shall have it. I will enjoy it, too. There are Greek musicians to play for us, and you have brought that enormous Egyptian harp. I've hired some dancers from Sicilia, and that new poet from Mons Veridium to read his verses. A very pleasant evening, really.” All six lamps were burning now, and he reached to slide the shutters closed. “You
will
play for me, won't you?"

Saint-Germain sat very still. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “I will play for you."

"Thank you.” Petronius turned away to open a box on his desk. “This is my seal.” He held out the ring to Saint-Germain. “I want you to compare it to the impression on the things I gave you, and if you are satisfied it's genuine, I want you to break it."

"Break it?” Saint-Germain had seen the seal before, and a quick look assured him that the impressions on the documents he held were correct. They were rolled loosely so that the impression would not be distorted. “It's authentic. Why do you want it broken?"

Petronius looked down at his hands. “Shall we say that I am anxious to avoid imperial caprice? If Nero or his soldiers had the seal, they might use it to do mischief. My freed slaves might find themselves condemned to the galleys. Friends might discover that I had sent them messages implicating them in criminal acts. All my land might be found to be owed for gambling debts. It's happened before, Saint-Germain. I've seen it.” Though he spoke easily, his face was serious. His dark blue eyes were oddly clouded. He had been blinded by his own confidence, he thought. He had catered to Nero's pleasures and thought that the affection the Emperor professed for him was genuine. “It may have been, once,” he said aloud.

"It may have been once?” Saint-Germain echoed, his fine brows raised.

"It's nothing,” Petronius said impatiently. “Well, break that, won't you?"

Saint-Germain held up the carved jewel and studied it. The stone was sardonyx, and the figure in it was of Diana with her stag and bow holding a tower in one hand. The workmanship was excellent. “A pity,” Saint-Germain said as he dropped the ring to the floor and brought his heeled boot down on it.

"Good,” Petronius said when he had picked up the ring again. The stone was broken and the ring itself cracked and bent. “That much is safe. There are only a few more things to do."

"I'll leave you, then,” Saint-Germain said, and started toward the door.

"No.” Petronius caught his arm. “No, I must have a witness to all this. Stay. I need your help.” When he got no immediate response, he said, “I don't ask you lightly. I trust you to honor your word. I haven't much more to complete. Stay.” Much of his courtly polish deserted him, and he stumbled over his words, so great was his urgency.

"All right.” Saint-Germain regarded him evenly, trying to imagine what Petronius might have been like in ten years, or twenty. The time was lost now, but if it had turned out otherwise...He shut the thought away. He had learned long ago how useless such speculation was. “Do as you must."

Petronius let his breath out slowly. “I am grateful, Saint-Germain.” He went to the door and clapped twice, and waited in silence until his secretary appeared. “Tell my wife that I am ready for her and the children now."

His secretary was one of the slaves who was to be given a grant of freedom. He bowed slightly, sorrow in his eyes. “At once, my master."

"What now?” Saint-Germain asked, feeling deeply weary.

Petronius had gone to a red-and-gilt chest by the wall, and as he opened it, he said, “A necessary precaution. I will leave nothing to chance.” He lifted out a chalcedony cup which was carved in the likeness of Atlas holding up the world. For a moment his eyes glowed with pleasure as he looked at the cup. “Do you remember when you gave this to me, Saint-Germain?"