Blood Games (17 page)

"There are seventeen gates of various sizes in the walls, Senator, and that does not include the bridges. The Watch can be better employed in guarding the city than they can be in searching for one foreigner. Those who keep guard at the Gates he is likely to use will know him in any case.” He sank farther back into the water so that just his head and neck were above the surface. “I cannot help but think that you are too zealous, Senator. If there were few foreigners in Rome, or if Franciscus had demonstrated his intent to harm the citizens or the state, it might be different. But Rome is a city of foreigners now, and we have learned to tolerate them. It is true that this one has known unlucky men, but which of us has not?"

Justus ground his teeth with vexation. “I had thought to make an unsuspected danger known to you, but I see I need not have bothered.” He got to his feet, the water falling from him. It was good to be out of the bath, and away from this Praetorian commander, who was little more than a peasant. He stepped out of the pool and glared at the two procurators. Judging by the watch they kept over their commander, Justus scoffed, one would think that
he
was suspect. He kept his contempt to himself, saying, “I hope that your health improves, Ofonius,” before he sought the frigidarium.

When he was certain that Justus was gone, Tigellinus motioned to the nearer of the two procurators. “Antoninus,” he said, “what do you know of Cornelius Justus Silius?"

The procurator thought before he answered. “He's got a reputation for craftiness. He has never been accused of a crime, he has not been part of any conspiracy. His cousin was the lover of—"

Tigellinus sighed impatiently. “Yes, Valeria Messalina, Claudius’ wife. That's ancient history. Is there anything recent?"

Antoninus pursed his lips. “His wife is reputed to sleep with gladiators. Silius does not seem to mind. He was one of the men Claudius most disliked and he went into unofficial exile for a time. That might have been because of his cousin."

"And it might have been a whim of Claudius'.” Tigellinus sighed. He had learned long ago to pay attention to his hunches, and he had one now about Cornelius Justus Silius, but no matter where he looked he could find nothing to support his misgivings. Musing aloud, he said, “Those who have been out of favor rarely forget it. That may account for his officious interests."

The procurator said nothing.

"This other man, the foreigner. What do you know about him?” Tigellinus turned slowly in the shallow pool, searching for a more comfortable position.

"He raises horses and mules. The horses are bred for the arena, most of the time, though apparently he has some larger animals for battle and long marches. The army buys most of the mules, and there have been no complaints. His villa is an odd design with two atria instead of one. The larger is at one end of a long colonnaded portico, and is more on the Greek style, with a garden and a dining chamber that opens onto it. The other is smaller, and only Saint-Germain himself and his body slave, who is an Egyptian, are allowed to enter it.” Antoninus hesitated. “We might be able to bribe one of the slaves. It is said that one of his bestiarii goes to his bed."

"A man?” Tigellinus had not heard that the foreigner was so inclined, not even from his spies who had been in Petronius’ household and had had ample opportunity to observe such things.

"That Armenian woman with the specially trained team. You've seen her.” Antoninus smiled a moment, then once again was serious. “She has been at his disposal since he bought her. We might be able to approach her. Enough money to buy her freedom would be more inviting than her master's cock, I should think."

Tigellinus nodded deliberately. “It must be done carefully. We don't want the man alerted, or it could become unpleasant for us. Choose one of the spies who is not associated with the Guard in any way, an Armenian, if possible. Pay her in halves, or there may be nothing to show for it.” Although he had no sense of danger from the odd black-clad foreigner, Tigellinus had learned to be cautious.

"Is the need urgent?” Antoninus asked. It was his job to see that the commander's orders were carried out in the proper sequence. If this were high priority, it would be difficult.

"No, I don't think so. Let's call it being careful. Have his comings and goings through the gates watched and make note if any of the very suspect men seek his company. He's sufficiently conspicuous that there should be no trouble observing him. His clothes are foreign, his manner is quite compelling, and he's fairly tall. Not the sort of man you can lose in a crowd. Be a little circumspect, and if the opportunity presents itself, suborn the woman.” He thought of the documents waiting for him on his desk that Antoninus had brought him earlier that day. They needed his attention, and he would not trust Nymphidius Sabinus to handle the matters. It was time to leave the pool of hot water. As he got laboriously to his feet, he reflected that the shallow caldarium was rapidly becoming his only pleasure. He looked through the steam to the other caldaria and wondered if it was true for any of the other men there. As he drew a drying sheet around his shoulders, he considered his other pleasure—the exercise of power. He straightened himself and spoke briskly. “Bring my chariot, Antoninus. I will be ready to leave shortly."

Antoninus nodded, gave a quick salute and went quickly out of the large, steamy room.

Tigellinus addressed the remaining Praetorian procurator. “I want Antoninus watched. Find someone who will give him a slave, and make sure the slave stays close to him."

"But Antoninus—” his fellow protested, making no attempt to conceal his shock.

"Antoninus has been sending messages to Gaius Julius Vindex in Lugdunum. One was intercepted a few days ago. If I revealed its contents to the Emperor or the Senate, Antoninus would have his last kiss from the plumbatae. He is playing a very dangerous game.” He was almost dry now and he reached for his rust-red Praetorian tunica, which he wore in preference to a toga.

"It's a mistake,” the procurator blurted out.

"Lucius Antoninus Sulper is committing treason, Fulvius, and there is a price he must pay for it. He and his companions will forfeit their lives for this foolishness.” Tigellinus closed his hand over his beautiful gold-plated lorica. “I want to catch them all, stamp out the plot entirely, eradicate the villainy so that no portion of it will survive to flower again.” He stood while Fulvius helped him buckle on his lorica. “The caracalla,” he said, holding out his hand for the red soldier's cape. Finally he sat down on one of the benches along the wall to pull on his caligulae. He took up his scabbard and began to buckle it on as he walked. Even the Praetorians were allowed to carry nothing more formidable than a short sword inside the walls of Rome, and although Tigellinus knew that the edict was wise, he missed the long blade of Damascus steel that hung in his quarters at the Praetorian camp.

In the tepidarium, six young men were being instructed in wrestling by a freedman of very mixed parentage. Tigellinus might have stopped to watch if he had had more time and fewer urgent matters pressing him. He passed through the tepidarium and out into the street. By the time he stepped into his chariot, he had consigned his talk with Justus to insignificance as he wondered what to do about the procurator who held the reins for him.

TEXT OF A LETTER FROM MAXIMUS TARQUINUS CLEMTS TO HIS OLDEST SON, PONTIUS VIRGINIUS CLEMENS, LOST IN TRANSIT WHEN THE SHIP CARRYING MAIL TO NARBO WNET DOWN N A SQUALL OFF SARDINIA.

To my beloved son and the hope of my family, Pontius Virginius, greetings:

I am loath to write to you, my son, for there is nothing I can say to you that will be welcome to you, I fear. Yet I have obligations to you and to our house and it is my hope that the Lares need not suffer any more disgrace from me and mine.

I have heard through various of our family that you have been active in the cause of Gaius Julius Vindex. While he is a fine military leader, what you propose is not a matter that honorable men should undertake, particularly when the position of this family is so precarious.

Your objections to the Emperor are not unjust, but I must remind you that he does rule us, and that to rise against him is a grave and terrible crime. We are no longer powerful. I have put us into the debt of Cornelius Justus Silius, which though necessary, was and is most unpleasant, but you propose to add dishonor to our name which is already tarnished. I have heard the arguments your group has used, and if they come to light, the entire family will be disgraced. Silius has intimated that should your part in this conspiracy be known, all of us would be exiled. I have done enough damage to this family without this addition from you. Let me beseech you to draw back from your involvement. If you cannot honor my request as a son would honor a father, then consider the plight of your brothers, your mother, even your sisters, who might also pay for your behavior. Silius has said he does not know if he could give Olivia his protection if we were exiled. Consider what Olivia has done for us already, and do not impose this additional burden on her.

Should you persist on this dangerous enterprise, I would have no choice but to disown you, which I do not wish to do. You are my favorite child, although I should not admit it. I love you with all the fervor that parent has ever loved child. It would pain me mortally to deprive myself of you forever, but I must protect your brothers, your sisters and your mother. Do not force so terrible an act upon me, Virginius.

On the nineteenth day of May in the 818th Year of the City, this from my own hand.

[Back to Table of Contents]

HIS MOVEMENT through the shadowed night was fluid, was powerful, was beautiful. His grace was not the grace of a dancer, whose splendid ease is born of meticulous, disciplined years, but rather it was his natural condition, an aspect of self as much as his musical voice and arresting eyes.

He had entered Rome at dusk through the Rudusculana Gate on the south side of the city. This was one visit he did not want the officious Praetorians to know of, and he had realized that his movements were noted only through the Viminalis and Collina Gates at the northeast end of the city walls. As an added precaution, he had worn a long red cloak and wide-brimmed hat which were the mark of Greek mercenaries. He had answered the officer of the Watch in heavily accented Latin, and swore long and comprehensively by Ares when he was required to surrender his sword.

The first touch of summer was on the air, and the night was warm. Streets were filled with people though the sun had been down for more than an hour. Near the Circus Maximus, the wine shops and whores were doing a brisk business, and away on the Oppius Hill, the Golden House glittered with lights.

Saint-Germain had discarded the red cloak and hat near the entrance to a shop that sold meat-filled breads, knowing that it would not be remarkable there, where many soldiers ate. He had made his way up the Aventine Hill behind the Temple of Juno toward the luxurious houses near the crest. Now his dark Persian clothes blended with the night, his soft tread unheard over the omnipresent roar of the city.

At the house of Cornelius Justus Silius, he had climbed into the stableyard by way of a tree that overgrew the high walls. He had hesitated on the high branch, crouching low as he listened to the conversation of the slaves who cleaned out the stables. Their language was an odd mixture of Latin, Cimric and the dialect of Roman Africa. From the sound of them, they had been drinking, and in confirmation, two of the voices burst out in a loud, tuneless rendition of the bawdiest, bloodiest of the gladiators’ songs.

With this cacophony to cover any sound he might make, Saint-Germain dropped from the branch and slipped across the stableyard unseen and unheard. He went swiftly, darkness moving against darkness, until he had worked his way around the house to the new wing where Olivia's room was.

As he stopped beside a gnarled apple tree, a soft, agonized wail sliced the night. Saint-Germain felt the sound go through him like steel. It was Olivia's voice. There followed sounds of a scuffle and another cry, and then Justus’ voice, strangely breathless.

"Lie still for him! There!"

Saint-Germain had already begun to move toward the window when he saw the slave who had guided him to Olivia's room waiting near the garden entrance to her wing. Cautiously he sank back into the shadows. He wanted a moment, only a moment, and then he would be across the narrow garden and in her window.

Peculiar, panting laughter came from the room, a quick, scrabbling sound, and then Justus’ hoarse order, “Away! Let me!"

Saint-Germain's hands had tightened into fists and it was an effort not to rush into the house, regardless of the slave who waited at the door. Only his concern for Olivia, and knowing that a reckless attempt on her behalf would be more dangerous to her than none at all, kept him from this action.

Some little time later the door opened and a ruggedly built Greek came out. He swaggered a little as he walked, and in response to the waiting slave's question, he said, “Oh, he won't be satisfied until he sees her split in two by an ass’ cock.” His laughter was low and contemptuous. With the other slave, he strolled away toward the low building near the stables.

The sounds from Olivia's room continued awhile, and Saint-Germain moved to the window. The stonework was regular and left enough projections that Saint-Germain knew he could climb it. He set his fingers on the stones and began to move up the side of the building toward the tall windows of Olivia's room.

Justus had left her as soon as he was finished, and now Olivia lay alone on her disordered bed. The lamps were still burning, and it made her shame worse. It was bad enough that she be treated this way, but with so much light...She shook her head miserably. Justus had been pleased with his Boetian bodyguard, and her body ached from his assault. She wanted to cross her arms to cover her breasts, but there were too many scrapes and bruises for her to stand to touch them.