Blood Games (39 page)

Tishtry turned to huddle close to his side. “I only wanted to praise you, my master."

He put his arm over her shoulder. “I'm flattered,” he said with weary sincerity. “Yet be circumspect. With the Emperor in so much trouble, and the people of Rome ready to pull down the city walls if it will bring them grain, there are many who want to turn this to their own advantage. Strangers, even those who give you genuine compliments, may have hidden reasons to do so. Being strangers ourselves, we must be particularly careful, since if there is to be trouble, it will be our own first.” He did not want his last night with Tishtry to end so badly. With an affectionate squeeze he took her in his arms. “I am being very cautious because I have learned that it is necessary. Don't be distraught.” He kissed her again, more determinedly.

"Are you angry?” she asked, still very concerned.

"No. Why should I be? If anyone deserves anger, it's myself. Don't put too much stock in my worry.” His hands followed the line of her breasts, her hips.

"Are we in danger?” She said it quickly, as if the question were all one word.

"Those like me are always in danger. In time we get used to it. When you have changed, you will learn."

Their next kiss was interrupted by a sound from the animal pens, some distance from Villa Ragoczy. Saint-Germain looked up sharply.

"What is that?” Tishtry asked as the distressed yapping came again.

"Something's bothering the wolves,” he answered, frowning. The wolves had come from Carnuntum two months ago, and though nervous at first, had quickly learned to be calm.

The sounds increased, and over the sounds of the wolves there was added the coughing cry of leopards.

Saint-Germain rose and pulled his robe about him. “I'd better find out what it is."

"The keepers can do that,” Tishtry said softly.

"If your horses were neighing, would you say the same thing?” He asked it gently, and did not expect an answer as he bent to pull on his soft high-heeled boots.

She had no argument to make, and in fact was growing alarmed over the noise from the compound. She drew herself into a ball in the middle of the bed as Saint-Germain rose. A moment later he strode from the room, calling for Aumtehoutep as he went.

Saddened, Tishtry pulled the largest pillow toward her and wrapped her arm around it, trying to recall the splendor of their last night together.

TEXT OF A LETTER FROM CAECILA MEDA CLEMENS, DOMITA JANUSIANUS, TO HER SISTER, ATTA OLIVIA CLEMENS, DOMITA SILIUS.

To Olivia, Domita Silius, familial greetings:

I confess I was amazed to have your letter of October 2, which did not arrive for almost two months, due to severe weather and difficult road conditions. The military dispatches traveled swiftly enough, you may be certain, but a letter such as yours, though you are the wife of a powerful Senator, must wait while the twelfth report of the least experienced tribune is hurried south. Also, there have been certain difficulties on the borders, but that is a state of life here in Lugdunensis. Lutetia is a fairly tolerable city, but there is little to be done to make it really acceptable. The winter begins early here in the north and since we were posted here after our father's and brothers’ misfortunes, I've come to long for that splendid sun that shines on Rome with such profligate glory. Until you have lived in places like this, you can have no idea how truly delightful a place Rome is. To call it the very center of the world is not sufficient.

Which, my dear sister, is why I am puzzled by your request to visit us. How could you bear to leave Rome, even for so short a period as six months, and if you must come, why in the dead of winter, when there is little to do and nothing but hours of boredom?

I told my husband something about you, though I admit it has been very nearly fourteen years since I've seen you. I'm certain you're no longer that awkward child with the berry stains all over her best palla. Strange that I should remember that about you more than any other thing. Do you remember that holiday near Neapolis, visiting our mother's uncle? He had quite a grand estate (or so it seems in retrospect, though after Lutetia, a pigsty in Ostia or an apartment in the worst, most rat-infested insula behind the Forum of Augustus would be preferable to the grandest palace here) and it was near enough to the sea that we could go there for a swim. How long ago that seems. You could not have been more than eight or nine. It is a pity that we didn't spend more time together as children, I suppose, but it might have been awkward. I am fully twelve years older than you are, and it is not remarkable that our education took different turns. I remember what a shock it was to learn that our father had lost so much money and land. How fortunate that Silius was willing to offer for you then.

In your letter you tell me that your husband is unkind, though he's protected our mother and housed her in spite of the disgrace our father and brothers have brought upon us. It may not be a great pleasure to be wed to an old man, but in one of the letters he sent to my husband, he said he has never objected to your lovers. It's foolish to abuse so good a man, Olivia. You must learn to control your desires and work with your husband in partnership. He was unfortunate in his first two wives, and now you treat him shabbily. That is not the way you were raised. I know that, for we had the same nurse and tutors; Isidoros and Bion taught us our obligations along with Greek, you know. Though I haven't used the language in years, the principles they gave us have served me well here.

You cannot imagine how inconvenient everything is. Our villa is never warm enough for four months out of the year. We have a holocaust, of course, but it isn't adequate to the task of heating the rooms. And I will not have the ceilings lowered or open fireplaces put in rooms the way the natives do. The thought of a room with a great open hearth belching out smoke and flames into the room—Romans must draw the line somewhere! I've taken to ordering my clothes made of heavier fabrics, and the people here do make a fairly good woolen cloth. It dyes unevenly, however, and for that reason when we have a rare guest, I insist that we dress properly, no matter what the season. I will not receive a visitor in coarse wool—linen or cotton must be worn. Occasionally Drusus loses patience with me for this, and I must remind him that we are Roman patricians with a certain obligation to our position.

Though we have few messages here, there is a persistent rumor that Vitellius will be brought down. Is not Rome satisfied with this latest Emperor? How dangerous for you, to be close to it all. If that is what is really distressing you, I can certainly understand why you might want to be out of Rome for a few months until all is once again quiet. The last year or so, it seems we've barely had time to change the plaques at the garrison, and we must do it again for the new Emperor.

How different things were when we were in Antioch. There we had a chance for advancement, and there was talk of a great promotion for my husband. Nero had said that after a few more years in Syria and Greece, he would be ready to become a Senator. Now, there is not the least chance in the world of that happening. If we are fortunate we will be shuffled from Gallia to Britannia to Mauretania, and never be one step closer to Rome. Drusus could retire, of course, and he has estates near Syracuse, but everyone would know that he had capitulated, and I won't hear of it.

You have never seen my children, certainly, but I think I have reason to be proud of them. Hilarius is now twelve, and very precocious. One of Drusus’ uncles will adopt him and see to his advancement. Fontanus is almost ten, and his tutors say that he has an excellent mind, far superior to the other children's. They want to send him to Greece, naturally, to study there, but I think his time could be better spent in Rome. My husband and I have yet to decide the matter. Perhaps Drusus should write to your husband and ask his advice in the matter. Maius is only six, and it is difficult to tell yet how he will turn out. So far he has shown a great liking for soldiers, but there is little else here to attract his attention. Flora is nine and with some effort on my part, she may become a beauty, but it will be work because she has no idea how to dress, and refuses to listen to me when I seek to guide her. If you're willing to have her with you in a few years’ time, you may find she alleviates your loneliness as well as doing some good for the family. Salvina is seven, quite robust, which is not a thing I'd encourage in a girl. My baby is Cornelia, who is little more than two. A very well-mannered baby, though, in spite of her foot. The physician here is trying to treat it, for with a limp she may never hope to make a mark for herself in the world. It would be a pity if we had to marry her badly because of that little defect.

I was sorry to hear of our sister's death. Arianus wrote last year to tell us, and I was quite upset. Viridis and I were very close, you know, being only two years apart in age. Imagine being overturned in a chariot on the road to Patavium, getting little more than a broken bone, easily set, and then to have the arm go black, and be killed by fever. I was shocked. What was Arianus thinking of, to let her be treated by local physicians? They're all nothing more than incompetent butchers. Now only you and I are left, my dear Olivia. Four brothers and a sister have left this world too early.

Let me hear from you again soon. It has been years since your last letter, but I thought it was because of our disgrace. How ironic to think that if things had gone as our father wished, I would be in Rome now, part of a powerful family, enjoying the honors my husband had worked so hard to obtain. Yet I don't complain, as that would be a dishonor to our father and our Lares. Certainly, I wish it had been otherwise, but there is little to be done now unless you know of someone willing to help us. I won't ask you to talk to your husband for us, since you seem to be having a little trouble there just now, but when things are easier between you, a word or two would be appreciated. That is, assuming he continues to have influence when matters of the purple are at last decided and someone is Caesar for more than a year continuously.

How much I have written to you! It shows you how I long for your company. Let me counsel you, little sister—strive to be more tolerant of Justus. Men are vain, it's sadly true, but if we are indulgent and don't regard them too critically, they do reward us in the end, and we can then exercise our accumulated power without hindrance. Give that your consideration. These difficulties pass, believe me. By the time my letter reaches you, you'll be wondering why you wrote to me in such dejection. Husbands may be a burden at times, but at least you have Rome to amuse you, and for that, I admit I envy you.

Until I see you again, in Rome, the greetings of my family and myself.

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A JANUARY STORM blustered over the hills of Rome. Rain fell in what seemed like handfuls, drenching everything, making the world appear entirely one color, a uniform sandy gray. The stone-flagged streets were awash in the low places between the hills, and in those narrow alleys where there was no paving, carts and men alike sank deep in mud. Over the rattle of the rain there could be heard the occasional shouts and oaths of those who had been trapped by the mud or cut off by water standing too deep in the road. Few people ventured abroad, though the city still reeled under the latest change of government, and a few were grateful to the weather for the relief it brought, and the excuse to stay indoors.

In the house of Cornelius Justus Silius there was water on the floor of the atrium and several household slaves worked to mop it up as it fell. In a few places little wraiths of steam rose, formed by the hot air that circulated just below the marble flooring, heating the house from the great furnace that warmed the small baths as well as serving the ducts that gave access to the spaces between marble floor and brick foundation. Though the rooms were tolerably warm, they were drafty, and the shutters rattled on the windows. For that reason, if no other, Justus was supervising the hanging of heavy Eastern-style draperies in the smaller of the two dining rooms on the east side of the house. This little chamber was in the lee of the wind as well as being painted with particularly attractive murals, and furnished in magnificent style. It was an impressive room, which is precisely what Justus needed this rainy afternoon.

"There, you incompetent idiot!” Justus shouted as he indicated for the third time where the Asian slave should hammer the bracket.

"But, master, there isn't enough—” the slave started to object reasonably.

"I will accept no arguments from you,” Justus informed him quietly. “The bracket must go there, or the hangings won't cover both windows and there'll be cold drafts down both our backs."

"Master, forgive me, but we must move the bracket either more to the left or the right or there won't be enough wood under the plaster to hold it. That's what I was trying to explain....” He held out his hand to demonstrate.

"Arguments with me are settled with rod-stripes,” Justus warned the Asian slave. “I bought you because I was told you were a carpenter. Now it turns out you don't know how to drive a nail. The last slave who defied me lived long enough to regret it, but no longer."

The Asian turned pale. “I will drive the nail as you wish,” he muttered. “But it will not hold."

"Hope for your own sake that it does,” Justus said firmly. “This room must be perfect. I will not hesitate to mete out punishment to those responsible, should anything go wrong."

With a drooping of his head, the Asian carpenter turned once again to the impossible site on the wall. Very carefully he moved the nail up a handbreadth and set to work putting in the bracket.

Justus watched from below, holding the leather-braided rod behind his back and flicking it occasionally.