Blood Games (65 page)

Assured that the Praetorians would eat well, Saint-Germain crossed the garden and entered his private wing. The peace and strength of the place took hold of him at once and he let his exhaustion claim him. He reached his bed, his narrow, hard bed that lay over an open chest filled with his native earth. Without bothering to undress, he pulled the red soldier's cape more tightly around him, lay back, and slept.

Night was far advanced when he woke again. His side ached with a dull persistence under the bandages the arena physician had wrapped around him after he had been carried to him. He moved, testing his weakness, bending gingerly, rising slowly. It was reassuring that his weariness was not greater than it had been. His native earth had restored him somewhat, and his face, had there been a mirror that would reflect him, had lost the deeply cut lines of utter fatigue that had marked him earlier.

In his study there were three lamps burning, and Saint-Germain went toward their gentle light.

Rogerian was seated in one of the padded chairs, a stack of vellum sheets on a little table beside him. At the sharp sound of Saint-Germain's heeled boots, he looked up. “Good evening, my master."

"Surely it's later than evening,” Saint-Germain said as he came across the floor. “What are you reading?"

He patted the closely written pages of vellum. “I am reading about Roman law."

"As pertains to bond-holders?” Saint-Germain inquired politely.

"As pertains to divorce and adulterous wives.” His cool eyes met Saint-Germain's. “The complaint was filed against Atta Olivia Clemens yesterday. Her husband delivered all his ‘evidence’ to the Senate. It's alleged that she tried to poison him."

"That's ridiculous,” Saint-Germain said, very annoyed. “Does Silius honestly think that the Senate will listen to him?"

"He has a physician's report as part of his evidence. It says that he had been eating poison.” Rogerian said this gravely.

"He did not get it from Olivia.” He folded his arms over his chest and the gouges in his side radiated pain through him for this. Saint-Germain's face paled but he did not flinch.

"No. That is not what the Senate believes, however.” Rogerian put one of the sheets aside. “It will be most difficult for her to convince them that Justus is lying."

"For her to convince them, they must first find her.” He knew she had been missing the day before, from the gossip he had overheard from the Master of the Games.

"They did find her. Yesterday.” He watched Saint-Germain closely.

"But they couldn't have found her,” Saint-Germain protested. “Her hiding place was completely secure."

"She let herself be found."

Saint-Germain's eyes went flinty and he fixed them on Rogerian. “What do you mean? Why didn't you stop her?"

"Stop Atta Olivia Clemens, when she is determined on a course of action?” Rogerian asked incredulously. “I pointed out that you had survived and that it would be very little time before you could leave Rome in peace. She said she refused to go with such charges hanging over her that might catch up with her at any time. She said she wanted it over with. They will hear her case in three days and pass sentence in two more. The Emperor favors a quick decision."

"Where did they take her, do you know?” Saint-Germain demanded. “There must be a way we can get her out before she appears at the Senate?"

"She wouldn't go. She told me you would want to spirit her away, and that she would refuse to go with you until this is settled.” Rogerian sighed. “I told her that her husband would want to see her condemned for attempted murder, but she was convinced that if she appeared before the Senate and told them all that her husband had done to her—how he betrayed her father and brothers, how he had abused her over the years—then she could have some vengeance for all she has endured.” His voice had dropped and he looked at one of his long hands. “She said very little about what was done to her, but it was enough to let me understand why she might want to be revenged."

"It won't work,” Saint-Germain said with certainty. “It can't work. Justus is not a stupid man. He won't allow Olivia to best him in this. He wants to marry into the Flavian House, so Titus told me, and that means he knows without doubt that Olivia will be condemned.” He stared at the wall where a rare picture of a golden Buddha hung, though he did not see the picture at all. “Vespasianus wants a quick decision? That means he's encouraging Justus’ pretensions. The Senate will do as the Emperor wishes."

"How can you be sure?” Rogerian asked, not just to calm his master. “The Senate is not the toy of the Emperor."

"Or so they say,” Saint-Germain agreed. “It is mere coincidence that their decisions are always those that Vespasianus requires.” His lips set into a grim line and he paced the length of the room. “I won't let them execute her. I won't lose her, Rogerian."

"But what can you do?” Rogerian asked after a moment. “If she is determined, and if, as you say, her husband will work to have her condemned...” He turned over the vellum sheet he held. “There can be an execution."

Saint-Germain rubbed his face with his hands, wishing that he were more rested. “What nature of execution?"

Rogerian consulted the sheets, and after paging through them, found what he sought. “Here. The wife can sue for the right to die by her own hand, in which case witnesses are required. She may be beheaded for infanticide, at the discretion of the Senate. She may be entombed alive. She may be flogged to death if she succeeds in killing her husband. There are other options, but those are the main ones."

"Beheading is out of the question,” Saint-Germain said darkly, fearing again that Olivia might die the true death and not change to his life. “Flogging is possible, but there are risks, if one of those heavy whips damages the spine. If she dies by her own hand, witnesses or not, we might find a way to help her. Entombing is frightening. She would not die—she would live, growing weaker, alone in that terrible dark.” He stopped. It would be like Justus, he thought, to give her more torment, though he could not know how much. Saint-Germain shuddered. His Olivia, entombed in a wall or a foundation or the arch of a bridge. He had heard of criminals being immured in all those places, and others less appealing. What would happen to Olivia when she woke to his life in a place she could not leave? The images flickered through his mind, each more dire than the one before: Olivia in the dark, her hands torn and bloodied as she exhausted herself attempting to find a loose stone to pry away; Olivia shuddering in the corner of the tomb, plucking at her hair, singing wisps of song; Olivia licking her lacerated fingers; Olivia, shrunken, mad, husbanding her strength to be able to dash her head against the stones of the tomb and crack open her skull, ending her misery.

"My master...” Rogerian said tentatively, and Saint-Germain saw his own appalled expression reflected in Rogerian's eyes.

"Forgive me,” he said as he dragged a chair across the marbleinlaid floor. “I'm not quite myself yet. I think we must see if there is a way we can speak to Olivia. If there is not..."

Rogerian put the sheets neatly back on the pile at his elbow. “I understand that her husband has forbidden her to have any visitors until she appears before the Senate. He's afraid that someone will come to harm her.” Rogerian added the last in a contemptuous tone. “He intends to be certain that she is dealt with as he wishes. Domitianus has arranged for her guards.” He hesitated, looking for a tactful way to say the next.

"You can't offend me. What were you going to say?” Saint-Germain broke into his thoughts.

"As you wish,” Rogerian said, unperturbed. “You are named in the complaint as her lover. Any attempt you make to see her will only make her appear as her husband describes her. If you inquire too closely, you will confirm the suspicions about her."

Saint-Germain's teeth were tightly set. “I see,” he mused, twisting in his chair. “He's always been crafty, but I didn't think...” Inwardly he chided himself. No, he did not think. He had acted too impetuously, and now Olivia would have to pay for it. Resolutely he turned his mind away from his fears. “Rogerian, how much can you learn from the slaves of Senators?"

"It would depend, of course, on the slaves,” he said after a moment of deliberation. “There are some slaves who are very reliable, and who like to pass on bits of information. But they know I am your bondsman, and might not speak of this case. There are other slaves, however, who do not know me and might tell me a bit if I bought them a cup of wine. I would have to be careful."

"I respect your judgment enough. Do as you think wisest,” Saint-Germain said.

"I've made myself a disguise. I wore it to see Olivia. I might be able to get near her in it.” He sounded tentative. “I made myself a hump for my back and little bits of leather for my face, like warts, and then I took fruit to sell and cried my wares outside her door. Eventually she came and spoke to me. I might be able to do that again. Her guards saw me, the slaves that her husband put at the house. They would recognize me and I could say that I wanted to do the unfortunate lady a kindness, because she gave me so much money for my fruit.” He had been building on the ideas as they occurred to him, but at the end of this, he was prepared to believe it might be possible. He looked at his master and saw admiration in Saint-Germain's eyes.

"My compliments,” Saint-Germain said with quiet sincerity. “It's enough. We have time to refine the plan, but if we can find out what they intend to do with her and where and when they will do it, we might be able to reach her, so it will be no worse for her than it must.” His face hardened. “Vespasianus wants me to leave Rome. If I had more time, I would make Justus howl for each minute of unhappiness and cruelty he gave her."

"In time, perhaps—” Rogerian began.

"Oh, come, Rogerian,” Saint-Germain cut him off. “When you have lived as long as I, you will have seen that wish fail too often. Men like Justus survive and profit, leaving the wreckage of others’ lives behind them. They are called wise by the envious and worthy by the ambitious. Justus is ruthless, and determined to be part of the Flavian House. He longs for the purple, and if he does not achieve it, it won't be because he neglected opportunity. There were men like him in Egypt, and they brought the country to ruin. There were men like that in Athens, and Damascus, and Eridu.” He rose slowly and stared down at Rogerian. “It's likely to be hazardous."

"It was hazardous to take me away from the Flavian Circus, but you did.” He gave Saint-Germain a steady look.

Saint-Germain capitulated. “We'll try it, then.” He started across the room. “We must be prepared to leave as soon as we have her safe. We'll need chariots, chests with the proper earth in them, clothing, money...” He ran his fingers through his hair. “There will have to be arrangements made for changes of horses between here and whatever port we decide upon. Check my records and find out where we can leave quickly on one of my boats.” For the first time since he had wakened, he smiled. “I'm afraid that sailing is a wretched way for those of my blood to travel, but if it can be arranged, Olivia and I will spend most of our time sleeping."

"I'll see to it,” Rogerian said with a great deal of reserve.

"You'll also need to find someone to take over your duties here. I don't know whom to ask.” His side was beginning to hurt again and he touched the bandages through his tunica.

"You want me to come with you?” Rogerian asked as if afraid of the answer.

"Well, of course,” Saint-Germain answered, surprised. “You will find that I am a man of rather set habits, and I don't like having to find a new body servant every few years. You said that you would consider staying with me. I thought—or rather, I hoped—that it was settled.” He did not let his apprehension sound in his voice.

Rogerian had got to his feet. “I will see that arrangements are made for three,” he said with dignity as he began to put the protective cover around the vellum sheets.

TEXT OF A LETTER FROM THE CHRISTIAN SLAVE JADDEUS TO A FELLOW CHRISTIAN, THE FREEDMAN CLERK LYSANDER.

To my brother in Christ, Lysander, Jaddeus sends greetings:

I pray that this reaches you safely, for the matter which I am to disclose to you is of very grave importance, and I rely upon you to act in such a way that earthly justice is done, for though my hopes are all for heaven, there are still remedies of this world, and what I have learned, since it does not affect those who are called to Jesus, cries out for the stern tribunals of Rome.

There is a new slave here, not a Jew or Christian, who arrived in chains very late one night. The man was not well, and had been treated most brutally by those who had held him. He had had his right hand smashed, his testicles docked and his tongue cut out. I am ashamed to say that I, along with most of the others here, at first shunned this unfortunate man. But he heard me reading from our texts one night, in Greek, and he approached me, this pitiful creature, and gave me to understand, by signs, that there was something he wanted to import to me. I thought he might be Greek (and so he has turned out to be, though I understand now that he came to me because I am literate), and I spoke to him in that language, at which he made gobbling sounds and dragged his finger in the dirt. May Our Lord forgive me, but I wanted to send the wretch away. But he pulled my arm so that I was near the floor, and to my amazement, there were crudely drawn Greek letters there.

The slave is named Monostades and he was owned by the Senator Cornelius Justus Silius. The reason that this slave was mutilated and sent to labor among us after his mutilation, he says, is because he helped his master create a fraudulent case against his wife, wherein it was made to seem his master was dying of poison that the wife gave him, which, in fact, he took himself after he had been with her, so it would appear that he was taking harm from her rather than inflicting it upon himself. He has also said that this poor woman was abused by her husband, who insisted she take the most degraded men to her bed so that he could watch her being ravished. He also believes that it was his master who betrayed his wife's father and brothers to the government when Nero was Caesar.