Lady of the Eternal City (15 page)

Antinous tried to still the bitch-hound’s thrashing as he darted back out of range. “Easy, girl—” A spot to lay her down, he just needed a space in the throng. She was whimpering and struggling in his arms. “Ssshh—”

The bear gave one last ear-shattering roar as Antinous laid the dog down on soft moss. He looked up to see the bear’s blood arc in a hot spray across the Emperor’s furious face, and then the beast fell. She made one final lash of her remaining paw and caught Hadrian square across the thigh. Antinous saw the Emperor’s leg slew to the wrong side and he yelled his agony through clenched teeth, but the dog was crying out too, and Antinous felt at her torn side through the mass of bloodied fur. Dimly he heard his father shouting, rushing to finish off the bear—someone else saying, “Caesar, your leg—”

The dog’s lips peeled back from her teeth in pain but she never tried to bite Antinous even as he pinched the lips of her wounds together. “You’re a sweet thing, aren’t you? Don’t worry, we’ll get you patched up.” The bear hadn’t opened her belly down to the entrails, not quite. “Don’t struggle, sweet girl, don’t tear it open any worse—”

“A physician!” Vix shouted somewhere behind him. “A physician for the Emperor!”

“Hang the physician,” came a deep snarl. “My
dog
—”

“Lean on me, Caesar.” Lucius Ceionius, unctuous voice pushing against the edge of Antinous’s attention as he probed the dog’s side with tender fingers. If he could stop the bleeding—

“He should lean on me!” Young Pedanius Fuscus sounded indignant. “I’m Caesar’s great-nephew, he should lean on
me
—”

Antinous barely glanced up as the Emperor limped up beside him: tall, bearded, white-faced, bloody. He was upright, leaning hard on a spear haft, one leg bleeding and bent at a strange angle. “My dog,” he said hoarsely. “Is she—”

“I need a bandage.” Antinous’s fingers were slippery with blood. “Rest easy, sweet girl—”

Huntsmen milled and fussed, but the Emperor just yanked the Imperial purple cloak off his own shoulders. Antinous wadded up the priceless dyed wool and wrapped it tight around the dog. She whimpered, trembling under his hands, and Hadrian gave a tremulous breath. “Easy, easy,” the Emperor crooned, sinking down on his uninjured knee to stroke her blood-flecked muzzle. She whined and tried to wash his hand. Antinous looked full into the Emperor’s face for the first time, and was astounded to see tears in those deep-set eyes. Hadrian looked back at him, not trying to hide them. “What can I do?” he said simply.

“See if you can calm her, Caesar,” Antinous said. “I’ve got to tie this off.”

“How bad is it?” Hadrian’s big hands cradled the dog’s head, holding her still.

“The claws didn’t open her belly. If she doesn’t bleed too much—”

“Make it tighter, then!”

Antinous swaddled the dog in more Imperial purple, then mopped the lesser scrapes. Finally he sat back on his heels, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “If she can be stitched up, I believe she’ll live.”

“You believe?” The Emperor of Rome sounded anxious as a mother.

“My dog got mauled much the same way as a pup—a pack of street curs rather than a bear. He was trotting about in no time after I had him stitched.” The Emperor looked so agonized, Antinous almost touched his arm to reassure him. He barely stopped himself—this was the same man who’d once threatened to cut his
hand
off, after all. He gave a smile instead, as comforting as he knew how. “With a little care and luck she should live, Caesar.”

Hadrian dashed at his eyes. He’d been all icy calm facing the bear, Antinous thought, but now he looked as though he were about to collapse. “She’s my favorite,” the Emperor confessed, stroking the bitch-hound’s ear.

“A brave girl,” Antinous said softly. The Emperor’s eyes softened in return, and then the rest of the hunting party began to descend.

“Caesar, your leg!” But the Emperor waved them all away, and the improvised litter too as the huntsmen brought it forward.

“I can ride. The litter is hers.” The Emperor turned toward Antinous, but he was already lifting the whimpering hound and settling her into the cushions. He straightened to see those Imperial eyes studying him. “Do I know you, young man?”

Antinous felt his heart thud.

“Caesar!” His father called hastily from the other side of the litter. “If that leg isn’t set soon, this is the last hunting you’ll ever do.”

But the Emperor ignored Vix. “I do know you.” The Emperor swept Antinous with eyes no longer teary. “Our tribune’s son with the quick fist.”

Antinous gave the most graceful bow he could manage while covered in dog blood and mud. “I had hoped that would be forgotten, Caesar,” he managed to say. “Allow me to offer my sincere apologies for being such an overhasty youth.”

“And I offer you thanks for tending my dog.” The Emperor gave a nod that turned into a hiss of pain. “Vercingetorix, if your son would like a post, he may have it. Perhaps among the huntsmen. And I think I may have overstated when I said I could ride . . .”

A great rise of noise and chaos then. The dog in her Imperial bandaging was carried ahead at double speed, Antinous was glad to see. He’d sneak down to the kennels later to check on her. The Imperial entourage trailed behind more slowly, the bear’s carcass dragged along on a sledge. Young Pedanius Fuscus was bouncing along beside the Emperor’s makeshift litter like a puppy: “You should have let me put a spear into it, Caesar, I’d have killed it before it struck you!” The Emperor paid him no heed, lying back on his elbows with lips clamped tight in pain and his broken leg stripped and purpling before him. Antinous hoped it would heal straight. It would be a great crime for as magnificent a hunter as the Emperor of Rome never to ride again—never to fling a spear again with that splendid strength.

His father’s growl sounded in his ear. “That’s what you call keeping out of sight?”

“I wasn’t about to stand there and watch a dog die.” Antinous scrubbed his blood-dried hands up and down his tunic. “He cried.”

“Who?”

“The Emperor,” Antinous repeated softly, and couldn’t help smiling. He would never in his wildest dreams have thought to see Emperor Hadrian, his father’s dark-souled rival, in tears over the fate of a dog.

“He might tear up over his hounds and horses, but he can see men die without batting an eye.” Vix’s sourness jarred Antinous instead of amusing him as it usually did. “Be glad he didn’t decide to take offense at the sight of you.”

“Yes, sir,” Antinous said, and found himself thinking that his father’s long-despised master might be a cold and frightening man . . . But not a monster through and through. Not if he could shed tears for a dog.

SABINA

A.D. 124, Autumn
Athens

“The Mysteries of Eleusis?” Sabina blinked. She’d been expecting to hear that they were returning to Rome. Hadrian had been gone from the Eternal City a full four years, after all, and with his recent hunting injury—

“We will make time to attend the Eleusinian rites before returning home.” Hadrian was writing three things at once, as he so often did, wax tablets piled about his desk in stacks. “I will not miss this chance for enlightenment.”

Sabina looked down at her lap to hide a smile. How like Hadrian to just add enlightenment to his list of things to do.
Build wall, redesign legionary training, open soul to mysteries of world.
“An acolyte’s role is arduous,” she pointed out instead, looking at the crutch he still needed to walk.

“I will take an attendant to lean on. You may take one as well.”

“You’re allowing me along?” That
was
a surprise.

“Don’t be too happy,” he warned dryly. “Julia Balbilla will be accompanying you.”

“Gods, no!” Julia Balbilla was the newest member of Sabina’s entourage, a carefully preserved society matron who was possibly the most tiresome woman in the Empire. “Why her?”

“Because she’s one of the richest women in Athens, and her insufferable family is funding half the temples and bridges I’ve been trying to get built, that’s why.”

“All very well and good, but you didn’t have to stay and listen to her read her own poetry at the last dinner party!”

“Of course I didn’t. There are
some
advantages to being Emperor.” Hadrian leaned back in his chair with a smile, looking so very human for once that Sabina beamed at him.

“Thank you,” she said. “For taking me to Eleusis. Even if I must spend it listening to Balbilla recite insipid little verses about starlight.”

“I remembered how much you enjoyed the rites at Delphi.” Hadrian sounded reminiscent for once. “You chewed on laurel leaves with the Pythia and said some extremely silly things.”

“It was that foul drink the priests gave me. It made my head ache horribly, and had me examining the backs of my hands for hours. Hopefully Eleusis will be more exciting.”

“Is that why you wish to go?” he said with a faint cock of his head. “Not for enlightenment, but for mere excitement?”

“An empress’s life is a smooth and public thing,” she said, careful not to sound petulant. “Rather short on excitement.”

“May you find it, then.”

And here she was, in Athens where the rites traditionally began. Standing under a full autumn moon surrounded by eager fellow acolytes who did not see her purple
stola
or care what it meant—and Sabina felt more sheer anticipation than she’d felt in a good many long and predictable years.

“What’s that old gander going on about?” Vix hissed at her shoulder.

“The hierophant is exhorting the people of Athens. Calling upon those eligible to follow him in the Mysteries of Eleusis.” As the old priest raised his white-robed arms to the night sky, Sabina translated his formal words. “‘Whoever hath clean hands, a pure soul, and an intelligible tongue—’ That means you have to speak Greek.”

“So why am I here?” Vix must be too baffled to remember he wasn’t talking to her anymore. “I can’t speak Greek, I’ve got more blood on my hands than in my veins, and God knows I’m not pure of soul or heart or anything else. Neither or you. For that matter, neither is the Emperor—”

Next time, Sabina decided, she would ask Hadrian to pick his companions for a religious ecstasy more carefully. People of sensitivity, or at least curiosity. Not large annoyed people vibrating with irritation. “Ssshhh!”

The crowd thronging the great
stoa
of Athens rippled and shivered. Lowly slaves and nobly born citizens, packed shoulder to shoulder with merchants and prostitutes and the Emperor of Rome himself—all reduced under the night’s darkness to mere shadows. Hadrian, standing before Sabina with his gaze fixed eagerly on the hierophant, was just another man in a tunic that didn’t show in the darkness as Imperial purple.

The moon rose beyond the double vault of columns, full and white, and the hierophant let out a cry. “To Eleusis!”

The cry redoubled from the mass of acolytes, and feet rushed to be first to leave, first to set foot on the white ribbon of road called the Sacred Way. “To Eleusis,” Sabina echoed softly.

“We’ll be all night walking,” Vix grumped, shifting to put his own armored body between Sabina and the buffeting crowd streaming past. “It’s a full night’s march to Eleusis, and with the Emperor on a crutch—”

“Enlightenment cannot be had without pain, Tribune!” Hadrian sounded almost merry, his eyes glinting under the moon. “We walk to experience hardship; to echo the footsteps of Demeter as she searched the earth in her despair—and to weed out the faint of heart! Do I want our fellow acolytes to say their Emperor was faint of heart? No.” He lifted an arm. “If young Pedanius Fuscus will be kind enough to lend me his shoulder—”

Hadrian’s entourage could have doubled the year’s acolytes, but he’d flatly limited his party to ten. Vix and three hand-selected Praetorians, picked first to provide protection—“What better place to launch an attack than a mob of god-crazed acolytes?” Vix had argued. Hadrian himself walked first inside that ring of guards, flanked by Suetonius with his slate and stocky Pedanius, who Sabina suspected had been chosen for his sturdy young shoulder as much as for family feeling. Sabina brought up the rear with Balbilla, ignoring the other woman’s chatter and giving a little skip despite her Imperial dignity.

“Careful, Lady.” A hand steadied her arm. “The footing’s still uneven.”

“So serious, Antinous.” She smiled at the handsome boy with his moon-bleached curls, striding along on her other side and earning Balbilla’s appreciative glances. Sabina’s maids were frightened of the dark or the ritual or both, but Antinous’s eyes had lit up when she asked if he’d act as her attendant. “I know you aren’t an acolyte,” she said now, “but are you hoping to find something in Eleusis anyway? Adventure? The gods? Or just a good drunken celebration?”

He smiled, but his eyes were serious as he turned the question over. “I don’t know, Lady. I wouldn’t mind partaking as an acolyte, really. My father says it’s all foolishness, but . . .” He struggled for the words. “I wouldn’t mind seeing something—
more
. The
paedogogium
fills you up with facts: sums to learn, dates to remember, how to pour wine and write a good hand and speak gracefully. But there are things that can’t be taught—and from what I’ve heard of the Mysteries, well, people say you come away with a glimpse.”

“A glimpse of what?”

“The ultimate mystery. Death, life, the future.” Antinous rubbed the back of his neck, self-conscious. “A peek at the future, anyway.”

“Antinous.” Vix’s voice was sharp. “Go walk with Boil. He could use your eyes.”

“Yes, sir.” A quick bow, and Antinous jogged ahead to the front of the little Imperial party.

“My dear,” Balbilla murmured, squeezing Sabina’s arm. “Where did you find that beautiful boy? He’s positively mouthwatering!”

The whole procession was passing out of the city. With the torches and lamps of Athens behind, Sabina could see the prick of the stars overhead even more clearly, a scatter of glass chips around the great shining pearl of the moon. Vix was just a dark looming shape, coming up on Sabina’s other side.

“See here,” he growled, too low for inquisitive ears. “I don’t like you dragging Antinous along tonight under the Emperor’s nose—”

“You’ve made that clear, yes.”

“—but that’s nothing compared to how angry I’ll be if I think you have your eye on my son.”

“Dear gods, Vix. I’m fond of him, that’s all. He made very good company on the voyage from Rome.” An eager conversationalist who also knew when to be silent; a boy who could serve at table, make her laugh, or play a good game of
latrunculi
, all with equal grace and enthusiasm.

Vix gave her a look.

Sabina gave it right back to him. “Do you truly see me lusting after a boy young enough to be my son?”

“I’ve seen fine ladies old enough to be his
grandmother
giving him the eye.”

Sabina gave a sidelong glance at Balbilla, her eyes painted to hide the lines and piled curls tinted to hide the gray. “I don’t think I’m quite so shameless as that.”

Vix eyed her slowly, up and down—her, not Balbilla. “I seem to remember you have no shame at all.”

“Flatterer!” Sabina mocked. “Antinous is perfectly well able to shield himself from avid matrons, Vix. What irritates you is the thought that I’d admire your son instead of you!”

He gave another withering glare and turned away. Sabina felt a prick of warmth in her stomach.
He’s jealous
, she thought, and grinned.
Imagine that!

They soon passed over the Kephisos, a flow of moon-glossed water beneath the arches of a new bridge. “I commissioned this bridge, you know,” Sabina heard Hadrian expounding up ahead, as young Pedanius made admiring noises. “Quarried limestone, fully one hundred sixty-five feet long—”

“Hadrian,” Sabina called merrily, “don’t be boring. We’re on a mystical procession under a full moon; do you think we care how long the bridge is?”

A brief, sticky silence, and Sabina wondered if she’d been too careless in her night-found happiness. But then at length she heard a chuckle from Hadrian, just slightly forced. “You may,” he said, “have a point.”

More dark miles as the moon rose. The winding countryside around them, black and mysterious; the pressing crowds of acolytes. “Though the acolytes of Eleusis are called the
mystai
,” Sabina explained to Antinous, who was curious. She paused to strip off her sandals, feeling blisters rise on her feet.
Demeter’s feet bled.
The rites at Eleusis followed the legend of Demeter, walking the earth to find her daughter, to bring her reborn from death. Pain, death, rebirth; the oldest of cycles.
If my feet bleed, will I find my daughter?
Sabina walked until her blisters burst, then walked on blood-shod. Antinous tread behind her, singing softly in Greek. He had a pure young tenor, heartbreakingly tender.

Balbilla again: “The mystery and wonder of it all, I can already sense it filling me! The pain of the Goddess, the eternal pain, though of course she didn’t get blisters, did she? If you’re not going to wear your shoes, Vibia Sabina, may I? I didn’t anticipate so many
pebbles
 . . .”

Hadrian ahead, talking cheerfully, though his bound and broken leg must have sent a ripple of pain through his body at every uneven advance of the crutch. Talking of his forthcoming tour to the Peloponnese, the peacock he would sacrifice to Juno in the ruins of Mycenae. “And then to Sparta; do you know they still hold demonstrations where the boys subject themselves to bloody whippings to prove their bravery?” Pedanius Fuscus trying to pipe in. “I could whip myself to prove bravery, Great-Uncle. I don’t fear anything!” Hadrian, sounding indulgent: “I’m sure you don’t.”

The moon rising, full and soft. At some point, Hadrian called Vix forward. “Vercingetorix, join me . . .” Vix tramping ahead, armor jingling in the dark. Their voices drifting back to Sabina.

“—inspection of the eastern legions, Tribune. What do you make of the men? I would welcome your opinion—”

Sabina smiled to herself, remembering Britannia, where she’d first suggested Hadrian cull opinions from Vix about the legions.
A man may be an enemy and still be useful
, she’d said, and he had ignored her. Or so she thought.

“—getting the legionaries back on regular route marches, keeping them fit during peacetime,” Vix was replying, sounding guarded. “The officers, too. You know I saw a tribune of the Sixth Victrix who padded his saddle with
feather cushions
?”

“Really. What on earth is the Empire coming to? Go on—”

Vix went on, and he went on at length.
If I do not leave the Mysteries enlightened by the gods
, Sabina reflected,
I will at least be enlightened about the finer points of legionary training
. “—Men are always transferring between legions; there should be a manual of standard regulations—”

“Yes, they should know the rules are the same regardless of the standard under which they march.” Hadrian’s shadowy head was nodding. “A manual. Would you like to write it?”

“Me?” Vix’s voice scaled up.

“Quit squawking like a startled owl. You may irk me to the point of violence, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have some sensible ideas. Suetonius, a note if you please . . .”

“Men,” said Balbilla. “So insensitive to life’s great mysteries. The cosmos opens around them, and they can talk of nothing but legions! I must write a poem about that, the female mythos—”

I am happy
, Sabina thought.
Why am I so happy?

Dawn, showing itself first in the slow retreat of the stars as they curtsied and took their leave of night. The moon fading, the gray line of horizon blushing with pink. And a great hoarse shout rising up from the first of the acolytes, shoving and pushing for their first look at white-walled, many-stepped Eleusis, framed by the endless rush of the sea.

Sabina found herself running to join the flood of
mystai
, but checked herself. Hadrian was stumping forward eagerly on his crutch, Vix’s hand under his elbow—Sabina came up under Hadrian’s other arm. “Hurry up, husband,” she scolded. “Will you keep the gods waiting?”

Hadrian reared back for a moment at her chiding, but she laughed and pulled him along, feeling the happiness rising giddy in her chest like warmed wine. Sand underfoot at last, first dry and slipping, then damp and soft, and Sabina released Hadrian’s arm at the same time as Vix, and the three of them plunged into the sea.

A shock of cold as the autumn-chilled wave broke over her head. Sabina laughed, choked, laughed again, then sank under the water and held her breath until she could hold it no more. She surfaced at last, letting the water lift her, and saw that the ocean was full to the brim: everywhere around her the
mystai
were bathing, washing the impurities of the world away. Antinous watched wistfully from the water’s edge, and a buxom Greek girl took the advantage of the tumbling waves to fall into his arms. He set her on her feet with a laugh, stealing a kiss. Hadrian was washing himself in ritual motions, his beard sending rivulets of water down his strong throat, his face absorbed and solemn. Balbilla waded arms outspread into the water and promptly fell under a wave.