Mistress of Rome (54 page)

P
REFECT.” One of the guards snapped a salute, catching Paulinus as he restlessly paced the atrium wondering if the sun had actually come to a halt in the sky. “Someone to see you, sir.”

“No visitors today, you know the orders.”

“She was most insistent, Prefect. She claims to be your sister.”

“My sister?” For gods’ sake. “Tell her I’ll visit her tomorrow.”

“She says it’s vital, Prefect.”

Paulinus hesitated. When had Sabina ever imposed on him here? And how had she
gotten
here . . . or was their father with her? “Where is she?”

“The Tiber Gate.”

She wasn’t alone by the time he reached her. “It’s important,” he heard the small figure in blue say in exasperation to someone behind the gateway pillar. “I have to get a message to Prefect Norbanus, and if they won’t let me in to see him—”

“C’mon, it can’t be that serious. Why don’t you give me a kiss instead?” Paulinus quickened his pace to the gate, seeing a rough brown tunic and a familiar blunt head bent far too close to his little sister. “I’m the Young Barbarian, maybe you’ve heard of me. Seen me in the arena, even? I’ve killed two men, I’m the next great gladiator—”

Paulinus clubbed the back of Vix’s head. “That’s my sister you’re pressing up against the wall, boy.” He usually felt more sorry for Thea’s son than anything, but Vix looked so much like his thug of a father as he loomed over Sabina that all sympathy vanished. Paulinus aimed another swat, and Vix ducked with easy speed. The Colosseum had certainly honed the brat’s reflexes. “Go away,” Paulinus ordered. “Find something to kill.”

“Who’s gonna make me?”

“About two cohorts of Praetorian guards if I give the order, so—”

“Boys.” Sabina’s voice cut across them both. She stood glaring at them with the Tiber sparkling behind her, small and pretty with her blue veil pulled up over her head—and bruised, Paulinus saw for the first time. Disheveled, too, as though she had run gasping all the way from his father’s house.

Dread prickled him.

Sabina grabbed Paulinus’s fingers in one hand and Vix’s rough paw in the other, tugging them both back into the shadow of the gate beyond the earshot of the guards. “He can stay,” she said as Paulinus glanced at Vix. “It’s his business, too.”

“It is?” Vix blinked.

“Hush.” She lowered her voice and began to speak rapidly.

 

 

 

MARCUS
was late back to the house—a cart had overturned on Quirinal Hill, blocking the flow of litters and wagons for three blocks. He’d finally abandoned his litter and walked, worry snapping at him sharper than the ache of the limp he’d acquired in the Year of Four Emperors. Putting the plan forward, it was mad—

“Quintus?” Marcus called for his steward as he limped painfully into his blue-tiled atrium. A muffled voice called back. Not his steward’s.

“Up here!”

Marcus mounted the stairs, trepidation rising, and struck open the door of his tablinum.

“No questions,” Thea said wearily. “Just untie us.”

He set to work on the knots binding her wrists. “What happened?”

“Lepida.” Thea stood up, rubbing her chafed hands. “She’s on the way to the Domus Augustana now. To tell the Emperor.”

Marcus swore. “How did she—”

“Does it matter?” Arius shrugged against his pillar. “She knows. Tied us up here and took off for the palace.”

“We were going to put the plan forward anyway. Tonight—”

“Not tonight. Now.”

Marcus looked at the sun outside the window, just starting to slant over the Tiber. “He won’t believe he’s safe for another two hours. Until then he’ll be on his guard—”

“Too bad.” Thea worked at the knots on Arius’s ankles. “Can you hold a sword?”

He nodded impatiently. But when he rose his foot gave way and he staggered.

“What happened?” Every curse Marcus had ever heard poured through his head in six separate languages.

“Your wife’s thugs. But”—taking a series of hopping steps across the room—“if the bones aren’t poking out of the skin, they’ll hold.”

Marcus stared at him. “You’re mad.”

Arius bent into a series of stretches.

“Even if you can hold yourself together, we can’t get you into the Emperor’s suite. Even Paulinus can’t persuade Domitian to receive visitors, not until the hour of his supposed death is past.”

Thea unraveled her hair from its plait, letting it fall over her shoulders. “There’s someone he’ll receive.”

Marcus looked at her. Arius looked at her. “No,” said Arius.

“Can you distract him long enough?” said Marcus.

“She’s not distracting anyone. She’s not going.”

“I
am
going.” She headed for the door. Arius reached her in two strides—strides without even a trace of a limp, Marcus noticed—and seized her arm. He grabbed her elbows, lifting her off her feet when she tried to jerk away.

“You can’t go. He’ll kill you.”

“He’ll kill you, too.”

“The danger’s less. He doesn’t know me, hasn’t even seen me for years. You he’ll take apart.”

“He’s tried to take me apart many times before. I can get through it once more when my son’s life is at stake.” Her voice hardened.

“I’m not just going to sit in the stands and pray this time.
I want my share.
”

Arius swung on Marcus. “You know what he is. What he’ll do.”

Marcus shrugged. “Her choice.”

“Exactly.” Thea’s eyes slitted.

“Thea.” Arius gripped her shoulders. “You’ll be killed. I can’t stand—”

“Oh, you can stand it.” Her voice was brutal. “I’ve stood it often, watching you in the arena.
Let me go.
”

They stood swaying, breast to breast, eye to eye.

Arius’s fingers uncurled, one at a time. His eyes burned black.

“Damn you,” he whispered. “God damn you.”

She turned her back on him, sweeping through the door. Arius stared after her for a moment, then turned to look at Marcus. There was something blank and savage and impersonal in his gaze now that made Marcus want to retreat.

“Time to lie low, Senator,” said the Barbarian. “Nothing more for you to do.”

Thea was already descending the stairs, every inch the Imperial mistress: head high, hair loose, eyes empty.

 

 

 

SABINA
spoke rapidly. “’Linus, my mother found out what you’re plotting—”

Paulinus blinked shock. “I’m not plotting anyth—”

“Oh, don’t be stupid! There isn’t time.” Giving his hand a little shake. “She found out, and she’s coming here, and—”

“Huh?” said Vix.

“’Linus and my father are plotting with your father—”

“Hey, my father’s dead.” Vix suddenly looked wary.

“No, he’s not.” Exasperated. “Somebody Father called the Barbarian came to our house a few nights ago. And you’re the Young Barbarian, aren’t you? It wasn’t hard to figure out. So they’re all plotting, and my mother—”

“Who’s your mother?” Vix interrupted before Paulinus could grab hold of this strange streaming conversation.

“Lady Lepida Pollia.”

“That bitch?” He pulled back, wary again.

“That bitch,” Sabina agreed, making Paulinus blink again.

Vix shrugged sagely. “You can’t let a mother get in your way.”

“No, you can’t,” Sabina agreed, much struck, and turned back to Paulinus. She outlined what had happened—her mother, Arius and Thea, all of it—in a few cool words. They all stood regarding each other. The Praetorian guard shouted something toward Paulinus. For the first time he saw the nervous crowds streaming past them toward the Forum, the guards edgy and restless at the gate, the sun slanting down toward the river. “I’ll take care of everything,” he said, then bent down to kiss Sabina on her bruised forehead. When this was all over, he’d take Lepida apart for daring to hurt his sister. “You were very brave to come here, Vibia Sabina.”

“Yeah.” Vix reached out and tipped her face up, admiring her bruises. “That bitch really went to work on you, didn’t she? You know, a kiss from a gladiator will clear those marks right up—”

Paulinus swatted him.

“You’ve already cured me once, Vercingetorix.” Sabina’s eyes rested on Vix a moment, thoughtful. “We’ve met before, you know.”

“We have?”

“At the games, when I was seven years old. You stole my pearl haircomb.”

“Did not,” Vix said automatically.

“Did too. But it’s not important.” Sabina smiled. “I had epilepsia back then. Someone got me some of your blood. Gladiator’s blood cures fits, they say.”

Vix grinned. “Did it work?”

“I ran all the way here from my house, and I kept thinking I’d have a seizure and not get here in time. But I didn’t. In fact, I’ve never felt better.” She stood on tiptoe, putting a small hand on the back of Vix’s sunburned neck, and brushed her lips against his. “Worth a kiss, I’d say.”

Vix’s arms came instantly around her waist, but she disengaged herself, eyes going back to Paulinus before he could bristle. “Head off my mother, ’Linus,” Sabina warned. “Or she’ll ruin everything.”

Paulinus gave a reluctant little salute in response and turned back toward the gate, propelling Vix before him. Easy enough to give a word to the guards, forbid Lepida entrance—although a large enough bribe might get her inside even so . . . He looked back at his sister, a small straight blue figure receding into the crowds. Thank all the gods there were for Sabina.

Vix swaggered, grinning. “She loves me.”

“She’s
twelve years old
,” Paulinus growled, shoving Vix ahead of him. “Keep your grubby hands off!”

 

 

 

T
HE wolves are gathering.” “Caesar?”

“They think they go unnoticed.” Domitian prowled from one corner of the bedchamber to the other. His shape followed him in the dim reflections of the moonstone-paneled wall. “But a god hears all.”

Paulinus shifted from foot to foot. He opened his mouth; closed it again.

“The Moon will be bloodied as she enters Aquarius.” Domitian’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “And a deed will be done that will be the talk of the entire world.”

Paulinus’s heart thudded sickly in his chest.
Now—now—now
—the time was now, and suddenly he could not speak. He heard the dull whine of a fly, and at the same moment Domitian’s hand flashed. The whine muffled as tiny wings buzzed against the Imperial palm, and Domitian gave a wintry smile. “Flies don’t interest me anymore,” he told Paulinus. “People give so many more varied and interesting reactions.”

“Caesar?” Paulinus ventured.

“Yes?” Crushing the fly idly.

“There’s someone I think you should see.” The words came out steady.

“Not before the fifth hour. You know my orders.”

“She says—she says . . . I think you should see her.”

“Who?”

“Athena, Caesar.”

The silence spread out in ripples around the name.

“Athena.” A tremor in the voice? The Emperor still stood with his face toward the corner, rich purple robe falling in grand lines from his shoulders, lamplight shining through the thin spot in his hair. “Did you have her stripped, checked for weapons?”

“I did, sir.”

“Did she hide her face in shame?” Domitian raised a hand before Paulinus could answer. “No, she wouldn’t. She stared straight ahead, didn’t she, as the guards groped her. As if she didn’t care. Like Julia when she stopped eating. May the gods rot her.”

“Rot . . . who, Caesar?”

Domitian turned. “Show her in.”

He took a seat on his sleeping couch, one hand sliding under the pillow to the dagger Paulinus knew he kept there. “Careful,” Paulinus breathed to Thea as he marched her in, barely a breath of a warning, but she never blinked. She just stood, framed by the door, hair mantling her shoulders, her face blank—but her eyes watchful.

“Athena.” The Emperor sounded jovial. “You look well. Hardy, even. A fit mother for a gladiator’s brats. Come to beg for your son?”

“Yes, Caesar.”

“Why today? You thought you’d ask for my mercy now, just in case I die in an hour as my astrologer predicts?”

“Yes.”

“A practical people, you Jews.”

“So we are.”

Domitian’s clenched fist struck his own knee, and Paulinus flinched. The Emperor had been relaxed and joking when he faced mutinous legions and blue-painted Chatti savages, but today he faced only fate . . . and Thea.

“You never say anything,” Domitian said, staring at her. “Not really. I’d have the head ripped off your body, just so I could tear it open and see what was inside at last.” Beckoning her closer. “But I know what I’d find.”

“What would you find, Caesar?” Coming forward from the doorway.

“Nothing.” He ran his fingers through the ends of her loose hair. “Smoke and a song.”

“Caesar.” She took a step forward, pressing her cheek against his hand. “Please.”

“Please spare your son? Why should I?”

“Because he’s a child.”

“Don’t you Jews have a saying—‘the sins of the father shall be visited upon the children?’ ”

Paulinus opened his mouth, but found no words. Nothing, nothing could break the terrible duel before him.

Thea held out her hands. “Mercy. Mercy, Domitian.”

Domitian tilted his head. “Did it hurt you, when I made him fight in the Colosseum?”

“You know it did.” Pressing her face against his hand again. “Please—let Vix go. Take me instead.”

“You’re a common singing Jew. What makes you think I want you?”

“Because you do.”

“Damn you.” Domitian released her face abruptly and turned away. “Damn you. A common singing Jew, and you’re the only one who plays back. The only one—”