by Sheila Finch
“Trash. Not fit for the son and grandson of a chief – Isn’t that what you are?”
“A poor man too, I’m afraid. That piece there –” He pointed out a large, shiny brooch set with pearls. “For my wife. How much?”
“Not that one. It’s a cheap fake.” Gallus pushed the gaudy brooch to the back of the tray. He touched a finger to a small silver comb with a tiny sliver of amber in it. “This one’s genuine.”
“How much?”
“My gift in return for a pleasant memory.”
He gazed at the old man, obviously poor and maybe homeless too. But the man’s spine was straight and the old eyes still burned with pride. He wouldn’t insult him by insisting on paying.
“Come with me back to Britannia.” The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to realize his intention. But why not? There was always work to do, in the fields, in Noviomagus itself, and warm places to sleep. He wasn’t so poor a chief he couldn’t take care of an old friend.
“You meant that, Little Fox.”
“Indeed I did. A bed. And lots of barley beer! I leave Rome in a couple of days. Meet me at the port.”
“And in return, what would I have to give?”
He didn’t need to think. “Stories of the glory days of the legions!” He wasn’t going to tell him that the Second Augusta had been soundly thrashed by the rebel Queen Boudicca before her eventual defeat.
Gallus blinked rapidly. He walked away without speaking.
Togidubnus turned towards the palace, thinking about the speech he hoped to make tonight. The rebel queen, Boudicca, was a remote kinswoman, and part of him understood her deep distrust of the conquerors. But as he saw it, the advantages of Roman protection outweighed the negative effects of occupation. And the emperor must see the advantages to Rome of treating Britannia well; he must be convinced by the plan.
He’d known the young boy at Augustus’s court as Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus. Now he rehearsed the name the Emperor Claudius had given the boy upon adopting him: Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus.
Nero.
CHAPTER FOUR
Antonia was up before the dawn light pushed in through the window, shuttered against insects as well as the night’s two-legged prowlers. She hadn’t been able to sleep for long. The child tossed and turned, whimpering in hunger and discomfort that – the gods allow! – would be no more after today. The Greek still slept on the floor by the door.
She needed to bathe before coming into the emperor’s presence. Her only experience of him had been that evening in her father’s villa in Pyrgi, but she instinctively knew he would expect those around him to maintain the appearances of courtly society. Anything less would be perceived as disrespect. Even though it was his excessive expectations as a guest in her father’s home that had ruined the family, she must not come to him as a pauper.
Opening the shutters, she smelled the night’s rain. Puddles dotted the inn’s small courtyard, shiny as coins tossed for beggars. That meant the streets would be muddy, but there weren’t enough coins left in her purse to hire a carriage to keep the hem of her tunic clean on the way to the palace. Jupiter Pluvius, she thought, be kind to me today.
“The thermae aren’t open this early,” Nikolaos told her.
She turned to see him arranging the leftover bread and olives on a small table.
“I dreamed last night of my wedding.”
“Put no trust in dreams. The god responsible for dreaming is a trickster.”
“Oh, you and your stupid Greek superstitions! I don’t intend to marry the emperor, Niko. Besides, he is already married to another.”
“For the moment, I believe.”
She smiled at him. “Perhaps I can use that to my advantage.”
The Greek didn’t smile in return. “The wise man steps cautiously into the lion’s den.”
“Aha! But the wily woman has a plan to handle this lion!”
Nikolaos shook his head. “Always an answer. Some day, you may have one answer too many.”
An hour later, she hesitated in the entranceway to the thermae. She was used to sharing the baths with men, both sexes naked. But that had been the family experience in the villa her father built on the hillside overlooking the Tuscan Sea. This public bath was enormous, mosaiced rooms for undressing, heated rooms where slaves waited to anoint the body with perfumed oils to draw out poison from the skin, huge pools of cold water under an open roof to follow the heat, rooms where more slaves patted the visitors dry and anointed them again. The baths were crowded. It overwhelmed her senses. But the baths were free, a gift of the emperor to his citizens, like the fresh water pouring from the city’s fountains, and the spectacle of the circus.
With the encouragement of last night’s dream still vivid in her memory, she ignored the stares or the occasional lewd comment and thought only of her coming meeting with Lucia ’s father.
* * *
“Stop! You may not enter here!”
The palace guard was dressed like a legionary in a woolen tunic dyed red, and hobnailed leather sandals – like her oldest brother who’d joined the legion just before she left home – but no helmet. He held his sword across the door blocking Antonia’s way into the vast atrium. Behind him, she glimpsed the enormous vestibule with a glittering, more-than-life-size statue that she guessed was meant to be the emperor himself.
She stood straight, shoulders back, remembering her brothers playing at war. Appearance was persuasive.“By whose command?”
“The emperor’s.”
“Then tell the emperor that the daughter of his old friend Gaius Antonius Plautinus stands at his gate.”
After bathing, she’d put on her one remaining good tunic, and she’d marched proudly through the streets, avoiding the puddles, holding her little daughter’s hand, Nikolaos a few paces behind. This was the day she would come into her own. No more worrying about where the next meal would come from, or how to find a new cloak for Lucia before winter came. Head high, she had ignored the stares and the comments. The new palace, still under construction on a little hill near the center of the city after it burned down, had been easy enough to find. Every citizen of Rome had a story to tell about the lavish new residence, known as the Golden House, the artificial lake and well-tended parklands, the shining, gold and jewel bedecked statues, the woods, the parklands the vineyards that surrounded the glorious house itself. Their taxes had been raised to build it.
The guard still hesitated. “Ah – Lady, you see –”
“Good fellow,” another voice said. “Lower your sword and let a gentlewoman enter out of the sun.”
She turned to see a very short man, not even as tall as herself, a dwarf, swarthy and small-eyed, but exquisitely dressed in a fine linen toga and wearing silver armbands on both arms. He smiled at her in friendly fashion. The guard obviously recognized the newcomer and lowered the sword.
“Please,” the small man said. “Come in with me out of the sun.”
She stepped past the guard whose gaze was now fixed on the far distance, pulling the child with her; she was grateful for the man’s intervention. The cool anteroom smelled of fresh cut herbs. The little man led Antonia through the vestibule to a vast triple colonnade that stretched as far as her eye could see and into one of several buildings clustered around an artificial lake. Nikolaos waited just inside the arched marble doorway.
“Your name interests me,” the man said. “Was this the Antonius Plautinus who built the new stadium a few years back, up the coast in Pyrgi?”
“That was my father.” Her eyes adjusted to the gloom inside the building and she gazed at him.“But I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.”
”Of course not. You must have been a child at the time the emperor visited for the chariot races –” He broke off and stared at the little girl who was fingering a carved stone bird that sat on a little pedestal.
“This is my daughter, Lucia. She’s four.”
“Lucia?” His face lost color.
His eyes rolled up till she could only see the whites, He appeared to be calculating something. “Four. And at the time – You would’ve been about fourteen?”
“Twelve.”
“Ah. He likes them young.” There was an awkward moment of silence.“Why have you come here?”
“To see the emperor. I know he’s in Rome.”
“He’s here. But you can’t see him. And certainly not with this child!”
“Why not? I am a citizen. Who will prevent me from audience with my emperor?”
He clapped a hand over his mouth as if he’d said too much. “You must return to your father’s home immediately!”
“My father is dead. Our home and our vineyards lost to us. The child and I have nothing to return to.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll find money for you. But you must go. Right away. Trust me. Your lives will be in danger if the emperor so much as senses your presence here.”
“Just what will happen if I learn about it?” A man whose brow was wreathed with laurel came through an inner, curtained archway. Two older senators were with him. “Satrias, who are these people?”
The little man bowed. She was close enough to see that the dwarf was shaking. “Citizens, Great Caesar. But they’re just about to leave!”
The emperor flopped unceremoniously down on a stone bench; he elaborately arranged the folds of his purple-hemmed toga as if to make up for the casualness. She knew enough about cloth and weaving to know it was a very fine toga that fell into such elegant folds. He narrowed his eyes to study her. Was he short-sighted now? She stared back at him, determined not to let him see fear or awe in her. He looked older, of course, but also heavier, less the athlete of his early days, cheeks showing the red puffiness of a heavy drinker. The dark gold curls she remembered were longer and carelessly tumbled as if he’d just left his bed, but the eyes, dark and bright as a bird’s, were the ones that had caught her hiding at the banquet.
“Name yourself,” he ordered, and she heard Satrias moan softly.
She stood tall, unafraid of him. “Antonia Plautina.”
The emperor yawned. “I don’t recognize the name.”
“From the country, Great Caesar,” Satrias put in hastily. “And they’re just leaving!”
“Go away!” The emperor snapped his fingers at the dwarf who hastily backed out of the room.
“My father was Gaius Antonius Plautinus, once the owner of a villa in Pyrgi. And this is my daughter, Lucia.”
He leaned forward and gazed at the child, still absorbed with the stone bird. Antonia’s heart raced; he didn’t seem to remember her. He sat back and without looking at them, flicked his fingers in dismissal at the two senators.
When they were alone, the emperor said, “Now tell me why you have come to me.”
She smelled remembered peppermint on his breath. “You were a guest in my father’s house, four years ago, after the races. I was still a child.”
He was silent for a moment. The he nodded. “A pretty one at that, and rebellious, if I remember. A child who peered at me as I dined.. Tell me why you came here.”
“You left me with a child.”
He stared at her. “Why should I believe that?”
“Look at her. See her eyes, her hair. She is yours.”
“So is my shit. But I don’t need to look at it.”
His vulgarity shocked her. “Lucia is your blood.”
He turned his gaze on the little girl, studying her.“Why did you give her that name?”
“At birth you were named Lucius Domitius Ahenonbarbus –”
“I know my own names!” he said petulantly. “I prefer Nero.”
“As you wish, my lord. But the girl is yours.”
“Apparently you aren’t aware of the opinion of those good Romans who say I’m incapable of fathering a child that will live. How touching!” He gazed at the child. “A pretty one at that. A pity my wife can’t produce one like her.”
Seeing the dissolute wreck of his once-athletic body, banished the last fragments of her childhood fantasies. But she’d made this difficult trip all the way to Rome to find justice, and was not about to meekly go away without it. “You left me with the child, but no estate or fortune to raise her. Great Caesar, you are spoken of far and wide as a just and benevolent ruler – without your help, how will she avoid ending up on the streets of Rome like a common whore?
“Your parents?”
“My father took his own life in disgrace after the villa and the farm were sold.”
Nero frowned, turning back to look at her. “My child, you say?”
“Lucia is your daughter.”
Nero stood up, agitated. “Don’t say that so loudly! You must not say that name here.”
She put a hand on Lucia’s shoulder, turning her face toward him. “She inherited your hair.”
“Pity she’s not a boy. I might’ve adopted her. But you don’t understand. I can’t acknowledge a bastard. I don’t wish to have her blood on my hands. And it will come to that if my enemies learn of her existence.”
Her heart pounded so loudly she feared he would hear it in the quiet room. “Please, my lord –”
He shook his head violently, curls bouncing. “Intrigues– conspiracies – I’m surrounded by enemies. At court. In the senate. Any one of whom would like to bring me down. ”
She didn’t see what that had to do with herself or the child. “Without your help, she’ll starve, or be forced to walk the streets of this city – ”
“– and you would give them a weapon – ”
“Is it right that your noble blood should be so abused?”
She couldn’t guess the angry thoughts that darted behind his eyes. Had she pushed him too far?
His expression relaxed. He stood up and adjusted his toga with a flick of a heavily-ringed hand. “You were a pretty little piece. And the child has your looks as well as mine. I’ll find a solution. Attend my banquet tonight. Keep the child out of sight.”
Nero went away through the curtained arch where the senators waited. She heard the murmur of their voices fading.
Trembling, exhausted as if she’d been riding wild horses with her brothers, she turned to go. Nikolaos stepped through the outer archway. He didn’t speak, but lifted the child to his shoulder. She couldn’t say if she’d won a concession from the emperor or whether some worse fate waited for her and the child. It was out of her hands.
CHAPTER FIVE
The oppressive heat sapped his energy and dulled his brain, reminding him his bones were aging. Small obstacles and impediments loomed large enough to undermine his good humor. Worse, they scuttled his plans to cement his relationship with the emperor for the good of Britannia. Days of evasions, postponements and excuses from Nero’s secretaries; he had yet to have private time with the emperor to discuss his ideas.
The emperor’s new palace where he was a guest, was dubbed the Golden House, but it was far more than a mere house. A whole village of the Regni could be housed on the grounds and still there would be room for more! Inside the walls there were forests, vineyards, a fair-sized lake – but what took his breath away at first were the interior walls covered in fine marble and alabaster, and even gold and jewels, enough to buy food for his tribe for an entire year. Breca would be horrified at the waste. Yet it was not finished! He could see the walls of chambers still under construction, stretching away into the unbelievable distance.
It was just as well Breca did not see it. He must mind his words when telling her about this.
He prided himself on being a practical man; while he was here, he would take advantage of the opportunity to bathe properly and prepare himself for the coming banquet. He emerged from the frigidarium which had closed his pores opened by a plunge in the enormous heated pool in the calidarium, refreshed but oddly ill at ease. The cloying luxury of Nero’s palace offended him, but there was more to his unease. If Breca were here, she’d tease out the cause; his wife had equal parts counselor and seer in her, quali
ties he cherished.
A slave appeared, carrying fresh clothes for him to put on.
Tonight, he intended to summon all his ability to get his message across to Nero in conversation at the banquet; he’d have not only the emperor but several important senators as audience. Important diplomatic decisions often were made over shared food and wine in this city. Nero would see the wisdom of what he urged for Britannia and agree with his counsel! Then he could go home to his own misty corner of the Roman empire.
But as the slave led him into the triclinium and indicated the couch where he should recline, he saw how difficult his task was going to be. The banquet hall was gigantic and covered by a great revolving dome that cast alternating light and shadows on the guests below. The grand marble table was at least double the length of the longest one he’d ever seen, and his place was close to the far end. Along two sides, senators and their wives had taken their places on the waiting couches, jewels glittering in the light of massed oil lamps. The third, shorter side, was reserved for the emperor himself; two sets of cushions in different colors were at this end which was at present empty.
He made a mental note to describe for Breca the statues lining the walls, how the men wore their hair in elaborate curls on top of their heads, oiled and perfumed, how the women wore delicate braids threaded with shiny beads. He would be careful what he described, but there was so much to tell her about the city and its customs. No doubt she’d find these elaborate fashions amusing, probably foolish. He would have to agree that this new palace, Nero’s Golden House, overwhelmed the eye with its display of wealth to a degree that his predecessors, Augustus and Claudius, would have found ostentatious even in their most ambitious moments.
Amminus was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, he felt the cold touch of anxiety. He dismissed it. The boy would be with the emperor, certainly, and would enter when he did.
He was aware of several sidelong glances from guests, but nobody spoke to him. He supposed that even in a city like Rome, so full of people of different races from all corners of the empire, his Celtic looks still stood out. A slave with an ewer approached and poured wine into a fine glass beaker. The tableware too was better than he’d come to know in the court of Augustus, both spoon and knife polished to a high sheen, their handles engraved in intricate patterns. Dishes of mushrooms, olives, and oysters were passed from guest to guest as appetizers.
