Everyone knew she had, at least to some, blamed Livia and Tiberius for Germanicus’s death.
She would be right in that.
I drank down wine and watched Tiberius.
Yes, he was much exposed to critique. Even to hate.
But to actual trouble?
I had not known.
“You need me for something?” I asked Sejanus.
He smiled. “As it happens, we might have a common cause.”
I did not like the sound of that.
We waited until the soldiers were done, and I watched Tiberius. His eyes were on mine.
So many shared secrets. And more still was needed. I should be with my boy, and Gunda, and yet, I had debts. I had to pay them, and I had to succeed. I had to see Ulrich dead, and Livia as well.
I had done foul deeds for the man. He owed me.
I wondered if Armin was still alive. I had not heard anything to the contrary. Not yet.
Thusnelda and her sad face filled my mind, as Sejanus took his time. I pushed away the miserable sight, of her shuffling along in the triumph of Germanicus, and the sight of the young boy in her arms.
I was startled by Sejanus’s voice.
“Macro. Check if there is a cellar,” Sejanus was telling the hulking, bearded praetorian.
Gernot was looking at him with curiosity. “There is none,” he said.
“Check anyway,” Sejanus told Macro. “That’s a good boy.”
Macro turned to obey, his face red with anger.
Armin would be up there, in the north, still trying to create a kingdom. The Chatti would stop him, for all their sakes.
Adgandestrius will see Armin to his grave. Should he be spared?
I shook my head.
His death would both save, and doom, Germania. Rome would have no reason to go to Germania, especially if it still was distorted with tribal resentment and internal wars.
Nay. Armin must die.
Adgandestrius and the Chatti would try to replace him.
Gochan sighed loudly. Everyone gave him an annoyed glance.
I watched him. He was following me to danger, terrible danger, and I was unsure I wanted him to continue his path. Gernot’s warning was not without merit. I knew for a fact Gernot was guarding his assets, moving them, and had even found a man who looked like him. I had seen that man. I didn’t ask Gernot how he intended to use him.
And if I managed to kill Ulrich? And then, saw Livia’s death?
What then?
There was an insistent voice in my head that I had to do something about Thusnelda. Just…something.
Sejanus stopped next to me again. “Looks like it is safe.”
“Aye, no cellar,” I said dryly. “Did you check inside the wine urns? There might be a killer or two there. They often hang inside those things, like bats.”
He chuckled. He squinted. “I hear you will be a gladiator.”
I sat up. “I will?”
“It has been arranged,” he murmured. “Only for a day, if things go well. But first, something else is needed. You have a week of work before that day.”
“I will fight in Saturnalia’s games?” I whispered.
“You will be a prisoner, and Tiberius will condemn you to fight in the event against Ulrich,” he said. “It will—”
“Be perfect,” I said.
He gave me a loathing glance. “Only a half-mad shit would think it is perfect, Hraban, to fight in any battle. It is dangerous. Did you know? Battle is dangerous. And that event, Hraban, has not been planned so that your side might win.”
I scowled. “I bet it has not been built to withstand me.”
He hesitated and gave Gernot a quick look. “I wish you luck, then. Listen to us first.”
I nodded.
I would get him. One week hence. First, some nasty job for the bastards.
Then, after that, gods willing, I would wait for Livia to die.
There were many men in the tavern now, coming in from all the doors. They had all worn plain clothes. They did not look like robbers or beggars, but they did not look rich either. They looked like merchants, craftsmen with guards, and that was not unusual, for in Rome, one went about their nightly business in company. No wise man and especially woman ventured to the streets of Rome without a guard or ten. Law, there was, but the execution of a sentence depended on the sword you took to your foe after, and few men could find justice in Rome when you had to execute it yourself.
Tiberius was justice.
He was what Octavianus had been, with his many powers in and outside Rome, over all proconsuls and with great deal of authority over all the legions, his list of Senatorial clients longer than a ship. He was the power behind the Senate and the consuls, and all the legions, and yet, there had been rumors he was neglecting his duties. Rarely he sat in Senate and preferred to read their decisions. He spent a lot of time out of Rome.
Sejanus performed many of his duties.
Many said he was slightly mad.
Tiberius was rumored unstable, at least. Snapping at men who praised him or his wisdom, ever shunning shows of reverence, he seemed like a man with an exceptionally low self-esteem, or a terrible secret and a broken conscience. It was a dangerous thing to try to tell him what a great man he was. Men had lost their places and future in Rome due to that. Some said Sejanus, who had moved the Praetorian Guard into the Castrum Praetoria in Rome itself, had an officia who spent their time finding ways to rid Tiberius of such men who dared to try to please him.
In that way, perhaps I was safe.
I had rarely pleased him.
Unlike his brother, the great Drusus, he was a hard man to read. Moody, quick to anger, careful about his honor, fastidious and formerly sober, he was ever judging himself as harshly as he did those who insulted him.
“Drusus the Younger,” Sejanus whispered as a man entered. “See? The heir. Imagine, he married Livilla. Antonia wanted someone else, but Tiberius insisted his son would do. Gaius died; she gave a child of Augustan blood to Drusus the Younger. Tiberius Gemellus. That way he might avoid giving any power to the children of Germanicus. We shall see.” He winked and whispered. “He seems a bit limp-cocked to me.”
This man’s wide, ironlike jaw, just like his father’s, was not set in a stubborn, vice-like grip. It was hanging open, as he listened to his father speaking. Despite looking slightly foolish, it was known he was a good solider and not limp-cocked at all. It was his son indeed, called Drusus in honor of his brother, speaking to him in hushed terms near the doorway.
What was he like now, our Tiberius?
He had the terrific power he never claimed to have desired, and had it done its best to corrupt him?
I watched even more men coming in. Praetorians, the lot. The Germani Guard were much diminished. They had been disbanded after the Varian Disaster. Now, they were reformed, though only partly. Maximus was the prefect, and Tiberius barely tolerated him. “No Germani?” I asked him.
Sejanus chuckled. “Do you miss those times? No? Now, there is only one Germani guard per family member. They follow and stand inside the main door, and never move closer from there. Maximus, the prefect, is livid, humiliated, and relegated to guarding grain and temples. It is unprecedented, is it not, how low they fell? It is.”
It was unprecedented.
Not the fact the guard was much diminished.
But that there were no soldiers in the city. The Guard had not been soldiers, at least openly. They were private guards of Augustus.
But the Praetorians were soldiers, through and through.
Rome had only had legions insides its sacred walls when Sulla or Marius and other tyrants and dictators had taken it by force, or deliberately flaunted their willingness to break all the ancient sacred Roman laws under the stars and the Mani and the Sunna. When they wanted to piss on all the old ways and ancient customs, they let legions camp in the city itself, inside its sacred bounds. Romulus and Remus themselves would have wept at the sight of sold
iers in the city.
There were more than five thousand of them. Some said eight thousand.
Sejanus clapped my back, passed me, and nodded at Drusus the Younger.
The snake-like bastard was soon standing next to Tiberius, whispering to him and Drusus both. With him, four officers, Macro included, all sharing opinions on the safety of the Red Sail.
Tiberius stopped them with a raised hand.
“There, like a blot in the shadows, Hraban,” Tiberius said loudly, so I could hear him. “Come, let us do this, Sejanus. No harm is headed our way. Not today. Not from our friend Hraban.”
“Remember, lord,” Sejanus said, stepping aside. “We have not searched him.”
Tiberius grunted and navigated tables and stools as he looked at me keenly.
He finally came to stand before me, and then flicked his eyes to the table.
There, wine in an urn stood. He licked his lips and hesitated.
He was no longer afraid of wine. But he was afraid of death.
I poured some for myself and drank it down. I left the mug on the table, and he sat down and took it without hesitation, like he would share a plate on a campaign with the lowliest of soldiers. That I loved about him. In that, he was like Drusus.
Little else was similar.
“It is excellent,” I murmured, and scratched my face. “Costly, no doubt.” I noticed Sejanus had followed Tiberius, silent as a snake. I nodded at him. “Will he hold my hand? He could rub my foot?”
“No,” Tiberius said darkly. “He will take the hand, if you so much as make a quick movement.”
I frowned at the threat. “I am not a man to lose a hand easily, as you know.”
Tiberius snorted, Sejanus grinned at me and stepped back, even before Tiberius waved him to do so. Drusus, son of Tiberius, was leaning on the bar, where Gernot’s servants were serving him, both fetching women, neither of which was Gernot’s wife.
I had seen her once or twice. I never spoke to her.
It bothered me. Gochan knew them well. And all Gernot’s children.
I was silent for a moment.
He finally waved his hand tiredly. “I trust you. You trust me when I say I have had trying times of late. Forget my harsh words.”
I shrugged. “I hear,” I said, “that my father is now in Ravenna.”
He grunted. It was either a yes or a nay.
“And I hear Thusnelda, Armin’s wife—”
“I know who Thusnelda is,” he said darkly. “I have not grown senile. Only tired. And bitter. Even more so than before.”
I shrugged. “I hear they are all in Ravenna. Sigimer too. I wonder if they are well.”
“I wonder not,” he answered tartly. “I know all about them. The boy is quarrelsome, like his father ever was, and likes grapes. He is mad for them, especially if they are slightly raw. Likes the way the feel when you bite them in half. He also likes goat’s milk, for some reason, and sharp cheese from the Alps. Thusnelda eats little. It seems she is determined to die of starvation. Well, not quite.” He smiled like a wolf. “Armin’s death will hit her hard. She still hopes to be united with him. She dreams he will ride to Ravenna and take it from me.” He chuckled darkly. “And is he going to die? Armin.”
I nodded. “Year, two. They will do it. He will die. They won’t change their minds, the Chatti.”
He nodded. “I know. I believe it. I know they understand we cannot have him running about Germania alive, if there is to be a peace. I can wait for a moment longer. I know it is not an easy feat. And Thusnelda will live. The boy too. They are no enemies of mine. I will not tell anyone where they are hidden, though. Not one. I shall keep that a secret.”
I nodded.
He let out a long breath. “There. As you can see, or rather hear, I know plenty about them. And you have no part in any of that.” He mulled the wine. “I hear you are determined to find the man who killed your wife.”
I said nothing. It was, of course. “I have waited for one year.”
He looked displeased by my tone. “We have arranged for something to help you,” he mused, and looked at Gochan. “Though, of course, I am not sure you want to bring him. The event is a butchery, and it might be that the host of the games, me, is demanded by the people that there be only one survivor. Leave him out of it.”
Gochan frowned. I waved him back.
“You complain you waited for one year. And still, you didn’t come to me,” he said. “You dealt with Sejanus, or your brother did.”
I cleared my throat. “It was best not to be seen in Palatine. You have had your trouble with this business with Piso. And my failures…I am in your service, nonetheless. As for Ulrich?” I shrugged. “I am nearly done with my oaths, lord,” I said. “Only two left, and then, if you have me…”
He shrugged.
“What is this event like?” I asked.
He hesitated and pulled the scroll to him. “Re-enactment,” he said. “There will be four days of games. The games on the first day, in Circus Maximus, are dedicated to Roman heroes. You go in as an early show. More important than the noxii and the beasts, and less important than the pairs of champions that follow all afternoon. Ulrich leads a dozen gladiators of a lower rank, and prisoners of war will be sent in to fight them. You are going to be one of them. Gauls against Romans, it is. One of you will be Brennus, and he shall be the dictator Marcus Furius Camillus, who shall save Rome. They are all from Dead Mars ludus. Your Ulrich has not done all that well.” He looked oddly displeased by the fact, as if he had swallowed a spider.
I nearly said so, and then, considering the spider in his wine, I refrained from saying anything more. I shrugged. “He is sequestered in the gladiator school of Titus Aemilius Varro and owned by some man called Pollio.”
His eyes flashed, and I sensed trouble.
“Yes,” he said. “This Pollio pays the bills. He owns most all gladiators in Varro’s school. It is not Pollio who owns the Dead Mars, but only selected fighters, but I bet Varro owes him coin. Varro owns rest, but I do wonder. They have some foul play in the games. Fixed battles. Some say. Varro’s men train them, and his guards guard them, but Pollio gets most of the profits.”
“How come you know so much about this Pollio?” I asked.
“Because of Agrippina the Elder, and the fact he is an old friend of theirs,” he said. “But in truth, I know truly little about Pollio. Joined the Senate with marriage ages ago, rarely seen, but many call him a friend. Rich as any. Used his wealth here and there, but rarely tries to be seen, or shows deference to anyone. And yet, many Senators have visited him and his house. Drusus the Elder knew him well. My brother. Often visited him. And you know what he was like.”
“Republic,” I whispered.
“Republic,” he sneered. “It is not a curse. It can be said aloud.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “And now, Agrippina?”
“More than most,” he said softly. “Few times a week with some certain Senators. It began the day after they tried to poison me, or at least that’s when we started spying on her. She visited my house, did you know, with slaves and servants. She came to ask for the right to marry. I refused. I nearly died that very day. Sejanus saw...he saved me.”
“The poison and the spider,” I said. He looked alarmed. “Nay, nobody knows, save for Sejanus. He just now warned me.”
“He should be careful,” Tiberius snarled. “Loose lips can get you killed.”
“But why do you think this man is involved?” I asked him. “Pollio?”
He sat back. “I don’t know. Sejanus is always talking about Agrippina. Always. About her, and the boys, the girls. He is obsessed. I am too. Poison, she with her demands, the visit, and these visits too. This Ulrich sold to Pollio.” He shook his head. “We have not found out anything. I want you to spend the week to see what you might find out. Follow Agrippina. Find out if Agrippina is plotting to kill me. If not she, then someone else. But it is her. Even the idiot Claudius is convinced of it. Do you agr
ee?”
Claudius, Livilla and Germanicus’s cripple, idiot brother, thought Pollio would be involved.
“How, exactly…” I began and stopped to think. I stared at him for a moment and then understood I should nod. I did. “I agree, yes.”
He smiled thinly. “Good. He is a man who has his hands deep in the folds of his cloak,” said Tiberius, “and who knows if there is a dagger there. But did you know that whenever he and some of the other Senators meet, as does Agrippina, there are those few champions there? The few gladiators?”
I took another cup. “Truly? Ulrich?”
“No,” he snarled. “Not Ulrich. He is missing, for some reason. None know what is going on,” he said. “I have asked, of course. Or rather, Sejanus. None say anything. Pollio is like a hole in the darkness. Light a fire on it.”
I looked at Sejanus. He shrugged. “I know not. None will say a word. They are not doing anything wrong. But it is Agrippina. She wants Tiberius dead.”
I hummed. “Gladiators. Agrippina, Senators. Odd. Do not others employ them?”
“Marc Anthony had bodyguard gladiators,” he said. “But these come in unarmed, escorted. Then they depart, hours later.”
“I will try,” I said, and had no idea how.
“I want you to find out what they do in there,” Sejanus said. “There are several dome and other houses where they meet. They own temples too. Some are dedicated to Egyptian gods. All belong to Pollio. If there is something strange, something that might raise concern going on there, then perhaps we can persuade someone to speak of Agrippina too. It is not clear, did you know, how Pollio has made his coin. Nobody knows. I smell a rat. And that poison?” He shook his head.
Tiberius sighed. “Agrippina is not very clever. There is something taking place, and I have failed to find out. Sejanus has, that is.” Sejanus looked down, distraught. Apparently, the disappointment of Tiberius was not something to ignore. “Get in there or use other methods. Sejanus is hardly subtle, but he cannot afford to be seen asking problematic questions from these Senators. And not from Agrippina. We need you. It is too bad we waited this long.”
“Who are they?”
The Oath Keeper Page 4
