The Oath Keeper

by Alaric Longward

  We came inside.

  In the atrium, was a great senator, tied down like a pig, and his mouth was stuffed with a bit of ripped linen, and eyes covered. He was slithering and shaking with fury, and up on the stairs, stood Vipsania, daughter of Agrippa from a marriage before Augustus joined him and Julia. She stood there looking afraid, old, but her pose was proud, her hair disheveled, and she was holding a mere sheet around her. Men were guiding her down, and many of those men were bloodied.

  There had been slaves upstairs too.

  Vipsania looked at Pompeia. “Who are you?”

  Pompeia stepped forward. “Set has let me hide in plain sight for decades and decades. Your father might have known me, but do you not? Truly?”

  She stiffened. “Your voice. I recall it. Wait… You were with Sextus. You were his daughter. I was young when…” She looked at her husband. She lifted her chin.

  “Your husband,” Pompeia said softly, “will live. Your sons, even Drusus the Younger, will live,” she lied casually. “And you shall, if you write a letter. Now. It is a simple thing to write, this letter. Will you do this for a lady?”

  She shuddered. “It will kill someone? Wait…you said Drusus will—”

  “It will indeed kill someone,” she said simply. “And then, we shall have peace, or beginning of one. You shall live on and enjoy the new Rome. Fear me not. I do not fear you. I shall be far too hidden to be touched by any law the Senate might conjure up to blame me for, though I doubt they will. I too, have friends.” She stepped closer. “Your first husband is killing Rome. In a way, I will let you serve Rome. But first, we must do a deed, and you must help me, dear.”

  She held out a scroll.

  A scribe, his Egyptian face gleaming with sweat, scuttled forward. “You will tell Tiberius you are sick. Dying. That your husband is not here, and that you are afraid. You will make it seem authentic. You know him, you know you, and you will compose it to make it seem authentic. Make it good. Then, we shall wait.”

  She looked at her with spite and hopeless fear.

  Her sons, her life, it was all under a threat.

  Tiberius had one soft spot left. Or two, as he had said, but Drusus the Elder was dead.

  It was her.

  “For your sons,” she whispered to Vipsania.

  She stepped forward and proudly took the scroll. She moved to a room next to the atrium, her husband’s office, and sat down, letting the sheet fall around her. Weeping, she began writing on the vellum.

  “Make sure she takes no poison,” Pompeia said softly, and her men went to obey.

  I sat down on a sofa and looked at my sword. “And if Tiberius doesn’t come?”

  She shrugged. “Then there will be a fire here. Sad accident. And we find a new way. But he will come, and bound up the stairs before all, and there, he will be pierced by arrows.”

  I grinned. “Sshall be left with a dagger in my heart, my sword bloodied in their blood?” I wondered. “A vengeance against Tiberius. Your tracks covered.”

  She shook her head, sucking at her lips. “It is dangerous to voice such ideas, Hraban. We both know this. We are playing with our lives, all of us. Don’t risk yours over much.”

  She stepped forward as Ox walked near me.

  Lucius and Neptune were off, finding food.

  The men—Egyptians archers with swords, twenty of them—were preparing an ambush. One of them was dressed as a slave and had the keys now. Another was scrubbing blood of the floor, and others were making the place representable.

  Then Vipsania appeared and held her sheet, her face as white as it was.

  I felt pity for her.

  If only Augustus had let her remain married to Tiberius.

  What terrible decision that had been, to divorce her from him for Julia. Now we were all paying the price for it. Pompeia was reading the vellum and wondering at the words, mouthing each, and nodding after each sentence. “Eloquent. Precise. To the point, and still, oddly heart-breaking. You have a fine upbringing, my lady. Exceptionally fine. Your seal? In your ring?”

  And at that, she bolted.

  She ran for the doorway, unable to hold the terror, and Lucius, standing there, likely having expected it, cut down to her chest with his sword.

  We stared as she writhed on the blade and fell on her back. She groaned, and her husband was moaning complaints, weeping.

  Pompeia blinked and nodded at her men to clean it up.

  Then she handed the scroll to a scribe. “Seal. Then take it to the house of Augustus. Make sure he gets is. Do not fail. Men to guard you. And we wait. Romulus.”

  I noticed the man amongst the mercenaries.

  “Make sure she is dead,” she said.

  Romulus turned to the task.

  She came to sit next to me, as the corpses and Gallus were dragged away to the gardens. They would be hidden, as ten men hid themselves upstairs, and ten to the rooms around the atrium.

  There would be more outside.

  Much of her operation was there. As was she.

  She was betting most everything on this one.

  Agrippina’s prayers, she begging for gods to allow her to marry, and my appearance had convinced her of the need to act now. She saw Tiberius as vulnerable.

  “And will he not bring a lot of men?” I asked finally, breaking the silence.

  She nodded. “They will bring a lot of men. His guard. What is readily available. They still must guard his house. Ten men? No more. He will be here practically naked.” She grinned at me. “Was this not your idea?”

  I nodded. “Indeed. It feels much more real now.”

  “Especially since we have your brother.”

  If they had my brother, it might be my plan would have a terrible cost.

  But they didn’t have him.

  And so, we waited, and I wondered how it would be.

  We waited for an hour. A few times, vigiles walked outside, a party of drunks roared their way past, and still, we waited patiently. Brutus was in the corner, speaking gently to Neptune. Then, he perked his ears, and the other pushed closer to the door.

  He nodded at Pompeia.

  Pompeia stood up. “Stand away, all! Hide in the garden, if you are not in the rooms to ambush them.”

  We moved there, and everywhere in the house, men tensed. Horses were whinnying outside, and men were moving around slowly, to hide better, to get up, to prepare.

  The doorway was banged hard. It rattled like all the hammers of Hades were trying to strike it into pieces.

  Outside, an imperious voice echoed across the streets.

  “The Princeps demands access to the house. Drusus and the Princeps wish to get in this instant! Open the doorway!”

  Romulus turned. “Wait, there is something—”

  He was too late.

  The slave, the Egyptian, began opening the lock, and we all tensed.

  The door opened, and footsteps echoed across the room.

  In came a huge man dressed in Praetorian uniform and flanked by others like him. They stalked the middle of the room, some splashing to the water in the middle of the atrium. His shield was out, and outside, hundred pairs of caligae were thrumming on the cobbled stones as men moved to position. There were men coming from left and right, as a cohort of troops was converging on the house.

  My brother had succeeded.

  It was his duty to have men guard this house and to send for Sejanus, should we appear.

  I saw him and Gochan amongst the men, and then he disappeared.

  I had a hunch Kemsit was either dead or holding a wrong Gernot in her custody.

  I laughed, and Pompeia looked at me in shock.

  “There are a lot of them,” she whispered, bewildered.

  There was no message taken to Tiberius.

  Only to Sejanus.

  “The people in this domus,” echoed in the house, and I knew the voice of Cassius Chaerea, “are all under arrest! Give up now or die by sword!”

  Pompeia shook her head
. “What is this?”

  I sneered and pummeled my fist to Pompeia’s head. She fell like a wrinkled sack, and I stomped on her, breaking the amphora. The poisoned wine spread on her clothing like blood. I jumped against one Egyptian guard, the sword carving to his neck.

  Things went to Helheim fast.

  Others whirled on me, and I dodged away to the corner.

  Men seemed to come at me like a wave, just as in the atrium, shouts of battle echoed as the praetorians charged the stairs and the rooms.

  Momentarily, I was alone.

  Ox was there, his sword coming. He danced to my side, slashing with the blade, and I parried, but he turned the attack into a stab, and I dodged it just barely. He fell against me, and I hammered my fist to his face. He fell back, spitting blood, his eyes huge with rage. “You bastard liar!”

  I glanced through the passageway to the atrium.

  Arrows were raining down on the praetorians. A man fell to the water, one bled on his knees on the marbles, and Cassius was holding one in his thigh, howling.

  Dozens charged to the rooms, and I saw an Egyptian falling half out of one, shivering his life away.

  Then Lucius joined Ox and an Egyptian guard, and I had to fight to survive.

  Neptune was pulling Pompeia over his shoulder. Some of them were trying to run to the slave doorway.

  I dodged away from Lucius. His blade was cutting the air before my eyes, and I rammed my arm to his throat and stabbed under his blade. His blade cut to my back, and my cloak did not cover it. I hissed with pain, stepped close to Lucius, grasped his braid, pulled him before the Ox, who had to try to get around, and stabbed at the Egyptian guard, who ran straight to the blade, but fell and took the sword with him.

  Lucius was aiming his sword above me, and Ox was jumping over the dead Egyptian, hissing and spitting.

  I bashed myself against Lucius, and we fell together and rolled over.

  “No Agamemnon to save you this time,” Ox hissed.

  Agamemnon.

  He had saved me back then?

  I punched Lucius in his midsection. He was feebly hacking at my back with the sword, and I felt blood dripping. I landed on top of him, saw his blade coming for my throat, and felt Ox very close

  I pushed my finger into his last eye, and he howled and yelled, and dropped the blade.

  Then the gladius of Ox slashed down to my shoulder. I howled and rolled, grasping Lucius’s sword.

  In terrible pain, I whirled near a fish pond and saw how his blade was poised to stab down.

  Then Ox was tackled and flew thought the air and crashed to the pond.

  Cassius was there, struggling, his pretty face screwed in terrible battle rage, as he and Ox were getting up, swords out.

  I stepped next to Lucius, who was on his fours.

  “Murdering shit, aren’t you,” I snarled. “Go to your Set, you bastard.”

  I stabbed at his neck, and he dropped like a sack of wheat.

  I heard the tumult of fleeing Egyptians and saw Pompeia with few of them, pushing for the slave’s doorway.

  I did not see Neptune.

  I heard a scream of defiance and saw the retiarius rushing for Cassius with trident. It was stabbing for the man’s back, and Ox was swinging furiously, trying to keep Cassius’s fast sword on him. He slipped while Cassius pressed the attack, and as he tried to get up, Cassius kicked him so hard, his teeth were shattered.

  The trident stabbed down as Neptune splashed to the water and tore to Cassius’s back.

  He fell over Ox, and Neptune was screaming with joy, as he stabbed down.

  Then I was there and hacked the blade into his skull. He fell like a tree.

  I pulled Cassius up, and he smiled. “Well done,” he whispered. “Very fine fight!”

  “Aye,” I agreed. “Though I killed more.”

  I had meant it as a joke.

  His face went smooth and eyes turned cold.

  I waved my hand at him in apology. “Come. No time for sulking. The woman—”

  “The door’s checked,” he said. “We know our business,” he added, as I moved him to sit down on the marble. I then went and stabbed Ox into his throat, keeping him under the water until he was as lifeless as the stone underneath.

  “Still my kill,” Cassius whispered. He looked to the atrium and the slave doorway. “It is over.”

  I saw Sejanus holding a sword on Pompeia’s chest, pushing her back, and his men were looking at Romulus, who was staggering forward, vomiting. He fell on his face, blood flowing from his mouth.

  He had taken his poison.

  Sejanus’s eye took in everything.

  He was thin-lipped with fear, for Vipsania was dead.

  Like always, my plans succeeded with sorrow following in their wake, and now we had failed in one terrifying aspect of the plan. Tiberius would not forgive us, not even if we finally found who had tried to poison him, which was not related to Pompeia.

  I pointed a finger at her. “Pompey the Great’s granddaughter. Sextus Pompeius’s daughter. An exile in Rome, a murdering cur over decades, and enemy of Tiberius and Livia.”

  Battles were still being fought outside and upstairs, but Sejanus’s eyes were on mine, and he seemed in shock. “Pompeia? She was assumed…”

  “She is not,” I said. “She has killed even for Senators, and many owe her favors. She decided it was a good time to kill Tiberius.”

  “Poison, and now this,” Sejanus laughed.

  “No,” Pompeia said sadly. “I never poisoned him.”

  I nodded at Sejanus. “It was not her.”

  Sejanus walked around the room. He was looking around. “You shall have to make us happy, old woman. You shall tell us much. You will, will not you, Pompeia. Magna. Not very great now, are you? Did Agrippina try to poison Tiberius one year ago?”

  Pompeia smiled. She wiped her face off blood and laughed softly. She turned to look at throng of the figures in the room. “She never told me. Torture an old lady, if you will,” she said defiantly. “Eventually Rome’s filth shall be washed away, nonetheless.”

  “A fanatic,” Sejanus mumbled. “I will have to think about this. A certain approach is needed, eh? Come, Hraban. Let us sit down, have some wine, and discuss such approach.”

  He was headed for a door, and he gave me room to enter. He followed me and plopped down on a chair. He eyed my disheveled state and lifted an eyebrow. “You did well. But not well enough. Why didn’t you stop them from killing Vipsania?”

  I shook my head and held it. “I tried to tell them, but she tried to run.”

  “Shit,” he said. “I didn’t approve of this. I need wine.”

  He cursed as he looked around.

  There was no wine in the room.

  He rubbed his head. “And the mystery is not solved. Agrippina the Elder could very well be guiltless.”

  I shrugged. “Pompeia actually told me she is guiltless. She is trying to get support for her next marriage, since Tiberius refuses it. She hopes to marry her daughters to powerful, corrupt men. She prays to odd gods that they would make Nero the next Princeps. They seek nothing more, for now.”

  He rubbed his face. “That will not do, see? It has to be Agrippina.”

  I felt cold claws clasping my spine, and then I nodded. “So, I suppose you will make it so.”

  “Damned right I will,” he said darkly. “And I will ask her very persuasively about the rest, eh?” He was tapping his fingers together. “I shall raid all her houses. And businesses. And that ludus? It must be closed. I will find answers. Her husband! Pollio! I will take him alive. Will persuade her to speak, eh?”

  I shrugged. “They will take poison.”

  He scowled. “We’ll see. Decades of killings?” he said softly and sat back on an expensive chair of Gallus.

  “Decades,” I said. “They did favors to those whose families had betrayed them. She took half the estate. She scared them with Set, a god of trickery—”

  “I know of Set, you G
ermani barbarian,” he laughed. “Aye, she is clever. She has lots of gold then?”

  I nodded. “Hidden.”

  “I will burn all her homes down,” he snarled. “I’ll kill everyone in them. Eventually.”

  The ludus.

  Julia. Others.

  “The gladiators and the servants know nothing,” I told him.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Let the praetorians handle this, Hraban. It is best one leads, and others follow. I will investigate.”

  His eyes clouded over, and I saw his cheek twitching. His hand was shaking. “Twenty years of…”

  “Blackmail and favors,” I said. “A trove of information.”

  He thrummed his fingers on the desk. “I have a dilemma, Hraban. See, I am divorcing Apicta. She gave me two fine sons, Strabo and Capito, and both will be my centurions one day soon, but I cannot live with her any longer. She nags, Hraban. Terribly. And still, I am not the sort of man who would like to be alone for long years. I want the woman, but not the nagging, see?”

  I frowned. “I am not sure…”

  He changed subject. “This business with Pompeia,” he whispered. “Republic! Still it slithers from the dark recesses. And I am not sure we can defend against it properly. It will be hard. You have seen Tiberius. You have seen what he is like. Growing old, and not in a way the last Augustus did. He is not whole.”

  “Is it safe for you to speak like this?” I wondered.

  “Well, it wouldn’t be, unless I was in charge of such investigations,” he laughed. “But here it is. His soul is broken. He needs a change in life, peace. Others should help him govern.”

  “You?”

  He looked embarrassed, and his hand was shaking again. “I am capable. And you shouldn’t be so quick to stand for him.” He leaned closer. “I have gotten to know him these past years. Did you know he gave Ulrich a choice, when we found out from you that he was in the ludus? Ulrich had not really managed to get close to Pompeia for Germanicus, and then he was suddenly out of job. So Tiberius took over. He set him to work, and to spy for us, when you sat on your arse for one year. He had little choice, Ulrich. So, Ulrich tried to get to this very point, to the inside of this Pollio operation, which turned out to be quite real threat. Imagine if we had arrested him and executed him. She would still be free! You did well.”