Emperor's Knife

by Emperor's Knife (retail) (epub)

  ‘I was on my way from the kitchens to the triclinium with a tray of sweetmeats and my knife, when Oclatinius intercepted me in the corridor. He had been watching me for some time, apparently. I pulled the knife and tried to stab him, hoping I could make a run past the guards for the Emperor. He grabbed my wrist, made me drop the knife and had me pinned against the wall before I could take a breath. Then before anyone came along to investigate the noise of the dropped tray, he whisked me off to a side room.’

  Silus knew the old man had prodigious fighting skills, but Daya was good. To disarm her so easily was impressive. He reminded himself once more never to cross him.

  ‘And from attempted assassination of the Emperor, to training for the Arcani, the most trusted and feared spies in the Empire, was a short step?’ asked Silus, bewildered.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Daya. ‘Oclatinius took me into his household and talked to me. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t being arrested and executed, or just cut down on the spot. And he did tell me that if I tried to escape, or showed disobedience, he would have me flayed and left out for the crows. But he also told me he saw something in me. He asked me about why I wanted to kill the Emperor, what had led me there, what skills I had, made me demonstrate them to him. I think that if I hadn’t been sufficiently interesting to him, he would have put a knife in me.

  ‘But he liked me. And for my part…’ She trailed off, swallowed. ‘For my part he was the first person to treat me like a human being since Bulla.’

  ‘He is an extraordinary man,’ said Silus.

  ‘He showed me what use I could be to the Empire. How it would give me a sense of value and purpose. He told me how ill Severus was, and persuaded me that there was no point in continuing my attempt on his life, as he would be dead before long anyway. And he told me that Bulla would have wanted me to be happy and successful.’

  ‘That must have been hard, given Bulla’s attitude towards the state.’

  ‘At first. But Oclatinius showed me that Bulla was running his own little empire, and that despite his mercy, he used violence to keep it running smoothly. And he told me that admirable as Bulla’s mini-empire was, how much better it was for the life of the people of Rome to live in a big, stable empire, where laws were upheld, everyone was fed, and everyone was safe from violence.’

  Except the slaves, thought Silus. Oclatinius had done a good job of persuasion on the impressionable, idealistic young woman. Converts and turncoats were often the most passionate of believers, he knew.

  ‘And so he trained me, and judged me, and finally decided that I was good enough for a mission. And that’s when he introduced me to you.’

  ‘You aren’t a sworn Arcanus yet, are you?’

  ‘After this mission, he promised.’

  ‘And how do you feel about this mission? Off to kill an innocent woman and her family.’

  ‘No one is innocent,’ said Daya with a sneer. ‘Besides, she is a threat to the peace and stability of the Empire. And Oclatinius orders it. That is good enough for me. And it should be for you too.’

  ‘It is, certainly,’ said Silus. He may have been tasked with assessing Daya, but he was sure that cut both ways, and he had no desire for her to report back to Oclatinius that he had doubts about his mission.

  ‘Good,’ said Daya. ‘Do you want to know anything else?’ Her tone suggested she was done talking now.

  ‘No, no. I think that covers everything.’ Silus lay back on his bed and was quiet. Soon, Daya was breathing deeply. But Silus found it hard to drift off, unsure how he felt about the scary young woman asleep by his side.

  * * *

  There were few things Tituria enjoyed in life more than eavesdropping on adults. For a nine-year-old girl, the world of grown-ups was a mysterious place. Her mother and father instructed her on what was to be expected from a young unmarried Roman girl, and then a married Roman woman, and while some aspects seemed nice, such as being in charge of the household, others seemed less so. Why could she never be a senator like her father, for example? What happened when a man married a woman, and how did they make babies? Her parents were silent on these matters, and the explanations that the household slaves attempted seemed implausible.

  Hearing the words straight from the horses’ mouths was Tituria’s preferred method of self-education. And since the horses were unwilling to communicate with her directly, listening in on their discussions was the next best thing.

  At this particular moment, Tituria was hiding inside a wide, tall vase that sat in her father’s study. It had been one of her preferred hiding places for several years, but now that her limbs were starting to lengthen, she had to pull her knees up to her chest and tuck herself in more tightly than in the past, and she knew that it wouldn’t be long before she had to give up this spot. For now, though, she had an excellent position to listen to her father’s conversation, even if the words came to her through the aperture of the vase in a ghostly echo.

  When she had heard Dio Cassius announced at the door, she had taken a gamble on where her father would meet him. Last time he had come she had rushed to hide beneath a couch in the triclinium, and been disappointed when they had retreated to the tablinum. Father had become more secretive when Dio Cassius visited these days, and Tituria was desperate to know why.

  It was difficult being silent in the darkness, unable to see what was going on. She was sure the vase amplified the sound of her breathing, that they might even be able to hear her heart thudding with excitement and fear of capture. But she had not yet been discovered, and her luck seemed to be holding out again today.

  She heard a slave take orders for drinks, her father and Dio Cassius exchange pleasantries while they were served, and then dismiss the slave. When they thought they were alone, Dio Cassius spoke.

  ‘Have you given the matter any further thought?’

  ‘Of course I have,’ said her father, his voice uncharacteristically curt. ‘I have been thinking of little else.’

  ‘Good. This is no light matter. And where do your loyalties lie?’

  ‘To the Emperor, of course.’

  ‘Come now, Titurius. There is still more than one Emperor, even after the passing of Severus. This isn’t the first time we have discussed this matter.’

  Her father sighed and she heard him lift his cup and drink. She imagined his face now, brow furrowed as always when he was concentrating or concerned.

  ‘You know there were two wolves seen at the Capitol this week,’ said Dio. ‘They were chased away. One was hunted down and killed in the Forum. The other was killed later, outside the city walls.’

  ‘You and your omens, Dio Cassius.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter if you believe them, Titurius. If the common man, or even the average senator, gives it credence, then it matters.’

  ‘Do you really think there can only be one?’

  ‘Do you really think they can rule together?’

  ‘No, I don’t think they can. They even messed up their joint sacrifice to Concord.’

  ‘Both Emperors and the superintending consul searching for each other all night. What a farce. So you have two options. Which charioteer will you bet on? Blue or Green?’

  ‘There is another option. Not to place a bet.’

  ‘Titurius. Would you really stand on the sidelines when the fate of the Empire is being decided? Besides, do you think that the victor will be any more magnanimous to those who stayed out of the battle than those who opposed him?’

  ‘So we all have to choose a side, and we all have to pick the winner or else?’

  ‘And once we have picked a side, we have to do everything in our power to help them win, or we will suffer the consequences.’

  Tituria shivered. She didn’t like the sound of that.

  ‘Who is the more likely to win then?’ said Titurius. ‘Blue is the more powerful. He has the support of the army and the Syrian faction.’

  ‘Green is more popular with the people. Blue always seems so stern. An
d the army won’t turn against Green. He is physically very like his father, whom they loved.’

  Tituria supposed that Dio Cassius and her father thought they were being clever talking in codes. But she knew that Caracalla liked to race in the arena in the colours of the Blue faction, and Geta consequently had chosen the Green and raced for them.

  ‘I am inclined to back the more powerful man, regardless. I want to be on the winning side, for my own sake and the sake of my family.’

  Again, Tituria felt a chill.

  ‘I still assert that Green is the more powerful. He may not have as much support among the legions, but true power is decided in Rome by the Senate and the Praetorians. It is the Praetorian leadership and the Senate we must work on. And remember, we must not only back the winner, but ensure that the winner is the best one for Rome and for ourselves. Blue will never take our guidance on matters of state. Green is much more malleable. I believe the key is convincing both Praetorian prefects to our way of thinking.’

  ‘Laetus is no lover of Blue, that’s for sure,’ said Titurius. ‘But Papinianus seems undecided. His loyalty was to the father. And he is related more closely to Ge… I mean to Green. But he is part of the Syrian faction who support Blue.’

  ‘Papinianus is the one we need to work on,’ agreed Dio Cassius. ‘Let’s wait for the Imperial party to return to Rome, and then look for an opportunity to spend some time with Papinianus.’

  Titurius let out a long breath, then Tituria heard the scraping of two chairs as the men stood. Moments later, they were gone, and Tituria was alone with what she had heard.

  She eased herself out of the jar, stretched her cramped limbs, and tiptoed to the door. Once she was sure no one was nearby, she hurried away, heading for the peristylium. There, she watched the birds gathering material for nesting, while thoughts of what she had heard churned through her mind.

  * * *

  Silus and Daya landed on Lipura at night. A small skiff had taken them inland and dropped them near enough to the shore that they had only got wet up to their ankles. They followed a narrow path up a cliff, lit by enough moonlight to avoid twisting an ankle or taking a nasty fall. At the top was the villa where Plautilla lived in exile with her family.

  Silus knew that two Praetorians guarded the house, but he doubted that they would be very alert. Silus reckoned that they felt their jobs were fairly superfluous anyway. The imprisoned family had no means of escape from the island, and where would they go if they did manage to flee? And the guards had no reason to worry about attack from the outside. There were no riches here and no one would pay a ransom for these hostages.

  Their orders were to kill Plautilla and all her familia. That meant her slaves as well as her family. But they had been ordered to spare the Praetorians if at all possible, and if it wasn’t possible, to ensure that they both died, so neither Praetorian could report back on the murder of the other.

  Daya had argued that their orders gave them scope to go in and kill both guards quickly and quietly, before moving on to the rest of the household. But Silus, nominally in charge, although he feared the level of control he had over Daya, had vetoed this, and laid plans to incapacitate them peacefully.

  They climbed the wall at the back of the villa, made simple by missing bricks and large cracks to give hand and footholds, and slipped into the peristylium. From there they moved silently into the main house and took stock.

  The villa was not huge, and some parts had been abandoned to the elements, roofless or with doors nailed shut. That considerably narrowed the number of rooms to search. As usual, Oclatinius had been short on detail, never one to hand-hold his spies in their mission, expecting them to be competent and independent enough to need nothing from him but the barest of orders.

  They split up and scouted the layout efficiently. As they had suspected, no one was awake. Some doors were partially open, and some they had been able to peep through a crack. They located the two Praetorians sharing a bedroom just off the atrium, snoring loudly. They could only find one slave: a plump, elderly woman who lay on her back and moaned intermittently. One man slept in a bedroom alone, tossing and turning and smelling strongly of alcohol. And in the final room was Plautilla. He glimpsed her through the crack made by the partially open door. She was lying in bed under a light blanket, face serene in sleep, breathing lightly. He sighed and returned to Daya.

  ‘Guards first,’ he whispered. She nodded.

  They entered the guards’ bedroom, and at a nod from Silus to coordinate their actions, they both pressed a knife to their victims’ throats while clamping hands over their mouths. Both guards woke up, trying to gasp and struggle, gripping their attackers’ wrists, until the pressure from the knives quickly made them still.

  While Daya held her captive motionless, Silus eased his victim upright, and whispered to him to put his hands behind his back. When he complied, Silus quickly bound his wrists tight, then slipped a gag into his mouth and tightened it painfully. He then tied his feet together, tied his hands, then attached the wrist and ankle ropes together behind his back, so the guard was well and truly trussed. Once the first guard was immobilised, he helped Daya do the same to the second.

  Daya stood over them while Silus crept to the door and made sure that they hadn’t been overheard.

  ‘I still think we should kill them both,’ said Daya. ‘It’s safer that way.’

  The guards started to struggle, eyes wide. Silus made calming motions, then drew his knife when they continued to wrestle with their bindings.

  ‘We aren’t going to kill you,’ said Silus. ‘Unless you do anything to give us away before our mission is finished. Do you understand?’

  The guards nodded, calming down.

  ‘Come on,’ said Silus. ‘Let’s get this over with. Quick and silent, right? You take the slave woman and I’ll take the brother. Then we will do Plautilla together.’

  Daya nodded and was instantly out of the door. Silus followed quickly, entering the small bedroom where Plautius slept. He was a large man, once fit, although long since gone to fat. Strangulation might not be quick enough, and might alert others to the sound of a struggle.

  He stepped forward to the bedside, pressed a hand over the drunkard’s mouth, and slit his throat from side to side. Blood spurted sideways, and Plautius woke, staring in terror at his attacker. The fear lasted only moments though, before all awareness left his eyes. Silus cleaned his hands and blade on the bedcover, and went out into the corridor to find Daya. She had also cleaned her knife and herself, but blood was leaking out from under the door of the room she had just vacated. He nodded to her and she nodded back. Then, taking a deep breath, they approached Plautilla’s room.

  When they opened the door, the young woman was standing in the middle of the room, her bedclothes in a lumpen mess behind her. A tiny oil lamp was the only illumination in the windowless room, but Silus’ eyes had adjusted enough to the dark that he could make out all her features. She wore a plain white smock. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, her nose petite, her eyes wide and round and full of tears.

  ‘Did my husband send you?’ she said, voice tremulous.

  ‘Yes, Augusta,’ said Silus. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘He did not, Augusta.’

  ‘Silus,’ hissed Daya. ‘What the fuck are you doing? Get on with it. Or are you too much of a pussy? Shall I do it for you?’

  ‘Be silent, Daya,’ said Silus. He pulled out his knotted rope where it had hung from his belt. He took two brisk steps forward to stand behind her, then slipped the rope over her neck.

  ‘If you have any last prayers to say, say them now,’ Silus whispered in her ear. Then he pulled hard to tighten the rope around her neck. Reflexively, she reached up to try to loosen the pressure, opened her mouth to draw breath which would not come through her collapsed windpipe. He leant back, lifting her feet from the ground, increasing the pressure on her neck. His face was by the side of hers. He could se
e the tears in her eyes. And strangely, in the last moments before she lost consciousness, he saw her eyes dart towards the bed.

  Daya had seen it too, and looked curiously at the bedcovers, piled up as they had thought in disarray when Plautilla had arisen in alarm. But when he looked closely, he thought he could see movement.

  As he pulled tight one last time, making sure he had squeezed the last of the life out of Caracalla’s wife, Daya stepped forward and pulled the bedcovers away with a sharp tug.

  Lying exposed on the bed, trembling violently, was a young girl.

  Daya and Silus looked at each other. Silus let Plautilla’s lifeless body fall to the floor, and the girl gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

  Daya moved quickly. Silus cried out, ‘Daya, no!’

  Daya put a hand on the girl’s chin, another behind her head, and twisted sharply. There was a crack, and when Daya stepped back, the girl collapsed, dead.

  ‘Daya,’ whispered Silus. ‘What have you done?’

  Daya looked puzzled. ‘We had our orders. Kill everyone in the household apart from the guards.’

  ‘She was just a little girl.’ Not much older than Sergia had been when she…

  ‘Kill everyone,’ repeated Daya.

  ‘I didn’t know that Caracalla and his wife had a daughter.’

  ‘Neither did I. And Oclatinius clearly didn’t think he needed to mention it, as his orders were so clear. Kill. Everyone.’

  Silus looked at her in anguish. Daya shrugged and walked out, leaving Silus alone with the bodies of the young mother and the little girl that they had just killed.

  Chapter Seven

  Their arrival in Rome should have been a victorious return, but was in fact an occasion of public mourning, the whole city observing both festivities and religious ceremonies. The Senate was clad in black, and the women of the city wore plain white, unadorned with any jewellery. Choirs of children and women from noble families sang both joyful and mournful hymns. Some of the ceremonies involved in saying farewell to an Emperor had already been carried out at his cremation in Britannia, but this interment was an opportunity for Rome to pay its respects to the man who had now become a god.