Emperor's Knife

by Emperor's Knife (retail) (epub)

  ‘Been to the gymnasium?’ asked Atius, not noticing this brief interaction.

  Daya looked at Silus a moment longer, then turned to Atius as if only just hearing the question.

  ‘Um, yes.’

  ‘What exercises this time? Swimming ten miles? A quick run like Pheidippides did?’

  ‘Just some weights, and then a bout in the ring with a boxer who was training.’

  ‘You don’t have a mark on you!’ exclaimed Atius.

  Daya just smiled.

  ‘Come on,’ said Silus. ‘Time is marching on.’

  The Saepta Julia was a huge porticoed structure built of marble, with roofed colonnades on two sides enclosing a vast open space which served as a market for the wealthy. The three Arcani wandered past the stalls, gaping at some of the amazing wares on offer. Silus could scarcely believe the contrast between the smelly, dirty shops in the Subura and these plush stalls, with tables covered in fine cloth and laid out with various luxuries. Many stalls sold jewellery – gold and silver earrings and necklaces inlaid with pearls and rubies and sapphires. Some sold exotic spices – saffron, cinnamon and nutmeg – while others sold perfumes which were like nothing Silus had ever smelt before, delicate scents of flowers and more exotic odours that made it feel as though his nose was getting a massage from a beautiful maiden.

  Soldiers from the urban cohorts patrolled the market, alert for signs of theft or to move on beggars and prostitutes. The clientele here expected a much higher level of protection than the denizens of the Subura.

  But the reason Silus was here was the slave market at the far end of the square. On a long raised dais, a constant flow of slaves marched up the steps, were paraded and auctioned, and then taken away by a new owner, or by a dealer with an eye for a bargain.

  The first slaves up when the Arcani reached the dais were a pair of young Parthian boys, maybe fifteen and sixteen years old, looking like brothers. They were dressed in neat plain tunics which were shorter than was customary, showing off firm, hairless legs. The auctioneer made them turn slowly for the crowd, then he opened up the bidding.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Atius. ‘Couple of nice little bum boys to warm your bed?’

  The bidding started at one thousand denarii, and rapidly built up, with the final price over four thousand for the pair. A fat man in a fine toga collected them, licking his lips as he led them away. Next up was a thin Greek man, balding on top, with narrow eyes and a pointed nose. The auctioneer notified the crowd that the slave was a scribe, and also highly numerate. Two matronly women bid for him, and he went for three thousand denarii.

  ‘It’s a bit rich, isn’t it?’ commented Silus.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Atius. ‘Those ones had special talents. You just want a standard house slave to take care of your new palace. He or she will be much cheaper. Here, this one is more like it.’

  The auctioneer brought a young woman onto the dais. She had a willowy figure, straight-backed, and wore a long, flowing stola. Her skin was free of pockmarks and she was lightly made up. Silus was close enough to see her eyes. They were a brilliant blue, and completely lifeless.

  ‘One hundred denarii!’ shouted Atius.

  The nearby crowd members turned to stare at him in surprise. The auctioneer looked taken aback. Then he recovered his composure.

  ‘I would like to start the bidding at five thousand denarii. Do I have any takers?’ Hands immediately shot up.

  Atius looked crestfallen. Silus looked at him and smirked, then saw Daya’s expression. She was staring at the slave girl, and her eyes were filled with tears. Silus felt a lump in his throat, and he suddenly felt he wanted to hug her.

  ‘Come on, Atius,’ said Silus gruffly. ‘This place is well out of our league. Let’s get out of here.’

  They pushed their way out of the crowd and left the luxury market behind them. Daya was quiet and Silus asked if she was well.

  ‘I have a little stomachache,’ she said, and wouldn’t be drawn further.

  Silus felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find Lurco grinning at him.

  ‘My friends! Was your trip to the market successful?’

  ‘Not really. They didn’t really have what we were looking for.’

  ‘I did warn you that place wasn’t for the likes of you. But if you still need a house slave, I have a contact.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ said Silus with a sigh.

  ‘How about I find you a slave, and you give me ten per cent of the sale price as a finder’s fee?’

  Silus thought about it. ‘Let’s see what you can come up with.’

  Lurco led them to the Caelian Hill, where he took them down several twisted alleys before finally stopping outside a brothel.

  ‘I want a housekeeper, not a whore,’ said Silus.

  ‘Bear with me,’ said Lurco and led them inside.

  The room was dark, despite being lit by a handful of lamps burning cheap oil, and it took a moment for Silus’ eyes to adjust. There was an overwhelming smell of smoke, cheap and powerful perfume, and sex. At one end of the room was a bar, with a couple of customers drinking wine and eating bread and nuts. Around the room were half a dozen cubicles. Five of the cubicles were open, and dull-eyed girls, completely naked, sat in them. Above each cubicle was a tablet, with the name of the girl and her price. When they saw the new customers, they plastered smiles onto their faces. Some began to dance seductively, one got on her hands and knees and wiggled her backside towards them, and one just lay on her back and spread her legs. The sixth cubicle had a curtain drawn across, and the tablet above it had been reversed so it read, ‘Occupied’. Sounds of male grunting and a creaking bed frame emanated from within.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ asked Daya in a low, angry voice.

  A plump woman with long hair shot through with veins of grey came bustling over. ‘Lurco, why are you in my establishment? I keep telling you that we don’t do freebies.’

  ‘You do keep telling me that, Aspasia, but I know how kind-hearted you are.’ He turned to Atius with a wink. ‘When things are quiet, she gets one of the girls to give me a hand job, as long as I keep finding her customers.’

  ‘Lurco, I don’t understand why we are in a cheap brothel,’ said Silus.

  ‘Hush now, let me introduce you. Aspasia, these are my dear friends, Silus, Atius and Daya. Friends, this is Aspasia, the lena of this fine place.’

  ‘It is a pleasure to greet new customers,’ said Aspasia.

  Atius was looking around at the girls and reading the prices. ‘Bit more expensive than Eboracum, but quite reasonable for Rome,’ he commented.

  ‘We aren’t customers,’ said Silus. ‘Lurco brought us here. For reasons as yet unclear.’

  ‘My friend Silus here is new in Rome and he was attempting to purchase a slave to care for his new apartment. Unfortunately, he found the market in the Saepta a little on the extravagant side.’

  Aspasia let out a short laugh. ‘You astound me, Lurco. So why bring them here?’

  ‘Well, rumour has it that one of your ladies is nearing… retirement.’

  Aspasia looked straight at a cubicle, whose sign read, ‘Apicula’. Silus followed her gaze. Apicula had the cheapest price, just a single copper coin. The woman inside the cubicle looked like she was approaching her fifties. Her belly was loose and saggy, as though it had borne children in the past. Her breasts were large but drooped down her chest. Her face was handsome but heavily lined, with bird’s feet at the corners of her eyes and large bags beneath them. Her hair was almost entirely grey.

  Aspasia turned back to Lurco. ‘I don’t know what you mean. Apicula is one of my most valued staff members. There are many men with an interest in the more mature and refined lady.’

  ‘Come off it, Aspasia. Look at her price. Is she even paying for her keep? Why don’t we take her off your hands?’

  ‘I could be persuaded to part with her, for a good price. With deep regret.’

  ‘How much
?’

  ‘One hundred denarii.’

  Daya spat on the floor. ‘How can you exploit these women like this, a woman yourself?’

  Aspasia looked offended. ‘These are slaves. They do as they are told. And I care for them as if they were my own family.’

  ‘They are abused in any way their customers feel fit, and they have no choice in the matter. You make me sick.’

  ‘Gentlemen, could you please restrain your slave or I will have to ask you to leave.’

  ‘I am no slave!’ protested Daya, but Silus held up a restraining hand.

  ‘Mistress, I think there has been a misunderstanding. I am not looking to buy a whore. We are sorry to have wasted your time.’ He turned to leave.

  ‘Silus, wait.’ It was Daya who had spoken. Silus turned in surprise.

  ‘When she no longer makes enough money, if this woman can’t find a buyer, she will throw her out on the street to beg or starve.’

  ‘What are you asking me?’

  ‘Buy her.’

  Silus took Daya’s elbow and guided her to a corner. ‘Daya,’ he said quietly. ‘You were a slave yourself. I’m not sure you approve of me owning anyone. Why are you asking this of me?’

  ‘I’m not Spartacus,’ she said. ‘I know that there will always be slaves. All I can hope for is that they will be properly looked after. And there are worse things than slavery. It’s better to be fed and sheltered than left in the gutter to die.’

  ‘But look at her. I don’t really want her.’

  ‘Oh, so you really were just looking for a pretty young thing to suck your cock in the morning?’

  ‘No, I want a housekeeper. I don’t want that. It’s just I didn’t think… I… oh, fuck it.’

  He returned to Aspasia.

  ‘Twenty denarii.’

  Lurco protested, seeing that the deal was on, and clearly thinking about his share of the sale price, interjected, ‘Twenty? For this experienced lady, who can take care of your home as well as your every need? Surely eighty.’

  Silus ignored him, but said to Aspasia, ‘Fifty or I walk away now.’ She shook his hand avidly, and smiled as he counted out the money.

  ‘Apicula, get out here.’

  The slave walked uncertainly over to them.

  ‘Apicula, you have been sold. Get dressed, get your things and get out.’

  Apicula looked shocked, and suddenly on the brink of tears. Daya took her hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘He will be a good master to you. And if he isn’t, he will have me to answer to.’ The look Daya gave Silus left him in no doubt that she meant it.

  * * *

  Silus lay on his back on his mattress in the darkness, covered by a single blanket. Apicula lay on another mattress on the floor near the window, breathing lightly. Daya had helped pick out some basic clothes for her in the Subura market, a couple of dresses, and they had also got a new chair and table as well as two new mattresses.

  Now it was the middle of the night, and Silus lay awake, struggling to sleep as his mind spun with all the sights and sounds and smells he had experienced that day. His thoughts flitted from temples to slums, from priests to beggars and he wondered at this amazing city of contradictions and extremes.

  He heard the sound of a key in the lock. Strange, he thought he had the only copy. He tried to sit up, but seemed paralysed, his arms and legs not responding. A small dark figure crept into the room, and tiptoed over to his bed. He suddenly found it hard to breathe. The small figure slid under the blanket with him and kissed him on the lips.

  ‘Daya,’ he whispered in amazement.

  ‘Shh,’ she said and kissed him more deeply. She was naked and he felt her small breasts pressing against his chest. She was incredibly light despite her toned physique. She ran her fingers over his face, then reached down to grasp his rapidly hardening cock. She stroked it a few times, then straddled it and guided it inside her. Sitting up, she rode him, faster and faster, and he looked into her eyes as she moaned wordlessly. Suddenly he was there, spasming inside her as she cried out.

  He sat up abruptly. The room was empty apart from Apicula breathing lightly. The door was still shut. He was panting heavily. He looked down, and saw his blanket was wet and sticky at the level of his groin. He squeezed his eyes shut. It had seemed so real. But surely he didn’t think of her that way. Did he?

  ‘Fuck,’ he said quietly.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Papinianus, sit, take some wine.’

  The Praetorian prefect sat on the marble bench beside Caracalla, and a slave handed him a silver cup of fine Falernian. He sipped, though he seemed not to taste it, his thoughtful gaze slipping across the butterflies fluttering from flower to flower in the palace garden.

  ‘What am I to do, Papinianus? Counsel me.’

  ‘Augustus? With respect to what?’

  ‘With respect to my brother, of course. As soon as we arrived in Rome, he set builders to work on the palace. He has walled up the communicating passages and set up his residence in the north wing. I have the south, and the Empress has the central portion.’

  ‘I am aware of the changes to the living arrangements in the palace, Augustus.’

  ‘At the interment, there was a moment where I really wanted to make it work. To find a compromise that would make it possible for us to rule together. Some acknowledgement that I was the senior Augustus, even though it was something small. An agreement on the order in which our names went on monuments, or who spoke first at official meetings. I don’t know, anything. But I think it will never be. He cannot accept me as senior in any way.’ Caracalla sighed and pressed his fingers against his perpetually lined forehead. ‘What was in Father’s mind, when he raised him as co-Augustus? When he bequeathed the Empire to us both equally? Did he really think it could be done without friction?’

  ‘Maybe he thought it was the best way to preserve his younger son’s life.’

  Caracalla looked sharply at Papinianus. ‘Be careful with your words.’

  ‘Apologies, Augustus. It is no aspersion on your character. I merely point to history, where siblings who threaten a claim to a throne are done away with. Nero and Britannicus. Cleopatra and Ptolemy XIV.’

  ‘And many brothers happily accepted their elders’ claim to the throne. Titus and Domitian. Alexander the Great and Philip.’

  ‘I cannot tell you the inner workings of your deified father’s mind, I’m afraid, Augustus.’

  ‘So now my brother and I live in a divided palace, with a divided rule. Maybe we should just divide the Empire and be done with it.’

  There was a moment’s silence, as the Emperor and the Praetorian prefect looked at each other, eyebrows raised in reflection of each other’s expressions.

  ‘Is it possible?’ asked Caracalla quietly.

  ‘I… don’t know. It has never been considered. Not a peaceful division in any case. The Second Triumvirate divided the responsibility for governance geographically, but it remained one Empire under Rome. Antony and Cleopatra had ideas of setting up an independent eastern Empire with Alexandria as its capital. But Octavian would not allow that to happen. A peaceful, planned splitting of the Empire of Rome into two equal, independent halves? It is a radical idea, Augustus.’

  ‘But is it possible?’

  ‘All things are possible, Augustus.’

  ‘Then let’s talk about how it could work.’

  * * *

  The council chamber was divided along factional lines, as had become the norm at meetings of state. Domna sat in the centre as the unofficial mediator of the two factions, Syrian supporting Caracalla and African supporting Geta. Caracalla sat on Domna’s right hand, with the Syrian faction arrayed to his right, facing the opposing African faction, which was ranged alongside Geta, who was seated on Domna’s left.

  Domna, as the former Emperor’s widow, had in theory even less power than when she had been the Emperor’s wife, and any influence she had was advisory. In practice, with the two current Emperors in con
flict, if not open war, her role as peacemaker and intermediary gave her a position as important as any Empress in Roman history, including the deified Livia, the wife of Augustus and grand-matron of the Julio Claudian dynasty. So here she sat, at another meeting in which nothing would get done while the two factions argued and the two Emperors sniped at each other.

  The current discussion was the important one of army pay. Geta and Caracalla had both taken seriously their father’s dying wish that they should enrich the soldiers and damn the rest, although they had been less diligent in observing the wish that the two brothers should live in harmony. However, there was disagreement on the amount of donatives they should give out, and on the amount by which they should raise the standard pay. The Africans, who tended to be members of the civil service and had the state of Rome’s treasury in mind, wanted a modest increase; while the Syrians pushed for something more substantial, arguing that with the passing of Severus, the position of neither of the Augusti was secure from a third party, a usurper in one of the provinces with a few legions willing to support him in a march on Rome, or in creating a breakaway province. Caracalla’s natural inclination was also to reward the army which he had marched with and led, while Geta had a much less personal relationship with the military, although they were still fond of him because of his close resemblance to his father.

  Caracalla ran a fingertip through the curls of his beard as he listened to an African official drone on about the drain on the treasury from the maintenance of the aqueducts and sewers, and wished for the tenth time that day that he was sole Emperor. It was intolerable enough that every decision he wanted to make had to be ratified by Geta, but his brother seemed to take perverse pleasure in opposing his every suggestion, while making entirely impractical suggestions of his own. The coins that had been struck with Caracalla and Geta shaking hands and sacrificing to Concordia seemed like a perverse joke. How long could this go on for? When would it reach a breaking point, and end in violence?