‘Silus…’ Oclatinius’ voice held a note of gentle admonishment. ‘You are addressing one of our Emperors. You should really show more respect.’
‘I see nothing to respect.’
Bek stepped forward and drove his fist into Silus’ midriff, knocking all the air out of him, leaving him struggling for breath and incapable of speech.
‘Silus,’ said Geta. ‘The one who killed Euprepes. There was a real hero. A fearless champion of the Circus. Cut down in his old age by a coward.’
‘Euprepes should have known how dangerous it can be to meddle in politics or to cross the Emperor Antoninus,’ said Oclatinius. ‘It was a salutary warning that should have been taken seriously by all.’
Bek moved towards Oclatinius, fist back, but Geta stopped him. ‘Wait. I want to ask the old man some questions. I don’t want him broken. Not yet.’
Then he said, ‘Tell me about Titurius.’
Silus’ heart sank. Why was Geta asking about him? Did it mean Tituria was in danger?
‘Ah, the late senator,’ said Oclatinius regretfully. ‘What would you like to know?’
‘Why don’t we start with how he died.’
‘I understand he died in a fire that consumed his domus, along with his entire household. Tragic.’
‘How did the fire start?’
‘I don’t believe the vigiles could determine a cause.’
‘And his entire family died?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Every one? Because soon after the fire, a young noble girl appeared on a remote island, seemingly imprisoned and under guard by Praetorians.’
‘Really? Your information is better than mine, Augustus.’
‘And there are rumours that this young girl has seen something unpleasant. Something unsavoury that concerns my mother and my brother. Have you heard such rumours?’
‘I have not, Augustus.’
Geta let out a short laugh. ‘I find that hard to believe. A spymaster with your ability and resources.’
‘You flatter me, Augustus. I am a simple servant of the Senate and people of Rome.’
Geta shook his head. ‘Let me be blunt with you, Oclatinius. You are a talented man, and I would like to have your service. But you are also loyal. I don’t expect you to serve me while you are still bound to my brother. That situation is about to change, though.’
‘Oh?’
‘After tomorrow, you will be released from your oath to my brother.’
‘That would only be possible if he was dead, Augustus.’
‘Precisely.’
Oclatinius thought for a moment. ‘The peace meeting?’
Geta smiled. ‘Just myself, my mother and my brother. And half a dozen of my men outside the chamber, ready to break in and finish him.’
Silus’ mind whirled. With Caracalla dead, where would that leave him? Released from the man he was finding it increasingly difficult to serve. But Tituria? If Caracalla died, she would be killed immediately. It was Caracalla’s protection against Silus ending their agreement with assassination. He yanked at his chains, but they were solid, tight on his wrists and firmly attached to the stone wall. Geta saw him testing his bonds and smiled.
‘Ah, you fear for my brother, Silus? Such loyalty is commendable. I am half-minded to demand such loyalty to me. But you have defied and annoyed me far too much. For that, you are to die, along with your fool of a friend.
‘Now, Oclatinius, will you aid me? When my brother is dead, I need to be able to give a good reason to the soldiers and the populace, to gain their approval for the deed. Confirmation from you that my brother and my mother were engaged in foul and unnatural acts together would give me all the justification that I need. So, tell me what Tituria’s daughter saw, and swear to me that you will testify on oath about the disgusting relationship between Antoninus and Domna.’
‘You are prepared to sacrifice your mother’s reputation as well as your brother’s life, Augustus?’ asked Oclatinius.
‘You don’t seem to understand, Oclatinius. I will sacrifice anything to have the throne to myself.’
Oclatinius gave a short nod. ‘Very well. When Antoninus is dead, I will testify that he was engaged in unnatural relations with your mother, and I will pledge my loyalty to you.’
‘I have your oath?’
‘On the shades of the departed, and the gods of the underworld.’
Geta smiled. ‘How easily you are turned, Oclatinius. I thought you would be cursing my naming and swearing revenge if I hurt a hair on Antoninus’ head.’
Oclatinius shrugged. ‘I am a servant of the Emperor. Whoever he may be.’
‘It’s late,’ said Geta. ‘I must depart soon for the meeting. And ready myself for the beginning of my sole rule. Oclatinius, you have a short while to say goodbye to your two subordinates here. After the deed is done, we will meet, and you will tell me how you can be of service to me.’ Geta gave Silus a hard stare. ‘Goodbye, Silus. We won’t meet again.’
He exited the cell with Bek and the two guards, leaving Silus, Atius and Oclatinius alone in the near darkness. Silus searched for words, but it was Atius who spoke first.
‘Curse you to hell, Oclatinius, you fucking coward.’
Oclatinius said nothing, offered no defence, and Atius continued, his voice loud in his fury. ‘You have served Caracalla, been his trusted friend. And I have served you with dedication. Silus too, as best his conscience allowed. And you are to cast us all aside for convenience. For your own ambition. To save your own skin. I respected you, I thought you were better…’ He broke off, his voice choking with emotion.
Silus stared into the darkness. He felt completely helpless. Bek would be back soon, with those guards, to kill Atius and himself. When Caracalla was dead, the Praetorians would kill Tituria. Of those he had the slightest care for, only Apicula and Issa would survive. He supposed it was for the best that he was to go now. He had had enough. The killing. The death that followed him everywhere. It was time for him to join his family.
An indeterminate amount of time passed before the door opened again, and Bek entered with the two guards. He looked doleful, head bowed. Once in the cell, the tall thin guard lit an oil lamp, and the other closed the door.
‘This gives me no pleasure,’ said Bek. ‘It saddens me more than you know when Roman is forced to kill Roman. I wish this conflict between the two Emperors had ended peacefully. But it wasn’t to be.’
‘If you’re so sad, why don’t you let us go?’ said Atius.
‘Would you, in my position?’
Atius opened his mouth, but clearly couldn’t think of a suitable retort.
‘Just do it,’ said Silus. ‘Don’t drag it out.’
Bek looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. He gestured to the two guards, who drew short swords from their scabbards.
‘Kill those two,’ said Bek. ‘The old man is not to be touched.’
The two guards each took a step forward. The one before Silus was the shorter, wider man with the patchy beard. He looked into Silus’ eyes and drew his sword back, preparing to plunge it deep. Silus kept his eyes locked on his executioner, gritting his teeth and preparing himself for the pain.
The sword struck deep, skewering through skin, through abdominal muscle, through guts, severing vessels and lacerating visci. Silus stared in shock at the sword, buried to the hilt.
The executioner’s eyes were wide, and he grasped the sword, then collapsed to his knees with a guttural groan, and then to the floor.
The speed, the gloom and the shock meant it took Silus a moment to realise that the tall, skinny guard had run the other through from side to side. Even as his mind tried to process what his eyes had just seen, the guard was tugging his sword free, rounding on Bek.
Bek had frozen for the briefest of moments before reacting. He pulled his knife from his belt and lunged at the guard. The guard jumped backwards, and as he did so the sword came free from his dead colleague with a wet sucking sound.
/> Bek followed up his attack with a series of swipes with his blade, quick cuts designed to incapacitate and make for an easy kill. But the guard had a weapon with a longer reach, and he was able to keep Bek at arm’s length.
Bek clearly had the greater skill, and as they circled, feinted and parried, Bek’s superior weaponcraft started to show. Nicks and cuts appeared on the guard’s forearms, upper arms and chest, making him bleed, making it harder to wield his heavier weapon. The smallness of the cell made it difficult for him to use the longer blade to its full advantage too, with a full swing or an overhead cleave impossible. The short sword was best used for stabbing, but Bek was agile, and cunning, keeping out of the reach of the guard, and of Silus and Atius, who strained at their chains and shouted encouragement to the guard who had unexpectedly come to their aid.
But Bek had discounted Oclatinius. The old man, with the bowed back, age-atrophied musculature and arthritic joints seemed no threat. Silus knew better.
Bek circled so his back was to Oclatinius. And Oclatinius kicked his feet upwards into the air, using the chains as leverage like an acrobat. His legs locked around Bek’s neck, and he squeezed tight.
Bek struck like an asp, jamming his knife into Oclatinius’ upper thigh, making the old man relax his grip enough for Bek to wriggle free.
But it was all the guard needed. He thrust forward hard, and the sword ran Bek through, just under his sternum, straight through his liver and bursting out of his back. Bek gripped the hilt of the sword, opened his mouth, vomited a gutful of blood, and crashed down to the ground.
‘Well done,’ said Oclatinius, as the guard used his key to unlock the shackles of the three prisoners. ‘Do you happen to have a bandage?’ The guard tore a strip off his tunic and tied it tight around Oclatinius’ bleeding thigh. Oclatinius experimented putting weight on the injured leg, but it gave way and he put his hand out to steady himself on Silus’ shoulder.
‘You two need to get to the Empress’ chambers, straight away.’
Silus looked at the two dead bodies on the floor, then back to Oclatinius.
‘What just happened?’
‘This fellow is one of mine, of course. I had a feeling that Geta was planning something. This was the best way to find out what, quickly. You don’t think I would let myself get captured unless it suited me, do you?’
Silus shook his head. Oclatinius never ceased to amaze, and indeed to frighten.
‘Now, get moving,’ said Oclatinius. He gave them directions to Domna’s private quarters. ‘Take both the swords. Go and save the Emperor. With the will of the gods, there may still be time.’
Silus pulled the sword from Bek, and Atius retrieved the other guard’s weapon. The two friends looked at each other.
‘Are we good?’ asked Silus.
‘Always,’ said Atius.
They ran.
* * *
Silus and Atius emerged blinking into the daylight in the bustling Transtiberim region on the west side of the Tiber. They took a moment to orient themselves, but soon located the Via Aurelia and the Pons Aemilius that led back towards the centre of the city. Elbowing and shoving, they rushed through the traffic across the bridge towards the Circus Maximus, which stretched out along the south side of the Palatine Hill.
A chariot race was obviously scheduled for later in the day as the roads around the Circus were crowded with fans of all four factions drinking, singing and taunting their opposition. Much of it was good-natured, but here and there fights broke out as a thrown apple or cup of cheap wine made contact and led to a physical retaliation.
Silus and Atius, aching, tired, bruised and in pain, skirted these brawls as best they could, pushing through the fans as they desperately tried to reach the Palatine in time. At a crossroads, two men grappled and rained punches at each other’s heads. One hard jab to the cheekbone sent the unfortunate loser of the fight stumbling backwards into Silus. Silus grabbed on to him, a piece of material pinned to the fan’s tunic coming away in his hands. Then a tangle of legs and feet caused Silus to tumble to the dusty street, face down.
‘Apologies,’ said the victor of the brawl, reaching a friendly hand down to lift him to his feet. Silus took the hand gratefully, and let himself be hauled upright. He stood before the man, who had a green piece of cloth attached to his tunic, opened his mouth to thank him, and looked into the face of a balding man with wall eyes.
A moment of mutual recognition passed between them, that heartbeat where you know you have seen someone before, and are struggling to remember where. Then both their eyes grew wide at the same time.
‘You!’ said the fan.
‘Oh, shit!’ said Silus.
Atius hopped from foot to foot. ‘Come on,’ he urged.
‘Lads,’ shouted Wall Eye to the surrounding fans. ‘This is the one that killed Euprepes!’
A dozen Greens turned to the voice, faces full of menace and anger. They advanced on the two Arcani, making a ring around them. None had swords, but most drew dangerous-looking weapons from folds in their clothes – knives, clubs with nails through them, knuckledusters, all the protection you might need if the rivalry between factions turned serious.
Silus and Atius backed against each other, swords low and pointing forwards.
‘Is that the bugger who saw you?’ growled Atius.
‘It is.’
‘Silus, we don’t have time for this.’
The angry Green fanatics were holding back, throwing curses and pebbles, but they weren’t soldiers, and none had yet plucked up the courage to be the first to attack. It would only be a matter of time though, Silus knew, before they had goaded each other sufficiently to rush at them. He looked at the piece of material still clutched in his left hand. It was blue.
‘Follow my lead,’ muttered Silus over his shoulder.
‘Silus, what…’
‘For the Blues!’ yelled Silus at the top of his voice, and rushed towards the wall-eyed Green who had continued to curse him for killing Euprepes.
Atius, not slow on the uptake, charged at the opposing side of the circle of Green fanatics, roaring, ‘Blues for ever.’
Both Arcani swirled their blades over the heads, making the Green fans back off, and leap out of the way. It was not a recognised battle tactic – they should be thrusting, twisting, pulling back. But they weren’t trying to kill. They were trying to attract attention and sew confusion.
Sure enough, more Greens started to congregate at the sight of two armed and maddened Blues fans assaulting fellow Greens.
But so did the Blues fans. As Silus swung and feinted at any Green who came near, he saw tunics in the crowd with blue badges, heard confused queries and shouts.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Hey, guys, there are Blues fans in trouble over here.’
‘Fight!’
The atmosphere changed from convivial rivalry to a furious maelstrom of outright hate in a heartbeat. Neighbour grabbed neighbour, brother wrestled brother. Clubs swung and knives flashed. The circle of Green fans that surrounded Silus and Atius suddenly had to turn to protect themselves as the brawl spread. Cries of pain and anger filled the air, and the crossroads was a full-blown riot.
Silus and Atius forced their way forwards, ducking punches and club swings, shoving rioters aside, using the hilts of their swords to clear away anyone who delayed them too long. Slowly, they made progress through the chaos.
Two guards from the Urban Cohorts appeared before them, looking nervous. Silus pointed his sword tip at the ground, but his expression was every bit as threatening as his weapon.
‘We aren’t the problem here,’ he said. ‘You need to wait for reinforcements, then get in there and do your jobs. Don’t force us to ruin your day.’
The guards exchanged glances and stepped back, taking them away from the riot and allowing the Arcani to pass. Silus nodded to them, and they broke into a run once more. He wondered how many would die or be maimed in this riot. But he felt little guilt. The
factions rioted and fought each other regularly. He had just given them another excuse. Besides, inciting a riot was a small price to pay for saving an Emperor’s life.
He prayed they would be in time.
Chapter Eighteen
Caracalla arrived in Domna’s audience room before his brother. The Empress was alone, and he stopped and just stared at her beauty. She sat on her throne, straight-backed, with empty thrones to her left and right, angled inwards. She was delicately made up, skin pale with lead powder, highlighted with kohl eyeliner, rose lipstick. She wore a loose blue stola, and small gold earrings.
He loved her. He always had, but what might once have been a hormonal, slightly Oedipal crush on his stepmother had grown into a deep adoration that her age and her relationship with his father did nothing to diminish. He hated that it had to remain secret. He wished he could parade her in front of the world as his wife, not his stepmother. Maybe, if he was sole ruler, he could consider it. His predecessors had done worse. Claudius had married his brother’s daughter and, if the gossips were to be believed, Caligula had slept with his own sister and Nero with his own mother. Emperors unchecked by Senate or family members seemed to be able to do what they liked, as long as the army supported them, and they could avoid assassination.
Domna smiled at him, and his heart missed a beat. He stepped forward, took her hands in his and kissed each one.
‘Thank you, Antoninus. From the bottom of my soul. I know you are only doing this for me.’
That was partly true. Much as he loved her, though, he had not lost his wits to her charms, and Oclatinius’ words about the uncertain loyalty of the Praetorian Guard had shaken him more than he would admit.
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