The assassin flicks the cork off his needle and steps past the bent-over woman. Once, deeply, where no one will see the prick, he reminds himself. They’ll blame it on the gods. He stabs at the back of Amelia’s shoulder.
A slender, sinewy hand clamps upon his forearm, shoving the needle skyward. A slim dagger jabs into his wrist. The Sicilian yelps and drops the needle.
In one quick motion, a hand snatches the needle in midair and jabs it into the assassin’s forearm. The man gapes in horror at the pinprick, knowing its consequences. His mouth moves, but no words come out.
The Sicilian falls onto the street, bashing the side of his head against the stones. His body convulses, his arms flapping futilely. Screams erupt about him.
Prima spits on the twitching assassin. “Pig! I wish I could kill you again!” She hurries back to rejoin Amelia.
Amelia turns toward the screams. “What’s going on, Prima? Did that man fall ill?”
“Oh, he’s ill all right,” she replies. “Deadly ill. The bastard was trying to kill you.”
“What?” Amelia pulls out a small dagger from inside her robe, glancing warily about her.
“A poisoned needle,” Prima replies. “And it was very effective. Come on, let’s get home before we have to kill someone else.”
Returning to the Scipio manse, the two women plunk themselves onto the atrium couches. Amelia’s children swarm about her. She hugs them tight, her eyes shiny with tears. Laelius stands next to her, his hands balled into fists.
“Who did it?” Laelius blurts. “I want to know who ordered it!”
“We don’t know,” Prima snaps. “Probably the same one who sent that female assassin Spider. You were supposed to find out, remember?”
Laelius’ face flushes. “My informants have found nothing. But it must be Flaccus. He is treacherous, and he hates the Scipios.”
“Then why don’t you kill him?” Prima says. “Must I do it myself?”
“I don’t know if it was him,” Laelius replies irritably. “I have nothing definite.”
Amelia looks up from her children. “Beloved friend, how many of us must die before you find something ‘definite?’”
“He is a consul, a ruler of Rome!” Laelius blurts. “Would you have me kill one of our leaders, even if I could get near him?”
“Based on the direction he is leading us, yes,” retorts Prima. She puts her hand on his forearm. You are an honest and just man, carissimus. But he is neither. If he did it, he has lies and bribes to conceal his actions. Consider it.”
“I will return the gutters from which I came,” Laelius says. “If a killer was hired there, I will find out.”
“Well, I have to go out again tomorrow, before the Assembly meets. My husband’s informers told him that the Bruti brothers will veto the Senate’s repeal.” She wrings her hands. “I can’t ask other women to get out there while I hide at home, but I don’t want to put you at risk, Prima. And I don’t want any men there helping us.”
“I appreciate your concern for my safety,” Prima says, with the barest hint of sarcasm. “But I would like to see one of them threaten me. Next time I’ll wound the bastard and find out who sent him.”
The gladiatrix rises from her seat and marches toward the door. “And don’t worry about protection for tomorrow. I will take care of that.”
The next morning dawns sunny and warm. The young Bruti brothers hurry from their dining room toward their front door, their barrel-shaped bodies clad in the white togas they bought for today’s People’s Assembly.
“Do you think we’ll have to veto the repeal?” asks Lucius, flicking bread crumbs off his tunic.
“Who cares?” replies Sextus. “We’ve been paid to do that if they vote for the Lex Oppia’s repeal, but if they don’t, we still get to keep the money. Either way, we win.” He grabs his brother’s forearm. “Come on, we’re going to be late. Open that door, slave!”
The brothers step out from their doorway. They halt in mid stride.
The Brutii brothers find the street completely filled with women, every one of them staring somberly at them.[clxxviii] Amelia and Prima stand directly in front of them, surrounded by six lean muscular women in black tunics, their short swords dangling from their belts.
Lucius stares at the wall of women, his mouth agape. “Let us through,” he blusters, flapping his pale, meaty arms. “The Assembly is going to start!”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Amelia states matter-of-factly. “We’re keeping you here until it’s over.”
Sextus’ face darkens. He looks back over his shoulder. “Cassius! Caldo!” he shouts. “We have intruders!”
Two hulking Gauls fill the doorway, their naked swords dangling from their hands. Sextus glowers at Amelia. “Am I going to have to cut my way through here?”
Lucius stares at his brother, flapping his hands. “Please, brother! No bloodshed.”
Prima steps out in front of Amelia, flanked by the women in black tunics. “Try it,” Prima growls. The women slide out their swords and point them at the Gauls.
Prima shrugs her arms. A needle-thin dagger slides out from her robe sleeve.
Amelia steps in next to her, a throwing knife in each hand. “These women witness that you threatened us,” Amelia says. “They will attest that we had no choice but to defend ourselves.”
The Gauls take a step forward. Amelia stares into Sextus’ eyes. “These young women are all gladiators in training. They are more than capable of holding your large friends at bay until I kill you.”
“Or until I do,” says Prima, sliding toward Lucius.
“Please, Sextus,” wails Lucius. “It is not worth it. Please.”
Sextus sets his chin. “We have to be there. It is our duty. I gave my word.” He takes a step forward. The black-clad women tense, waiting to spring.
“I believe you did,” Amelia says. “And I would not have you dishonor it. Will you give us your word that you will not veto a repeal of the Lex Oppia?”
“I can’t promise that,” Sextus growls.
“What choice do you have?” Prima exclaims, jabbing her dagger at Lucius. “You can resist and die, or you can stay here and live. Either way, the repeal will be voted in.”
“We don’t need money that badly,” Lucius says to his brother. “We can give it back.”
The seconds drag by as Sextus stands silently, trembling with rage and frustration. He glances at his two guards, then back at the women surrounding him.
“We will not exercise our veto,” he mutters.
Amelia nods. “That is a wise decision. Now we will be about our business.”
Amelia turns toward the street. “We can go home now!” she shouts triumphantly. The women cheer, hugging one another, and walk off into the side streets.
While they depart, Prima steps up to Sextus, ignoring his angry guards. “We will be by the Assembly Hall today. I promise you, if we find out you lied, I will eviscerate the both of you.” She stalks back to join Amelia, leaving the two brothers to stare at one another.
Sextus wrinkles his nose. “What’s that smell?”
“A minute, brother,” Lucius says, his voice trembling. “I have to change my clothing.”
The next day finds the women of Rome drinking wine early, celebrating the Assembly’s repeal of the Lex Oppia.
Furious about the result, Consul Marcus Porcius Cato leaves Rome for the port of Ostia, determined to regain his honor by commencing his campaign in Iberia.
Feeling no less frustrated, Consul Flaccus begins to pack for his trip to northern Italia. He plans a time-consuming, circuitous route with many visits to gaming rooms and wine bars, entertainments to help him forget the loathsome Scipios.
While Flaccus prepares his exit, Amelia and Prima lounge in the Scipio atrium, savoring their victory. “What next, then?” asks Prima, picking an olive from a nearby tray.
“The ten-year rule has expired. My husband can run for consul next year,” Amelia replies. “Cato
and Flaccus will soon be gone from the city, so that will minimize their interference. I will devote my energies to helping him get elected.”
Amelia’s mouth tightens. “He is not in the best of health, but he is determined to do it. He says he must capitalize on his fame while he still has it.”
“I would be happy to help you,” Prima says, “but soon my days as your bodyguard will be over.”
Amelia nods. “I can see why. Even the hardiest warriors become tired of danger.”
“Danger I crave, but only for myself,” Prima says. “Will you keep a secret for me, sister?” Amelia nods. “Do you swear to Jana, the goddess of secrets?”
Amelia glowers at her. “Yes, curse you. What is it?”
Prima lifts her wine goblet in a toast. “I’m pregnant.”
Amelia drops her cup. “You? Who is the father?”
“You know who,” Prima snaps. “Who else would it be?”
“But, how could that be? Laelius is—”
“A man of many tastes,” Prima interjects. “And loving me is one of them.”
Amelia nods. “I an happy for you, and I truly understand your leaving. A baby changes everything.”
“Almost everything,” Prima responds, a feral gleam coming into her eyes. “There is one more thing I must do, something Scipio promised me at Capua. Doing it will help him, too.”
Amelia stares at her. “You’re going back into the ring, aren’t you?”
Prima grins. “One more time. Rome must see what a woman can do.”
“Laelius will not allow it.”
“Laelius will not know,” Prima says. “You promised to keep it a secret, remember?”
Amelia crosses her arms. “If I had known that, I would have never promised! Laelius will skin me alive if he ever finds out!”
Prima chuckles. “No he won’t. He’s too ashamed that he hasn’t found out who hired those assassins.” She shakes her head. “Poor boy, he won’t rest until he takes care of it.”
AVENTINE HILL, ROME. Laelius creeps in behind the man squatting in front of him, watching his every move. The man hauls back his right fist and shakes it furiously, angling it behind his head.
Now or never, Laelius decides. Make your move. He reaches for his swordbelt.
“Ten denarii on the throw!” Laelius yells.
“Taken!” replies a portly man in a sweat-stained gray tunic, his dust-covered arms identifying him as a stonemason.
The thrower pitches his dice. They clack across the paving stones and bounce off the bricks that ring the throwing area, a six showing on each of them.
“The throw of Aphrodite!” the referee exclaims, invoking the Greek name for the perfect throw.[clxxix] The stonemason glumly drops a pile of denarii into Laelius’ waiting palm.
Laelius is delighted with the win but he has not come here, under the arch of Rome’s southernmost aqueduct, to indulge in illegal gambling. He has come to find a man known as the Bear, a man who rules its teeming thousands with an iron fist. Nothing happens on the hill without him knowing about it.
Laelius eases his way through the crowd, clasping forearms with the occasional bettor who recognizes him from his wrestling days here. He finally sees the man he wants, a man as wide as he is tall, his thick arms matted with glossy black hair. The man wears worn sandals and a simple white tunic, as plainly dressed as the commoners around him. Only his four Nubian guards attest that he is a man of station and power—a man wealthier than half the patricians in Rome.
“Laelius, you old shitpot!” The Bear levers himself up from his pillow and hugs Laelius so tight the breath whooshes from him. “Good to see you! You have risen so high in the world, out playing soldier with the Imperator himself! What brings you down to my humble kingdom?”
“A name, Bear. I seek a name.” Laelius says. “A single name means much to me.”
The Bear’s eyes grow crafty. “This name, is it of someone who has wronged you?”
“This person has hired assassins to kill those I love,” Laelius says. “One of them was the woman known as Spider. The other was someone called the Sicilian. Do you know who hired them?”
“No. Nor have I heard of such a person,” the Bear states. “I am sorry I cannot help you. But let me buy you a cup of mulsum. Come on.”
“I’m really not in the mood for a—” Laelius begins.
“You should come,” the Bear repeats, his voice heavy with implication.
The man shambles toward the wine vendor’s cart outside the arch. “You stay here,” he says to his guards. Laelius follows him, puzzled. When they are past the crowd, the Bear faces Laelius.
“There was a man who came to the stables at night. He spoke with Spider, that much I know. He remained in the shadows, but his words were those of an educated, older man. He gave her much money.”
“Gratitude, Bear.” Laelius says. “I think I know who it was. I only wish I knew for sure.”
Bear laughs. “If I didn’t act until I was sure of something, I’d still be a baker’s apprentice!” He winks. “I will tell you this. Of the men who hire assassins, many are senators.”
Laelius is silent for several long moments, staring his feet. He looks up, his face set. “I need to hire one of your men. A subtle, skilled man.”
Bear slaps him on the back. “Good! I have just the man! Now let’s get some honeyed wine!”
Two hours later, Laelius teeters into the Scipio manse, his head heavy with drink. He pads into the atrium and flops onto a couch next to the fish pond, covering his eyes with his arm. Scipio pads in from his bedroom.
“Where have you been?” Scipio says. “You smell like a cheap brothel.”
Laelius props himself up on one elbow. “I was gambling over at the Aventine.”
“Hm! I didn’t know you were a gambler,” Scipio says. “Be careful—gambling can get you thrown in jail. That won’t help your career.”
“Oh, I’ll be gambling with my career, too. And a maybe with a man’s life—a vile man, though he may be innocent of this.” Laelius mutters. He blinks at Scipio. “I made a deal with someone. Can you loan me some money?”
“What? Of course. But what’s this about gambling with careers and lives?”
“Ignore me, I have had too much to drink. You have other worries.”
“That is certainly true. I just learned that Hannibal fled Carthage. He is going to join Antiochus.” He shakes his head. “Antiochus can give him what Carthage wouldn’t—unlimited men and resources.”
Laelius burps wetly. “I tell you what: you take care of our affairs abroad, and I’ll take care of those at home. I can best help you that way.” He lays back and covers his eyes. “Gods help me.”
“What affairs at home?” Scipio asks. But Laelius is fast asleep.
EPHESUS, SELEUCID EMPIRE, 195 BCE.[clxxx] This boy has more ambition than wisdom, Hannibal thinks, drawing deeply from his goblet of Lesbos red. He will bear close watching.
Hannibal and Antiochus are taking wine inside Antiochus’ house-sized throne room. Cups in hand, the two study a twenty-foot wall map of Greece.
A waspish young man stands alongside them, his eyes as black as his cascading raven hair. He runs a wooden pointer from the city marker for Ephesus, straight across the blue area for the Aegean Sea, and taps it on Athens.
“There. You see? We can cross from here to Athens in a day, two at the most. We can take Thebes and Athens before they even know what’s happening to them. With those cities secured as our garrisons, we march west to take all of Achea!”
Hannibal frowns, but he says nothing. Antiochus slowly shakes his head. “You would have us fighting Greece and Rome within the month, son.”
“And what of it? Our armies are ready,” he says. “We have taken what we want from Thrace and Egypt. Why not move on Greece?”
“Rome is the reason, son.” Antiochus says. “An invasion of Greece would precipitate a war with the Romans. And they are too strong for us, until our fleet is restored.”
> “Too overrated, you mean,” Seleucus replies sarcastically. “They can be beaten. Hannibal knows: he defeated them many times.”
“I would not call them overrated,” Hannibal says evenly. “But the Romans can be defeated with guile and planning—and with much persistence, because they will not quit until every one of them is dead.”
“I don’t think we should press on,” Antiochus says, frowning into his cup. “We lost too many men when our fleet sunk. And that Quinctius Flamininus, the man who defeated Philip? He is out near Thrace with twenty thousand veterans.” The king shrugs. “We have gained back much of my ancestor’s kingdom—perhaps I will end our campaign.”
“What!” Seleucus blurts. “We have the world in our hands!”
“I understand,” Hannibal says. “You have a hundred thousand men, but most of them have not tasted blood. You need my Carthaginians. If I could sway Carthage to join you, Antiochus, Rome wouldn’t have a chance.”
“We can’t depend on Carthage,” Seleucus snaps. “You should know that better than anyone.”
Insolent pup! Hannibal thinks. “Perhaps it is a time for peace, but only to prepare for war,” he says. “Time may bring the Aetolians to our side. They asked Rome to restore some of the ancestral lands that Philip took from them. But Rome told them to talk to Proconsul Flamininus,[clxxxi] the same man who declaimed them as greedy plunder-takers.” He chuckles. “The Aetolians did not welcome Rome’s decision. Now they are looking to ally themselves with someone who can give them more power in Greece.” He looks at Seleucus. “But the Aetolians are not ready to turn on Rome—yet.”
“How long, then?” Seleucus asks, clearly irritated.
“A few years,” Hannibal responds. He faces Antiochus. “Recruit and train more troops, build more garrisons, fortify the cities you have taken. Prepare for a world war, my King—a war to own the world.”
Antiochus’ eyes brighten with greed. Now, Hannibal tells himself. “If you desire it, I will fight by your side. If things go aright, Carthage may join your efforts.” He spreads his hands. “Just think of it—Syria, Carthage, and Aetolia united against Rome! The gods themselves would quail to fight us!”
Scipio Rules Page 41
