Mistress of Rome

by Kate Quinn

  Marcus wondered how much blood those words had wrenched out of his son’s heart. “Why ask my advice, then?” Quietly.

  “Because you’re a man of principles. Maybe the only one left. If you tell me Domitian is not worth his office, that’s good enough for me.”

  Another pint of heart’s blood, Marcus judged. Fortunate that he has so great a heart to spare it.

  He opened his mouth—and the door crashed inward.

  “Marcus,” said Calpurnia. “Paulinus. There’s someone here to—um. Here’s Lady Athena. And this is—?”

  “Arius,” the big man said. “You’ll know me.”

  “Who?” Marcus said politely.

  “Never mind.” Thea crossed the room, her eyes burning Paulinus.

  Marcus looked at Calpurnia. “If you don’t mind, my dear—”

  “Oh, I’m leaving.” She raised a hasty hand. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to know.” As she shut the door—“I’ll just go keep the slaves quiet.”

  “Good girl.”

  “Paulinus.” Thea stopped before Marcus’s son. “We need you.”

  Paulinus looked at her, and his gaze didn’t slide away. “You want your son back.”

  “I want my son back,” said Thea. “And I want the Emperor dead.”

  Marcus spoke. “We all do.”

  Thirty-one

  DIVORCE?” Lepida perched on the edge of Marcus’s desk, raising her penciled brows. “Really, Marcus, why should I do that?”

  “The Emperor is besotted with you, from all accounts. Six months now, isn’t it?” Marcus shrugged. “I thought you might wish to make yourself . . . available.”

  “Oh, a man doesn’t want his mistress to be available unless he suggests it.” But Lepida preened a little. “You heard he’s besotted with me?”

  Marcus hid a smile. “He must have a stronger nose than I, if he can stand that vulgar perfume.”

  “Claws in, darling. I’m not getting rid of you yet. Though if he does decide to make me his Empress . . .”

  “If.”

  She bristled. “Why not? He divorced his wife once; he can do it again. Aren’t I worthy of a crown?”

  Marcus looked at his wife: slim and luscious in saffron silk with a collar of Indian gold covering her throat and ropes of scented black hair coiled around her elegant head. “Every inch the Empress,” he agreed. “Let’s hope he lives to crown you.”

  “You’ve been listening to gossip.”

  “It’s been kept quiet, Lepida, but I caught a whisper—I do keep my ear to the ground, you know. The Emperor asked his astrologer to predict the date of his death, and he got a much nearer date than he liked.”

  “Nessus is unreliable now,” Lepida snapped. “Nothing will kill Domitian.”

  “Of course. Though the thought must make you nervous.”

  “Don’t try me, Marcus. If I ever do become Empress”—a swirl of saffron silk and a jangle of gold bracelets—“I’ll have your head on a spike.”

  Marcus smiled as she clicked out of his tablinum in her gold-trimmed sandals. Nicely planted, he thought. If Lepida pushed to be Empress she’d be out in a fortnight—out from Domitian’s charmed circle of protection. And if Marcus’s suspicions were right and Paulinus was shaking off her malign influence as well . . .

  “Father?” Sabina’s feather-brown head poked around the door.

  “Are you listening at keyholes again, Vibia Sabina?”

  “How else am I supposed to learn anything?” She slipped in, shutting the door behind her. “Father . . . why did you suggest a divorce? You didn’t think she’d take it.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “I know your voice.”

  He looked at her. “No.” After a pause. “I didn’t think she’d take a divorce.”

  Sabina took a step closer. “So divorce her.”

  “Should I?”

  “She’s my mother. I know I should honor her.” Sabina paused. “But . . .”

  “But?”

  “She’s beautiful. She’s even sort of interesting, like the way poisonous snakes are interesting. But she’s awful. Why didn’t you divorce her years ago?”

  “That’s not for you to question, Vibia Sabina.”

  “Yes, it is. What happened? Did she threaten you?”

  You, Marcus wanted to say. Paulinus was a Praetorian Prefect, the Emperor’s best friend; no slander of Lepida’s would stick long to his name. But Sabina had no such protection.

  “Did she threaten me instead?” Sabina’s question didn’t surprise Marcus. His daughter’s thoughts and his had always run close together. “That shouldn’t have stopped you, Father.”

  “No.” He smiled. “But I had thought to see you married first.” Married, grown, out of reach of Lepida’s malice.

  “I don’t think I want to get married. I’d rather see the world.” Sabina’s mouth firmed. “Divorce her.”

  He looked up at his child, and didn’t see her. He saw a girl grown almost to his own height, her hair coiled on her neck like a woman’s and a woman’s steady eyes gazing into his.

  “Gods,” he said. “You grew up behind my back.”

  “Think about it?” she pleaded.

  He smiled, smoothing her hair. “Yes, I’ll think about it. Now, are you too big to give me a hug?”

  She leaned her sleek brown head on his crooked shoulder. “Never.”

  THEA

  FOR a moment my mouth hung open like a bumpkin’s. “Athena.” The Empress of Rome glided across Marcus’s tablinum and pressed my hand as if we were old friends. “Lovely to see you, my dear. I haven’t heard a note of good music since you left the palace. And this is the famous Arius? I’ve watched you a good many times, with great pleasure. Paulinus, you don’t look well. Have you been ill? My husband has been worried. Marcus, are we all here?”

  It was the most I’d ever heard her say in all the years I’d observed her.

  “We should get down to business.” She arranged herself briskly on a padded stool. “Officially I’m dining with my sister Cornelia and her husband, which gives me only a few hours. Domitian still tracks my comings and goings.”

  I closed my mouth with a snap. She was a conspirator, too? Domitian’s marble-perfect wife with her emeralds and her good works? The Empress?

  Paulinus looked as if someone had just whacked him right between the eyes. Arius’s gaze flicked back and forth between her and me as if drawing comparisons. And Marcus kissed her cheek with the ease of an old friend.

  “The usual precautions?” she asked him.

  “The usual. I’m supposed to be dining with Lady Diana; we’ve been friends for years, so no one will question it.”

  “Yes, Diana will cover for you.” The Empress cast a glance at all of us. “Are they trustworthy, Marcus?”

  “What about you?” I stepped forward. “Are you trustworthy, Domina?”

  Marcus spoke as formally as if addressing the Senate. “The Empress and I have been working together since Lady Julia’s death, Thea.”

  “Then why isn’t the Emperor dead yet?” Arius folded his arms across his chest. “I decide I want a man dead, I don’t wait around six months to do it.”

  “See here,” Paulinus began.

  “No, he’s right to ask.” Marcus looked at my lover. “The Empress and I took some time feeling each other out—neither of us being terribly trusting.”

  “Normally I would prefer to work alone.” The Empress’s fine patrician voice was matter-of-fact. “But I realized it would take more than me to bring down Domitian.” She looked at me, speculative. “I did consider recruiting you, my dear, but I wasn’t sure if Domitian had cut all your nerve out or not. He has a tendency to do that with his women.”

  He hadn’t done it to her.

  She looked around our little circle. “Is everyone satisfied now?”

  Paulinus rubbed a hand through his hair. “Before we go any further,” he said unhappily, “I want to make one thing clear. I won’t do it myself. I
’ll smooth the way for you, but I won’t do it. Not if it’s poison, not if it’s a knife.” Looking away. “I owe him that much.”

  “We don’t expect it of you,” the Empress assured him.

  Arius looked disgusted, and I nudged him. He wasn’t disposed to like Paulinus, probably because he knew I’d once shared Paulinus’s bed. “In another lifetime,” I’d assured him. “I hardly remember it.”

  “Don’t think much of your taste,” Arius had grumped.

  “And your bed was empty all those years you mourned for me?” I said tartly. He’d at once found something else to talk about.

  We sat down, awkwardly, to plan the death of an Emperor. That is, Arius and Paulinus and I were awkward. Marcus and the Empress were quite at ease—and at once, they turned to Arius.

  “As an assassin, you are the logical choice,” said Marcus. “Are you willing?”

  “Just get me a knife.” Arius’s voice was level, but my stomach jumped.

  “He’s a common thug!” Paulinus burst out.

  Arius grinned. The Empress looked at him, speculative. “You were the best fighter in Rome once, but you aren’t young anymore. Are you still the best?”

  Arius gave her a long contemptuous blink.

  “He is,” I said. “It may have been years since he fought in any arena, but he’s as good now as he was then.” Maybe better, I added to myself. Because then he didn’t have anything to love.

  “It won’t be easy,” the Empress went on. “My husband may look lazy, but he can still fight with the best of them.”

  “He sleeps with a dagger under his pillow,” I added.

  Arius looked at me.

  “Well, he does.”

  “Really?” said the Empress, diverted. “A new development, since my day. Out of curiosity, my dear, why didn’t you ever stab him with it when he slept?”

  “Because I wanted to live,” I shot back. “Why didn’t you ever stab him while he slept? You had as many chances as I did.” I looked around the little circle. “Anyone can kill an Emperor. It’s living to tell the tale that’s the hard part. So if Arius kills Domitian for you, there had better be a plan to get him out alive afterward.”

  “He’ll get out alive.” The Empress produced a neat list and in a cool voice outlined the plan she and Marcus had constructed between them. “Paulinus, I trust you can take care of the guards?”

  “Yes, but—” Paulinus looked at his father. “I don’t like it. You’re entrusting the fate of Rome to this—this criminal—”

  Arius just shrugged, but I stiffened. “He’s not a criminal.”

  “But neither is he exactly a model citizen,” the Empress murmured, a gleam of amusement in her eye. If there was one thing I’d never suspected her of possessing, it was a sense of humor.

  Marcus was addressing his son in low tones. “Paulinus, assassination is not a pretty business. You knew that when you agreed to join us. You can’t quibble about means and methods. There is no honorable way to do this.”

  “But he—”

  “He has talents we need. So do you. Are you going to contribute them?”

  A long pause. Then—“Yes.”

  “Good,” said Marcus. “Then we have a chain of two.”

  Arius and Paulinus eyed each other unenthusiastically. I looked down at my lap. I didn’t want to sit at home, waiting to see if my lover came back alive. I was tired of that. I wanted—I wanted to be a link in the chain for once.

  Arius spoke over Paulinus’s head, to Marcus. “One more thing,” he said. “How do we know we can trust you?”

  Paulinus blinked. Marcus and the Empress looked impassive.

  “You patricians are used to sacrificing people for your politics,” Arius rumbled. “What’s a worn-out old gladiator’s life worth to you? What’s a Jewish singer’s life? Who says you won’t throw us to the lions once we do your dirty work?”

  “Listen—” Paulinus bristled. Marcus quelled him with a finger.

  “How do you know you can trust us?” he asked Arius. “You don’t. But you won’t get your son back any other way.”

  A brief silence. I looked at the Empress, and the Empress looked at me. Arius looked at Marcus, and Marcus looked at him. Paulinus scowled between them.

  The Empress rustled her green silk gown as she set down her wine cup. “It looks like we’ll just have to trust each other, Athena,” she said. “No, it’s Thea, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “So how soon can you smuggle Arius into the palace?”

  “Not soon,” said the Empress. “We wait until September.”

  “September?” Arius and I broke out in unison. Months away—and Vix was scheduled to fight again in the Colosseum next month. Sketches of him armed and helmeted like his father were already plastered all over the city. I’d even seen the words chalked on a schoolroom door: ‘Vercingetorix the Young Barbarian makes all the little girls’ hearts beat faster.’ “I want Domitian dead now!”

  “It’s only been whispered so far,” said the Empress, “but my husband has recently received from Nessus the date of his death. According to Nessus and the stars, Domitian will die on the eighteenth of this September, in the fifth hour of the evening. Until that day and that hour is past, he’ll be impossible to catch off-guard. We strike the next day, when he is rejoicing at his survival. Just when he is feeling invincible.”

  “You’re saying we have to wait nearly three months?” I cried out. “My son may die within weeks!”

  “Vix will get through,” said the Empress. “That little hooligan of yours is a horror, but he keeps Domitian entertained. As long as my husband is entertained, he won’t kill anyone.”

  “Understand one thing.” Arius’s hands locked around each other like carved wood. “We’ll wait. But if my son dies in the arena, then Domitian dies, too. Same day. Same hour. Hell with your plans.”

  The Empress looked at him, considering. “Did you train your son, Barbarian?”

  “I did.”

  “Then I’m confident he will survive the arena in style.”

  I turned my face away. Arius’s hand found mine and swallowed it.

  “I believe we’ve covered everything now.” The Empress reached for her palla. “And I believe it’s time I got back to the Domus Augustana. If I’m even a minute late, Domitian will send the guards out to question my sister. She’d lie for me, though she dislikes me heartily, but that stalwart husband of hers couldn’t tell a lie to save his life.”

  We broke apart without speaking. Paulinus stood turning his Praetorian’s helmet over in his hands and looking awkward. The Empress nodded a general farewell and climbed into a hired litter. Marcus tidied up the wine cups, the cushions, and circle of chairs with the calm of one long used to covering his tracks. Arius and I slipped out the slave entrance into the dark street without a word.

  “Congratulations,” I said. “From gladiator to assassin. I hope it’s worth giving up our son.”

  “He’ll survive.” Gripping my hand. “Thea. Trust me.”

  Thirty-two

  LEPIDA

  WHAT do you mean, he won’t see me?” I stared down my nose at the Imperial chamberlain, but he stared right back.

  “The Emperor is engaged at the moment, Domina.”

  “But he’ll see me.” I arched subtly inside my jade silk drapes, a reminder of exactly what I was to the Lord and God of Rome.

  “He commands you to wait with the others, Domina.”

  Fuming, I waited. Outside his door in the marble hall like a loitering slave with all the rest of the petitioners and servants and courtiers who hovered in hopes of any brief moment of Imperial favor. Suffering the curiosity, the glances, the whispers of those who both fawned on me and prayed for my downfall.

  At last the doors swung wide—but it was not my Imperial lover who sallied forth. It was a girl with golden hair and a simper; a Lady Aurelia Rufina, senator’s wife and much-gossiped-about beauty. A seventeen-year-old girl fanning herself prettil
y as she slouched out of Domitian’s private chambers. A seventeen-year-old girl who bestowed on me, as she strolled past, an unmistakable smirk.

  Stretching my lips into a smile, I boldly struck open the door of the Imperial tablinum before the steward could object.

  “Lepida Pollia.” Domitian barely glanced up, scribbling away at a postscript for a letter while one secretary hovered at his elbow with a slate, another brought a pile of fresh pens, two couriers hurried in with more scrolls and out with freshly sealed Imperial screeds, and a centurion shifted from foot to foot waiting to make a report. “I thought I might see you.”

  “How could I possibly stay away from you any longer, Lord and God?” I held my smile with an effort. No doubt he was testing my loyalty, seeing if I’d fuss over a little indiscretion. “Why don’t you send the secretaries away? Don’t you think you’ve worked enough for now?”

  “I’m busy.” He sealed a packet of letters and tossed it over to a slave.

  I trailed my fingers over Domitian’s arm. “Then I’ll see you at the games tomorrow morning?” I was to sit in the Imperial box for the Ludi Saeculares, the biggest games of the year. I had a new flame-colored stola, specially made to set off the collar of fire opals Domitian had given me last month—

  “I shan’t need you during the games tomorrow.” He flicked his fingers, and I found an unctuous freedman at my elbow, murmuring me out the door. A few petitioners flew to my side at once, bowing and gushing; a few courtiers with honey tongues and envying eyes—but even more were clustered around that simpering blond child, Aurelia Rufina.

  “Too bad, Lady Lepida.” The loathsome voice of Thea’s brat piped up at my elbow. “The Emperor get tired of you already? Toldja you had lousy luck.”

  “Shut up,” I hissed. “Shut up; you’ll be dead anyway; killed in the arena just like your father, so what do you know about luck?” I slapped the grinning face as hard as I could.

  “Sure. Maybe I’ll be dead.” He danced out of reach, rubbing his face comically. “But nobody forgets a dead gladiator—they go out heroes. How do old whores like you go out?”

  “You’re not a gladiator, you little runt!” I lunged for him, but he slipped grinning out of my hands. “You only won last time because you threw sand in the Gaul’s face! Your father might have been a man, but you’re just a cowardly slave brat!”