Mistress of Rome

by Kate Quinn

  “He’s tried to take me apart many times before. I can get through it once more when my son’s life is at stake.” Her voice hardened.

  “I’m not just going to sit in the stands and pray this time. I want my share.”

  Arius swung on Marcus. “You know what he is. What he’ll do.”

  Marcus shrugged. “Her choice.”

  “Exactly.” Thea’s eyes slitted.

  “Thea.” Arius gripped her shoulders. “You’ll be killed. I can’t stand—”

  “Oh, you can stand it.” Her voice was brutal. “I’ve stood it often, watching you in the arena. Let me go.”

  They stood swaying, breast to breast, eye to eye.

  Arius’s fingers uncurled, one at a time. His eyes burned black.

  “Damn you,” he whispered. “God damn you.”

  She turned her back on him, sweeping through the door. Arius stared after her for a moment, then turned to look at Marcus. There was something blank and savage and impersonal in his gaze now that made Marcus want to retreat.

  “Time to lie low, Senator,” said the Barbarian. “Nothing more for you to do.”

  Thea was already descending the stairs, every inch the Imperial mistress: head high, hair loose, eyes empty.

  SABINA spoke rapidly. “’Linus, my mother found out what you’re plotting—”

  Paulinus blinked shock. “I’m not plotting anyth—”

  “Oh, don’t be stupid! There isn’t time.” Giving his hand a little shake. “She found out, and she’s coming here, and—”

  “Huh?” said Vix.

  “’Linus and my father are plotting with your father—”

  “Hey, my father’s dead.” Vix suddenly looked wary.

  “No, he’s not.” Exasperated. “Somebody Father called the Barbarian came to our house a few nights ago. And you’re the Young Barbarian, aren’t you? It wasn’t hard to figure out. So they’re all plotting, and my mother—”

  “Who’s your mother?” Vix interrupted before Paulinus could grab hold of this strange streaming conversation.

  “Lady Lepida Pollia.”

  “That bitch?” He pulled back, wary again.

  “That bitch,” Sabina agreed, making Paulinus blink again.

  Vix shrugged sagely. “You can’t let a mother get in your way.”

  “No, you can’t,” Sabina agreed, much struck, and turned back to Paulinus. She outlined what had happened—her mother, Arius and Thea, all of it—in a few cool words. They all stood regarding each other. The Praetorian guard shouted something toward Paulinus. For the first time he saw the nervous crowds streaming past them toward the Forum, the guards edgy and restless at the gate, the sun slanting down toward the river. “I’ll take care of everything,” he said, then bent down to kiss Sabina on her bruised forehead. When this was all over, he’d take Lepida apart for daring to hurt his sister. “You were very brave to come here, Vibia Sabina.”

  “Yeah.” Vix reached out and tipped her face up, admiring her bruises. “That bitch really went to work on you, didn’t she? You know, a kiss from a gladiator will clear those marks right up—”

  Paulinus swatted him.

  “You’ve already cured me once, Vercingetorix.” Sabina’s eyes rested on Vix a moment, thoughtful. “We’ve met before, you know.”

  “We have?”

  “At the games, when I was seven years old. You stole my pearl haircomb.”

  “Did not,” Vix said automatically.

  “Did too. But it’s not important.” Sabina smiled. “I had epilepsia back then. Someone got me some of your blood. Gladiator’s blood cures fits, they say.”

  Vix grinned. “Did it work?”

  “I ran all the way here from my house, and I kept thinking I’d have a seizure and not get here in time. But I didn’t. In fact, I’ve never felt better.” She stood on tiptoe, putting a small hand on the back of Vix’s sunburned neck, and brushed her lips against his. “Worth a kiss, I’d say.”

  Vix’s arms came instantly around her waist, but she disengaged herself, eyes going back to Paulinus before he could bristle. “Head off my mother, ’Linus,” Sabina warned. “Or she’ll ruin everything.”

  Paulinus gave a reluctant little salute in response and turned back toward the gate, propelling Vix before him. Easy enough to give a word to the guards, forbid Lepida entrance—although a large enough bribe might get her inside even so . . . He looked back at his sister, a small straight blue figure receding into the crowds. Thank all the gods there were for Sabina.

  Vix swaggered, grinning. “She loves me.”

  “She’s twelve years old,” Paulinus growled, shoving Vix ahead of him. “Keep your grubby hands off!”

  Thirty-four

  THE wolves are gathering.” “Caesar?”

  “They think they go unnoticed.” Domitian prowled from one corner of the bedchamber to the other. His shape followed him in the dim reflections of the moonstone-paneled wall. “But a god hears all.”

  Paulinus shifted from foot to foot. He opened his mouth; closed it again.

  “The Moon will be bloodied as she enters Aquarius.” Domitian’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “And a deed will be done that will be the talk of the entire world.”

  Paulinus’s heart thudded sickly in his chest. Now—now—now—the time was now, and suddenly he could not speak. He heard the dull whine of a fly, and at the same moment Domitian’s hand flashed. The whine muffled as tiny wings buzzed against the Imperial palm, and Domitian gave a wintry smile. “Flies don’t interest me anymore,” he told Paulinus. “People give so many more varied and interesting reactions.”

  “Caesar?” Paulinus ventured.

  “Yes?” Crushing the fly idly.

  “There’s someone I think you should see.” The words came out steady.

  “Not before the fifth hour. You know my orders.”

  “She says—she says . . . I think you should see her.”

  “Who?”

  “Athena, Caesar.”

  The silence spread out in ripples around the name.

  “Athena.” A tremor in the voice? The Emperor still stood with his face toward the corner, rich purple robe falling in grand lines from his shoulders, lamplight shining through the thin spot in his hair. “Did you have her stripped, checked for weapons?”

  “I did, sir.”

  “Did she hide her face in shame?” Domitian raised a hand before Paulinus could answer. “No, she wouldn’t. She stared straight ahead, didn’t she, as the guards groped her. As if she didn’t care. Like Julia when she stopped eating. May the gods rot her.”

  “Rot . . . who, Caesar?”

  Domitian turned. “Show her in.”

  He took a seat on his sleeping couch, one hand sliding under the pillow to the dagger Paulinus knew he kept there. “Careful,” Paulinus breathed to Thea as he marched her in, barely a breath of a warning, but she never blinked. She just stood, framed by the door, hair mantling her shoulders, her face blank—but her eyes watchful.

  “Athena.” The Emperor sounded jovial. “You look well. Hardy, even. A fit mother for a gladiator’s brats. Come to beg for your son?”

  “Yes, Caesar.”

  “Why today? You thought you’d ask for my mercy now, just in case I die in an hour as my astrologer predicts?”

  “Yes.”

  “A practical people, you Jews.”

  “So we are.”

  Domitian’s clenched fist struck his own knee, and Paulinus flinched. The Emperor had been relaxed and joking when he faced mutinous legions and blue-painted Chatti savages, but today he faced only fate . . . and Thea.

  “You never say anything,” Domitian said, staring at her. “Not really. I’d have the head ripped off your body, just so I could tear it open and see what was inside at last.” Beckoning her closer. “But I know what I’d find.”

  “What would you find, Caesar?” Coming forward from the doorway.

  “Nothing.” He ran his fingers through the ends of her lo
ose hair. “Smoke and a song.”

  “Caesar.” She took a step forward, pressing her cheek against his hand. “Please.”

  “Please spare your son? Why should I?”

  “Because he’s a child.”

  “Don’t you Jews have a saying—‘the sins of the father shall be visited upon the children?’ ”

  Paulinus opened his mouth, but found no words. Nothing, nothing could break the terrible duel before him.

  Thea held out her hands. “Mercy. Mercy, Domitian.”

  Domitian tilted his head. “Did it hurt you, when I made him fight in the Colosseum?”

  “You know it did.” Pressing her face against his hand again. “Please—let Vix go. Take me instead.”

  “You’re a common singing Jew. What makes you think I want you?”

  “Because you do.”

  “Damn you.” Domitian released her face abruptly and turned away. “Damn you. A common singing Jew, and you’re the only one who plays back. The only one—”

  His voice trembled a moment, and Paulinus saw Thea’s eyes flare. She took a step forward, running a hand along the end of the sleeping couch.

  “What do you want with Vix, anyway?” she cajoled. “What use is he to you? You don’t like children—and as children go, he’s appalling.”

  “True.” Domitian turned. “Is he mine?”

  She blinked. “You know he isn’t. He’s too old to be yours.”

  “I know.” Domitian looked up at the ceiling, reflective. “I suppose it’s just as well. A God cannot have sons—Jupiter himself murdered his child by Metis when he discovered that it would grow to be greater than he. But Vix . . .”

  “What?”

  Domitian shrugged. “He amuses me.”

  “I used to amuse you.” Thea took another step forward. “Didn’t I?”

  He reached up toward her cheek again. But this time he wound her hair around his hand and forced her to her knees.

  “Fear me?” he said, and for the first time Paulinus saw terror in his face. “You fear me, Athena? Say it. Please say it. Please—”

  Then she said it.

  “Yes.”

  LEPIDA

  A short ride to the palace took me nearly an hour. A cart had turned over on some street or other; the wagons and litters were jammed for blocks. I had another time of it persuading the Praetorian to let me in. Only the assurance that I had information about a conspiracy—plus a good number of sesterces—bought me entry. Quite a changed place, with no messengers or courtiers or hangers-on scurrying about the lavish halls in their finest silks and perfumes. Only bunches of nervous-looking slaves, and absolutely hordes of guards.

  “Lady Lepida!” Vix, the young darling of the Colosseum, caught my elbow impudently. “I’ve been looking for you—me and Prefect Paulinus.”

  “You were expecting me?”

  “We had a warning you’d come. I’ll take you to the Emperor. He’s gone mad; only you can calm him down.”

  I smiled, letting him take my arm as I imagined his head stuck on a spear right beside his father’s. It was such a pretty picture that I didn’t notice when he led me down the wrong corridor. An empty slave’s passageway, not an Imperial hall.

  “This isn’t—”

  He caught my elbows behind me and popped my knees out with an expert jerk. Even before I hit the mosaics, he had his foot planted firmly between my shoulder blades.

  “What are you doing?”

  He doubled my arms up behind my back and began looping them with coils of cord pulled out of his sleeve.

  I twisted and writhed underneath him, scratching at his hands. He shifted out of reach, his knee sinking into my back like lead. Impossible. Absurd. I was a grown woman; he was a boy of thirteen. Ridiculous that he should—get—the upper hand—this way—impossible—

  I drew breath to scream, and he slapped a rag into my mouth.

  This couldn’t be happening. He was a child.

  He was tying up my ankles.

  I kicked and struggled. I screamed curses through the gag. He took me by the feet and dragged me along the hall like a sack of potatoes. Dragged me to a little door in the wall that looked like a closet. It couldn’t be a closet.

  It was a closet.

  He calmly put me in it. I doubled my feet up to kick him, but he jumped to one side and stuffed my knees through.

  No. No. Lepida Pollia, soon to be Empress and Augusta of all Rome—stuffed into a broom closet by a thug of a child?

  The door clicked shut. He stood on the other side, breathing a trifle heavily, and I waited for mockery. But like his father, he wasted no words. Just turned away and left me there, doubled up in the dark. Dimly I heard his voice farther down the hall.

  “That you, Nessus? Look, do something for me—”

  “The Emperor wants you.” The astrologer’s vague tones. “Now.”

  Vix cursed. “Look, find Prefect Norbanus for me and tell him Lady Lepida’s been taken care of. All right?”

  “What do you mean?” The astrologer’s voice held a faint question.

  “None of your business. Just tell him she’s out of the way. And, um. Don’t go looking in any closets.”

  Retreating footsteps—and then I was alone.

  THEA

  THE look in my son’s eyes appalled me as the guards shoved him through the door, but for a moment all I could do was drink in the sight of him. Taller, almost as tall as me, with new muscle in his right arm where he’d practiced with a shield. Oh, Vix—

  “Spring for my throat, Young Barbarian,” said the Emperor, “and she dies.”

  I could feel Domitian grinning over my head. His eyes sparkled, color rose high in his cheeks, and his mouth parted in that Flavian smile that could charm the gods. His hand rested casually on the stem of my neck, and my hair coiled over his feet where I crouched on the floor.

  “Say hello to your son, Athena,” said the Emperor, stroking my throat.

  “Hello, Vix.” Through the curtain of my hair I saw the shock jagging away from his face, swiftly replaced by terror.

  “Say hello, Vercingetorix. Like a good boy.”

  “You—” Vix sounded as if he’d eaten arena sand. “You said you’d let her alone.”

  “Oh, but she came to me. To beg for your life, of course. Which must have taken a great deal of courage because—tell him why, Athena.”

  I pitched my voice low and unsteady. The best performance I’d ever have to give, and there wasn’t even any music. “Because I fear you.”

  Domitian set his foot against my shoulder and shoved me sprawling. “Make your son believe it. Make him see.”

  “All right!” I reared up on my knees, biting down hard on my tongue to bring the tears springing to my eyes. “All right, I’m terrified! Is that what you want to hear? Every time you touch me, every time you look at me—I can’t think, can’t breathe—and I hate you! Hate you—hate you—” I collapsed into sobs, rocking back and forth on my knees. But my eyes burned dryly against my hands.

  Domitian threw his head back and laughed as if he’d just heard a good joke. I heard Vix lunge, but the Emperor just snapped his fingers, still chuckling, and two Praetorians grabbed my son at the elbows. “Aren’t you the dutiful son, Vercingetorix.”

  Vix wrenched at the grip on his arms, muscles bunching like snakes under the skin—and stopped. Because I shot him a look between my splayed fingers, a look of pure iron. Vix, you never obeyed me in your life, I prayed. Obey me now.

  “You fear me.” Domitian petted my hair as he would have petted a dog.

  “Yes, Lord and God.” Dropping my face instantly back into my hands.

  “Take your hands off her!” Vix howled.

  Domitian frowned. Dropping my hair, he crossed the room and belted Vix twice across the face. His fists fell like Vulcan’s hammers. “Quiet now,” he said. “I’ll get to you later—what?”

  The Emperor whipped around, following the flick of Vix’s eyes, but only saw me shivering besi
de the sleeping couch. It had taken just a bare instant while Domitian’s back was turned and the guards struggling to hold Vix: a bare instant to flash my hand under his pillows and draw out his dagger. Another instant to flick it spinning below the couch, and then I was rocking and weeping again: a threat to no one.

  Domitian crossed back to my side. “So. Where were we, Athena?”

  The guards hammered at Vix to still him, and I longed to leap for the dagger. Not yet. So I crouched and cried as my son sagged bloody-nosed between two Praetorians and the Emperor pulled me onto his lap on the bed.

  “Crying,” he said. “You’ve never cried easily.”

  I found it quite easy now.

  “Perhaps I’ll take you again, one more time—for old times’ sake, shall we say. Your son here can watch. But afterward, my dear, I don’t think I’ll bother watching you die. One dead Jewess is very much like another, after all.”

  “Sir.” A double knock at the door; Paulinus’s voice. I’d never heard anything so welcome in my life. “A moment?”

  “Enter.”

  Paulinus gave a smart salute, meticulously keeping his eyes from me. Domitian pushed me aside and saluted back, smiling. I wondered with a mad calmness if he had orders for Paulinus’s death, too, once his own finally struck. The best friend of a god would surely not be allowed to outlast the god himself . . .

  “A slave has arrived, sir,” Paulinus was saying. “He claims to have information about a conspiracy.”

  “Conspiracy.” Domitian started upright. “Dear gods, what time is it?”

  I spoke, muffling my voice in the corner of the couch. “A little past the sixth hour.” I raised my eyes, red-rimmed with surreptitious rubbing. “You managed to cheat death after all, Caesar. May God damn you.”

  “The sixth hour?” Domitian’s eyes swung toward the vast window, where the sun still showed over the Tiber.

  “The sixth.” Paulinus sounded puzzled. “I thought you’d be keeping track.”

  “I was . . . distracted.” Domitian’s smile grew and broadened. “Nessus caught in a mistake at last! Him and his stars.” The Lord and God of Rome rose from the sleeping couch. “I feel young again—like I could conquer Persia. Perhaps I will. My cloak, Paulinus. I’ll dine well tonight.”