by H. B. Ashman
Marius looked at his father, whose face was stone. All of Rome knew Livia called Augustus by his birth name whenever she wanted to demonstrate her power. Only Livia and his deceased sister, Octavia, were allowed to call him that in public.
Augustus tilted his head. “My dear Livia, you almost sound as if you already have someone in mind.”
Livia smiled at her husband. “That is because I do.”
Everyone went still, all eyes on Livia. The sound of the lyre somehow became distant.
Marius felt sick. Everything was clear now. It wasn’t Augustus’s idea to spend time at the Villa Vincius; it was Livia’s. The women weren’t here on vacation or to accompany Augustus. Livia was here to set the stage for some great drama. All of Rome knew that it was Livia who had convinced Augustus to force Tiberius to divorce his beloved wife and marry Augustus’s daughter, Julia, despite their protests. Who could stop her from striking a match for Marius, the son of a friend?
“Please do tell us,” Augustus said, amusement and curiosity mingling on his face. “Who do you have in mind?”
“Well, our Domitia, of course. She is of the finest blood, and creating a connection between our family and the great House Vincius would benefit us all.”
“It would be a true honor, is that not so, Domitia?” Julia chipped in.
Domitia smiled at Marius, then dropped her gaze to the floor. A play, of course. There was nothing shy or modest about Domitia Ahenobarbus. “I can think of no better husband,” Domitia said, sounding like a tame and obedient wife already.
Marius couldn’t breathe. His looked at his father, begging for help. Not in his wildest dreams did he think this would be the burden Augustus would place on him. He would rather fight ten lifetimes for Rome than marry Domitia Ahenobarbus. She was a monster, just like her brother.
His blood ice cold, Marius was about to open his mouth when his father shook his head at him.
“What does our Augustus think of this?” Marcus asked.
Augustus was silent a moment. “I think it would be an excellent match.”
Marcus nodded in agreement with him. “Then it would be indeed.”
What was his father doing? The words of protest were already on Marius’s tongue when Marcus spoke once more: “Livia, I have to say, this wonderful idea . . . it is almost as if you read our minds.” Livia and Julia turned to face him, obvious surprise on both their faces.
“Marius and I had discussed a marriage for him not too long ago, hadn’t we, son?”
Marius had no choice but to play along.
“Yes, we did,” he agreed.
“Is that so?” Livia raised her brow.
Marcus nodded as he waved over a servant with a plate of flamingo tongues. He grabbed one and held it up to his mouth.
“Indeed, it is. I said, Marius, my dear son, you are giving Rome too much. Most of the legates and praetors are married. Why not you? But the soldier that he is, he insisted that he can give Rome a few more years before he indulges in love again. The duration of the praetorship, is that not what you said?”
Marius leaned forward in his chair. “Yes, the praetorship. Illyricum is far from stable. The rebellion has turned more tribes than I had hoped. I have promised this province to our Augustus, stable and in peace for his Pax Romana.”
Marcus shook his head. “Augustus, please, now that you are here. Do tell the boy he is free to marry and be a father whenever it pleases him. How much distraction could a wife and child possibly be in his quest to secure the province of Illyricum?”
Augustus also took a piece of the flamingo tongue, the lyre music growing slightly louder. He sat up, looking at Marius and then at Marcus. He frowned.
“My friend,” he said to Marcus, “of course you are right. Marius is free to marry whenever it pleases him.”
Domitia, Julia, and Livia visibly relaxed into their pillows. One of them even sighed.
“But,” Augustus continued, “if Marius places the honor and glory of Rome first, then I have to support him in that. Just look at what happened to my daughter and Tiberius.” Augustus drew his brows at the memory. “Their selfishness has shamed me. One of them sleeping around like a tavern whore, the other running away like a coward. Just last week, I saw another painting of them crying like little children.”
The atrium had grown dead silent. Not even Livia would dare to speak now.
Augustus stayed quiet for a little while, then turned to Marius.
“My dear boy, you see clear where others are blind. Rome always comes first. Always.”
Augustus’s eyes found Germanicus, who at some point during the conversation had rejoined the group.
“Germanicus.” Augustus waved him closer. “I expect you to watch your praetor closely. In battle and beyond. Rome was not built by cowards like your uncle Tiberius, hiding on an island like a frightened woman.”
Livia flinched.
“Rome was built by men with strength and honor . . . on sacrifices, tears, and blood.” Augustus plopped the rest of his flamingo tongue into his mouth.
Germanicus nodded, his face serious. “I won’t disappoint you, my First Citizen,” he said.
Marius saw his father throw Julia a faint smile. “I am certain our dear Domitia can do better than a man who knows nothing of women and talks only of war.”
Marius lifted his wine cup to his lips. “Thank you, father,” he mumbled into his cup as Augustus laughed.
The thick air between them was breathable again, and Marius was about to shout for the next group of entertainers—acrobats from China—when Livia sat up and looked straight at him.
“Domitia can wait. Will wait,” she announced.
Julia frowned and opened her mouth, but Domitia cut her short. “Yes, Great-Aunt, of course. Whatever will please you and our Augustus.”
Livia’s smile was demonic as she leaned back against her cushion.
“Wonderful,” Augustus said.
“Indeed,” Marcus said, nodding at Marius.
“Now, where are those acrobats you told me about? If I hear another word about marriage, I shall turn into a woman,” Augustus declared.
Marius signaled Primus with a nod to go get the performers. He kept a smile plastered on his lips, but on the inside he was screaming. He would not marry Domitia Ahenobarbus, even if that meant he had to spend the rest of his life on the battlefield.
The sounds of exotic instruments caught his attention as colorfully dressed women and men rushed into the atrium from all entrances, jumping, flipping, one of them spitting fire. People laughed and clapped, moving to take their seats close to the performers, but not Marius. He stayed behind, deep in thought.
He felt the warm touch of a hand on his arm. He jerked his head sideways to find Domitia sitting next to him, her chair inches from his. “Our fathers’ feud shall not taint this connection,” she said with a smile. “I will be a good wife to you, Marius. I promise it.”
He looked into her pretty face, her dark brown eyes. By the gods, she wasn’t lying. She truly wanted this union. But why? All of Rome knew that the only thing Domitia loved more than herself was gold, and that she was as pretty as she was ruthless. Some even said she was the cruelest and most dangerous of the Ahenobarbus family. And he had reason to believe it. So why did she want this marriage? Money?
Marius pulled his arm away. “Yes, of course. Will you excuse me, Domitia?” he said, as he rose. “I will be right back.” He walked out of the atrium, his steps calm and steady.
His father fell into step with him. Marius led them into a storage room full of wine amphorae. It was dark and small.
His father peeked over his shoulder. Nobody had followed him.
“The gods be my witness,” Marius whispered to his father, “I shall die before I marry Domitia Ahenobarbus.”
Marcus glanced over his shoulder again. Then he grabbed Marius tightly by his arm. “Now you listen to me. If you think even for a second that I will let Lucius Ahenobarbus steal our family’s
name and fortune, then you are not the son I raised.”
Marius sighed, the heavy rock that had been crushing his chest fell away.
“We cannot openly defy Livia or Augustus. We will play along,” Marcus whispered. “For now, that is. Augustus wants you praetor for four years. Use that time wisely. Hand him Illyricum in peace.”
Marius nodded. They heard footsteps behind them, and Marcus spun around to reveal Livia standing in the hallway.
Marcus quickly bent over and grabbed a mug from the bottom of the wine shelf. “Beer from Egypt,” he said, to Livia as much as to Marius. “Julius Caesar drank it every day on his quests. Our Augustus would love to indulge in it.”
Marius smiled, and so did Livia. “We are out of dormice,” she said innocently.
“Of course, I will have someone sent out right away,” Marius said, as he walked around his father and offered Livia his arm. She looped her arm with his.
“Too kind,” she said. Then she turned to Marcus. “Your son will make the most respectable of husbands.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
T he library was a little more crowded than usual. Scholars were scattered over different piles of scrolls at all corners of the grand white building. Amalia scanned the room with a raised brow. She’d spent so much time here that it was beginning to feel like a second home. She’d even given up her chance to see Augustus in order to comb through ancient scrolls.
“Are you certain she is going to be here today?” Arminius said in a bored voice as he pulled a scroll off a wooden shelf. He opened it just to put it back again—he’d been doing it ever since they arrived.
“I did not ask you to come with me. You offered, remember?”
Arminius frowned. Much to Amalia’s surprise, Arminius was almost as disappointed about the lack of information they had gathered about this scroll than she was. The drawings of the tree on the scroll had caught his interest as well. He insisted it was Yggdrasil, an ancient Germanic tree that was even holier than their gods. The owl sitting on its branches had excited Arminius even more. He was sure he’d seen it before. He’d nearly yelled at the servants when none of them were able to translate the scroll. Even Primus took a look, but all he said was that it looked savage to him, whatever that meant.
“I don’t think she is coming today,” Arminius said as he took the scroll from Amalia, unrolling it. His eyes focused on the tree again, like so many times before, before he shook his head and rolled it back up. She knew that there was something he wasn’t telling her. But why?
“Why is this scroll so important to you?” he asked.
Because I’m stranded here from the twenty-first century and desperate enough to consider magic as the cause of it.
“It’s from my home. It interests me. Why is this so important to you?” she asked him back.
His dark brown eyes looked at her, his mouth opening as if to say something, but then he held out the scroll to her with that damn carefree Arminius smirk.
“Not yet, my Germanica,” he said.
“Not yet?” My Germanica?
Amalia grabbed the scroll, but Arminius didn’t let go. She stepped closer, but instead of releasing the scroll, Arminius pulled. Amalia stumbled into him.
Her gaze met his, their bodies pressed together. She felt a warmth rush through her as Arminius stared at her, his eyes full of longing.
He pulled her closer, his chest pressing against her breasts. His skin smelled of soap and leather, his breath of wine and olives.
Suddenly, Marius crossed her mind. What would he think of her behavior? Her face burning hot, Amalia yanked the scroll out of his hands and nearly fell backward.
“Stop joking around,” she said, staring at the scroll.
Arminius took a step away from her, a confused look on his face.
“We should go,” she said with a smile, but Arminius stayed motionless.
“I will see you later. I have work to do now.” He turned and left without another word.
“Arminius,” Amalia called after him. She felt bad for reacting like this, but what else was she supposed to do? He wanted something more from her; maybe it was just for fun, but she couldn’t let it happen. She was nothing but a glitch in this time period, while Arminius was an essential part of history. Where would an affair with him lead? Besides, surprisingly, there was something else . . . someone else. Marius Vincius.
Why the hell had she thought of him just now?
Amalia rushed out the library after Arminius. She could not afford to lose him as an ally. He was the only Roman she knew with ties to Germania.
“Wait!” she hollered after him, but it was too late. He’d been swallowed by the crowd of the market.
The bread and cabbage tumbled out of the bag as it slipped from Amalia’s grip and hit the dirt-covered stone floor. She was at the apartment of the family she’d been feeding for weeks, but instead of the usual screaming children running toward her, an unfamiliar man and woman sat at the table, eating some sort of porridge. Their tired eyes stared at her, unaffected by her presence. The room stank of garlic, the smell of the poor.
Amalia felt panic rising in her veins. She’d grown to care for this family, despite their rocky introduction. One of the boys had stolen bread from her at the market, or at least he’d tried. When she’d finally cornered him, her heart was torn apart when she saw the dirty, barefoot boy, his big dark eyes open in fear. But instead of a beating, he got a friend—and food for weeks to come.
But now he was gone, along with all the others.
“Where are the children?” Amalia asked the couple, stepping closer as if to threaten them.
Unfazed, the man turned his gaze back to his porridge. The women put down her wooden spoon. “Aurelia and her children have left,” she said.
Amalia narrowed her eyes. “Left? Where to?”
The woman shrugged, then picked up her spoon again.
Confused, angry, and worried, Amalia stood there for a moment longer before it suddenly hit her. There was only one other person who knew about her coming here. She had seen him with her own eyes, standing in the same doorway she stood in now.
“Marius,” she mumbled to herself.
She turned and stormed down the stairs, leaving the bag of food behind. Her head was spinning. What had he done to them? And why?
“Is he in his study?” Amalia snapped at Primus the moment she saw him coming out of the kitchen. Primus looked at her, his face in disbelief at her tone. She was defiantly out of line for a servant, especially a woman, but she didn’t care about formalities right now.
“I take that as a yes,” she said, striding quickly through the atrium.
“Have you lost your mind, woman? You can’t disturb our legate like this!” Primus barked at her. But Amalia ignored him; she was sick of playing the servant, tiptoeing around the mighty Marius Vincius, constantly worrying she might do something to make him mad. She took the shortcut through the garden to his study. The red curtains were closed.
“Stop this right now!” Primus yelled after her. “Our legate is occupied!”
Amalia reached for the soft fabric of the curtain to pull it aside, but then froze. Doubt overcame her. What would Marius say, or do, if she entered like this?
Grow a pair. He took the children, a voice in her head growled at her. And as if her hand were not her own, she moved the curtain aside and stepped in.
Marius was sitting behind his desk, writing something on a piece of papyrus. A large metal chest chained to the floor next to his desk was wide open, offering her a glimpse of the scrolls and coins it held.
Without looking up, Marius calmly raised a hand to signal her to wait.
Amalia studied him. His dark hair looked soft, recently washed. His attractive face focused on his writing. He was wearing a white tunic, no armor or cloak. His muscular, suntanned arms were exposed, showing little scars from past battles.
“How dare you disturb the praetor!” Primus yelled at her as he stepped in. “Get
out!” He tried to grab her by the arm, but Amalia jerked away.
“Where are the children?” she asked Marius. She was done waiting.
“My Praetor, please forgive us.” Primus’s voice was shaking in outrage. “We shall leave now.”
“She can stay,” Marius said, still writing, still not looking up. Amalia crossed her arms.
“My Praetor?” Primus asked.
“She can stay. Thank you, Primus.”
Primus opened his mouth wide, then closed it again. “Yes . . . yes of course,” he said, and turned to leave, but not without throwing Amalia an angry look.
Marius set down his pen and lifted the document to read it once more.
“I asked you where the children are,” she said, proud at how strong she sounded. Marius placed the document back on the table and looked at her. His eyes were the focused, confident eyes of the commander he was at heart. A shiver ran through her, all the way from her spine to her fingertips. Her courage weakened, but not enough to turn and leave.
“Are they dear to you?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
So it was him. Amalia inched closer. “Their well-being is,” she said.
Marius tilted his head, still staring at her. She felt feverish, hot and cold at the same time. Coward. Was she afraid of him?
“Well, then you will be glad to hear that they are well.”
Amalia raised an eyebrow in confusion. “They are?”
“Of course. Or did you think I would harm an old prostitute and her bastard children?”
“Prostitute?”
“You did not know she was a prostitute? Or had been. She injured her leg and had become useless to her brothel.”
Amalia frowned.
“It will please you to hear that they are now at one of my olive farms outside of town. They will live and work there, in whatever capacity they can. When the boys are old enough, they can serve Rome in the legions . . . a great honor not available to everyone.”
