by H. B. Ashman
“If you are lucky, you will be more like your mother,” Marius said, and smiled at Amalia, who just rolled her eyes at the compliment.
“Well, let us continue today’s lesson,” Marcus’s teacher said, and stretched his hand out for Marcus to grab. The boy hesitated.
“Go on,” Amalia chimed in. “No son of mine will be illiterate.”
The boy nodded and obeyed, glancing at Marius as he did.
The scholar and Marcus left. Marius turned his gaze back at Amalia.
She crossed her arms. “Don’t you have to leave?” she asked as he walked right behind her and swung his arms around her waist.
“It is only a small group of troublemakers. Nothing worrisome. I could leave in an hour,” he whispered into her ear, running his lips over her neck. Amalia scoffed at him, but squeezed his arms tighter.
What he said was the truth. He wasn’t in a rush. Under his praetorship, Illyricum had turned into a rich, prosperous province. It had taken him years to deal with the tribes, but in the end, most of them agreed to Rome’s rule thanks to Marius granting them their traditions in return for their taxes and loyalty. The result was a generous supply of gold, silver, grain, and olives for the megacity that was ruling half of the world. The worst he had to deal with these days was small groups attempting to rise up in protest.
Marius swept Amalia off her feet and carried her into the bedroom chambers.
“You’re a fool,” she said, laughing.
Augustus nodded with a satisfied grin as he glanced over the crowd surrounding him. His palace parties were legendary. When one had endless supplies of money, there was simply no limit to what one could do. And to honor Livia’s birthday, Augustus had reached deep into his chests—too deep, according to some.
Anyone who had rank or name was gathered under the enormous collections of flowers hanging from the palace’s ceilings. Exotic animals on chains growled at different groups as men and women hovered around the beasts in awe. One group broke out into laughter when a tiger swung his paw at a senator, who stumbled backward and let out a terrified cry.
Servants were running around like disturbed ants, offering the finest foods and drinks Rome had to offer. Musicians from all around the world played tunes nobody had ever heard before, some with accompanying dancers.
After the usual ceremonies and spectacle, Augustus had taken Marcus and retreated to a smaller atrium, surrounded only by his closest family and friends.
He was sitting at a golden table across from Marcus, a game of Roman chess in front of them—his favorite activity of late. Marcus was not dressed in his senatorial toga but in a white military tunic and golden ceremonial armor. Augustus had made him praetor of Germania, a desperate attempt to calm a region that was left in turmoil and rage by Lucius’s cruelty.
Germanicus was sitting next to Marcus, watching their every move with great interest. Roman chess was a game of war tactics. Germanicus had grown from a brash young man into an intelligent, capable soldier. Even his skinny body had filled out with lean muscle. On top of everything, he’d become an honorable man, something Augustus also attributed to Marius’s influence.
Sitting in their senatorial robes, and also watching the chess match from nearby couches, were Lucius Ahenobarbus, Gnaeus, and Lucius’s lapdog, Publius Varus. Officially, Lucius had been called back to Rome to begin his duty in the senate. Unofficially, Augustus had ordered him back to Rome because his brutality in Germania caused more revolts than quelled them. It was a failure, a mess. And yet, he was the husband of his niece, Julia, and therefore indulged in the luxury of nepotism.
While the men were busy playing chess, the women—including Livia, Julia, Domitia, and Germanicus’s mother, Antonia—were leaning over a table, looking at the jewelry a merchant had spread out for them. The merchant’s dark skin and colorful silken robe, which looked more like a dress than a tunic, left no doubt that he was a wealthy Arabian trader.
“It was good of Marius to send Germanicus to Livia’s birthday party,” Augustus said to Marcus, analyzing the board in front of him. “With Tiberius free again, every honorable man in this family is a welcoming sight.”
Livia flinched. Although spoken to Marcus, the comment was intended for her. After Gaius, one of the two grandchildren Augustus had raised and prepared to rule after his death had died in Asia Minor. Livia had asked for permission to let Tiberius return. Augustus denied her that wish at first, but ultimately granted it—under the condition that he return as a private citizen. Nothing more. He was not even allowed at the palace, and Livia had to endure her husband’s constant reminders of her son’s failure to Rome.
“Well spoken, my Augustus,” Livia said as she picked up a golden necklace from the table in front of her. She gazed at it for a moment, then put it down again. Domitia picked it up shortly after. Her mother, Julia, leaned in to get a better look at it. Then she shook her head at Domitia, who frowned and placed it back on the blue silk sheet.
“I kept the best for last,” the merchant said to Livia, and waved over a slave boy. The skinny child carried over a little chest and set it down in front of Livia, his gaze fixed on the floor. The merchant gestured for Livia to open it. She did. The women’s mouths opened wide as their eyes hit the sparkling green of an enormous emerald. The merchant smiled.
“There are only three of these stones in all of Rome,” he explained. “They were taken out of Cleopatra’s crown. Emeralds were her favorite stones. She collected only the most exquisite ones, of course.”
Livia reached for it, her eyes reflecting the green shimmers of the gem. “Incredible,” she whispered. The women edged closer and gathered around her like a swarm of excited birds.
“Who has the other two stones?” Augustus hollered over to the group of women. Usually, he had no interest in what Livia chose to decorate herself with, but the merchant’s words had caught his attention, especially since Augustus had fought and won a war against Cleopatra.
“One of them was given to a king in the Far East. To settle a debt,” the merchant said.
“And the other?” Julia asked.
“The other was acquired by one of Rome’s greatest generals. Marius Vincius.”
The room grew silent, the air thick. It had been four years since Marius was asked to marry Domitia, but Augustus was told that all she had received were letters urging her to marry someone else, and, of course, the rumors of his Germanic woman and son.
“A wedding gift, I am certain,” Publius Varus said.
“Yes, I am certain,” Livia said, throwing Augustus and Marcus an angry look.
At first, this marriage was of no interest to anybody with name and rank, but with Marius’s rising success as praetor of Illyricum, the two families had been pushed into the center of Rome’s gossip. Not that it mattered to the Family Vincius. Rome was singing songs about Marius, painting his image at every forum far and near. But then there was the House Ahenobarbus, of course, the mess with Germania, not to mention the fact that Domitia and Lucius refused to break the engagement with Marius. Posters had been hung depicting her as an old woman waiting in front of the Villa Vincius.
Augustus sighed, then rose from the chess table. “I feel like some fresh air.”
Marcus, Germanicus, and Lucius stood as well. “Marcus, Germanicus, come walk with me,” Augustus said.
Lucius’s face twisted in anger.
“And I shall take the emerald as a birthday gift for my precious wife,” Augustus said to the merchant.
“Of course, your majesty,” the merchant said, bowing eagerly.
Leaving amazed and excited mumbles behind, Augustus, Marcus, and Germanicus walked into the back garden of the palace, an area heavily guarded and forbidden to the other guests. The fresh summer breeze blew over their faces, carrying the sweet scent of flowers.
Augustus strode over to a large fountain and stopped in front of the tall white statue of his deceased grandson, Julius, who was holding a sword and shield in his hands. He listened
to the calming sound of the water splashing into the fountain’s basin as he drifted off into a sad nostalgia, like he done so often since Julius’s death.
“He was a fine man. Jupiter took him too soon,” Marcus said, as if he had read Augustus’s mind. Augustus had loved Julius dearly.
“I wish the gods would reveal the sacrifice they require of me to spare my heirs,” Augustus said with a faint smile. One after the next, Augustus’s heirs had been picked from this world like ripe apples from a tree.
“You still have Gaius,” Germanicus reminded Augustus. “Gaius will be a worthy First Citizen. Stories of his bravery in Armenia and his wits in dealing with those treacherous kings reach us every day.”
But Augustus shook his head, a rare look of despair on his face. “His wound is getting worse.”
Marcus raised a brow. “I thought it was merely a scratch?”
“It was.” Augustus placed a hand on the cold statue of Julius. “Until it got infected. It does not look good. I am begging Gaius to return to Rome so we can heal him, but he is in a desperate state and will not answer my letters.”
Marcus inched closer to Augustus and put a hand on his shoulder—a daring gesture for almost anyone but him.
“My friend, how can I help? Anything. Just say the word.”
Augustus’s eyes found his. “There is something on my mind.”
“Then it shall be done,” Marcus said.
“I want to send Marius to Armenia.”
Marius froze. The water in the fountain played its background melodies, careless and unceasing. Augustus sighed.
“But not without your permission, that is. I know I promised your son his retirement, but Rome is in great need of him. My grandson Gaius is dying, and Tiberius is not worthy of wasting my breath.”
Marcus frowned. “My Augustus, I am certain Marius will—”
“If Marius is victorious in Armenia,” Augustus said, “I shall host him a great celebration . . . a triumph.”
Shock registered on Marcus’s face as he shook his head in disbelief.
“A triumph?” Germanicus said, sounding as amazed as Marcus looked.
“But,” Marcus said, “a triumph is reserved for your family. Men of your blood. Heirs to Rome.”
“It is,” Augustus said, his face serious.
“But that would mean that Marius . . .” Marcus lifted a hand to the fountain’s basin as if to steady himself.
Augustus had expected this reaction. He knew exactly what he was offering. A triumph was the greatest celebration and honor a human could receive. He had made it exclusive to his family to prevent his generals from growing too powerful. Under Augustus, a triumph meant only one thing: an announcement of the next ruler of Rome.
Germanicus stepped forward. “A wise choice. I agree with all my heart, my Augustus.” His face was filled with excitement, his head held high. “The citizens of Rome praise Marius’s name from the brothels in Subura to the senators’ villas on the hills. There could be no better man for Rome. But if it is not too much to ask, and only if it pleases my Augustus, I would like to join him on his quest in Armenia. For the honor of my family and Rome.”
Augustus smiled, placing a hand on Germanicus’s shoulder. Then he nodded. “And may the gods go with you.”
“What about the engagement to Domitia Ahenobarbus?” Marcus asked. “Will she become Rome’s Augusta?”
Augustus turned to Germanicus, patting his shoulder. “My dear boy, would you mind giving me and Marcus a moment in private?”
Germanicus nodded and turned to leave, but Augustus held his shoulder a moment longer.
“And not a word of this to anyone.” He nodded at Germanicus. A threat and a plea.
Germanicus returned Augustus’s nod. “I swear it on my life.”
Augustus released him. “Good. Go now.”
Germanicus disappeared behind a row of flowered bushes.
As soon as he was out of sight, Marcus dropped onto the edge of the fountain with a frown. “An honor like none other, and yet how will I speak of this to Marius?”
“You won’t,” Augustus said firmly. Marcus looked up at him with a puzzled expression. “I will not force that burden on you, my friend. Tiberius’s return to Rome did not come without a price. He has already agreed to see Marius and hand him my letter. They have been friends, for far longer than I hoped for. In my letter, I shall ask Marius to march five legions to Armenia to avenge my grandson and take the province once more. I shall promise to release him of his duty as a legate in the military. Once he returns victorious, I will speak with him about taking the seat as Rome’s First Citizen.”
Marcus scratched his chin. “He won’t know about your plans?”
“Nobody will. It is better this way . . . safer.”
“Does he have a choice?”
Augustus frowned. “He knows his duty to Rome and will do what needs to be done.”
Marcus did not disagree with that. “And the marriage to Domitia?”
“Will be in his own hands, free as he pleases. I am no fool, Marcus. I know of your contempt for Lucius Ahenobarbus. And how could you not? It fell to you to calm the storm Lucius left in Germania. One does not have to be an oracle to know only disaster would come from Ahenobarbus’s linage ruling Rome.”
Marcus closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “What about Marius’s son?” he asked. “With the Germanic woman.”
“They will have to be sent away, of course. Marius will adopt Germanicus as his son and heir until he can produce his own heirs with a Roman woman from the old families. I would encourage a marriage to Germanicus’s mother if she is still able to bear children. But I won’t force him.”
“Will Lucius not cause a scene if his daughter is cut from an opportunity to gain power?”
“He will get his gold to ease the pain. I shall make him praetor of Illyricum after Marius’s victory in Armenia. It will be hard on the new province, but necessary to prevent Lucius from stirring the senate. He has powerful allies there.”
Marcus looked pale, and Augustus knew why. He had asked a lot of his family—too much. As great as the honor and power of First Citizen was, it also came at a price, and Marcus knew it.
Augustus sat down next to his friend, his face soft. “Don’t lose sleep over this, Marcus. It is just a precaution in the event that Gaius should not return. I have made great offerings to the gods. I am confident they have heard my pleas, and Gaius will recover to take my place.”
Marcus nodded as he pushed a small rock around with his foot like a child.
“I am certain you are right, my friend,” Marcus finally said. “One way or another, the gods will do as the gods will do.”
Moonlight lit the palace garden like a gigantic silver oil lamp. A dark figure waited impatiently in the shadows of the enormous marble statue of Jupiter, its white surface reflecting the water of its basin in pewter ribbons.
Another shadowed figure moved over the pebbled ground, kicking up little rocks with each step. The man’s black-and-golden armor quickly gave him away as a praetorian guard, even in the darkness of the night.
“You have the information?” Publius Varus whispered.
“The gold first,” the guard growled back.
Varus pulled out a little purse and handed it to him. The soldier opened it and shook the coins. His white teeth showed bright in the moonlight.
“Gaius Caesar is ill,” he said. “Augustus wants to send Marius Vincius to Armenia and grant him a triumph upon his return.”
Varus drew in a sharp gasp of the cool night air.
“An imperial triumph? Are you certain?”
The man nodded. “That is what he said. Vincius is to adopt Germanicus too.”
“Drusus’s son?” Varus said. The sound of rattling branches in the far distance startled them.
“I said what I know,” the soldier growled, and turned to rush away like the thief he was.
“Wait!” Varus called after him, but the man had alre
ady vanished, hidden somewhere among the shadows of the moon.
Chapter Twenty-Four
T he screaming birds circling the fishing boats added to the buzzing noise of Salona’s harbor market. A woman hollered, selling her fish. A drunken man stumbled over the cobblestone dock, mumbling incoherent gibberish. A group of young children yelled as they chased each other between the crowded merchant booths. The air smelled of fresh fish and saltwater.
It had been a long time since Tiberius and Marius were able to meet freely like this, under a bright blue sky. Marius smiled when he saw his friend rushing down the creaking wooden gangplank toward him. Tiberius’s red woolen tunic was a great change from his silken imperial robes, but all of Rome knew he was avoiding Augustus’s attention.
They pulled each other into a brotherly embrace.
“The rumors are true,” Tiberius said, nodding over Marius’s shoulder at Salona’s busy construction sites. “Illyricum is becoming better than Rome. Truly a paradise.”
Marius laughed. “I did not picture you a man of gossip, but yes some of it is true. We even have an amphitheater and an aqueduct.”
Tiberius nodded, fascinated by the blossoming town in front of him. “I hate to admit it, but the years in exile were so dull, gossip was one of my few sources for entertainment,” he said as they made their way over the docks toward Marius’s chariot.
“You are a free man once more,” Marius said, smiling. “Now is the time to break this tiresome habit.”
“I can . . . but do I want to?”
Marius laughed.
“Is it also true, then, that you have a Germanic woman and a child? They say she is as tall as a man and as mysterious as the depths of Poseidon’s ocean.”
Marius nodded. “She eats children too. Even my own son if I would let her.”
It was Tiberius’s turn to laugh. “Can she eat controlling mothers too?”
Marius ignored him. Talking with Tiberius about his mother never ended well. “She speaks Latin and is teaching me combat skills.”
A group of fishermen hastily pushed their carts out of Marius’s path as he led Tiberius to his chariot. Marius stepped onto the chariot and grabbed the reins. Tiberius stayed behind, resting a hand on Marius’s horse, Aithon.
