by H. B. Ashman
Livia was writing a letter in one of her countless opulent rooms in the palace. The mosaics on the floors and walls were made of glittering gemstones. Most of the furniture was artfully crafted and golden.
As always, she was wearing her imperial-purple Asian silk with golden stitchwork. The emeralds from her birthday party were hanging from her neck in a golden necklace.
Clearing her throat, Julia entered.
“You did not say it would have to be now,” Livia said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. Julia walked over to one of the red-and-golden silk couches and sat, waving over a slave for wine.
“I did not know myself,” Julia said.
Livia sighed, then slammed her golden pen down next to the papyrus she had been writing on.
“A letter to our dear Tiberius?” Julia asked innocently.
Livia stared at the letter. She grimaced in anger. “He has been traveling for months. He has not shown himself in Rome once. I thought him many things—emotional, childish, stubborn—but never an idiot. Maybe I was wrong.”
Julia frowned. “He does not consider himself Augustus’s heir any longer. All of Rome knows Augustus favors Germanicus. And there still is his daughter’s youngest son, Postumus.”
“Did you come here to bother me with nonsense?” Livia asked. “Postumus is a gambler, a drinker. He is as far from the Roman throne as Poseidon from the sun. And Germanicus is still a boy. He knows nothing of the intrigues and politics of Rome.”
Julia bit her lip. “You are right. Forgive me. It’s Domitia. She robs me of my sleep. Her anger is out of control. The servants stay up all night in fear of her, afraid to close their eyes.”
Livia’s face grew softer. “Will Vincius really not marry her?”
“Only the gods know. It has been four years.”
Livia nodded. “Is that what Lucius wants to speak to me about?”
Julia looked down at her hands. She clearly did not know.
Rolling her eyes, Livia waved at the slave closest to the door. “Jupiter have mercy on me. Bring him in!”
Moments later, Lucius walked in, but not alone. Varus was next to him. His high cheekbones and long forehead gave him a constant look of arrogance.
“Who said you could bring him with you?” Livia snapped, throwing Julia and Lucius irritated glances. Julia lowered her head like a beaten dog, but Lucius pushed out his chest and lifted his chin.
“I would not bring Varus if I did not think you might like what he has to say to you,” Lucius countered.
Livia rose and strode over to the couch next to Julia. “You better prove yourself right. I disdain unwelcome visitors.”
Varus stepped forward. He reminded Livia of a ferret. He was unpopular in Rome, among senators and citizens alike. His outdated views were insufferable and his brutality infamous. Yet the few allies he had were powerful.
“My Augusta,” Varus said, flattering her with the title, “what I have to say is not in my best interest. And yet I feel obliged to inform you of it.”
Livia’s curiosity was piqued; she couldn’t help herself. She clapped her hands together. “All of you, leave us!”
The room cleared, slaves rushing out like startled birds. Lucius, Varus, and Julia remained. But Lucius turned toward his wife. “Are you deaf, woman?”
Julia looked at Livia to come to her rescue, but Livia nodded toward the door. Julia gave her famous, haughty look, then stomped out like a pouting child.
Lucius walked over to the couch where Julia had been sitting and took her place.
Folding his hands behind his white toga, Varus edged closer to Livia.
“If it is truly of such interest, I assume you want something in return for your information?” Livia asked.
Varus smiled. “If that is how my Augusta would like to handle this situation.”
Livia waved a lazy hand at him. “Oh, please spare me this charade. Speak what you have to say. I will reward you according to the value your words carry.”
Varus nodded and stepped even closer, only feet away from Livia now.
“I shall waste your time no longer then. Our First Citizen plans to make Marius Vincius his heir.”
A deafening silence thickened the air. Livia’s eyes were fixed on Varus, unflinching.
She turned slowly to Lucius. “Is this true?” Her voice was controlled and firm.
Lucius’s lips twitched. “He is granting him a triumph. You are clever enough to know what that means,” he said.
“A triumph is not the throne to Rome,” Livia countered, struggling to sound casual.
“And yet who can stop the most powerful general since Julius Caesar after he receives such honors? Not even Augustus could reverse such power.”
Livia’s fingers clawed into the couch underneath her, turning her knuckles white.
Lucius and Varus exchanged glances, uncertainty written on their faces. Suddenly, Livia smiled, her body calm and relaxed again.
“Vincius does deserve it after all he has done for Rome. How wise of our Augustus,” she said in a raised voice.
Lucius opened his mouth, but Varus shook his head at him.
“Dominus.” The frightened whisper of Kinu, Lucius’s slave, carried into the room. “Our Augustus has asked for you,” he added quickly.
Lucius frowned and rose to his feet. He looked at Livia once more. “We shall continue this next time,” he said, before he turned and left with long, determined steps.
Varus lingered a moment longer, smiling at Livia.
“Come visit again,” she said to him. “If our great Marius Vincius wins the war.”
Varus nodded. “How could I refuse our Augusta?” Then he turned and left as well, leaving Livia to herself. She waited a moment to make certain that Varus and Lucius were truly gone, then yelled for her trusted slave girl.
“Aurelia!”
A young woman hurried in, her gaze fixed on the floor as her braided black hair bounced with every step.
“Have my litter prepared.”
“When shall we depart?” Aurelia asked in that tiny voice of hers.
Livia threw her hands up in anger. “Right away, you stupid child!”
Aurelia swirled around on the spot and did as she was ordered.
Livia started pacing her room, her legs restless, her mind clouded with rage.
“Marius Vincius, First Citizen,” she mumbled to herself as she picked up the pace. “Tiberius, you fool. Where are you?”
The sun was a big ball of yellow blistering heat above the harbor of Salona. Seagulls circled and screeched above the waves of the turquoise sea gently rolling off the shore. A warm breeze caressed Marius’s face as he brought Aithon to a halt not far from the glittering waters. He had prayed to every god there was for his return to his family. And now that the moment had finally arrived, it almost seemed unreal.
Smiling, Marius’s eyes settled on Amalia and Marcus. They were playing in the sand, Amalia’s golden hair bright against his son’s white tunic. She was kneeling next to Marcus, building a structure out of sand. It seemed like a dream.
He wanted to swing off his horse and run to them, but for some reason he couldn’t. He was paralyzed. Maybe he would just watch them a little more, long enough to brand this memory into his mind so he could always see them—at the next battle and the war after.
But then Amalia looked up, as if the wind had given him away, whispering to her that her husband had returned. He had fulfilled his promise.
Amalia was working on the watchtower of Marcus’s sandcastle when she felt a warm shiver come over her body, giving her goose bumps. She looked up. Her mind went blank, and everything fell silent. There in the distance, not far from her and Marcus, was Marius. He was sitting high on his horse, his cloak bleached and his armor dull—no doubt from long days traveling through the harsh eastern desert. He looked glorious. Tears filled her eyes, blurring the sight of Marius, making him seem like a dream.
Marcus looked up as well, sand slipping through his
fingers as his shock turned to excitement.
“Father!” he cried out, and bolted toward Marius, stomping over his sandcastle in the process.
Amalia followed him, hot tears running down her face. Marius swung down his horse and strode toward them, closing the gap fast. After what had felt like an eternity of being apart, it took only seconds for Marius to scoop Amalia and Marcus into his embrace.
Amalia exhaled loudly, as if breathing again for the first time since he’d left. That painful knot in her throat had finally untied itself.
“Father!” Marcus shouted again as his tears fell against Marius’s cuirass. Amalia pulled away to look Marius in his eyes. He looked exhausted, and yet she’d never been happier to see his tired face.
Marius leaned in to kiss her, then pulled away to kiss Marcus on his head.
“I suppose I should thank your gods for returning you,” she said with a big smile.
He hugged both of them once more, laughing. “If you would have prayed to them in the first place, they might not have sent me away at all.”
Amalia laughed, joy spreading through her like warm honey.
“I want to show you my sandcastle,” Marcus said, pulling Marius’s arm as he led him down the beach.
“Marcus, your father is tired,” Amalia said. But Marius just smiled and stumbled after Marcus.
“I do not mind,” he said. “I cannot wait to see more sand.” He winked at Amalia.
Amalia shook her head, unable to keep the smile from her face.
“I have lots of sand for you, Father,” Marcus promised as he pointed to his left. “Here, look.” Then he pointed to his right. “And there, see? And here too,” he said proudly, pointing under their feet. “Lots of sand for you.”
Marius squeezed his son’s hand. “Exactly what I wanted.”
Their naked bodies lay entangled in the bed’s silk blanket. The moment they’d stepped into the house, Marius had lifted her and carried her to the bedroom, where they made love until they were both exhausted and satisfied.
Amalia placed her head onto Marius’s chest, listening to his heartbeat like she’d done so many times before. The rhythmic pounding against her ear had a calming effect.
Marius caressed her hair, his gaze on the ceiling.
“Does he really want to grant you a triumph?” Amalia asked.
“As hard to belief as it is, he does.”
“Do you think he will give his permission for us to marry?” Amalia ran her fingers down a scar on his stomach.
“That is my hope. I will ask it of him when I arrive in Rome.”
Amalia stayed quiet, focusing on her fingers’ path over the pale pink scar on his skin.
“I want you to come with me,” he said.
Amalia lifted herself onto her elbows to look at him. “To your triumph? In Rome?”
Marius nodded. “Yes. You and Marcus. It would not mean the same without you.”
Amalia felt a flash of excitement as she pictured herself on one of those golden chariots, riding past hundreds of thousands of frantically cheering people. Like in the movies. But the reality of her situation pulled her back to earth. She knew better.
“I can’t.”
Marius sat up against the wooden headboard of their bed. “I understand your concerns, but Rome needs to see who you are to me.”
Amalia also sat up. “People are blind to the truth. They’ll see what they want to see. My mother always told me to never put the cart before the horse. Hopefully, someday, there will be a time for me in Rome, but now is not it.”
Marius seemed to consider her words, then nodded. “Your mother is very wise.”
Is? Amalia thought to herself, feeling the familiar dull sadness in her chest. At times, she thought about her old life, how she missed her family. She had not entirely given up on the hope that she might see them again, though she had no idea how, especially since she wouldn’t stay. Rome was her life now. Marius and Marcus were her life.
“I shall return as quickly as I can,” Marius said, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Although Marcus might not want me back after he learns I have gone without him.”
“Then why not take Marcus with you?” Amalia suggested.
“You would not mind being separated from him?”
“So he can witness the greatest moment of his father’s life? Absolutely not. He would never forgive me if I didn’t let him go. It might also be a good opportunity to meet his grandfather. He will accept his grandson when he sees him in the flesh. I know it. And honestly, I wouldn’t mind getting a break from building sandcastles. There are things I have neglected.”
Marius smiled as he rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath his steel-hard body. “Your mysterious visits to the library? I thought you had stopped those?”
“They are hardly mysterious. It’s a public building. But I have.”
Her research had been nothing but frustrating. In four years, Amalia had learned nothing of why she was here. Arminius knew little about the Germanic scroll, and the female philosopher who had left it had vanished from the earth. Amalia couldn’t remember when, but at some point after Marcus was born, she’d simply given up on her quest. The family she had created had become more important, despite the pain she felt when thinking about her mother and sister. Marius had never asked or pressed her for her secret, despite her admitting that she had them. Often had she played with the idea of telling him the truth, but she was too afraid he would think her crazy.
Marius started kissing her neck. “Everything about Amalia the Germanica is mysterious. Her origin, her knowledge, even her love for dusty old scrolls.”
Amalia pushed him up by his chest, looking into his eyes. “Does that not bother you? All that mystery?” she asked, her tone serious.
Marius pursed his lips in thought. “No. It doesn’t. Your secrets are yours to keep until you feel it’s time. I know what’s in your heart. That is all that matters to me.” Then he kissed her neck again. This time, Amalia didn’t stop him.
It was late at night. A thick blanket of clouds covered the stars and moon. A few oil lanterns failed miserably in the attempt to brighten the streets and plazas in the heart of Rome.
A dark figure stepped into the dim light of the empty forum, a central square crowded with large public buildings and white marble statues of the city’s great men. It was the very heart of Roman business: the site for triumphal processions, elections, public speeches, and criminal trials. Buzzing with life by day, it was dead silent at night.
Suddenly, another person’s shadow lengthened on the ground of the forum. The other figure whistled like a bird three times. Both moved through the darkness, meeting behind the limestone foundation of the Temple of Caesar.
Aurelia, Livia’s slave girl, turned her head left and right before she pulled out a little sack that clinked with her movements. “Here,” she said, and handed it to the short man dressed in black. Only the tip of his birdlike nose peeked out from under his dark hood.
He grabbed the purse.
“What about the rest of the agreement?” the man asked in a whisper.
“Your family shall be freed and receive land in the country after you have done what was asked of you,” Aurelia reported.
“Including my oldest son, in the silver mines?” the man insisted. It was the worst of places, even for a slave. Nobody lived longer than a year down there. The toxic gases and horrid conditions did not allow it.
“He will be freed, but only if you do as you were told in full. You understand what that means?”
Even in the darkness, Aurelia was able to make out the man’s nod. She turned, eager to leave this frightening place, but stopped once more.
“And remember,” she said, “the agreement has to be met in full or they shall all be sent to the silver mines.”
The man’s beak-like nose twitched as his thin lips turned downward. “Tell the demon who made this pact that it will be done . . . in full.”
Those were the l
ast words spoken before their shadows lengthened over the dark cobblestone of the forum once more, blending into the darkness of the night as if neither had ever been there at all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A malia stretched up onto her toes to hold Marcus’s hand for just a few seconds longer before he was carried away by the wooden merchant ship heading for Rome. Marius was holding him in his arms to prevent him from falling overboard. Soldiers and a few merchants were moving around on the deck of the ship, preparing it for the journey across the sea. Anat was next to Amalia, sobbing, but that was it. Marius didn’t want to make this a big ceremonial goodbye, so he had ordered everybody else to stay in camp or at the villa.
“Farewell, Mother!” Marcus shouted in excitement.
“We will be back soon, and then we—” Marius said loudly, but Marcus interrupted him:
“I am going to Rome, Mother!” he beamed.
Despite the tightness in her chest, Amalia couldn’t help but laugh as Marius looked at Marcus and rolled his eyes. It filled her with such joy to see them so happy. Marius still didn’t like the idea of leaving Amalia behind. But after going back and forth a few more times, Amalia finally convinced him to take Marcus without her. It was the most logical arrangement. Rome was not ready for her, not Marcus Sr. or Augustus. Little Marcus, on the other hand, was a different story. Amalia had no doubt that Marcus Vincius Sr. would fall in love with the boy, and that would mean a powerful ally in Rome to pave the way for her and Marius to legitimize their relationship with marriage.
It was a beautiful sunny day, not a single cloud in the stretch of baby-blue sky. Amalia stood at the very edge of the dock, her feet nearly hovering over the water.
She and Anat watched in silence, for almost an hour, until the ship was merely a dot on the far horizon. Her heart felt emptier now that they were truly gone. But it would be for only two weeks, three at the most, Marius said. How could she deny them that? It would mean everything to Amalia if he were legitimized in House Vincius and the eyes of Rome.
“Let’s go,” Amalia finally said. “I doubt they can still see us.” Anat nodded.
