The Bane of Gods

by Alaric Longward

  “She is very young, isn’t she?” Antonia asked, as she thought the same. “She is still a child. I shall just say it. A child. She argues like one, throws tantrums like one, and she is to be married?”

  “This is wrong,” I said.

  She sighed. “I’m worried. Quite worried indeed. What if she becomes pregnant? She is so slight. Giving birth …” She looked at Gaius, a man, fully two heads taller than Livilla. Gaius was now conversing with his brother, a boy with an imp’s smile and curly brown hair, two years younger than he. Both wore handsomely decorated togae. “He looks like a fine man,” she said softly. “He might not be cruel. Do you think I should scare him so he is terrified of bedding her? A tale of how painful it can be to a man? Or perhaps, how it is kissing alone that makes babies? I’m sure none have told him how to go about it.”

  I snorted and felt embarrassed by her words, but she was smiling bravely and I grinned. “You could try something like that. Or perhaps just take her and run.”

  “Gods, I wish I could,” she breathed. “Germanicus is old enough and I could leave him with Augustus, perhaps, but alas, while I have not had to remarry on the orders of my/our lord, I need to be here to provide Augustus service. Soon, the two Parthian princes who are hostages in Rome need to be hosted. A feast. I am a feast-maker these days. I cannot leave Rome because, apparently, none else know how to set up a fine table, or pick wines.”

  It was true. Augustus used her to smooth wrinkles between higher nobles and for many diplomatic purposes. “She will do well,” I lied, because I had no idea how such arranged marriages could ever work. True, Antonia’s and Drusus’s had, but few others were truly happy. And to me, it seemed everything Augustus touched in the matters of love and family turned into misery.

  Still, Livilla seemed brave, and perhaps even happy.

  They both were so serious.

  “They seem to be made of one tree,” I muttered.

  She sighed. “Yes. But she is ambitious. He is not.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “What is he like, if I may ask? I have to guard him.”

  She shrugged. “He doesn’t tell anyone what he is like. He loves history and geography, probably. He is ever pouring over those books, and meets with historians. He doesn’t lie, or cheat in games, and some servants say he throws up before he has to give a speech.”

  “Natural, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged again. “Natural? Throwing up is, but he truly hates politics. He asked Marcus once, I heard, if Lucius could take the mantle of Augustus instead of him.”

  “He did?” I wondered. “He really doesn’t want it, eh?”

  “Marcus said ‘no.’ He can change. Livilla wants that power,” she said with a frown. “Livilla will probably have me serve her eventually, eh? I’ll scrub her pots and pans, perhaps?”

  I chuckled. “In Germania, mothers do the work in the house. The Roman ways are odd. But I doubt you could thrive in such work. You have never seen a pan or a pot.”

  She nudged me and rolled her eyes.

  “Gaius,” I said, “must take the mantle. There is none else. And Livilla will help.”

  “She will be happy, if she survives the many dangers of a childbirth,” Antonia said hopefully.

  Little did either one of us know that Livilla would one day die horribly, starved on a remote island, for unspeakable crimes and for her ambition.

  She caught my eye, and I winked at her. She smiled at me nervously before finding her composure again. She was regally attired in golden jewelry, a pearl the size of an eyeball on her bracelet, and her dark hair was oiled and in ringlets. She was a pretty girl.

  A child.

  I put down the wine.

  Antonia was right. It was too early for her.

  “Where is Germanicus?” I asked her.

  “He is not here,” she answered tartly. “Busy with mischief. You know, he sneaks out at night with his guards. Or at least one guard. He is likely in some tavern, trying to seduce girls.”

  “A brothel,” I muttered, and she heard.

  “Gods forbid, maybe,” she said. “I cannot control him. When not out or sleeping, he is learning how to give a speech, I think, with his tutor. I am sorry for the man. I found him weeping one day, contemplating suicide. My son is hopelessly warped in his humor. He had mixed cat’s urine in the man’s wine.” She shook her head, and smiled. “Juppiter knows how he found cat’s urine. The tutor has been having a hard time drinking anything in the house since. Wait, I do know how he got that urine. He has been visiting Circus Maximus also, and is enamored with the animals they kill in those battles. He knows everything about killing a large cat. Probably picked up some from a cage.”

  “His father was very good with speeches,” I said. “And he would have laughed at the prank.” She nodded. She could talk about Drusus, but we had a habit of doing it gently, and only for a moment.

  “He saw Livia earlier, as you know,” she told me. “Told me you were there, going in. Perhaps he shall see you later.”

  I nodded and ignored the obvious bridge to what I was about to tell her. I smiled at Livilla instead, and she shifted on her seat, perhaps unnerved by the dreadful scar my father had given me. It ran across my forehead, over the left eye, and across the cheek. Father’s cursed sword, the Head Taker, had kissed me thus, while I had tried to kill him.

  I looked at the girl, the only daughter of Drusus, and turned to look at the mother.

  She was blood of Mark Anthony, and that of the sister of Augustus, Octavia. The children were related to the great families of Rome, even to Livia, and still the monster wasn’t happy to have her blood married close to the throne.

  She wanted Tiberius and the throne. Drusus and his family may go to Hel, just like Gaius and Lucius would.

  I was sure of it.

  She had not mentioned Germanicus, but he was on her mind. I worried for the plans she was brewing on her own.

  I felt sorry for Livilla.

  In Livia’s world, she was an obstacle.

  I also noticed young Claudius, moving in the shadows as was his way. I felt Antonia stiffen at the sight of him, as if there was a potential for embarrassment. She did love him, but perhaps only to be a dutiful mother. His siblings loathed him, and his large ears and wrinkled face, already ugly at the age of nine in a way that left no hope of improvement, was something Antonia tried to hide by leaving him in his rooms as often as possible. Perhaps she did that for her own sake, or that of Claudius, to shield him from the malice and cruelty of men. Some called Claudius a fool, and back then, I thought they were right.

  “How are you, Hraban?” Antonia asked eventually.

  I was startled out of my scrutiny. “I am not well.”

  She looked at me.

  Begin this, I thought, and then began walking the path.

  “Actually, I have things to tell you, because I wish to get better.”

  She was nodding. “I am sorry to hear. This business with Iullus is making me ill. My poor estranged half-brother is much on my mind. So much has been blamed on him. He deserves it all, of course, but still, it makes me ill. I dream of his misery. And I cannot help him. Do tell me all you can, and let me help you.”

  “Yes,” I answered and went ahead. “He was guilty of a treason, but not of the slaying of Drusus.”

  Antonia, whose children were being married to the great family, a clear sign of approval even after her half-brother Iullus and Julia had committed treason, looked nervous at the subject, but nodded, her face thoughtful. She spoke. “I didn’t get along with Iullus, though I pity him now. His affair with Julia risked us all. You know this. And I know he claims he had no hand in the killing of my husband, and I might even believe that. They agreed on many things, like the … Republic.”

  She whispered the last word, which could easily doom anyone caught uttering it.

  “He is sorry,” I said.

  She gave me a measuring glance. “Indeed? I do hope so. He has risked our legacy and family quite
enough. Is he going to get executed?”

  I didn’t lie. “Surely at some point. I doubt Livia would allow him to live, even if Augustus did.”

  She was nodding, and frowning.

  Livia. Not Augustus.

  I had aired the name. She was mulling over the message, as she stared at her daughter, who was giving shy glances at Gaius, who was busily avoiding her eyes. They had known each other for long years in Palatine Hill, but now more was expected of them.

  I waited patiently for Antonia. She was a changed woman. She looked tired, haggard even, worried. “You hint that he didn’t kill Drusus, and you are saying that Livia wants him dead more than Augustus.”

  “Livia is the source of all the evil,” I uttered softly. “I am caught in the middle.”

  She twitched and spoke evenly. “You are in Livia’s grip, then?” she said eventually. “I told you once; talk to me. She is a dangerous woman. But why are you—”

  “She holds my family,” I answered. “And you hold the only bit of damning evidence against her. You have the one thing that keeps us all alive.”

  She frowned. “The scroll you gave me for safekeeping?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It is written by Prefect Kleitos, and spells out the truth. It was his insurance, and it drove Tiberius to exile, and while it saved my life, I am caught. No, Iullus didn’t slay Drusus. He tried to kill Tiberius and Augustus, and will be punished, but for Drusus, he is innocent.”

  Anger played on her face. “Speak plainly! And you know, holding a scroll like this might have doomed my family. If she ever found out about that … really, Hraban. This is crossing a line.” She went quiet, and frowned. “Tell me everything. What is this trouble with Livia? And what’s on the scroll?”

  I took a deep breath and told her everything that had happened with Livia, whispering softly, while the people mingled in her house, drinking wine. I spoke to her, and she listened, and her face went from gray from shock, then red from rage. After I went silent, she shook her head and turned abruptly, and walked from the atrium to the rooms and gardens deeper in the domus. I followed her, as she smiled at her guests, and walked on, giving brief excuses. I nodded at Wandal to stay in the room, while I followed her.

  I saw her passing the garden and the great pool with flowers, and disappear in a room, exedra, that was closed off from the garden with a rich wooden wall. It had apparently been the favorite room for Drusus. I stopped before the room and waited outside and heard her weeping inside.

  To finally find out why her husband had died, by whose orders, and knowing the danger she and her children were in was a terribly heavy burden to bear. She had carried it already, wondering at hidden truths, shamed by Iullus, but now she knew everything.

  After some long minutes, she spoke. “Come in.”

  I opened the door, and stepped in to the semi-circular room. She was seated on the chair of Drusus, leaning on his table her hands trembling.

  “Livia?”

  “Yes.”

  She took a ragged breath. “Her own son. I wonder if that is the reason for it all.”

  “What?” I asked her, confused.

  “Because she couldn’t be sure whose Drusus was. Tiberius Claudius Nero was the husband she chose, and Tiberius was his son to be sure, but Drusus?” She frowned. “After Nero begged for peace from Augustus, he took her, while she was still married, and while most say she was visibly pregnant with Drusus, others, evil gossipers …” She looked disgusted, and shook her head. “That scroll. By this Kleitos. If I took it to Augustus? I could—”

  I sighed. “My family would die. I would die. And even you might,” I told her. “It could seriously undermine Augustus himself. Everything would be put to doubt. He might silence everyone to protect. He is—”

  She slammed her hand on the table. “Augustus is of my blood.”

  “He is also Augustus. The man who is building a new Rome. I am sorry—”

  She shook her head. “I know. Like a god, Juppiter, his mind is cold. You are right. There is no guarantee, and a great risk. Too great.”

  “Yes,” I said softly, thankful that one great risk had been overcome.

  She pointed a finger to the general direction of Livia’s domus. “And she hopes to bring back Tiberius, while you, one by one, kill the family?” she asked, her eyes burning with anger.

  “Yes.”

  “Even mine?” she whispered.

  “Likely,” I answered. “She is drunk on deceit, lies, and Tiberius. He is the only one who matters to her. She manipulates and probes all three. Gaius, Lucius and … yours.”

  She scraped her hand on the table, leaving tiny marks on the leathery surface. “And now, you came to me. Why?”

  I took a step forward. “My family is her captive. She expects me to obey her every command. And yet, perhaps we must change the game we are playing.” She looked deep into my eyes, willing me to speak. “Only Tiberius might help all of us.”

  She smiled. “Poor Tiberius. They say he is attending to even the most mundane issues on the island. Taking care of the sick, the trade,” she said and rubbed her eyes. “Gaius is always telling me how Tiberius is a threat to Rome. He does it politely, slowly, as if rehearsing a speech. He has been taught to think that. He used to love Tiberius, but not so now. Tiberius is in a terrible trouble. Augustus has made it so that he is never to return to Rome. I know what you hope for, but he is useless.”

  “Yes,” I said. “He is. But I have been brewing a plan. He can tame Livia. First, we must convince him to want to return. I was going to ask for you to—”

  “To write to him.” Her eyes brightened. “I don’t know how you plan to bring him back to Rome where he is no longer wanted, but I can see how he might fool Livia, and even wish to do so. He loved Drusus well. I could write to him, I suppose. Oh, and you likely wanted me to ask his former wife to write to him as well!”

  “The thought had crossed my mind,” I answered, smiling at the clever lady. “I will wrestle Tiberius back to life. I will force him to face this world, and not the one in Rhodes. He is a good man, isn’t he? You are right. He loved Drusus, and hates Livia. He wouldn’t be in self-imposed exile otherwise. Instead of Livia, he will honor his family by service. He will help all of us. He will, because he loves you, he loves Vipsania, and he loves … his son.”

  She smiled weakly. “So, if we tell him Livia has designs for Drusus the Younger, then … yes.”

  “Indeed. And she does.”

  She was frowning. “Of course she does. Poor boy. Poor any boy she sees as an obstacle.” She was thinking of Germanicus, and only of Germanicus, as I knew she would. She nodded. “I will help you. Of course, I agree. Augustus cannot be trusted. Livia must be handled with deceit and calm, and only Tiberius can do that. Your plan is sound. For that part.”

  “Thank you,” I said simply.

  “Though,” she pressed, “I am not at all sure how you would make Augustus change his mind about letting him return. I cannot help with that. He is too bitter—”

  “He will, he must,” I answered. “I will not burden you with my plan, or the details. It is …” I hesitated, and forced myself to speak. “Dangerous for you. I only wish to save your family, like mine. And Gaius and Lucius as well.”

  Do not ask, I begged.

  She was clearly unhappy with my answer, but shrugged. “And for now, you are to be close to Gaius?” she said. “How will this work?”

  “Livia is worried Lollius is trying to have Tiberius murdered,” I answered. “So, Livia tells me I am to make myself indispensable to Lollius. While doing this, I should find a way to slay Gaius and Lollius, eventually, neither of which I will do, of course. While working on Tiberius, my men and the men of our turma and I will guard them, instead. I was to be the sword to your husband. I have been that to Livia. But no longer. Never again to her. I shall risk my family to save Rome from Livia.”

  “You have a great heart,” she said softly. “A fine, honest heart. It is still there,
after all you have endured.”

  “A cold lump of iron, without my Gervas and Cassia,” I answered. “So, help me get them back without soiling myself further.”

  She leaned back and smiled. “Soiling? Ah, a soldier’s language. I miss it. I can help you with Tiberius, as I said.” She shook her head. “But you must tell me how you will get him back to Rome.”

  I looked out of the doorway.

  Fine.

  I spoke softly. “There are great many legates in Rome. These men have many victories in their past, but none of them have the blood, and perhaps the skills of Tiberius. And enemies must be defeated by the very best of generals.”

  She frowned. “Enemies?”

  I nodded. “My father,” I said simply.

  “Maroboodus,” she muttered.

  “My father was made by Livia. His kingdom is great, and yet, Livia has not given him his final payment. He yearns for it.”

  “What is that?”

  I went quiet.

  “Fine!” she growled. “But how—”

  I went on. “Suppose Maroboodus can make trouble for Rome? He holds sway not far from Italy. And they say his realm is growing. He is in league with Livia still. He was her sword before. And he is still expecting half his prize. Perhaps, in return for this prize, my father might give Augustus a proper reason to recall Tiberius. In short; Augustus must have a desperate need for Tiberius.”

  “Truly?” she asked. “This would be risky for your father. Would he truly risk all for this … prize?”

  “Yes,” I said simply, and when she frowned, I went on. “He will want this prize. It is worth a great deal.” A bitter taste filled my mouth, and jealousy and anger played in my soul.

  She smiled, as she saw my anger, and got up. She walked to me, and placed a hand over mine. “I see. It is something personal also.”

  “Gods, it is,” I answered. “But I will let him have it, should it free my family. I will do anything for my family.”

  She was thinking. “And how would Maroboodus threaten Augustus? By raiding Illyricum? Pannonia?”