The Last King of Rome

by Laura Dowers

  THE LAST KING OF ROME

  LUCIUS TARQUINIUS SUPERBUS

  LAURA DOWERS

  Copyright © 2018 by Laura Dowers

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-912968-02-2

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  CONTENTS

  Dramatis Personae

  I. 579 BC–574 BC

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  II. 574 BC–539 BC

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  III. 538 BC–525 BC

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  IV. 511 BC–509 BC

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

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  Also by Laura Dowers

  About the Author

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  THE TARQUINS

  LUCOMO — FIFTH KING OF ROME

  TANAQUIL — WIFE TO LUCOMO

  SERVIUS TULLIUS — SIXTH KING OF ROME

  TARQUINIA — DAUGHTER OF TANAQUIL

  LUCIUS TARQUINIUS — SEVENTH KING OF ROME

  ARRUNS TARQUINIUS — BROTHER TO LUCIUS

  LUCILLA — SISTER TO LUCIUS

  TULLIA — DAUGHTER OF SERVIUS TULLIUS

  LOLLY — DAUGHTER OF SERVIUS TULLIUS

  TITUS — SON OF LUCIUS AND LOLLY

  ARRUNS — SON OF LUCIUS AND LOLLY

  SEXTUS — SON OF LUCIUS AND LOLLY

  CASSIA — DAUGHTER OF LUCIUS AND LOLLY

  TITUS BRUTUS — SON OF LUCILLA

  IUNIUS BRUTUS — SON OF LUCILLA

  ROMANS

  ACACIUS ARCO — SENATOR

  AETIUS — A SHEPHERD

  AULUS FLAVONIUS — SENATOR

  AXIA QUINTILLA — NOBLEWOMAN

  BRUSCIUS — ASTROLOGER

  CAMILIA SEGESTES — NOBLEWOMAN

  CNAEUS SUDENNUS — FRIEND TO SERVIUS TULLIUS

  COLLATINUS — PATRICIAN

  COSSUS — FRIEND TO LUCIUS

  CUTU TAPHO — SERVANT

  DANAOS — DOCTOR

  ELERIUS — FRIEND TO SEXTUS

  GALLIO BURRUS — SENATOR

  HOSTUS VENTURIUS — PATRICIAN

  ISSA — MAID TO TANAQUIL

  LUCRETIA — WIFE TO COLLATINUS

  LUSIA — INFORMANT TO TANAQUIL

  MACARIUS — A SHEPHERD

  MANIUS — FRIEND TO LUCIUS

  MATIA — FRIEND TO LOLLY

  METELLA — A BROTHEL-KEEPER

  NARCISSA — WIFE TO QUINTUS SANCTUS

  NIPIA — SLAVE

  NONUS LUCCEIUS — PATRICIAN

  PLACUS — TUTOR

  QUINTUS SANCTUS — SENATOR

  RESTITA — FRIEND TO TARQUINIA

  SILO — SLAVE

  SISENNA VICTOR — MERCHANT

  UTICA — CLEANING WOMAN

  OTHER CHARACTERS

  BELLUS — A LATIN

  RUFUS — GABII LEADER

  TURNUS HERDONIUS — LATIN LEADER

  VENZA CAE RUSINA — VEIENTES MERCHANT

  VULSO — A GABII

  The inevitable course of fate overwhelms the wisest of human intentions. The jealousy that Servius had aroused by ascending the throne pervaded his household, and hatred and disloyalty were rife even among his own family.

  LIVY, HISTORY OF ROME 1.42

  He [Tarquin] always kept himself protected by armed men, for he had taken the throne by force — neither people nor senate had consented to his usurpation. He accepted that there was no hope of his being accepted into the hearts of his subjects, so he ruled by fear.

  LIVY, HISTORY OF ROME 1.49

  PART I

  579 BC–574 BC

  1

  The shepherds did not like the city.

  As far as Aetius and Macarius were concerned, Rome was an alien world they would venture into only to sell their wool, and then only as far as the forum. Rome was too noisy, too smelly, too dirty, too busy for their liking. They preferred their hilltop huts where the wind rustled through the thatched roofs and the bleatings of their sheep could be heard just outside the mud walls.

  And yet the city, with all its busyness, its bright colours and noisy citizens, held a strange fascination for them. Sometimes, when the day’s work was done, Aetius and Macarius would sit on the grass, a plump wineskin between them, look down on the metropolis and muse on how the rich folk spent their days.

  They grew to wondering this more and more often, until rich folk became their usual topic of conversation. What would they do, they asked one another with playful smiles on their lips, if they had bronze, even gold, to spend? Then they would throw their heads back, fix their eyes on a distant point in the wide sky and say they would buy pewter plates and silks, and laugh at their foolish dreams. They were foolish, they knew, to imagine having any wealth at all. To be a shepherd was to be poor. To be a shepherd meant having to work from dawn to dusk and bartering every item they and their families needed to survive. There was no room in their lives for beautiful but useless things.

  And then the sickness came, a sickness that killed off most of their flock and made their lives so much harder than they already were. The sheep were diseased so they couldn’t eat their meat nor could they sell the carcases on. Aetius and Macarius had to listen to their children crying and begging for food and watch as their wives went hungry so the little ones wouldn’t starve. The two shepherds would escape to their lookout point and with no wine to sweeten their mood would look down on the rich folk in the city and declare the unfairness of their lot.

  It was at such a time that salvation came to them in the guise of two strangers. Word had spread, the strangers said, of the shepherds’ misfortune. What would they do, the strangers asked, to drag themselves out of the mire? Clutching at fortune, Aetius said he and Macarius would do anything.

  ‘Anything?’ the strangers queried.

  ‘Anything,’ Aetius assured them.

  ‘Well then,’ the strangers gestured at the grass, ‘let us talk.’

  The strangers understood what would motivate the shepherds most and so began with how much they would pay. Aetius and Macarius listened eagerly to what would be required, and with only the slightest hesitation, agreed. Their wives, when they told them later, said they were mad. But then they looked at the gold ingots the strangers had given their husbands and their scolding words died in their throats.

  When the chosen day came, Aetius and Macarius left what little remained of their flocks in the care of their wives, who sniffed back their tears and held them tight as they said their goodbyes, and made their way to the city.

  They hoped to pass unnoticed. Their short woollen tunics were not so very different from those the plebeians wore, but Aetius and Macarius knew their leather cloaks set them apart, not least because they stank so of sheep. They knew too that their straw
hats were out of place in the city, but they wore them to hide their faces and they kept their heads down, looking up only to check the painted shop signs that told them which streets they walked along. They were heading for the Capitoline Hill, but it was a place they had never been, and after turning into streets that seemed to head straight for it, would find these often doglegged to the right or left and lead them further away. With each blunder, their uneasiness grew, and in desperation, asked the way of a passing citizen. He directed them with a dirty, crooked finger to the domus of the King.

  There were armed guards stationed either side of the open double doors. The guard on the left demanded to see the shepherds’ petition before he would allow them to enter. Aetius delved into his leather satchel and extracted the papyrus the strangers had given him. He held it, hand shaking, beneath the guard’s nose. Aetius, having no learning, had not been able to read what was written there, but the strangers assured him it would guarantee entry to the King’s domus, entry and an audience. As he held the papyrus up for the guard to inspect, Aetius realised he was hoping a flaw would be discovered, some error that would see he and Macarius turned away, their mission over before it had begun. But the guard nodded his approval and waved them through.

  The vestibulum of the domus was crowded and noses wrinkled in distaste at the pungent odours coming from the two shepherds. Here, packed in like the shepherds’ sheep when they were waiting to be shorn, were the Romans who had some complaint to make, some dispute they needed settling, or some respect to pay to the King for a favour previously bestowed. And just beyond here, the King would come, sit in his stately chair, listen to each person’s petition and deliver a judgement. No one was turned away for being too low born or unimportant. Aetius and Macarius would be seen and heard by the King and their opportunity would come. But when? The ‘when’ was starting to bother Aetius.

  Macarius put his mouth to Aetius’s ear. ‘Are we sure about this?’

  Aetius glared at him. ‘We agreed. We took the gold.’

  ‘But the doors are guarded and we won’t get past all these people. I didn’t know it would be like this.’

  Aetius’s jaw clenched at Macarius’s stupidity. What had he expected if not this? An empty domus, perhaps, and no guards at all? That they would just walk away?

  ‘It will be all right,’ he said, but he was worried all the same. His mind had been so occupied with the deed itself that Aetius hadn’t considered the possibility that they would have to wait to see the King. How long would it be? An hour? Longer? The longer he and Macarius waited, the greater the likelihood of their turning tail and scurrying back to the safety of their huts. The deed undone, they would have to return the gold. Their wives would cry, their children starve. No, that couldn’t happen. They had to see the King before their courage deserted them.

  ‘We must make the King come here and see us now,’ Aetius whispered to Macarius.

  ‘How?’

  Aetius pulled hard on his beard, the sharp pinprick pain helping him to think. ‘We’ll make a scene,’ he decided, ‘make a lot of noise.’

  Macarius shook his head. ‘We’ll just get thrown out.’

  ‘Not if we demand to see the King. We’ve got a dispute, haven’t we?’ Aetius held up the petition. ‘Our story is that I’ve stolen some of your sheep and you want the King to make me pay you for them.’

  ‘You think he’ll come?’ Macarius asked doubtfully.

  ‘He’s there somewhere,’ Aetius gestured beyond the vestibulum to the rooms stretching out before them. ‘He’ll be curious about the noise. I would be, wouldn’t you?’ Macarius didn’t look convinced. ‘It’s the best we can do. Now, do it.’

  Macarius made a space between himself and Aetius and took a deep breath. ‘Do I have to wait all day to get justice from the King?’ he said loudly.

  ‘You don’t deserve justice,’ Aetius returned on cue. ‘All I did was take back what was mine.’

  ‘You stole my sheep.’

  ‘So you say. I say they were mine. I’ll let the King decide who’s in the right.’

  They carried on like this for a few minutes, their voices growing louder, their arm-waving wilder, until a lictor, a member of the King’s personal bodyguard, appeared.

  As guards went, the lictor wasn’t particularly intimidating. ‘You two, you must be quiet,’ he insisted, hitching the fasces further up his shoulder, ‘or I will have you removed.’

  ‘Don’t you tell me what to do,’ Aetius yelled into the lictor’s face. ‘I’ve a right to be heard. You get the King to hear me. Go on, you get him.’

  The lictor looked Aetius up and down and sneered. ‘The King doesn’t come at the command of peasants.’

  ‘Who you calling a peasant?’ Macarius pitched in, genuinely outraged.

  ‘I’m a Roman citizen,’ Aetius said, pushing Macarius back, ‘and I demand to see my king.’

  The lictor shook his head in scorn and waved over two guards who were peering around the doorway of the tablinum. The guards sauntered over, enjoying the unaccustomed drama, and took hold of Aetius and Macarius. Aetius felt himself being pulled towards the doors and began to struggle ferociously, determined not to be thrown out before they’d done what they’d come for. Macarius did the same, clutching at the other people waiting in the vestibulum who tried to slap away his hands.

  ‘What is all this noise?’

  Aetius and Macarius froze, the guards too. The lictor spun around.

  An old man was standing in the tablinum. He wore his white curly hair long in the fashion of his Etruscan ancestors and he had on the finest toga Aetius had ever seen, saffron-dyed linen decorated with elaborate embroidery. His kid leather shoes were long and pointed, extending far beyond where his toes would have ended, and the tips curled up, making them wholly impractical footwear for any kind of physical labour. So, this is how a king dresses, Aetius thought.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ the lictor hissed at Aetius and gave him a vicious kick in the shin. ‘I am sorry, my lord,’ he said to the King. ‘I shall have these troublemakers thrown out at once.’

  King Lucius Tarquinius, known to his family as Lucomo, stepped towards the shepherds. ‘From what I heard, you are demanding justice?’ he said to Aetius and gestured to the guards to release their prisoners. ‘I’m not accustomed to having justice demanded of me in so rude a fashion.’ He took in their appearance and concluded, ‘You are shepherds, yes?’

  ‘Yes, my lord king,’ Aetius said, feeling for the knife he kept in his belt, checking his struggle with the guard hadn’t dislodged it.

  ‘You people must learn your country manners have no place here,’ Lucomo said with a shake of his finger and he began to turn away.

  Their opportunity was fading. ‘You must hear me,’ Aetius cried desperately.

  The lictor shushed him but Lucomo halted. ‘Must I?’ he said, raising a bushy white eyebrow.

  ‘I beg you.’ Aetius dropped to one knee and curled his fingers around the knife’s handle. He flicked a glance at Macarius.

  No one else was watching Macarius. No one noticed him moving behind the lictor and then behind Lucomo. No one noticed him, in fact, until he pulled out the axe he’d hidden beneath his cloak and brought it down upon Lucomo’s head. There was a dull crack and blood spurted. The onlookers gasped. A woman screamed. Aetius rammed his knife into Lucomo’s stomach and a crimson stain blossomed over the expensive toga. His legs buckled, pitching him forward. Aetius scrambled to get out of the way as Lucomo smacked into the tiled floor. The axe handle juddered, the blade embedded deep in the old man’s skull.

  The guards’ sense of duty returned and they once again took hold of Aetius and Macarius, bundling them to the floor and pressing their knees into their backs so they couldn’t move. Aetius met Macarius’s eyes in grim understanding and they both ceased their struggles.

  There was no point. They were dead men.

  The screams brought Queen Tanaquil running.

  She had tutted
when Lucomo rose from his desk, curious to discover the cause of the shouts coming from below. ‘Ignore it,’ she admonished testily. ‘Finish your papers. Whatever it is, the guards will take care of it.’

  But Lucomo was in one of his stubborn moods and had waved her away, flinging open his office door and shuffling out, for the pointy toe slippers had a habit of slipping off. Putting her own papers aside, Tanaquil followed after him, stopping at the top of the stairs to watch as he crossed the courtyard, losing sight of him as he entered the tablinum. She banged the balustrade lightly with her clenched fist. Why couldn’t Lucomo leave well enough alone? Why must he always interfere? She leant over the balustrade, straining her ears, but heard only murmurings.

  Tanaquil straightened, thinking she might as well return to her work. She turned back to the office door. A shudder suddenly went through her body and it fixed her to the spot. It made her reach out a trembling hand to find something solid to steady herself. Her heart began to hammer and she had a sudden presentiment. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Lucomo!

  She spun around and stared down into the tablinum, to the spot where she had last had sight of her husband. She could hear voices, perhaps every other word that was said, but she could see nothing. But something was wrong, she could feel it, sense it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a guard shift at his station. She opened her mouth to call out, to get his attention, but her throat was tight, she couldn’t utter a sound.