The Last King of Rome

by Laura Dowers

  She was too late. She heard the screaming and Tanaquil ran, her sandals slapping on the stones. From the courtyard, she could see through into the atrium. The lictor and guards were bending over something on the floor. Her step faltered as she feared what the something was. No, no, oh please, Jupiter, no. She rushed towards the men and pushed them out of the way. A cry escaped her throat. It was Lucomo. He was lying face down on the stones, his blood spreading around him and an axe sticking out of his head.

  Tanaquil fell to her knees beside her husband. She wanted to touch him but she didn’t know where to lay her hands. Part of her wanted to tug the axe out of Lucomo’s head but the sight revolted her and she couldn’t bring herself to put her fingers to the bloody instrument. Hot tears were running down her cheeks. And then hands were tugging at her, gripping her beneath her armpits and pulling her backwards onto her feet.

  ‘Help him,’ she screeched to the lictor who held her.

  She heard the lictor give orders. ‘Take the King to his cubiculum. And fetch the doctor.’

  Tanaquil saw one of the guards reach out to the axe handle. ‘No, don’t touch it,’ she cried with sudden lucidity. The blood would flow more freely, she realised. Thanks be to Jupiter she hadn’t touched the axe.

  She watched as the guards lifted Lucomo, his body sagging between them. Blood dripped in heavy globules as they carried Lucomo through the domus and up the stairs to his cubiculum. Her eyes followed the trail of blood, and while her mind was telling her Lucomo couldn’t survive losing so much, her heart was praying to Asclepius to save him.

  In his cubiculum, the guards laid Lucomo on his bed, stepping back and staring down at the man they called king. As she joined them, she realised they didn’t know what to do now they had got Lucomo here. That was understandable. She didn’t know what to do either.

  But someone had to take charge.

  ‘Who did this?’ she asked. Her voice sounded strange to her.

  ‘It was two shepherds,’ the lictor answered. He turned to her and his face was ashen. ‘The guards have them. They started an argument, deliberately, I think, to get the King to come down. They attacked him — it happened so fast.’

  ‘Secure them in the domus and keep the petitioners in the vestibulum. I don’t want this incident to be spoken of until we know how serious the King’s injury is.’

  The lictor stared at her. ‘The King is dead, lady.’

  She returned his stare unflinchingly. ‘We don’t know that yet. My husband may survive this attack. The doctor will tell me. Lictor, the people must not think the King is dead.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ the lictor nodded. ‘I will have the domus doors locked.’ He took a last look at Lucomo, then hurried out.

  As he left, another man entered. His olive complexion showed his stubble clearly and a white band surmounted his short black hair. ‘I didn’t believe it when they told me,’ he breathed, his eyes on Lucomo.

  ‘Don’t just stand there, Danaos,’ Tanaquil said to the doctor, ‘help my husband.’

  Danaos moved to the bedside. He put his fingers to the axe blade where the metal met the bone. He prodded gently and Lucomo twitched.

  Tanaquil grabbed at his arm. ‘He’s alive?’

  Danaos clicked his tongue against his teeth. ‘The blade has gone in deep, lady. It’s cleft the skull.’

  ‘But he moved, he moved.’

  Danaos studied the axe handle, then extended a finger and pushed the wood. Lucomo twitched again. ‘It’s the axe. A semblance of life, nothing more.’

  Tanaquil’s hands rose to her mouth to stifle her cry. For the briefest of moments, she thought Asclepius had answered her prayer and Lucomo was still alive, that he would live. But Danaos had crushed that hope as quickly as it had come.

  ‘Take that thing out,’ she ordered, flicking her fingers at the axe.

  Danaos gripped the handle with both hands and tugged the blade free. It made an obscene sucking sound and Tanaquil felt vomit rising in her throat. She swallowed it back down, watching as more blood poured from the wound, and now she could see spongy grey matter beneath the red and she knew it to be Lucomo’s brain.

  ‘Turn the King over,’ Tanaquil ordered the guards.

  Tanaquil hadn’t seen Lucomo’s face since he left her. Now, as the guards wrestled the lifeless body onto its back, Tanaquil found she didn’t recognise the man on the bed. This was not Lucomo, this thing with bulging eyes and slack mouth.

  Danaos bent over Lucomo and put his ear to the King’s lips. After a long moment of listening, he straightened and looked at Tanaquil. ‘There is no breath, lady. The King is dead.’

  Tanaquil gestured for Danaos to step aside. She moved to the bed and sat on its edge, not caring if the blood on the sheets stained her dress. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips against the side of his mouth, wincing at the cooling skin. Placing her palm over Lucomo’s staring eyes, she slid the delicate skin over the orbs to close them.

  Tanaquil closed her eyes. She wouldn’t cry, not in front of Danaos and the guards. And besides, there wasn’t time for grief, not yet. The King was dead. Rome had no ruler. When it became known, there would be change, and the manner of Lucomo’s death might mean there would be chaos. She couldn’t let that happen to Rome, not after all she and Lucomo had achieved together.

  ‘You will stay here,’ she said to Danaos, rising from the bed.

  ‘There is nothing I can do,’ Danaos said, perplexed by her command. ‘The King is dead.’

  ‘I’m not a fool, you Greek, I know he’s dead. You will stay here.’

  ‘Lady, I don’t understand.’

  ‘The King is not dead,’ Tanaquil told him, irritated she had to explain to him as she had had to explain to the lictor. ‘He is injured and you are tending to him.’

  Understanding crossed Danaos’s face. ‘Oh yes, I see.’

  ‘You stay here too,’ she told the guards as she left the room, closing the door behind her. She needed to be alone for a while. She went to her own cubiculum next door to Lucomo’s and collapsed onto her bed. Burying her face in the pillow so as not to be heard, she allowed herself to weep.

  But she was too old to have too many tears in her. Soon, her throat was sore and her head was throbbing, but her eyes were dry. Moving to the bowl of water kept on a stand in the corner of the room, she dampened a linen cloth and pressed it to her eyes to soothe them. She knew she didn’t have long, that she would have to present herself to the people and pretend she wasn’t grieving, that her husband was still alive. She took a few deep breaths and exited, making her way to Lucomo’s office.

  The office was just as they had left it, the papers messy on the desk, Lucomo’s cup of honey water half drunk. He would never finish it now, she reflected. She tidied up a little, setting the papers in a pile and gulping down the honey water, almost believing she could taste Lucomo on the cup’s rim.

  The lictor appeared in the doorway. ‘Your instructions have been followed, lady,’ he said, and she could tell he was examining her face, no doubt trying to determine her state of mind.

  ‘I’m ready to see the men who attacked the King. Have them brought here.’

  The lictor hurried away. When he returned, ushering the guards in with their captives, Tanaquil was perfectly composed.

  The shepherds were terrified, Tanaquil could see that clearly, the younger man especially. Mucus, mixed with blood, slid from his nose to soil his lips and chin, and she could smell the acrid odour of urine. The other, the elder, was watching her, his eyes wary.

  ‘What are your names?’ she asked him and was proud her voice sounded strong.

  ‘My name is Aetius. He is Macarius.’

  ‘Roman names. Why did you try to kill your King?’

  Aetius started. ‘He’s… he’s not dead?’

  ‘No, not dead. You wounded him, nothing more.’

  ‘But the axe—’

  She cut him off. ‘Why did you try to kill your King?’

  ‘We we
re paid to.’

  ‘Who paid you?’

  Aetius shook his head. ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘You will tell me.’

  ‘I cannot. We made an oath we wouldn’t tell.’

  ‘You made an oath to traitors?’

  ‘Please, lady,’ spittle dripped from Aetius’s mouth, ‘we’re just shepherds. We don’t know their names.’

  ‘You don’t know who you were working for? I think that unlikely.’ Tanaquil nodded to the guard who held Macarius. The guard punched him in the stomach and Macarius doubled over, spluttering.

  ‘I ask you again,’ she said, fixing her eyes on Aetius. ‘Who hired you?’

  Aetius shook his head.

  She nodded again and this time the guard kicked Macarius in the ribs.

  ‘Tell them, Aetius,’ Macarius begged when he could catch his breath again.

  ‘Shut up,’ Aetius spat.

  ‘So, Aetius,’ Tanaquil said, ‘for the last time. Who sent you to kill the King?’

  Aetius looked at Macarius cowering beside him. ‘The sons of Ancus Marcius.’

  Tanaquil’s breath caught in her throat. Of course, it was obvious now the name had been spoken. Ancus Marcius had been king before Lucomo. Lucomo had served Ancus well and Ancus had favoured him highly. When Ancus died, the senate, knowing Lucomo to be an honourable and capable man, had elected him to be king. But Ancus’s sons had objected, claiming their right superseded that of Lucomo’s, that one of them should be king. But the senate paid them no attention and Ancus’s sons had slunk out of Rome, protesting against the people’s lack of respect for their nobility. Secure on the throne, Lucomo and she had grown complacent over the years, not considering the Marcius family to be a threat. Now, she knew how reckless they had been to think so.

  ‘They paid you to kill the King?’

  Aetius nodded. ‘They gave us gold.’

  ‘And where are they now?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ Aetius said. ‘The rest of the gold was to be sent on to us when…’

  ‘When you had butchered my husband,’ Tanaquil finished.

  Macarius was mumbling he was sorry. Tanaquil ignored him. To Aetius, she said, ‘Did you really expect to survive this?’

  Aetius shook his head.

  ‘And so the gold was to go to your families. I suppose you have families?’

  ‘Yes,’ Aetius said and began to sob.

  ‘And you would be heartbroken to have anything happen to your families?’

  ‘Please, lady,’ Macarius said, pawing at the hem of her dress, ‘they have nothing to do with this. It was us. Aetius, tell her it was just us.’

  ‘We beg you, lady,’ Aetius said, ‘have mercy.’

  ‘Mercy?’ she said, bending down to him so their faces were only inches apart. ‘Mercy from the woman whose husband you have attacked?’

  ‘We didn’t want to do it,’ he cried.

  ‘But you did it all the same.’ Tanaquil drew back her arm and struck him across the face, feeling the sting in her palm. She enjoyed the pain, it gave her strength. ‘Take them away and lock them up,’ she said to the guards. ‘Then discover their families and have them taken up as well.’

  ‘No,’ Aetius cried. ‘Please, I beg you, my Queen. They are innocent of this.’

  ‘No one is ever innocent,’ she said as the guards dragged Aetius and Macarius away. To the lictor who remained by her side, Tanaquil said, ‘Find Servius Tullius.’

  2

  The lictor had anticipated Tanaquil’s command and despatched a messenger to fetch the King’s son-in-law as soon as he had secured the domus. The lictor had instructed the messenger to speak to no one but Servius Tullius. Servius had been in the forum on business when the messenger found him, telling him as quietly as he could that the King had been attacked. The news had stunned Servius. He didn’t stop to question the messenger but hurried home.

  Servius ran up to the domus, kicking up dust into the faces of the guards. Breathlessly, he yelled at them to unlock the doors. They hurried to obey and had barely opened the heavy wooden doors before Servius burst in, pushing his way through the petitioners who had been detained on Tanaquil’s order. Spotting an opportunity to escape, they all tried to exit at once, but the guards forced them back and re-locked the doors.

  The lictor was waiting at the top of the stairs. He stepped forward to meet Servius.

  ‘Is it true?’ Servius asked. ‘Has the King been attacked?’

  ‘Sir,’ the lictor said, keeping his voice low, ‘the King is dead.’

  Servius stared at him. ‘Dead?’

  The lictor nodded.

  ‘And what of the Queen?’ Servius asked. ‘Was she hurt? Where is she?’

  ‘In there.’ The lictor pointed to Lucomo’s office. ‘She wasn’t there when it happened. She came down once it was… when it was over.’

  ‘Thanks be to Jupiter,’ Servius breathed. ‘How is she?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. She’s wept, I could tell by her eyes, but she did it in private. I knew she’d want to see you, so I sent the messenger to find you.’

  ‘Thank you for that.’ Servius patted the lictor’s arm, a gesture of familiarity he was not apt to bestow nor one the lictor would normally have welcomed. But this was no ordinary day and the lictor appreciated the gratitude. He stepped to one side, allowing Servius to pass.

  Servius knocked on the office door. The voice he knew so well called, ‘Come in.’

  Tanaquil was sitting at Lucomo’s desk. She looked worn, tired. Her grey wiry hair, normally kept so tidy in a bun at the nape of her neck, had come loose and thin strands hung around her jaw. The counterfeit blush, carefully applied that morning, stood stark against her pale cheeks. The lictor was right, Servius thought, she had been crying; her eyes were red and bloodshot. Tanaquil gasped his name and held out her arms.

  Servius rushed to her and she cradled herself against him. He stroked her hair, feeling awkward. He’d never done this before, never comforted Tanaquil, it had always been the other way around. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he said softly. ‘Lucomo dead.’

  ‘The axe broke his head open,’ Tanaquil said, pulling away and dabbing at her eyes.

  ‘And those who did it?’

  ‘Under guard. I’ve given orders for their families to be captured too.’

  ‘Why did they do it?’ he asked, pulling up a stool. He took her hands, drew them onto his lap and rubbed them gently.

  Tanaquil licked her cracked lips. ‘They were hired by the sons of Ancus Marcius.’

  Servius cursed under his breath. ‘But it’s been almost forty years. To act after all this time.’

  ‘Yes, we thought we were safe.’

  ‘But then, Tanaquil, they’ll be coming to Rome to take the throne. We must—’

  ‘They won’t come. They won’t come because they won’t know Lucomo is dead. Not yet. We won’t announce his death until we are ready.’

  ‘But the senators and the patricians—’

  ‘Servius, listen to me,’ Tanaquil grasped his hands and held them to her breast. ‘If we tell the world the King is dead, there will be war. I am too old to fight a war, my boy. But we have you.’

  Servius jerked his hands away. ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you.’

  ‘But I’m— I’m nothing, Tanaquil.’

  Tanaquil pushed away the short dark hair sticking to his forehead. ‘You are far from nothing, Servius. You are a gift from the gods. Oh, don’t look at me like that, it’s true. Lucomo and I never told you the story of what happened when you were young, did we? I shall tell you now. You were asleep, just a boy of about eight, and as you slept, your head became a ball of fire. People thought your head was aflame and the slaves rushed to bring a bucket of water to throw over you, but I had been called to see you for myself and I told them to stand back. I saw you were in no danger. You slept peacefully. I stayed and watched the flames lick your pillow, yet the linen did not burn, and you did not cry out. Eventually, you awoke
and the flames flickered out, and there you were, staring at me, wondering why I was staring at you.’

  ‘I don’t remember any of this,’ Servius said, dumbfounded.

  ‘It was a sign you were to be a beacon in our household,’ Tanaquil said. ‘Lucomo and I decided to raise you as if you were our own son because we knew Rome would have need of you one day.’

  ‘Need of me? What do you mean?’

  ‘You will serve as regent until we announce Lucomo’s death. There will be no outcry or unrest. Rome will be safe.’

  ‘And when Rome knows Lucomo is dead? We can’t keep his death a secret forever, Tanaquil. When it’s known, the senate will want an election.’

  ‘There will be no need for an election, my boy. You will do well as regent and it will be the easiest thing in the world for you to take over as king.’

  ‘You want to make me king?’ Servius gasped. ‘But what of Lucius and Arruns? They’re your grandsons, Tanaquil. Surely, one of them should succeed if there is to be no election?’

  Tanaquil sighed impatiently. ‘Lucius is not yet two years’ old, Servius, Arruns is only six months. Even if one of them were elected to be king, a regent would still be needed until they were old enough. Do you not see that you are the obvious, the best, the only choice? Rome needs you, Servius.’

  Servius ran his hands through his hair. He felt them shaking. ‘Is that why you adopted me? You meant for me to succeed Lucomo? Have you been planning this all these years and never once thought of telling me?’

  Tanaquil gave him a hard stare. ‘What good would it have done to tell you?’

  Servius looked away. ‘And all this time I thought you loved me, not that you were grooming me to be Lucomo’s successor.’

  ‘Oh, Servius, don’t be foolish, of course we loved you. You were as a son to us. We trusted you, we gave you our daughter in marriage. Do not doubt us. Do not doubt me. Not today.’

  ‘And if I don’t want to be king?’