by Laura Dowers
The people cheered, and she saw a blush flood Servius’s neck and cheeks. This is going to work, she thought, I was right. Servius raised his right hand in salute to the people below and then stepped away from the balcony, back into the shadows.
Tanaquil followed, lifted her thin arms and placed her hands on his shoulders. ‘You did that well, Servius. Now, come.’ She led him down the stairs to the atrium. The servants had cleaned as best they could, but Tanaquil saw some of the stones were tinged with red. Lucomo’s blood will never be wiped away completely, she thought, and perhaps that is as it should be.
She had not told Servius she would call the senators to the domus, so she wasn’t surprised that he hesitated when he saw them waiting. She put her hand to the small of his back, a gentle reminder if he needed it that there was no turning back. A large, carved wooden chair, the one Lucomo had always used when hearing petitioners, stood empty and the senators were giving it a wide berth. There was no mistaking the reverence they had for the inanimate assemblage of wood.
Servius turned a horrified face to Tanaquil. ‘I can’t,’ he whispered.
‘Do you think I have the time or patience for your qualms, Servius?’ Tanaquil hissed. ‘You’ve said the words. It’s time to take your place.’
‘As regent,’ he protested.
Tanaquil looked hard into his eyes. ‘You are king now, Servius. Sit.’
Servius held her gaze for a long moment, then stepped up to the chair.
Servius didn’t look up as the door to the office opened.
His mind was on his papers, and there were many of them. He had helped Lucomo with the work of being a king, it was true, but he had had no real idea of just how much there was to do. The attack had made no difference to the people; they carried on the same as normal. Every day there had been petitioners in the domus, asking him to intercede in a dispute or pass judgement on a matter, whether that matter was a disagreement over shop boundaries or a legal case to be heard in the courts. And those were only the domestic matters. As soon as news spread beyond Rome that Lucomo had been attacked, emissaries had been arriving from the other Latin states, ostensibly to pledge their support but really to find out how matters stood in Rome. Servius now understood why Tanaquil had wanted to preserve the illusion of Lucomo still being alive and he thanked the gods he had listened to her. Had Lucomo’s death been announced, Rome would now be under siege by every foreign potentate who thought his country had a chance to move in and take it over.
Tanaquil closed the door behind her and took a seat by the desk. ‘You’ve worked hard this last week.’
Servius crossed out a line of text. ‘That pleases you?’
‘It pleases me greatly,’ she said. ‘I like to see things are carrying on. And you like the work?’
‘It has novelty,’ Servius shrugged nonchalantly. Tanaquil may have been right, but the little boy in him wasn’t willing to admit it. Truth was he felt a little ashamed of how he had behaved. What other man, when offered the throne, would have quailed and protested he was unfit?
Tanaquil nodded and he could tell from the look in her eyes she understood him better than he liked. He returned his gaze to the paper before him, a proposal from the senate. She asked him about it and he grew animated as he told her what the senators were suggesting and what he was willing to cede. By the time he finished, there was the slightest smile rounding out her cheeks. He reddened.
‘You’re enjoying it,’ she said, giving his hand a playful slap, ‘admit it.’
‘Oh, very well,’ he said, throwing up his hands in surrender, ‘I am. So far.’
‘Get used to it, it’s going to get a lot busier.’ She took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling. ‘I’m going to announce Lucomo’s death.’
‘It has been eight days,’ Servius agreed after a moment. ‘We can’t go on saying there’s no change in his condition. We’re prepared, aren’t we?’
‘I think so,’ Tanaquil said thoughtfully. ‘You will address the senate. You will tell them Lucomo never regained consciousness and that he slipped away in his sleep. His end was peaceful.’
Tanaquil’s face hardened and Servius knew she was fighting against the memory that Lucomo’s death had been anything but peaceful.
‘Do you think there will be opposition to me becoming king?’ Servius asked.
‘Some, perhaps, but from what I’ve heard, the senate is as eager for a quick accession as we are. They know you, Servius, they trust you. Any other candidate would be a risk. There will be a vote and the majority will agree that an election is not necessary. You will be made king. Don’t worry.’
Was it really going to be this easy? That he could step into Lucomo’s shoes and everyone would thank him for it? Servius glanced at Tanaquil and saw no doubt in her eyes. He had known her for so long now that he trusted her implicitly. If Tanaquil said there would be no opposition, there would be no opposition. It was that simple.
‘And once that’s done, we’ll need to arrange Lucomo’s funeral,’ he said carefully, studying her face for any sign he had said the words that would wound her.
But he needn’t have worried. Tanaquil’s expression didn’t change. ‘My dear boy,’ she said with a rueful smile, ‘I’ve already begun.’
Lucomo’s body had been washed and anointed, a wax mould taken of his face and a gold piece for Charon placed in his mouth to pay for the ferry that would take him across the River Styx to the Underworld. He would soon be welcomed into Elysium, Tanaquil thought, as she watched the bier carriers lift him onto their shoulders and carry him out of the domus, as befitted such a favourite of the gods.
Too many days had now passed for Tanaquil to cry afresh; her crying was done. As they had agreed, Servius told the senate of Lucomo’s passing and a proclamation was nailed to the senate doors to inform the people. Now, his shrouded body was ready for burial and the streets of Rome were already lined with citizens who wanted to see the late King embark on his final journey.
Tanaquil joined Servius, Tarquinia and her grandchildren — Lucius, Lucilla and Arruns — and together they led the procession from the domus, the loud music played by the hired musicians walking behind them making it impossible to think of anything beyond putting one foot in front of the other.
The bier was set down in the forum so everyone could see it. She watched as the people clustered around the body while the funeral lament was sung, some reaching out their hands to touch it. The professional mourners began their wailing and tearing of their hair, letting the dead know a great man was about to join them. When all the crowd had seen the body, the procession set off again. They had a slow walk to the cemetery, for though it was less than a mile distant from the walls of the city, the sheer volume of people and the stately pace of the bearers meant it took almost an hour to reach the funeral pyre.
The time for sacrifice had come. A man unlatched the door of a small wooden cart and released a pig, pushing it out of its wooden cage and towards a stake hammered into the ground. Putting a rope around its neck, he tied the other end to the stake.
Servius moved towards the animal, a knife ready in his hand. The pig must have sensed its death was near for it began to squeal and try to escape its leash. The man held the squirming animal tight, hooking his arm around its middle and squeezing it against his side. Servius waited while the man put his hand beneath the pig’s chin and pulled its head back, exposing its neck. Do it now, Tanaquil urged, and it seemed as if Servius read her mind, for he stepped forward and quickly, cleanly, cut the pig’s throat, its blood spraying the bottom of his toga.
The pig died quickly, its legs twitching as its blood pumped into the earth. When it had stopped moving, Servius took a heavy cleaver and cut off its head, splitting this in two a moment later. He gave one half to the man, who put it on the funeral pyre alongside the body. Servius carried the other half to the altar that stood to one side, the bloody flesh and bone an offering to the goddess Ceres. The pig’s blood was sticky on Servius�
��s hands and Tanaquil knew he would be wishing he could clean them, but he had to endure the gory mess until the end. Someone put a flaming torch into his hand and he held it to the kindling at the base of the pyre. It took only moments for the logs to catch.
Tanaquil and the others moved out of the wind’s direction as the fire started to smoke, but still their eyes smarted. Four-year-old Lucilla was being very good, standing still and quiet by Tanaquil, but Lucius, only two years old, grew restless and tugged at Tarquinia’s hand, demanding to be taken home, while Arruns, a babe in arms, started to bawl, not liking the roar of the fire nor the smell of the roasting flesh. Tarquinia appealed to her mother and Tanaquil agreed she could take the children back to the domus.
Many of those who had followed the funeral procession from the city stayed for an hour or so, just long enough to honour the dead king, but mindful of the business that awaited them in their shops. The patricians and senators remained, having no shops to open and acutely conscious of what was expected of them.
It was night by the time the pyre had been reduced to ash and the bones of Lucomo found among the debris and placed in an urn. The house servants had journeyed from the domus with carts laden with food for the funeral feast, and in the light of charcoal braziers, began to lay out bread, cheese, eggs and honey and pour out cups of wine. A bowl of water was presented to Servius so he could, at last, wash the pig’s blood from his hands. Tanaquil accepted bread and honey and a cup of wine and watched as the urn containing Lucomo’s ashes was buried. Servius put his hand on her back and asked how she was feeling.
‘A little numb,’ she said, ‘but pleased for Lucomo. He can rest now.’
‘And when he’s in Elysium,’ Servius said, squeezing her shoulder, ‘he’ll be welcomed with wine and song.’
‘That will not be until he is avenged, Servius,’ Tanaquil said, pouring her wine over the fresh mound of earth that showed where the urn was buried. ‘Not until the blood of those who killed him waters the dirt.’
They returned to the domus when the night had become black, their way through the narrow streets lit by torchbearers. The front doors had been shut upon the most curious and persistent, feeling that after a long day of public show, the Tarquins could at last allow themselves some privacy.
Servius yawned as he entered the triclinium. As soon as they returned to the domus, he had gone to his office, conscious he had urgent papers to read. He had meant to work for only a little while, but he had been at his desk for over an hour.
He saw Tanaquil sitting alone. ‘Are you all right?’
She forced a smile onto her face and patted his hand. ‘I’m fine, my boy, thank you. Come and sit by me.’ She patted the seat cushion beside her.
‘Where’s Tarquinia?’ he asked as he sat.
‘She’s gone to bed with a headache. Lucius was very naughty after they left.’
‘Oh, that makes a change.’
They both laughed and fell into a companionable silence. Servius broke it. ‘I miss Lucomo. I only realised today how much.’
‘Well, you’ve been busy. You’ve hardly had time to think.’
‘So have you and you’ve had more to cope with. Managing the servants, making sure all the little jobs are done, seeing to the children, arranging the funeral. You’ve done all of that as well as helping me. You’re magnificent, you know. I couldn’t have borne all this without you.’
‘Of course you could,’ Tanaquil said, smiling with pleasure despite herself. ‘But I’m glad I’ve been able to help you.’
‘Help me? You’ve done everything. You’ve told the secretaries and lictors and guards what to do, shown me how to act and talk to the senators—’
‘Enough, Servius. Lucomo and I had to learn all this too. We didn’t just know how to rule a nation straightaway, you silly boy. There’s no shame in allowing an old woman to help.’
Servius nodded. ‘You’ve been the best of mothers, Tanaquil. I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘There’s no need. If I’ve been a good mother to you, then you’ve been more than I could have hoped for in a son. But you will have to be strong now, Servius,’ she said, her expression hardening.
‘What do I have to do?’
‘Have you forgotten about the shepherds?’
Understanding spread across Servius’s face. He had indeed forgotten about Aetius and Macarius. ‘I have to execute them.’
‘Yes, you do,’ she nodded. ‘Tell me how.’
She was testing him, Servius knew. He thought for a moment. ‘With swords on the Field of Mars,’ he decided. ‘We will show the sons of Ancus Marcius we are strong.’
‘Good. And what of the shepherds’ families?’
Servius frowned. ‘They played no part in the murder.’
‘Did they not?’ Tanaquil’s thin eyebrows rose. ‘Do you imagine those men did not discuss their plan with their wives? Did their wives not wonder where the gold came from?’
‘They’re women, Tanaquil.’
‘They are traitors, Servius.’
‘Very well,’ he sighed. ‘The children, too?’
Tanaquil nodded. ‘I want no one left alive who will have reason to hate you, my boy.’
3
A proclamation had been made in the forum that the late King’s assassins were to be executed.
It was all anyone talked about in the city. Men wondered how the executions would be carried out; women speculated as to whether the wives and children would be killed along with the men. Few, if any, expressed sympathy. The way the people of Rome saw it, the men and their families had acted treacherously and now had to pay the price.
The executions were to take place in the morning. As the appointed hour drew near, men shut up their shops, letting down the awnings and fixing them in place with wooden bars, while women set aside their spinning and their cleaning, and taking their children by the hand, made their way to the Field of Mars.
The royal guards had made a square in the centre of the field and here waited Aetius and Macarius, their wives and their children. All were bound with ropes and the men’s faces were bruised dark purples and reds, their lips split, and blood matted their hair. The women and the children had not been touched. Their faces bore nothing but fear.
People found spaces for themselves, elbowing their closest neighbours aside to ensure they got a good view. They laughed and joked, not considering nor caring their good humour might heighten the prisoners’ fear.
Trumpets sounded to announce the arrival of the royal family. There was more shoving as a passage was made through the crowd, the royal guards forcing onlookers back to allow Servius and the women through. People murmured to one another as they looked on Servius. He looked grim, they commented, and poor Tanaquil there, losing her husband in such a way. But that was the way of the world, they shrugged, they lived in violent times. And there was Tarquinia, the women looking her up and down, their eyes devouring her silk dress and gold necklace and bracelets, working out how much they cost and how long it would take for them to save up to be able to afford such trinkets, knowing they never would.
Servius, Tanaquil and Tarquinia took the seats that had been set out for them. The crowd stopped their talking and waited.
Servius gestured for the lictor to pronounce the prisoners’ crime and the judgement passed upon them. The shepherds’ wives began to cry, and one rushed towards Servius, begging him to spare her and her son. A guard took hold of her, dragging her back to the others and cuffing her around the mouth to keep her quiet. She fell to her knees, blood dripping from her lips.
The women and children were to die first, Tanaquil had insisted. The shepherds were to feel the most exquisite agony and see what their murderous actions had wrought. At a nod from Servius, two guards took hold of the women and the children, the other four guards pulled Aetius and Macarius aside.
The children were crying now, not knowing what was happening, only aware their mothers were frightened. They sobbed as they watched the
guards approach and tried to back into their mothers even as the guards drove their swords into their stomachs. The women clutched at their dying children, holding their hands over the wounds as if they could stop the blood pouring out of their offspring.
One of the women realised there was nothing she could do to stop her children from dying. Her hands, slick with their blood, ceased their attempts to close up the rips in their abdomens. She let their bodies tumble from her lap to lie face down in the dirt. Pushing herself up onto her feet, the woman faced Tanaquil and Servius. There was a frightening intent in her movement and the guards held back, wary.
The woman opened her mouth wide, tilted her face to the sky and screamed. It was a terrible sound, high, keening, more animal than human. She raised her hands to her face, dragging them across her cheeks. When she pulled them away, her cheeks were streaked with the blood of her children. She opened her eyes and they stood out white against the red. She fixed them on Servius.
‘I curse you,’ she screamed into the sudden silence of the crowd. ‘King Servius Tullius, I curse you. May your reign be marred by discord at your hearth. May your loins bring forth monsters who will cause you pain and strife. May your end be full of blood and pain and come at the hands of your children. And may you suffer eternal torment in the Underworld. I call on Poena to avenge this murder of my innocent children. Poena, hear me.’
The woman raised her arms to the sky. The clouds above her head swelled and turned dark. The Field of Mars became shrouded in grey. The goddess of punishment had heard her servant.
Servius clutched the pommels of his chair. His wide-open eyes stared at the woman, then at the louring clouds. His breath started to come fast, his heart pounded in its cage. A dark shape was forming in the grey clouds, a strange, human-like form with wings. It hovered in the sky until the edges became solid. Then, a piercing scream rent the air and it folded its wings back to dive straight at Servius.
