by Laura Dowers
‘Oh,’ he nodded knowingly and was about to turn away when Tarquinia stumbled against him.
‘Lucius,’ he called, ‘bring a stool here, quick.’
Tarquinia closed her eyes, nausea rising. Arruns steadied her and then gently pushed her down onto the stool Lucius had deposited by her.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ she heard Lucius ask Arruns.
‘I just felt a little dizzy, that’s all,’ she said, keeping her eyes closed. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute.’
‘It’s probably the smell,’ Lucius said, wrinkling his nose. ‘All these plebs in one place. It’s enough to make anyone vomit.’
‘Lucius,’ Arruns laughed uneasily, ‘don’t.’
‘Don’t what? I had no idea there were so many plebs in Rome, did you?’
‘Well, we’ll find out just how many there are,’ Arruns said. ‘That’s what the census is for.’
‘I know what the census is for, Arruns,’ Lucius said, clicking his fingers at his slave to put another stool by Tarquinia. He sat down and yawned. ‘Such a stupid thing to do.’
Tarquinia opened her eyes slowly, fighting the impulse to close them again. ‘Stupid? This is your uncle’s greatest achievement.’
‘It’s his greatest mistake. Oh, come on, Aunt, you’re a Tarquin. You can’t think this is a good idea.’
‘Yes, Lucius, I do.’
He stared at her in surprise. ‘Really?’ he said, his tone implying she was more stupid than he thought.
The pain behind her eyes ratcheted up a notch. ‘And what exactly do you have against the census?’
‘He’s giving power away, Aunt,’ Lucius said, shaking his head in bewilderment. ‘He’s giving it to the plebs for no good reason.’
‘He wants to be fair to them.’
‘Did they ask him to do it? Did they threaten him? No, so, why do it? I’ll tell you why—.’ He broke off as if deciding saying more was a bad idea.
‘Why, Lucius?’ Tarquinia prompted, suspecting she already knew the answer.
He looked at her and she could see cruelty in his expression. ‘Because he’s one of them, isn’t he?’
‘One of them?’ Tarquinia repeated.
‘Lucius,’ Arruns warned.
‘Aunt,’ Lucius laughed, ‘we’ve all heard the rumours about Uncle Servius.’
Tarquinia wanted to hit him, wanted to smack that smug smile from his handsome face, but she didn’t have the strength. ‘I’m going to tell your grandmother what you said,’ she said, her lips pursing. ‘I’m going to let her deal with you.’
‘I’m not five years old any more, Aunt,’ Lucius said, unperturbed by her threat. ‘You can’t take a rod to me. And anyway, Grandmother agrees with me. She thinks the census and reform are mistakes. She just doesn’t want to upset Uncle Servius by telling him so.’
‘That’s not true,’ Tarquinia whipped her head around, searching for Tanaquil. Her mother was standing next to Servius, watching the procession of men as they queued at the tables to register their names with the scribes. Tanaquil’s face was unreadable. Could Lucius be right, Tarquinia wondered, that Mother doesn’t approve of this? The possibility troubled her. Servius relied on Tanaquil’s approval. She knew he thought Tanaquil wholeheartedly supported his reforms but Tarquinia was suddenly unsure. She had never heard her mother talk about improving the lot of the common people, had never heard her say the old system needed changing. Tarquinia doubted her father would ever had thought of doing what Servius had brought about. Lucomo had believed there was a proper order to the world with the plebs at the bottom and him sitting at the top. Her father would, Tarquinia knew, have told Servius he was being a fool, just as Lucius was saying now.
‘You know it’s true,’ Lucius drew her attention back to him. ‘You just don’t want to admit it.’
‘Do you enjoy putting me and your uncle down, Lucius?’ she sighed.
Lucius’s mouth curled into a smile that turned his handsome face cruel. ‘Just speaking the truth, Aunt. That’s what you taught me to do.’
Tarquinia couldn’t take any more. She rose. ‘I was never able to teach you anything, Lucius. You’re bad. You were born bad and nothing anyone will ever do will change that.’ She walked over to Servius, slipped her hand into his and kissed his cheek.
‘What was that for?’ he asked in surprise.
‘Because you deserve it, for this.’ She gestured at the crowd. ‘And because I love you. You’re a good man, Servius, and I’m proud of you.’
Let Lucius and Tanaquil think what they wanted, she decided, as Servius squeezed her hand. They can think Servius is a fool for doing this for the people. I know my husband is the king Rome needs.
Tarquinia had been right to worry about her. Tanaquil hadn’t felt well for a long while and the last few weeks had been bad. She knew death was only a breath or two away.
She was glad; she really didn’t feel like going on any longer. Her body had been failing for years and her mind, she knew, had not been as sharp as it once was. Dimwitted was no way for her to be and she didn’t want to be talked about as an object of pity: ‘Poor Tanaquil, her mind is going, you know.’ She refused to let the doctor treat her, wouldn’t let him force ill-tasting potions down her throat or rub foul-smelling ointments on her chest. She didn’t want to be made better for a few days only to weaken again. She wanted to die.
But not just yet. Not until she had talked to Lucius.
Tarquinia was by her bedside. She had heard her crying and felt her daughter’s hand in hers. She forced her eyes open. Tarquinia was leaning over her, her eyes puffy and the tip of her nose bright red.
‘I must talk with Lucius,’ Tanaquil said.
A frown creased Tarquinia’s forehead. ‘Why Lucius?’ she asked.
‘Please,’ Tanaquil sighed, not having the energy to explain and pleased that Tarquinia obeyed without further query.
When Tarquinia returned, Lucius a few steps behind her, Tanaquil said she wanted to talk with Lucius alone and Tarquinia left them, casting a resentful look at her nephew. Tanaquil gestured with a crabbed finger that Lucius was to sit, following him with her eyes as he took the stool Tarquinia had occupied. He looks so like his father, she thought. Lucius was so handsome and yet there was that hint of cruelty in the full-lipped mouth and the eyes that tried to avoid making contact. Even now, Lucius was looking everywhere but at her.
‘Lucius,’ she said, ‘I’ll be dead soon and I need to talk to you before I go.’
She paused, partly to catch her breath but also to give him an opportunity to speak, a small part of her hoping he would be kind to her, take her hand, say he would miss her. But he didn’t and she chided herself for her hopes. Lucius was not kind, never had been. It was ridiculous to hope for kindness from him now.
‘I know you want to be king. And I want you to be king, but I fear it, too.’
‘Why do you fear it?’ Lucius demanded angrily.
‘You know there is a curse upon our family.’
Lucius made a gesture of disgust. ‘You’ve countered that curse. It has no power over me.’
‘The gods have power over you, Lucius. Poena has been placated all these years, but she may not always be so kind. Never believe the gods will always love you, Lucius. They are fickle.’
‘So, I will continue the sacrifices to Poena, Grandmother.’
‘There is more. Something I haven’t told you. I consulted an astrologer. I asked him to cast your horoscope.’ She had to stop talking. Her chest was hurting.
‘What did he predict?’ Lucius asked urgently, shaking her arm. ‘Grandmother, what did he predict for me?’
He was merciless, she remembered, and would carry on shaking her until she answered. She fought the pain in her chest. ‘The astrologer predicted you would be king but that your reign would begin in blood and end in despair.’
‘What?’ Lucius spat. ‘End in despair?’
‘Don’t let it come true, Lucius, please.’
&nbs
p; He shook his head. ‘But if it’s been foretold—’
‘Change the prophecy.’ She clutched his wrist and dug her fingers into his skin. ‘Change it.’
‘How?’
‘Your nature will decide your fate. You must fight it, Lucius.’
‘I can’t help how I’m made, Grandmother.’
‘You must try. If your reign is to begin in blood, then I fear it will be Servius’s blood. And if Servius were to know what the astrologer predicted, he may act against you to prevent it. I will not have this family turn against itself. You must cease to be his enemy. Only then will you change the prophecy.’
Her crabbed claw released him, her energy spent. Her eyes closed. She heard Lucius scrape back the stool and leave the room. She thought she heard Tarquinia speaking to her, but the voice was distant and growing fainter. The room was growing darker too.
It was time to die. Lucomo was waiting for her.
Lucius had arrived at Cossus’s house cursing the lack of privacy at the domus that necessitated his journey. There were too many people coming and going at the moment, all eager to pay their respects and commiserate with the family over Tanaquil’s death.
The domus felt strange without Tanaquil. He had always been in awe of his grandmother; without her, he felt free. He had always done what he wanted, he knew, but his pleasure had been spoilt knowing he would have to answer to her afterwards. Now, there was no one to answer to, no one to reprimand him or express disappointment, no one whose person he respected as he had respected her.
Lucius had told no one of what Tanaquil had said to him in their private interview before she died. He had gone through all Tanaquil’s papers while the rest of the family were in bed, trying to find the horoscope she had spoken of, wanting to see the truth of her words for himself. But he had been disappointed. He found no horoscope in her chests.
Lucius needed to know his fate and so had entrusted Cossus with finding an astrologer to cast his horoscope. Cossus hadn’t asked any questions and done as Lucius asked. Now, the horoscope was ready and the astrologer waiting to deliver it in person at Cossus’s house.
‘Has he told you what he found?’ Lucius asked Cossus the moment he crossed the threshold.
‘No,’ Cossus said, ‘and I haven’t asked. He’s in the tablinum.’ He led Lucius through the house to the study. ‘There.’
He gestured at a middle-aged man sitting on one of the stools. He was plainly nervous, his right leg jiggling up and down. He started up at their approach.
‘Leave us,’ Lucius said curtly to Cossus.
‘Now, wait just a minute,’ Cossus began, angry at Lucius’s tone. ‘This is my house—’
‘Cossus,’ Lucius snarled, shooting his friend an uncompromising glare.
‘All right,’ Cossus said and left Lucius alone with the astrologer, deliberately not closing the door.
Lucius closed it. ‘Your name?’
‘Bruscius, Prince Lucius,’ the astrologer said and bowed.
‘You have my horoscope?’
‘Here in my bag.’ Bruscius rooted in his satchel for the parchment.
‘I trust you have told no one you have cast my horoscope?’ Lucius said, moving to the table as Bruscius unrolled the parchment upon it.
‘No one, Prince Lucius, I assure you. All my clients enjoy complete confidentiality.’
Satisfied, Lucius stared down at the paper. It was a mass of symbols and images, only a few of which he recognised. ‘Tell me what you learnt,’ he ordered.
Bruscius began pointing to the illustrations, explaining each one in turn and how they related to one another. Lucius didn’t want a lesson in horoscopes. He grew impatient and snapped, ‘Yes, yes, forget all that. Just tell me. Will I be king?’
‘Oh yes, my prince, yes,’ Bruscius assured him, pointing to a symbol that meant nothing to Lucius.
‘When?’
Bruscius licked his lips. ‘It is difficult to say. It could be a few years or it could be ten or more.’
‘As long as that?’ Lucius said, disheartened.
‘Possibly,’ Bruscius shrugged.
‘And how? How do I become king? Does Servius die or does he abdicate?’
‘This is your horoscope, my prince, not the King’s. I cannot say,’ Bruscius said uneasily, knowing he was risking Lucius’s displeasure.
Lucius kicked the leg of the table, knocking over a pile of papers. ‘Is there blood? Does my reign begin in blood?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Bruscius said, pleased he could confirm something.
‘Whose blood?’
‘Not yours, my prince,’ he said. ‘Perhaps a battle, perhaps you defeat your enemy. And yours is a long reign, a good reign. All your subjects will love you.’
‘You can see that?’
‘Oh yes, yes, here.’ Bruscius pointed to another inscrutable section of the parchment.
‘How does my reign end?’
Bruscius made a show of studying the horoscope but it couldn’t help him. That part of Lucius’s future was indistinct, unclear to him. He did what he always did when asked a question by the client he didn’t know the answer to: he made it up.
‘You die in your bed, Prince Lucius,’ Bruscius murmured.
Lucius stared at the horoscope. After a long moment, he said, ‘Very well. Roll it up.’
Bruscius did so and passed the parchment to Lucius. He timidly held out his other hand, palm upwards. Lucius fished into the leather pouch on his belt and took out a small bronze ingot, pushing it into Bruscius’s hand.
‘Remember,’ he said, ‘no one is to know of this.’
‘No one will know,’ Bruscius assured him.
Lucius turned on his heel and opened the door. Cossus was waiting just outside and Lucius had said goodbye before Cossus could even speak.
Cossus watched his friend leave, then turned to Bruscius. ‘Well?’
‘The prince was pleased, sir,’ Bruscius said.
‘Told him what he wanted to hear, did you?’ Cossus grinned.
‘I told him the truth as I divined it,’ Bruscius protested.
‘What did you tell him?’ Cossus asked.
Bruscius swallowed. ‘The Prince swore me to secrecy, sir.’
‘Did he?’ Cossus said, stepping into the room. ‘Well, you really shouldn’t tell me, then.’ His hand came up and grabbed Bruscius by the throat. He squeezed hard. ‘But you’re going to.’
Bruscius made a squawking noise. ‘Sir, please.’
‘I’ll rip your throat out if you don’t tell me,’ Cossus promised calmly. ‘Is he going to be king?’
Bruscius nodded as well as he could.
‘When?’
‘I couldn’t tell.’ Cossus’s grip tightened, making Bruscius’s eyes bulge. ‘It’s true. The horoscope didn’t tell me that. I told the Prince it could be five, ten years.’
‘Ten years?’ Cossus said disgustedly and let Bruscius go. ‘By the gods, I’ve got to wait that long?’
‘It could be earlier,’ Bruscius said, rubbing his throat gingerly.
Cossus spat on the floor. ‘All right, stop your snivelling. Go on, get out. And keep your mouth shut.’
Bruscius picked up his satchel and scurried out. Cossus and Lucius didn’t have to worry about his discretion. Bruscius wouldn’t breathe a word.
13
‘Are you really going to eat all of that?’ Lolly raised her eyebrow at the plate of pastries Matia was picking from. ‘You shouldn’t, you know. You’ll get even fatter.’
Matia froze in mid-reach, her eyes wide at the insult. She dropped the bun back onto the plate, seeing Lolly’s lips purse in wry amusement, and her chest began to heave with resentment. She had a good mind to get up and leave but she knew she would need an excuse. One didn’t just walk out on the daughter of the King of Rome.
‘Husbands are so mindful about our bodies,’ Lolly said, helping herself to a cake smothered in honey. ‘And they are so hypocritical. It doesn’t matter how fat they get but we must not
.’
‘Your husband isn’t fat,’ Matia said, glad to be able to contradict Lolly. ‘He has a fine figure.’
‘You think so?’ Lolly asked in surprise. ‘Arruns is getting a big belly. It’s not noticeable beneath his toga, of course, but when he’s undressed...’ She blew out her cheeks and spread her arms wide to show Matia the enormity of her husband’s stomach.
Matia took a sip of her wine, determined not to be drawn on Arruns’s alleged obesity. She liked Arruns, he was always extremely courteous to her, and thought it mean of Lolly to disparage him in this way. But that was Lolly, she reflected, a mean bitch. Why did she put herself through this time and time again? It was always the same. Matia would come away from a meeting with Lolly determined not to have supper or see an entertainment with her again and yet, when the next invitation came, Matia always dashed off a reply that said she would be delighted to attend. She was a fool, that was the only explanation.
‘His brother keeps himself so much better,’ Lolly was saying. ‘But then Lucius has always been very fit.’
It hadn’t taken Lolly long to get onto her favourite subject, Matia thought. For as long as she could remember, Lolly would do her best to turn any conversation onto Lucius. Matia knew exactly what Lolly would say now. It was always the same: how handsome Lucius was, how clever, how good a husband to her sister, and wasn’t Tullia lucky. Matia turned her mind towards concocting some believable excuse so she could leave. Could she say she didn’t feel well? No, Lolly would only say it was because she had eaten too much. She had a prior engagement she had forgotten until now? Again, no. Lolly would only say she was more important than anyone else and Matia should let them down rather than her. Oh, what was Lolly saying now?
‘And it makes a difference, doesn’t it,’ Lolly held out her cup for it to be refilled, ‘if a man is fit and not carrying any extra weight?’
‘A difference to what?’ Matia asked, realising Lolly had deviated from her usual topic.
‘To their potency,’ Lolly said.
‘Potency?’
‘Well, of course, you goose. If your husband is fat, it means he sweats and grunts on top of you like a pig. I told Arruns he could stop all that. I told him, if you want to get fat and make that much noise and stink, you can do it away from my face.’
