Empress Of Rome 1: Den Of Wolves

by Luke Devenish

  Fighting this, Livia occupied Hebe with the minute aspects of her toilet as she prepared herself for what she had so recklessly set in motion – and now had to go through with alone. Martina’s promised skills – if they had ever even existed in the first place – were Martina’s alone to enjoy. My domina had nothing.

  ‘Good. Very good,’ she murmured as she studied her reflection. She had made herself as beautiful as she had ever been. But it would never be enough to succeed in what she had planned.

  Hebe withdrew the mirror again and Livia nodded at her, before turning to me as I bowed and entered her bedroom carrying a sealed jug of wine. ‘See how Hebe helps me, Iphicles? She’s always a fine help.’

  Hebe smiled as her heart grew another tiny crack. Our own squabbles were in the past since the events of the fire. I knew what crushed the girl but said nothing of it, giving Hebe only a look of sympathy as she withdrew. Seated in the little toy cart that was both her bed and chair since the fire, Hebe pushed away from the room using the wheels to propel herself. Her feet were useless, unable to touch a hard surface. But still Livia called Hebe ‘pet’ and wouldn’t hear of her being forced to do proper work. Hebe knew it was guilt that prevented her exile, not love, and it withered her worse than the burns. While I was never too proud to use guilt to my personal betterment, the noble Hebe saw it as a shameful thing.

  Livia rose and looked to where I stood at the door. She was now so attuned to my slightest reactions to her appearance that she could guess the level of desire she might create among all men purely by my looks to her.

  ‘Domina,’ I whispered reverently. ‘I see you have chosen white this evening.’ She let me gaze as she slowly rotated in her brilliantly bleached stola. Its whiteness was dazzling to my eye, even in the soft glow of the lampadarium that lit the room against the dusk. She held a transparent veil and placed it over the curls and rolls of her elaborately dressed hair. ‘I must still appear penitent,’ she said, ‘but white is a far more penitent choice than undyed linen can ever be. White is purer, don’t you think?’

  My tongue licked my lips. ‘Yes, domina, much more so.’

  She watched the fabric of my tunic where it hung over my loins. The rough material stirred a little before I placed my hands across it self-consciously. Although I had been a secret and willing witness to Livia’s seduction by Martina – and it had aroused me greatly – my own confidence in myself had steadily waned since. A few weeks earlier I would have wanted my domina to stare at the evidence of my desire for as long as she wished. But now the desire was mixed with a growing fear both of and for my domina. She had a taint to her, a darker shade. There was something living within her soul that should not be there.

  ‘Has the litter arrived?’ she asked me.

  ‘Yes, domina,’ I replied, keeping my hands in place. ‘They asked for the fare in advance.’

  ‘Then pay them.’

  I hesitated. ‘I wasn’t sure of your destination. The fare is charged by the distance of the journey.’

  Livia felt the terror she was concealing snap free and sink its teeth into her heart. ‘I’m not going far – within the Palatine …’ She fell dizzily forward.

  I leapt to catch her, dropping the wine jug on a table.

  She looked searchingly at me, clutching at my arms. ‘Can I always trust you, Iphicles? Are you my friend and my slave?’

  I lost control of myself completely and placed her palm to my lips, kissing her softly. ‘You know it, domina. I’m your loyal friend to the end.’

  ‘Would you hold my secrets under torture? Would you withstand the pain for me?’

  I didn’t know why she would ask me this, but still I kissed her palm. ‘You know I would.’

  ‘And are you loyal to Tiberius Nero?’

  I nodded automatically, and then paused when I saw how deeply she stared into my eyes. I saw the answer that she wanted me to give. ‘I serve my domina more,’ I said.

  She was pleased. ‘Then will you come with me? Will you protect me?’

  ‘Of course.’ But my fear for her began to rise again. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To sacrifice,’ she said. But she did not say what was being given in offering – or to whom.

  She withdrew her hand, leaving me with the ghost of her palm on my lips. ‘Are you in danger?’ I whispered. ‘Shall I bring a weapon?’

  Livia knew it would not be needed. As soon as the assignation was kept she would be used and discarded. She would not be in physical peril. But with Martina’s betrayal she could only aspire to being a highborn whore. She had dreamed of being so much more.

  ‘It’ll be enough to know that you watch for me,’ she said. ‘I’ll feel better for sensing you in the shadows.’

  As I stood by to let her leave the room she saw the jug of wine I had brought in, now placed on the little table. ‘Why did you bring that here?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t ask for wine.’

  ‘It’s a gift for you.’

  She was surprised. ‘From who?’

  ‘There was no letter with it. It was delivered to the house while you were out.’

  She picked up the plain earthenware jug, examining it closely. ‘Who delivered it?’

  ‘I don’t think she was anything more than a messenger, domina. Not someone you would know. She was just an old woman.’

  ‘But what did she say?’

  ‘That this wine came with the compliments of a queen.’

  Livia gave a little gasp.

  ‘I thought it was a joke between your friends. Perhaps it’s from the Lady Lollia?’

  ‘No,’ Livia muttered. ‘It’s not from her.’

  ‘But I don’t think the old woman was the one who was actually giving it,’ I went on. ‘She was too ugly. Not someone you’d want to be seen with. She had this, well …’ I tried to indicate with hand gestures what I’d seen on the old woman’s back. ‘She had this affliction.’

  ‘Like Martina’s?’

  It only occurred to me then that the disfigurement was identical. I had met this old woman at an earlier occasion, of course – the moment of Fulvia’s death – though I didn’t then recall it.

  Livia’s heart beat as though it would explode in her chest. She clutched the jug tightly. ‘There is no need to accompany me now, Iphicles.’

  ‘You said you needed me?’

  ‘Not any more. The evening is your own now.’

  ‘But, domina?’

  ‘Let me pass, please,’ she said, making for the door.

  But I wouldn’t move, holding my face close to hers, my breath hot and sweet. ‘You and me, domina,’ I whispered in desperation. ‘The Great Mother brought me to you. We’re meant to live our lives together.’

  She held the wine, barely breathing. ‘If that’s what you believe, Iphicles.’ ‘I never minded when you sent me to the kitchens. Not really. I knew you’d want me back again one day. I knew that you’d remember how I saved you from the cave. And you have remembered all that, haven’t you, domina?’

  ‘Of course I’ve remembered it all. I’ve never forgotten it. You are my favourite slave.’

  Whether she was lying again or not, the words still embraced me like a lover. ‘Your favourite …’ I repeated. Then I pulled myself together. ‘I’m frightened for you. I can see that you’re frightened too. Are you caught in something, domina? Are you trapped?’

  She placed a reassuring finger on my lips – and again I kissed it. ‘I was caught,’ she said, ‘by a foolish trap of my own making. But now I’m the one who will set it for my prey. And I’ll catch him too.’

  I saw it clearly then – what gripped her from within. It consumed her, shaped her, changed her before my eyes. It was Fulvia’s lust. Cleopatra’s too. The lust for feminine power. Livia laughed softly at my obvious recognition of this.

  ‘Tell me who you’re going to trap,’ I begged her.

  She let me hang for a moment and then gave in. ‘Our enemy.’

  I could only stare at her.

  �
��I’ve changed my mind, Iphicles,’ she said. ‘I want you with me after all. You’re my favourite slave. You should witness my triumph.’ She turned on her toes to trip lightly towards the atrium and the door to the street beyond.

  I followed her with my eyes half-closed and my lips slightly parted, tasting her perfume in the air.

  The sacristan didn’t recognise the famous visitor who strode on long, lithe legs up the temple steps to the windy portico. He discerned only that the man was patrician. ‘Watch your step around here, sir – the place is falling down.’

  Octavian gazed into the dim interior of the temple, seeing no-one inside. The sacristan made a show of waiting for the visitor to move on. This was a place for the lowly.

  But Octavian remained where he stood. ‘I have never honoured this goddess. What can you tell me about her?’

  The sacristan appeared to be taken aback. ‘Well, sir – do you mean to say you wish to honour her now?’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Octavian. ‘It depends upon what she can offer me. How dependable is she in wish fulfilment?’

  ‘Well, sir.’ The sacristan seemed lost for a reply and Octavian allowed himself a smile.

  But then the old man surprised him. ‘I would say she gets it right about a quarter of the time – or perhaps a fifth. Not bad for a goddess, really – better odds here than with some of the homegrown deities. This one’s from the East, of course.’

  Octavian marvelled. ‘But that’s exceptional work – why is there no-one here if she’s so good at listening to people?’

  ‘There’s one devotee inside, sir.’ The sacristan pointed into the gloom and Octavian saw the twitch of a stola as Livia moved from shadow into light, and then to shadow again. He held his eyes to where she’d vanished.

  ‘Not so many people know about the Great Mother any more, sir, that’s the problem,’ the sacristan went on. ‘She’s a very old deity – older than Rome. She’s fallen into neglect.’

  ‘Like her temple,’ Octavian said.

  ‘Sorry to say so, sir, but yes. Still, if you feel the need to ask her for your luck to change, she’s the one to go to. Gets bored, she does, that’s what I think. Hardly no-one comes, so she spends half the day snoozing. But it’s not hard to wake her up. Dance about a bit. Flap your arms. Those that do so seem to be the ones who get results with her – or so they tell me.’

  ‘Are you a worshipper yourself?’

  ‘She’s not for me, sir, no. I just look after the place,’ said the sacristan, but he studied Octavian’s face with increased curiosity. ‘The men she favours most are the men with the most to sacrifice,’ he added mysteriously. ‘And she asks it from them too. Could that ever be you, sir?’

  Octavian pondered that, not knowing enough to be sure. Then he reached into his tunica to extract his purse. He emptied the contents into his palm and placed the lot inside the palm of the sacristan. ‘Buy yourself a meal, old man. A good one. There’s an excellent tavern at the entrance to the vegetable market.’

  ‘I know it, sir.’

  There was an awkward pause as Octavian waited for the old man to read his real meaning. But the sacristan didn’t leave. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Oh no, sir – you’re very kind. It’s just that the lady already gave me more than adequate coin for a meal.’

  Livia stepped into the light again, allowing the veil to slip from her head.

  ‘Very generous she was,’ said the sacristan. ‘And trustworthy too – I can tell. I had no issue with giving her the keys …’ The old man was tickled by the brief, startled look that passed across Octavian’s face. ‘The lady told me that if the Great Mother was asleep then she’d return the keys to me and never come here again,’ he continued. ‘But if the Great Mother was awake and listening to the good lady’s prayers, then it would be a gentleman who’d return the keys to me at dawn instead. That’s what she told me.’

  Octavian wondered why such a clever arrangement had never been suggested to him by any woman before. ‘I will have the keys with me when I meet you here tomorrow, old man.’

  The sacristan’s nod betrayed no more of his full understanding. ‘We temple guardians are bound by our oaths of secrecy, sir. We say nothing of what we hear or see.’ The old man bowed and set off towards the vegetable market with the coins clinking in his pouch.

  Octavian stepped inside the temple’s great doors and bolted them behind him. It took him several moments for his eyes to adjust to the reduced light. Livia gave him an image to focus on – she shook her hair loose from its pins. When he turned at the movement she let her cloak fall too. The brilliant white stola underneath was of the sheerest gossamer. Beneath that she wore nothing.

  ‘Livia,’ he murmured appreciatively. ‘You’ve had me concerned for your welfare. I felt it was my duty to come to your assistance.’

  It was like she hadn’t heard him. ‘I want only to be filled with you,’ she whispered to the great alabaster statue. ‘I want to burn with your power, be consumed by it. I want to become you.’

  Octavian was confused. ‘Are you praying to the Great Mother?’

  Livia said nothing but made the smallest movement of her hand at her shoulder. The stola slipped down her body like a shower of springwater. Octavian’s breath left his chest in a little sigh. Her naked beauty was hypnotic.

  ‘You honour me, you truly honour me …’ he whispered, and he loosened the belt at his tunica to disrobe. But as he approached he saw the cup of wine she had placed on the altar. She took it in both hands and drank – now allowing her eyes to rest upon his, stopping him. Her lids were heavy; behind them burned a yearning intensity.

  ‘The goddess will have me drink from this wine.’ She seemed not to be addressing Octavian at all. ‘The Great Mother will bring me good luck – but will also curse me if I drink it alone.’

  Octavian hesitated. ‘I never drink wine. The goddess would know that if she’s any kind of goddess at all.’

  Livia said nothing, staring only at the cup.

  ‘Wine is mind-clouding, for the weak,’ Octavian went on.

  Her voice was a whisper. ‘But I am helpless – and the Great Mother aids those who let themselves become children before her. To the world outside we are strong. But in here we submit to her higher power.’ She held the cup out to him. ‘I am helpless …’ she repeated.

  Octavian took the cup from her hold and looked at the thick, rich liquid. In the dim light it was almost black. He drank. The flavour was so pleasing that he had drained the cup to the bottom before he’d thought to stop himself. He ran his tongue across his lips. ‘It’s ambrosia,’ he said in surprise. ‘It tastes like no wine I’ve ever had …’

  Livia had the small jug in her hand and tipped more liquid into the cup. ‘The wine is the goddess,’ she said, pleased. Then, as she felt his eyes begin to consume her in the same way he had consumed the drugged wine, she slipped her fingers inside her cleft for him and opened herself. ‘Helpless,’ she mouthed in his ear.

  The lust that seized Octavian was bestial.

  From where I crouched in darkness at Attis’s feet, the lone witness to my domina’s triumph, I was unable to watch. Instead, I focused on the porphyry bowl that was used to contain male sacrifice. It was empty.

  Aurelia was so obese that she couldn’t sit upright in her bed when she heard her steward’s announcement. She rolled from one side of her fat frame to the other, attempting to build up a momentum from which she could toss her legs to the edge, using the motion to then tip herself into a sitting position. It had worked before, but the steward’s news had thrown her. ‘Help me,’ she cried. ‘Help me get up. I can’t manage it.’

  With Aurelia’s new maid as an assistant, the steward crawled onto his domina’s mattress, pushing and shoving her left flank until she began to shift. With considerable effort the two slaves managed to steer Aurelia’s trunk towards the right edge of the bed, aided by the sheen of the silken sheets.

  ‘That’s it. That’s it. I can drop my feet
to the floor now.’

  They gave her one shove too many and she shot from the bed to crash hard on the floor, like an elephant being felled in the arena.

  ‘Idiots!’

  The steward and the maid rushed to where their mistress sprawled on the groaning floorboards.

  ‘The weak spot. The weak spot on the floor,’ the winded Aurelia tried to warn them through gasps. ‘You’ve pushed me to where the floor is weak. It won’t take the strain. Help me – ‘

  I burst out laughing from the doorway.

  ‘Get out!’ Aurelia screamed when she heard me. Her quick-thinking maid slapped a bright red wig on her mistress’s bald head to protect what was left of her dignity. ‘How dare you come in here!’ Aurelia bellowed at me in rage.

  ‘Please, don’t get up on my account, Lady,’ I said politely. ‘I’ve already retrieved what I came here for and now I’ll leave you.’

  ‘What you came here for? What are you talking about?’

  ‘I told you what he told me, domina,’ her poor steward started to remind her.

  I held up Livia’s precious Timanthes, which I had taken from Aurelia’s tablinum wall downstairs.

  ‘That’s mine!’ Aurelia screamed. ‘Your mistress gave it to me for the price of the girl.’

  ‘My domina wishes me to tell you that she gave you the treasure as a loan,’ I said.

  ‘Then she’s lying!’

  ‘Perhaps. But she also suggested you discuss the matter with Octavian, should you disagree with her.’

  Aurelia paled. The steward stood up angrily and was about to fight me for it – until I withdrew the dagger I had brought with me.

  ‘Either way, I will bid you good morning, Lady,’ I said.

  With Aurelia’s shriek of rage the weak floor lived up to its promise. The boards gave way, dropping her and the maid directly into the brimming bath of warm water that stood waiting for them in the room below.

  The steward stared at them in speechless amazement until a shove from me dropped him into the bath with them.

  It was only some years later that I learned of the impact my domina’s conquest made on Octavian’s home, and specifically on his wife. One morning, Oxheads’ youngest maid, Antiope, found her mistress kneeling before the little shrine erected in the sleeping room. The ten-year-old girl waited patiently while regal Scribonia took the little Lares figurines – the household gods – one by one, fearfully rubbing them in a square of soft linen. In Antiope’s eyes her mistress’s phobias were unfounded and she wished her domina would spare herself such anxieties.