As the fortnight progressed my domina’s hands became numb. Permanently cupped, her fingers curved into claws. Shafts of pain shot up her arms when she tried to flex her stiffened digits. None would know the true cost to her of this quest except me. She feared she would never regain the use of her hands.
On the afternoon of Mercury in the second week of her ordeal, I brought forth the sad news that one of her dearest friends had succumbed to a tumour. It had been a slow and painful death for Lollia, the tumour having grown so large it had given her the appearance of three breasts. Her joined hands hidden in her sleeves, Livia wept while the maids applied squares of silk to her eyes. I knew more than anyone how much Lollia had been prized for her loyalty.
‘Who brought the news to me?’ she asked at last, when her grief had ebbed a little.
‘Her daughter, domina.’
‘Plancina is here?’
‘Waiting outside,’ I told her.
Livia flew to Plancina when she was admitted, hugging her oddly so as not to risk the egg. Plancina extricated herself and then flew with equal fervour to the hem of Livia’s gown, kissing and licking it.
‘You look beautiful,’ Livia said at last, for want of anything else to say. Now thirty-two, Plancina was ugly, sow-faced and squat; her limbs and body were like half-filled bladders, shapeless, damp and soft. But she was moved to be told otherwise.
‘Were you there for your mother’s final words?’ Livia asked.
‘They concerned you, our dear friend, and they’re why I came to Rome as soon as her pyre was lit.’
Livia’s heart broke. ‘Your mother thought of me as death was taking her?’
‘In her final months she thought of you constantly. Serving you was her greatest honour. So many men asked her to marry them – and she let them believe that she would, the idiots. But she always told me that she’d never remarry because her life was devoted to you.’
‘She was a treasure I can never replace,’ wept Livia, truly meaning it.
‘But that is not true at all,’ said Plancina. ‘It would be my honour to replace her in every way, Livia, every possible way.’ She paused and then added, ‘My mother’s final words were a request to me that I carry on this duty.’
Livia looked at Plancina carefully and said nothing for a moment. ‘Your mother and I were girls together. We shared every secret from the time she was first brought to my father’s house.’
‘I know the story,’ said Plancina. ‘My grandfather was your father’s client and a fool. He fell into debt to your father – a debt that was financially unpayable. The two men came to an agreement and my mother was given to your father as a gift.’
Plancina did indeed know the truth. ‘My father intended her as a child concubine,’ said Livia, without judgement of the past. ‘That was by no means unheard of in those times.’
‘By no means, yet she never took that role.’
‘Your mother became my companion instead.’
‘She had powers of dissuasion with men even then.’
Plancina risked a smile as my domina rolled the hidden egg in her palms, revealing nothing. Finally Livia spoke. ‘You know the story, Plancina, but do you know the secrets?’
Plancina placed her mouth at Livia’s ear. ‘I was there for your first husband,’ she whispered. ‘Right there as it happened – I saw everything, I learned everything.’ She withdrew a little, so that Livia could read the sincerity in her face. ‘And I have never stopped learning everything else that I could.’
The egg hatched when Livia was asleep in her bed; her tortured hands still cupping the shell as if it was a diamond. The tiny bird cracked and emerged, and Livia awoke to find the very answer she craved.
Plancina’s first task was to send the Caelian soothsayer a hefty bonus.
When Julia found herself with child the news was greeted with what seemed to her as an extraordinary celebration from Livia. She was certainly pleased to have made her stepmother happy, but she could not recall the same level of reaction when Gaius and Lucius had been born. Minutes after the physicians had confirmed Julia’s state, Livia appeared at the door with her hand to her mouth, quite unable to speak. Tears flooded my domina’s eyes until she flung herself at Julia’s hands, kissing them passionately.
‘Oh, my precious daughter – how you honour me.’
Julia was embarrassed. ‘This will be my fifth. It’ll be an easy pregnancy. I’m already very confident it will live.’
‘Of course it will live – it has your father’s blood,’ said Livia. She paused, unsure whether to speak of something secret as she cast a quick glance at me waiting respectfully at the door.
‘What is it, Stepmother?’
She righted herself and stole back to the door, closing it gently. I remained on the other side, listening – as she fully expected me to. There were no other slaves present. ‘I have consulted a soothsayer,’ said Livia.
Julia was shocked. ‘But you despise such things?’
‘For appearance’s sake only,’ said Livia. ‘If Rome was dependent upon these men they could grasp power. You understand that?’
Julia did.
‘But they have their place,’ she went on. ‘It’s been many years since I’ve seen anything quite like it, and while he’s by no means the best of his kind, he still has such an ear to the gods it would frighten you.’
Julia was frightened, but Livia reassured her. ‘He speaks of great glory.’ She prepared herself, so sure that Julia would swoon when she heard it. ‘Three men of your line will rule. He’s seen it. It’s prophesied …’
None of this came from the Caelian soothsayer, of course. It was a corruption of Thrasyllus’s words.
Julia said nothing as Livia waited. ‘Don’t you see what that means?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘First one, then another, and then another man of your blood will have Rome in his palm – three men who descend from you. Each one will rule it. Each one will be Rome.’
‘But what about the Senate?’
Livia was incredulous. Then it occurred to her how little Julia saw or knew of the First Citizen’s role. Rome was a republic in illusion only. The only reason Julia’s father was not called ‘Emperor’ was because he found the name offensive to the Ways of the Fathers.
Livia subdued her tone – motherly again. ‘You have things to learn in time. But it’ll be for Rome’s good when you do.’
‘Did the soothsayer tell you my baby was a boy?’
Livia held only certainty. ‘Not directly. But an ordeal he had me endure told me everything I hoped for.’
Julia remembered how her stepmother had refused to see anyone for a fortnight and wondered if this ordeal had happened during that time. She felt even more uneasy.
‘Oh, Julia, do you understand?’ Livia implored. ‘Your father’s greatness will stretch across generations. As much as you or I can guide it, Rome will never see civil war again.’
But Julia didn’t see that at all. ‘You or I? But we’re women. How can we guide anything beyond our own households?’
‘Our household is Rome.’
For the first time in her life Julia saw a light in Livia’s smile. The love was there, the devotion that Livia always exhibited, but there was something else behind it – a hunger that was not among the virtues of motherhood. Livia’s lips betrayed a strength that Julia had only seen within a man. ‘You have ambition …’
Livia’s smile remained. ‘Isn’t that the quality that lets us own the world?’
‘Yes, Stepmother.’ But Julia felt cold.
‘I have a new attendant,’ said Livia, changing the subject. ‘You’ll like her. I’ll send her to be your friend in confinement.’
Julia nodded, but her mind was racing back through every word her stepmother had uttered since entering the room.
‘She is very plain,’ Livia went on, ‘and somewhat excitable, but lively company.’
Julia made the right noises, but when her stepmother ha
d gone she bolted the door behind her again and kept away the slaves. In the fitful sleep that followed, the same question kept begging for an answer. If three men of Julia’s line were destined to rule, why had nothing been said of the three sons she had already borne?
The Ides of March
9 BC
Seven months later: First Citizen Caesar
Augustus consecrates the Ara Pacis on
the Field of Mars to celebrate the peace
brought to the Empire by his victories
The tiny goddess Rumour dwelled easily in Roman homes and fanned the notion that Drusus, younger brother of Tiberius, had Octavian as his blood father, not Tiberius Nero. His mother Livia fanned this gossip.
For each of Drusus’s milestones the First Citizen was a voluble, enthusiastic presence. When Drusus attained his toga virilis at fourteen Octavian proclaimed him proudly before the Senate. When Drusus was granted the ability to hold public office five years before the minimum age, Octavian rejoiced at having such a prodigy among the Julii.
When Drusus honoured his betrothal to Antonia, daughter of the dead Antony, Octavian shed tears of joy at the wedding and thanked the gods for the path of mercy they had shown him when he had stayed his hand from murdering Antony’s children. Yet, with Antonia’s dough-like face and earnest, disapproving nature, Octavian had feared that Drusus would feel maligned at being asked to wed this matronly girl. But he loved Antonia truly.
The birth of Drusus’s son, Germanicus, filled Octavian with yet more pride. The gratification only grew with the birth of a daughter, Livilla, and the imminent arrival of another child. In her third labour, Antonia defied the midwives’ assurances and disproved the notion that babies were easier to deliver the more often you had them. This child had cooked twisted in the womb, the cord tied around its leg in a knot.
The labour lasted well into a second day and physicians ejected the midwives when both Antonia and her child were at death’s door. Throughout the ordeal, Octavian was company to Drusus, encouraging his spirits, joining him in sacrifices, convincing him that mother and baby would survive. When the physicians finally emerged from Antonia’s chamber Drusus read too much into their faces and broke down upon the floor.
But Octavian saw the truth and lifted Livia’s second son to his feet. Antonia was weakened but alive, and Drusus had been granted another son. Yet the physicians were not exultant and Octavian steadied the younger man as they showed him why. The baby’s leg that had grown within the cord was misshapen, smaller than the healthy limb. Octavian explained how things stood – it was Drusus’s choice alone to reject or embrace this child. If he made the former choice – as would be considered right by the Ways of the Fathers – then he must take the child beyond the city walls and expose it.
Octavian left his stepson alone to make this decision but didn’t go far, guilt tormenting him with memories of his own unacknowledged child. He could not voice it, but in his heart he begged that Drusus would not echo such steps. When he could stand it no longer Octavian returned to find Drusus asleep with the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes upon his chest. The physicians whispered that the boy had been named Claudius. Octavian thanked Juno that Drusus had found mercy.
For all these moments and many more, Drusus had another by his side – one who watched all conduct minutely, obsessively, dissecting every gesture and every look, every word said in praise: Tiberius.
But it was not Drusus but Octavian that the older brother examined so judiciously in careful, deliberate silence. Though he made no accusation, Tiberius feared that Octavian did not love Drusus at all. He believed he saw a searching gaze behind the First Citizen’s smile, as if Octavian were raking back the skin of Drusus’s face for any speck of resemblance. He imagined that he saw doubt grow in Octavian that he always found nothing, and then he saw the same look wither into disappointment. Tiberius saw a façade Octavian had erected to cover this. He saw the hearty laugh and the too-easy tears of sentiment for what they were: compensation.
Yet Tiberius saw no such things in Octavian’s behaviour towards Tiberius himself. He didn’t need to see them, for he had known how the First Citizen felt about him from the time he returned from Herculaneum as a child. Octavian tolerated Tiberius. He did not dislike him, but he did not love him.
Julia’s waters broke early, and the midwives stayed confident in the face of Livia’s concern. ‘She coupled with her husband so often, domina. How can anyone be sure when the precise date of conception might have been?’
Livia was angry. ‘You were so sure six months ago.’
‘The child is large. We might well have been wrong about how progressed it was.’
‘So you’re very sure now that it’ll not be born ahead of its time?’
The women were not sure at all but would not say anything to risk the bonus to be paid if the child lived longer than a week. ‘We’ve sacrificed to Vesta, domina, and to Juno, of course – she who brings children into the light.’
‘Idiots – you ignored Diana and Egeria? I want a pile of sacrifices head-high to the deities, to wring every favour from them we can.’
But Livia said nothing about the Great Mother. Since her vision of contemptuous Venus, when Livia had slipped and fallen down the theatre stairs, my domina no longer dared even to speak of Cybele to others. But she hardly needed to. She had become Cybele.
Four hours into the labour, the older of the midwives straightened from examining Julia’s womb. ‘Breach birth,’ she announced. Her younger colleague winced at the lack of tact, as did Plancina, who tightly gripped Julia’s hand.
Livia had been right that Julia would enjoy a new friend. The women had bonded. Plancina was older by five years, but in so many ways was childlike and naïve, which Julia found endearing. Plancina had never married.
‘Don’t worry,’ Julia reassured her. ‘Babies are born feet-first all the time.’
The younger midwife quickly stepped in. ‘There’s no fear in a breach, domina. Babies slip out any which way. The Divine Julius was breach and his mother lived to see a seventh decade.’
‘You see?’ said Julia.
Plancina was reassured but emotional. ‘Forgive me. It’s because I’m a virgin. I’ve no concept of birth.’
‘Well, you will after this,’ Julia joked.
After another hour the midwives sang with joy when the baby’s feet emerged, and they ululated again when these were quickly followed by two strong calves. When Julia was gripped by the next contraction, the thighs appeared.
‘We’re almost there!’ Plancina was ululating too. ‘Bear down again, Julia!’
Julia was straight as a spear in the birthing chair, gripping the leather armrests. When nothing happened, the older midwife placed her hands on the baby’s legs and gently tugged. Julia bit her lips against the pain, but there was no movement. The younger midwife gently slid her hand past the baby through the tight channel and into the womb. She threw a loaded glance at her colleague.
Plancina saw it all and was at once hysterical. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
‘Calm yourself, Plancina,’ Julia managed to say.
The younger midwife reached in further, trying to push the baby out. Still nothing shifted. It could not be left unsaid. ‘The cord is caught between the child and the domina’s womb.’
‘The baby’s bloodflow will cease,’ replied the elder.
Plancina wailed. ‘That’s what happened to Antonia! She birthed a cripple because of it. What have you two done? You’re harpies!’
The women lost their tempers. ‘Get out – your own shrivelled cunt is the menace to this child.’
Plancina screamed as though stabbed, but the younger midwife’s fingers remained inside Julia’s womb, feeling and probing. ‘There’s no heartbeat,’ she whispered.
The fear which Julia had been biting down now claimed her. ‘It’s not dead inside me. I can feel the life. I can hear its heart in me.’
The midwives spoke to each other with th
eir eyes and then turned to Julia. ‘A mother always knows better, domina,’ said the younger. ‘We’ll not give up.’ She could feel the cord pulled taut with the pressure behind it, but knew there was no way to release it.
‘Pull the child with all your strength,’ Julia begged. ‘I can endure it. I have my father’s heart.’
Plancina sobbed with horror. But the younger midwife knew what happened to babies who were delivered so forcefully. Shutting her eyes and ears to Plancina’s distress and focusing only on Julia, she began a softly spoken rhythm of words. ‘The child will live, Lady. The child is here, Lady. The child will live, Lady. The child is here, Lady.’
Julia began repeating them in her pain without thinking, clutching on to them. ‘The child is here, Lady.’
Then the older woman had her hands on Julia’s belly and at her opening, moving quickly back and forward in a new rhythm of caresses. It was mesmerising, the old hands flitting like the wings of a sparrow. Plancina strained to see this magic from where she had slumped on a stool. ‘What are you doing? What are you doing now?’
Julia suddenly arched. ‘It’s shifting! I can feel – it’s moving inside me.’
The younger midwife spoke low to her companion. ‘We need the instruments.’ The older midwife quickly handed a pair of long bronze forceps and the younger woman carefully inserted them. With the cold metal thrust inside her, Julia shrieked as though impaled.
‘Murderers! Murderers!’ Plancina wailed with her.
‘The child is here, Lady. The child will live, Lady,’ said the younger midwife, never losing the rhythm.
The baby’s sex appeared. ‘I see what it is!’ Plancina yelped.
‘It’s a boy!’ the midwives yelled in unison. As the lone slave at the door, I quickly ducked out to take the news elsewhere.
Plancina found her courage again and leapt to the birthing chair, trying to catch the child before the midwives could. ‘But he’s blue. He doesn’t breathe – ‘
Empress Of Rome 1: Den Of Wolves Page 29
