Render Unto Caesar

by Gillian Bradshaw

  “Lord Prefect,” said Hermogenes. There was no hope for it: he had to make the enormous effort involved in getting to his feet. He caught hold of the bed and pulled himself slowly upright.

  Taurus grunted. “Marcus Aelius Hermogenes.” He enunciated the full Roman name as though it had an unpleasant taste, then glanced at Maerica. “And your concubine. I confess I am surprised by that.”

  “It is not for money, lord,” Maerica announced proudly.

  To Hermogenes’ surprise, Taurus smiled at that—a rather sour smile, but a smile. “I never imagined it was. I am pleased for you, girl. Let me say, too, that I am sorry you were injured. I had given orders that my men were to be at the Bank of Gabinius before the third hour, but they interpreted that to mean they should go there at the second hour and sit around in the back room playing dice and waiting for you to arrive. They have been disciplined.”

  “They left Maerica lying bleeding in the street,” said Hermogenes, with quiet anger.

  Taurus gave him a disapproving look. “They did not. After you were arrested, four of them brought you to the prison, and four stayed behind. They treated the injured, collected the bodies, and questioned the witnesses as to what had happened. If you had not resisted arrest, you would have been aware of that.”

  “I would not have resisted arrest if they’d shown any sign of being willing to help her!” Hermogenes objected, more loudly and just as angrily.

  “Did you expect them to arrest you politely?” Taurus replied sarcastically. “That would have made Pollio’s people suspicious. No: they’d been told that you were wanted for questioning concerning a plot against the state, and they treated you accordingly.”

  Hermogenes glared at him. “Did you tell them that Pollio was looking for me, and was likely to have people at the bank?”

  Taurus frowned, but nodded.

  “And they went and sat in a back room? They told the staff at the bank what they were doing—and then just sat there? They didn’t even station someone outside to keep watch?” It was perfectly obvious now what had gone wrong. Pollio’s people had almost certainly been tipped off by a contact within the bank. An ambush on a crowded street in broad daylight had been a risky and extreme move, but obviously better, from Pollio’s point of view, than allowing such a potentially dangerous witness to fall into the hands of his enemy Taurus.

  “I agree that they should have been very much more careful,” snapped Taurus.

  “More careful?” He snorted. “That is putting it very mildly, Lord Prefect. It doesn’t strike me as sensible to club a man who’s wanted for questioning, either. A blow like that might silence him. I think you should be asking yourself whether they were in Pollio’s pay.”

  “They were criminally negligent,” said Taurus, scowling. “I do not think, however, they they were dishonest—merely slovenly, lax, and stupid. As I said, they have been disciplined.”

  “Oh, but they certainly were dishonest,” Hermogenes informed him. “Maerica had a pen case with my letters of credit and nearly fifty denarii in coin. When I asked about it, the hospital succeeded in locating the pen case, but the coin has all gone. I suspect that the only reason the letters are still there is because your men can’t read Greek. My best cloak, which I left with her, has also disappeared—and that cost over three hundred drachmae in Alexandria: the value must be half again as much in denarii at Rome.”

  Taurus sighed. “I will order inquiries, and if they cannot find the cloak, they will repay you its cost. For now, there are things I need to discuss with you. We will use the doctor’s office. Come.”

  Hermogenes stared at him for a long moment. That was all? The soldiers had neglected their duty, injured a crucial witness, stolen money and a valuable cloak from a woman as she lay wounded and unconscious in the street—and this was all Taurus was going to do about it? Say that they had been “disciplined” and that he would “order inquiries”?

  The praetorian guard, he thought bitterly, were of course purebred Romans and Taurus’s own men, and Taurus—still!—could not bear to condemn them in front of a barbarian and a Greek. Rage and grief at this new injustice, heaped upon so many, many others, tightened his throat so that he could not speak, and he simply glared at the prefect, unable to move.

  Maerica pressed his hand. He glanced down at her, saw the love and concern on her face, and the tightness in his throat relaxed. She was alive: compared to that, what did the rest matter? He should be pleased that the soldiers were being held to account at all. That, for a barbarian and a Greek, was something of a victory. He returned the pressure of her hand and followed Taurus out of the ward.

  The doctor’s office, or consulting room, was at the southeast corner of the hospital, just beyond the injuries ward. The doctor, a nervous young Campanian who had trained in Alexandria, was in the office, but removed himself hurriedly when informed that the general wanted it. Taurus also dismissed his guards. He sat down in the doctor’s chair, frowning.

  Hermogenes sat on the examining couch. “Excuse me that I don’t stand,” he said. “Thanks to the ‘carelessness’ of your men, I find it difficult at the moment.”

  Taurus grunted. “The first thing I must tell you is that Lucius Rufus has agreed to pay his debt.”

  Hermogenes looked at him a moment, wondering why he felt no triumph. “When?”

  “As soon as he has determined the best method of freeing the sum. Within the next few days. I trust that you will collect your letter to Cornelius Scipio tomorrow?”

  “I will postpone its delivery, if I am confident that I can do so without being spied upon as I do so,” Hermogenes said coldly. “I will not collect it until Rufus has paid. The last time he promised to pay me, it was a trick to lure me into a trap where I could be tortured and killed, so I hope you will understand my reluctance to trust him now.”

  “This time he will pay you,” said Taurus, though without heat. “I have told him to send the draft to you at the house of your friend Fiducius Crispus. I hope that will be satisfactory?”

  He hadn’t thought about it. The prospect of returning to the house on the Via Tusculana, of being again a master among slaves, seemed unbearably strange, almost like a return to childhood. He felt a sudden aversion to it, and at the same time a panicky awareness of some deep rift in himself. “I have caused my poor friend a great deal of trouble,” he said slowly. “I do not know whether I should go back there, or whether he would welcome me if I did.”

  “The trouble is over,” Taurus replied. His tone left no room for doubt. “I am sure your friend will welcome you with relief. He has sent me a letter about the matter proclaiming your innocence, protesting at your treatment, and offering to take charge of you if you were found injured.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Hermogenes, in surprise. Despite Titus Fiducius’s resolute support, he still hadn’t expected this of him. He felt a moment’s guilt at his own assumption that the other was too cowardly to protest to consuls and prefects. “Very well, then,” he muttered, ashamed. “I will stay with my friend Titus Fiducius, and Rufus can send the money there.”

  Taurus nodded in satisfaction, then sat scowling at him darkly. Hermogenes returned a look of inquiry.

  “There is to be no discussion of this affair,” Taurus ordered fiercely. “Gossip about this kind of conduct by a man like Tarius Rufus—a consul, and a friend of the emperor—would be damaging to the majesty of the state. I have settled the matter, and I do not want it discussed.”

  Hermogenes stared at him in disbelief. “Lord Prefect, Pollio termed me a thief in every barbershop in the city. My friend has had his house watched by Rufus and searched by Pollio—things which, you may be sure, have been noticed and discussed by all his friends with all of their friends. How can you possibly expect that the whole affair can now be covered over in silence? If I tell people that I am forbidden to discuss it, all that will happen is that they will draw their own conclusions.”

  “Very well: discuss it in confidence, and only with
those who can’t manage without an explanation!” snapped Taurus. “I do not want this to be the gossip of barbershops.”

  “Unlike my career as a thief?”

  Taurus raised a hand forbiddingly. “An unsubstantiated accusation from a man such as Vedius Pollio will not harm your reputation. I will have it posted in the prefectures that he never brought the charge before the law and submitted no evidence that any crime had taken place. If anyone does go to him with news of your whereabouts, his likely reception will both convince him of your innocence and discourage any of his friends from trying the same.”

  Hermogenes glared at him.

  “I am certain that you are well able to find some form of the truth that will keep your associates quiet,” Taurus said, meeting the glare with a flat, implacable gaze. “You must do so.”

  Hermogenes sighed, then bowed his head in acquiescence. “May I ask how you have settled the matter, Lord Prefect?”

  “Very polite all of a sudden, aren’t you?” said the Roman, with distaste. “Pollio has agreed to write off Lucius’s debt to him, in exchange for my taking no further action on the matter.” His lip curled in distaste. “He is ill. I hoped this morning might prove the end of him, but unfortunately he recovered and went home. Still, I think he is unlikely to last too much longer: he is much decayed since the last time I saw him. The emperor would undoubtedly prefer to allow him to die quietly of natural causes, without further scandal.”

  “And so you asked him to cancel Rufus’s debt?” Hermogenes asked angrily. “All four million of it? It sounds to me, Lord Prefect, as though you are still trying to save Tarius Rufus.”

  Taurus shrugged defensively. “Lucius has served the state well, and led our troops to victory many times. He holds the consulship by the emperor’s appointment. He was my friend for many years.” There was real pain in his voice as he said the last phrase. After a moment of silence he went on, “He has been … unlike himself … ever since that business with his son.”

  “What business?” asked Hermogenes warily.

  Taurus gave him a look of affront, then said harshly, “His son and heir plotted his murder, some years back—or so Lucius believes. He heard the evidence privately at a family council, and then sent the young man away, exiled until his father’s death. Obviously something like that preys upon a man, undermines his confidence in his friends … and then there was that freedman of his, Macedo, giving him bad advice. I never liked the creature: he always believed his patron had the right to do anything he pleased, and told him so. I’m glad I broke the ugly parasite’s neck!” His voice had become a snarl.

  Hermogenes kept his face carefully blank.

  Taurus settled in his chair again, like a ruffled eagle. “You disagree, do you?”

  “I think Macedo told Rufus what Rufus wanted to hear,” Hermogenes replied. “And when the man attacked me this morning, he must have known that he’d die for it. He must have believed that if I were silenced, Rufus would be safe. He sacrificed his life for his patron. One has to admire his loyalty.” He shrugged. “But I have to admit that I am grateful to you for stopping him.”

  Taurus snorted in amusement. “Sometimes, Greek, I almost think I could like you.” They looked at one another for a moment, and then the general went on angrily, “Then I remember that you cursed Rome.”

  “Sometimes I almost think I could like you, too, Roman, if you weren’t so bloodthirsty,” replied Hermogenes. “I never meant that curse. I have Roman friends, whom I have no desire at all to see destroyed by the gods. I think even you will admit that I had every reason to feel very angry.”

  Taurus gave another snort. “Then you should work to control your tongue. Well, I accept that you are honest. I have let both Pollio and Lucius know that they are not to interfere with you in any way, and I’ve told Lucius to give you your money. Now, name what reward you want from me.”

  “I told you before, I want nothing from you.”

  “You’re a very proud man, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” agreed Hermogenes evenly. “I came to Rome to claim what the laws of Rome grant me as my right. If you ‘reward’ me, then what I have obtained isn’t a right at all but a favor dished out by a master of the state to a slave who has done him a service. It diminishes it and me.”

  Taurus smiled sourly. “A very proud man,” he repeated, but this time it was with approval. “I will tell you one more thing. When that woman Cantabra was a slave in my school, I asked her to sleep with me. She has a certain kind of magnificence, don’t you find? And great courage, which I admire. I’d watched her win a fight despite having spent the previous three days in a punishment cell—win it through sheer refusal to be beaten—and I wanted her.”

  Hermogenes sat very still, remembering the way Maerica had left out that detail when she told the story, and remembering also how she had insisted that Taurus was honest and honorable. “I am grateful,” he said slowly, “as I know she was, that you respected her refusal and accepted it.”

  Taurus snorted appreciation. “You do know her, don’t you? Yes, of course she refused me: she hates Romans even more than you do. What was the name you used for her?”

  “Maerica. It is her real name. I do not hate Romans, Lord Prefect. I’ve just told you that. As for the empire, it rules the world, and there’s no future in opposing it. I simply want it to be an empire where all citizens have rights, and not just those who are Italian-born and powerful.”

  “You want a Roman empire run by Greeks for their own benefit, you mean,” said Taurus softly. “That was what Marcus Antonius would have made of our republic, him and your Queen Cleopatra. That was what we fought against at Actium, and we shouted with joy when we got the victory.”

  There was real feeling in the words—and a real threat implicit. “I was never a supporter of Cleopatra,” Hermogenes said carefully. “As your own researches proved.”

  “When we occupied Egypt, our informants readily assumed that anyone who’d opposed the monarchy was the emperor’s friend,” Taurus replied. “But at Alexandria, as I recall, those who opposed the monarchy mostly did so because they believed it to be subservient to Rome. They supported anyone who promised to throw all the Romans out.”

  “No one promises that anymore,” Hermogenes told him flatly. “The battles have all been fought, and Rome won. Lord Prefect, I am not a political man. This past month has been the only occasion when I involved myself in affairs of state, and, I assure you, I will be extremely glad to get back to shipping syndicates.”

  At that, Taurus laughed. “And introduce your gladiator to them. It still seems an odd pairing—a wild Cantabrian warrior woman and an Alexandrian businessman—but I wish you good fortune in it.” He got to his feet. “I trust you will see to that letter tomorrow morning. I will tell the hospital to provide a litter to take you and your concubine to your friend’s house now. Good health!”

  * * *

  When the general had gone, Hermogenes sat down by Maerica again and took her hand.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  He kissed a scar on her thumb. “He says he’s told Rufus and Pollio both to leave me alone, and that Rufus will send me the money at Titus Crispus’s house within the next few days.”

  A slow grin spread across her face. She caught his chin with her free hand and pulled his head over to kiss him. “Victory,” she whispered.

  He grimaced. “He’s also told Pollio that he’ll take no action against him if he writes off the whole of the debt Rufus owes to him, and Pollio’s agreed. Four million sestertii! Let off that, it’s no wonder Rufus can suddenly afford to pay me. And Taurus wants to keep the whole business quiet, to protect Rufus. He’s prepared to blame most of Rufus’s troubles on the freedman.”

  “Oh.” She was quiet a moment. “Rufus was his friend,” she said at last. “They may have had debts of their own. The main thing is, you won. You have what you wanted. A Roman consul has been forced to humble himself and obey the laws. And that evil man Pollio is
punished, too. His plan has failed, he remains out of favor, and he has lost money as well.”

  He grimaced again. “Perhaps. But it doesn’t feel like victory. It feels more like—what do they call it in the arenas, when a fight has no clear winner?”

  “We say the fighters are ‘dismissed standing,’” said Maerica. “Dear heart, believe me, this is not a dismissal, it is a win. Just because the losers are spared instead of killed doesn’t mean you are any less a victor.”

  He began to believe it. He grunted, though, still not entirely satisfied, still without any feeling of triumph. “Taurus said one other thing,” he told her. “He said that when you were his slave he asked you to sleep with him.” He linked her fingers with his own and looked up into her face. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  Her eyes had gone hard. “He told you he’d had me?”

  He shook his head. “I think he wanted to see if I would conclude that, but he was not surprised when I didn’t. He never pretended you did anything but refuse. I don’t know, though, why you didn’t tell me that he was willing to honor your refusal. After all, you were his slave. Most men would be indignant at being refused by their own slave. Many would have made you suffer for it. It would’ve reassured me to know that he was willing to respect it.”

  “I was afraid you’d believe that I’d agreed,” she said in a small voice. “That I was his castoff.”

  He shook his head and kissed her thumb again, smiling. “Even if you had agreed … you were a slave. He could have destroyed you—and he could have brought you out safely from the arena, given you your freedom. Who wouldn’t choose life and freedom over slavery and death?”

  “I could never sleep with him,” she declared fiercely. “He commanded the Roman forces at the beginning of the war that destroyed us. I told him I would fight for him, but I could never love him. He understood.”

  “I see.”

  “And … why I didn’t tell you … I was afraid that if you knew, and if you believed me, you might think I wanted to protect him,” she went on, quietly, but also more confidently now. “If you thought I was protecting him, you wouldn’t pay attention to what I said. You would have gone to Maecenas. It was what you wanted to do, and I was afraid that if you did it, Pollio would get you. It was the move he anticipated.”