Viper's Nest

by Rachel Ford

  But for Lucretius? Lucretius still believed, with all the ardency of a youth and idealism not yet broken by the world. Trygve saw it, because he recognized it in himself. He had been like Tullius, not long ago. But somehow, in this last month, like a wick catching flame, something had rekindled that passion in him too until it blazed bright and vibrant. This wasn’t even his land; and yet he felt driven to improve it, to make it as just and fair as Cassia dreamed it might be. To see Stella become, not a world of bloodletting and corruption, of endemic poverty and astronomical excess, but a world of fairness and equity.

  Or maybe that was all her dream, and it only mattered to him because she mattered to him. He wasn’t sure. Still, her belief that it could be done gave him faith. And he saw that faith in Lucretius.

  Tullius, meanwhile, had groaned at his words, and Luke was regarding him with surprise. “Me? That’s ridiculous. I couldn’t do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, who would vote for me?”

  “I would,” Tullius said with a grin.

  “Yes, you and maybe my father. I’m not even sure Mother would. She thinks Gallus is charming.” He shook his head. “No, it’s got to be someone like you, Tull.”

  “It doesn’t,” Trygve argued. “You don’t need a name. It would help, admittedly, but you don’t need a name.”

  Both men scoffed now. “Has your Empress really got you believing it’ll be that easy, Tryg?” Tullius wondered. “If it was, why wouldn’t someone have done it already?”

  “Cas has a plan, to make Gallus less of a threat. I can’t tell you more.”

  “Cas?” the gladiator repeated, an eyebrow raised.

  Trygve felt his cheeks flush, and he was grateful when Lucretius asked, “What kind of plan?”

  “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, but you have to trust me: it’s a good one.”

  “It would have to be, to give a new contender a prayer at unseating him.”

  “It is. It should – if we are lucky – finish Gallus. All we need is a solid candidate to run against him.”

  “Still, I’m not that candidate. I don’t have the clout. I wouldn’t have the backing.”

  “You’d have the empress’s,” he said, taking care to use her title this time. “And other senators, from her coalition.”

  Lucretius shook his head, though. “It doesn’t matter. I’d still be younger than most of them. I’m not from a prominent family. We’re country landowners, and nothing more – we’ve never been anything more. No one would take me seriously.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  They had dismounted and continued their conversation by a pretty little glade, through which a river ran. Trygve, though, scarcely noted the scenery. He was focused on his task.

  It had taken a while to convince Lucretius that he had a chance at winning. This was done in two ways. The first, by convincing him that he could be of use to Stella if he did win; and as the young man grew more convinced of that, his apprehensions about the viability of his candidacy waned.

  The second came from an unexpected direction: Tullius. At first, the gladiator had met the suggestion with amusement. But it seemed to grow on him, too, as time went on. “It’s not a bad idea, to have an honest man in the senate,” he’d said at length.

  “Which is why you should run.”

  “You’re the one with ideas, Luke. Ideas on how to fix things. Ideas on where to start.” Tullius shook his head. “I know how to entertain crowds. I know how to kill for sport. But I don’t know anything about government.” He put a hand on Lucretius’ shoulder. “But you do, Love. You know the policies, the players, the outcomes.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can get elected.”

  “No. But it does mean, if you do get elected, you’ll be one hell of a senator.”

  It wasn’t long after that before Lucretius was persuaded. “I must be out of my mind to say this, Tryg…but, I’m in.”

  The Northman clapped him on the back, and then shook his hand with a fierceness that made the other man wince. “I haven’t won yet,” Lucretius reminded him. “I just said I’d run.”

  “You will win. Cas –” He caught himself, adding a hurried, “– sia has it all planned out.”

  “Well,” Tullius said, shaking his head, “when you left here, I have to admit, I didn’t see you getting embroiled in the empire’s politics, Trygve. And here we are, not even two months later, and you’re planning senatorial coups.”

  He grinned. “I didn’t plan it either. But the winds of change are moving.”

  “They better be moving quickly. The election is in three months.”

  “Yes. I’ll talk to Cassia about you as soon as I get back, Lucretius. She’ll want to talk to you. Can you come to the City?”

  He nodded. “Just let me know when.”

  “And don’t keep him too long,” Tullius said, nudging his partner. “I need him back here too.”

  “This is your fault,” Lucretius pointed out archly. “I wouldn’t have said ‘yes’ if you hadn’t made me think I could do it.”

  “Yes.” Tullius nodded. “Because I know you can. And do a damned good job at it.” He kissed Lucretius. “Just don’t make me regret it, is all.”

  This time, Trygve didn’t smirk at their affection as he was wont to do in the past. For some reason, their tender expressions and silly phrases didn’t amuse him as they’d once done. On the contrary, it rather gave him a pang, and he remembered that for all his excitement, all his joy in helping Cass, she was still Faustus’ wife. Her kisses, her tender glances and sweet caresses, her love, were Faustus’. Her child would be Faustus’. She was and would remain Faustus’s.

  Trygve glanced away from the pair, the pleasure of success tarnished in his thoughts by harsh reality.

  The Northman’s mood did not entirely rebound after that realization, but he managed to put himself back into a tolerable good humor afterward. It was hard not to; Tullius’ and Lucretius’ excitement were what his should have been, and before long, he fell into making plans with them with almost as much enthusiasm.

  He’d tried writing his letter again later that night, too.

  Dear Ingrid,

  I hope you are well, sister.

  I am well and have found a home to call my own. It is a strange place, and I grow strangely attached to it. But I miss home. I miss all of you.

  Convey my love to Lucia and Karina.

  I’m sorry, Ingie, for how everything turned out.

  He’d left it there. Somehow, it was too much and too little at the same time. And, what did it matter now? That was his old life. It was closed to him forever. He had a new life now. He had Cassia, and her schemes with the senate. No, the past was the past. Better to leave it there.

  So he’d burned the letter and left its ashes behind.

  When the day was done, he departed with mixed feelings. There was something soothing about life out here, far from the court and its concerns, something peaceful that he couldn’t find in the city. But he was not sorry to bid farewell to the idyllic countryside. As much as he despised it, he welcomed the return to the bustle, to the cramped streets and odiferous districts. He welcomed it, because his heart danced as he thought of how they brought him that much closer to her.

  Cassia had not retired, and – he was pleased to find – she was alone. Faustus, she said, had business with one of his suppliers, and was out of the city for the day. “But tell me about Tullius. What did he say?”

  “He won’t do it.”

  “Ah.” Disappointment stretched across her features. “Well, you did say it was unlikely he would.” She pressed his hand, and his heart seemed to dance in his throat at her touch. “Thank you for trying, anyway, Trygve.”

  He cleared his throat. “I think I found a substitute.”

  “Oh?”

  “Lucretius, of house Septimius.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know the name.”

  “You wouldn’t,” he admitted. “They’re a prospe
rous family, landowners, friends of Tullius’. But not political. Yet.”

  “Ah. And – you think this Lucretius would be a good candidate?”

  “I do,” Trygve nodded. “He’s a good friend of Tullius’ – I met him when I was staying with Tullius. He’s smart, and very interested in politics and reform.”

  “That sounds promising. Can he come to the city? I’d want to meet him and introduce him to Felix.”

  “He can. I told him you would.”

  She smiled, and there was a genuineness in her eyes that made his heart tremble a little. “Thank you, Trygve.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  The letter was dispatched the next day, before breakfast. Faustus returned after it had been dispatched and sent a young page to Cassia. “His Imperial Highness begs you to excuse him, my lady, but the journey was long, and he is weary. He will skip breakfast this morning.”

  “Of course, Alexus. Thank you.” There was, Trygve thought, a touch of color to her cheeks as she received the news. But her tone was unchanged, and she set about her business with no more or less purpose than usual.

  Today, they were scheduled to call on a friend of Cassia’s, a woman named Tacita. This woman had delivered a child two weeks prior and was now in a fit state to receive visitors. “We were good friends, when we were children,” Cassia told him. “We have not been as close, since we each married.” She smiled wanly. “She does not care for Faustus, nor I – if I’m honest – for Valens. Her husband.” She shrugged. “He’s a good man, I suppose, but not as good to her as he ought to be.”

  The Valens family domus was a comfortable property, convenient and fine if not over-spacious. Homes in the city tended to be smaller than countryside villas, as real estate inside the capital came at a premium, and this was no exception. Still, Trygve saw enough marble and mosaics and statuary to convince him that the family was certainly not in a poor way, financially.

  They were not the only visitors, either. The domus’ atrium was packed with friends of the lady, all come to pay their respects now that she was receiving guests.

  “It was a hard pregnancy,” he heard one of the women confide to another.

  “The delivery was the hard part. They weren’t sure she’d make it.”

  “The baby is healthy, at least.”

  When they were ushered in, Trygve wasn’t sure he could say the same for the mother. In the bloom of health, he thought she would be a pretty woman. But she looked frail and drawn, the skin stretched taut over high cheekbones, her olive-green eyes set deep into their eye sockets.

  “Tacita,” Cassia greeted. She must have seen it, too. There was a concern in her tone not entirely masked by the warmth.

  The other woman smiled. “Cas! I was hoping you’d come.”

  They embraced, and Cassia took a moment to look her friend over. “How are you, Tacita?”

  A little pink – the first color he’d seen on her – crept into the new mother’s cheeks. “I’m well, Cas. Well enough.” She shook her head. “It was not the best pregnancy, I can tell you. But little Lucius is doing well.”

  The empress nodded. “So I had heard. I am so glad. And you? Are you doing well, too?”

  Tacita smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tacita was well, or as well as could be expected considering all she’d been through. Her pregnancy had not been an easy one; giving birth had almost killed her. It didn’t help that Valens threatened to cut off the hand of any doctor who harmed his son in delivery.

  Tacita had languished for over a day in her delivery bed, denied the medicine that might have eased her pain. These, too, Valens had opposed. A natural birth, he said, was healthiest for the baby.

  It certainly hadn’t been healthy for Tacita, Cassia thought. Her friend, even a fortnight later, seemed a shadow of her old self.

  Lucius seemed healthy. He was small and fussy, but cried with vigor when he cried, and ate with equal enthusiasm when he nursed.

  Still, she could not forgive Valens for her friend’s state. She had always thought he treated Tacita like a servant rather than a wife; this episode only confirmed her suspicions. Tacita’s suffering, Tacita’s near death, had meant nothing to him, if protecting her meant any risk to his own desires.

  It was, then, a bittersweet reunion, and as she was leaving, it was with equal parts joy and sorrow for her friend.

  She did not leave right away, though. The atrium was full of people come to pay their respects, and she knew all of them – and liked at least a handful. There was one face, though, that caught her eye.

  Herminia Aelius was there, and at her shoulder a young woman whose back was to the empress. But a neat bun of golden hair told her exactly who it was: Herminia’s cousin, Hadriana. The young woman who had shown so much interest in Trygve a few weeks earlier.

  She had asked the Northman once about her, and gotten a vague, roundabout response. He’d been embarrassed and flustered. It might have surprised her, when she was younger, that a man like Trygve, who seemed troubled by nothing, was too afraid to talk to a pretty woman. But she was wiser, now, and it didn’t surprise her. Men were always foolish where their hearts were concerned.

  Still, she was very fond of Trygve. He was a good sort of man, the kind of man who would make a good husband and a good father. He’d given up everything to defend his sisters, hadn’t he? And he was a good friend to her, too; a better friend than she ever would have believed someone in her employ might be. But he was a stranger here, and sometimes seemed as much a guest to her as anything else. He certainly was freer with his thoughts than any servant would be. And she valued him for it.

  No, Trygve deserved to be happy. And though she didn’t know Hadriana well, she seemed a pleasant enough person; and she was clearly interested in him. Which, of course, was a solid footing for any relationship.

  So if Trygve was too tongue-tied to introduce himself to Hadriana, she decided that she would do it for him.

  She set her footsteps in the direction of the two ladies of house Aelius. Herminia saw her first and nudged her cousin. Hadriana turned, and – Cassia was happy to see – flushed scarlet at the sight of the approaching duo.

  She couldn’t see Trygve, but she did hear his steps slow. Matchmaking, she thought, might just be as entertaining for her as it would be useful for the parties involved. She had to fight to repress a grin, though, as she said, “Herminia, I’m glad to see you. And Hadriana, isn’t it? I don’t believe we’ve actually met yet.”

  The two women greeted her with deference. “Empress Cassia, what a pleasure,” the elder said.

  “I am honored to make your acquaintance,” the younger replied.

  “Hadriana is the daughter of my husband’s uncle,” Herminia explained. “But we have been friends for some years now. She is spending the summer with us, from their villa in the north.”

  “Oh,” Cassia nodded, “how nice. Have you had an opportunity to see much of the city, yet, Hadriana?”

  “Yes, my lady. I have seen all the coliseums, and the theaters, and the races too.”

  “Ah.” This was an unlucky topic, Cassia thought, considering the race Trygve had only just witnessed the other day. She decided to cut to the chase. “Oh, but forgive me. I have not introduced Trygve.” She gestured for the Northman to step forward, and, refusing to meet her gaze, he did. “Trygve Ingensen works for my husband. I’m sure you heard of him; he was our most recent Victor of the games. Now, he’s been keeping me safe during my pregnancy. Trygve, these are friends of mine: the ladies Hadriana and Herminia Aelius.”

  “A pleasure, Mister Ingensen,” Herminia said, offering her hand.

  He took it and returned the salutation. Hadriana’s greeting was less coherent, but Cassia mentally awarded her marks for the attempt. Trygve’s response was not much better. They were both crimson cheeked and tongue-tied.

  “Have you seen Tacita yet?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” Herminia replied. “
I fear we may not see her at all today. Her man came down a moment ago and told us – those of us waiting – that she is feeling fatigued and may not be able to receive any more visitors.”

  Cassia nodded, her brow furrowing. Tacita had not mentioned it – out of politeness, she supposed – but she certainly had not looked well. “Poor girl,” she said. “This has not been easy for her.”

  “No. We will come again tomorrow, though.”

  “The company will do her good, I think,” the empress replied. Then, a flash of inspiration hit her. “But, if you’ve no other plans for the afternoon, perhaps you’d like to take lunch at the palace? I’d love the company.”

  Trygve tried not to scowl. He knew exactly what Cassia was up to. He’d been through this once or twice back home, with his stepmother. There was something, he thought, innate to women that they could not abide an unmarried man, and so were always setting out to fix him up with any available female.

  Then again, his father had done the same thing. Even Tullius had dropped hints about one of Lucretius’ sisters the day before.

  Maybe it was just married people – or those as good as married, anyway. Maybe, he thought with annoyance, they wanted to inflict the same misery on the happily single.

  Not that, if he was entirely honest, he was happy in his solitude. But if there was a woman who could relieve him of his unhappiness, it was a specific woman: the specific woman, trying to bring Hadriana to his attention.

  She was pretty, this cousin of Herminia’s. He didn’t doubt that she liked him, either. There weren’t many other explanations for her blushes and awkwardness. He felt bad about that. In another circumstance – if he were less of a fool – he probably would have introduced himself the first night he saw her. But as things were, she couldn’t interest him. Not with his mind so full of Cassia. That just made these hijinks the more absurd, lest Hadriana mistake his own discomfort.