Viper's Nest

by Rachel Ford

  He felt himself annoyed with Cassia – deeply annoyed. But there was a measure of pain among the annoyance. What else could he feel by Cassia’s desire to see him interested in another woman?

  That she meant it with the best of intentions, he did not doubt. But it reinforced what he knew already: her heart and mind were Faustus’. He might be a friend and confidante, but he would never – could never – be more.

  And that, more than any embarrassment, weighed heavily on his thoughts.

  He was quiet except when called onto speak during the travel back. But, through some design, Cassia and Herminia had arranged that they should walk together in hushed conversation, arm in arm, like fast friends. They’d planned it without him noticing, but that it was deliberate, Trygve did not doubt.

  His suspicions were only confirmed when they detoured to the gardens. “Lunch will keep. I have to show you the new fountain Faustus had put in.”

  He and Hadriana trailed behind. The silence between them was nerve wracking. After a space, Trygve asked, “Is this your first time in the City, my lady?”

  “What?” She looked up, almost apprehensively. Then, she flushed. “Oh, no. I have been here before with my father. Some years back.”

  “Ah.” For a moment, silence descended between them again.

  He was almost determined to let it remain, when she said, “I saw you in the arena, you know.”

  Repressing the grimace that tried to surface, he said, “Do you like the games, then?”

  “No,” she said. “Forgive me. But I don’t. They terrify me.”

  That was not the response he expected. “Then why go?”

  “My cousin – he got us seats.”

  “Ah.”

  She pulled up suddenly and faced him. “Forgive me – I hope you won’t think me presumptuous to ask…but your snow leopard: did he – well, live?”

  “Gunnar,” Trygve smiled. “He did.”

  “And is he alright?”

  “He is.”

  She sighed, and an expression of relief covered her face. “I am glad. I thought – well, when you had to carry him off the field, I thought…”

  He nodded. “So did I. But it was only a scorpion sting. It’s not lethal.”

  Cassia trailed off, listening to the conversation behind her. Herminia was equally absorbed, and for a moment the two women were silent as they heard Trygve and Hadriana discuss the snow leopard. When, however, they seemed ready to let the moment pass, she spoke. “You know, Trygve, you should bring Gunnar to lunch. I’m sure we’d all love to see him. Wouldn’t you, Herminia?”

  “Oh, of course.” The other woman mustered a reasonable enthusiasm, and Cassia smiled.

  “Oh yes,” Hadriana agreed. “Is he here, in the palace?”

  Trygve seemed flustered. “Well, yes.”

  “You should get him,” Cassia repeated. “We’d all like that.”

  He frowned at her, but as the other two women agreed, he nodded. “Very well. As you order, my lady.”

  There was a petulance to his tone and words that almost – almost – gave her pause. But it was clear the two needed something to break the ice between them; and a tundra snow leopard seemed a good choice.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  She was right. Gunnar was exactly what was needed. At first, the great snow leopard was aloof, casting a wary eye on all but his owner and keeping his distance from everyone else. But as he was admired, and particularly as he was bribed with scraps of food, his demeanor relaxed. He sauntered from person to person, chirping in an excited way, and the sharp gleam in his eyes lessened.

  There was something else, too. Trygve relaxed. His good humor was restored. His smiles came more easily. She had heard him speak with affection about the snow leopard before, but it seemed that, until this moment, she hadn’t realized just how much he loved the grizzled beast. He seemed happy, truly happy; and the sight warmed her heart.

  She should have done this before, she thought, not only for Hadriana’s sake. She should have done it for Trygve’s, and Gunnar’s. She hadn’t considered it until this moment. She and Faustus had never kept a pet, and her father’s old hounds were a distant memory. She’d forgotten what the bond between human and animal could be.

  She watched Trygve’s eyes sparkle as he and the snow leopard pretended to wrestle over a scrap of meat, and she resolved that she would do better. She would ask him to bring Gunnar with them more frequently. Perhaps not in the city – the hustle and bustle might frighten a creature of the Northernmost tundras. In the palace though? He was as at ease as any cat could be. Why shouldn’t he follow them here?

  “I had no idea how gentle he would be,” she confided to Trygve as the afternoon progressed. “Not after seeing him in the arena.”

  “He’s all bark and no bite,” he laughed. Gunnar was laying on his back, allowing Trygve to ruffle his stomach furs. “When he feels safe, anyway.”

  She smiled. “I should have said this before, Trygve; I’m sorry I didn’t think of it. But if you want to bring him with you – with us – during the day, you’re always welcome to. Anywhere you think he’d be comfortable.”

  The Northman glanced up now and caught her gaze. He seemed surprised first, and then pleased. “That’s very kind, my lady. He’d like that. But if you don’t like big cats, he’s content enough getting fat in my rooms.”

  She laughed. The snow leopard, if he was fat at all, looked a little better for the added weight. He seemed a little softer, a little cuddlier; a little less like the killing machine from the arenas. “Would that getting fat was so pleasing a look on all of us, eh? But, no, Tryg – I mean it. I do like cats. And he’s a delight.”

  For a moment, he held her gaze in silence. Then he smiled at her, and said, “Thank you, Cassia.”

  She cleared her throat, and glanced away, back at Gunnar. “Of course, Trygve.”

  He took her up on her offer after that. Gunnar did accompany them, mostly when her business kept her inside the palace. Aemilia was horrified by the addition to their morning party. “First a Northman,” she protested in hushed tones, “and now a wild beast? My lady, this is too much. We must think of your safety.”

  Faustus, too, seemed a little unnerved by the change. “You let him let that thing out of its quarters?” he wondered with a frown. “I hope you don’t plan on letting him do that once our son is born, love?”

  But she liked the change, and Gunnar in turn seemed to like her. He would lie by her feet, and sometimes rest his great muzzle on her lap. Sometimes, when there was food about, Trygve would scold him. “Get out, you mangey thief,” he’d say. Or, “Go on, you fat bastard. It’s not for you.” It struck her how at odds the words and tone were. From another, she would have believed the snow leopard despised; but from the Northman, it seemed to be his own peculiar way of showing affection, as if he could not bring himself to articulate sentimentality in terms of endearment.

  He was no poet, Trygve; that was certain. But, she thought, his was a heart that beat as true as any Southerner’s.

  It was the third morning after Trygve had returned when Lucretius was scheduled to meet with her and Felix. They’d arranged to meet at the senator’s domus. Faustus had resumed breakfasting with her, but there was a chilliness still between them. They had not yet shared a bed since their argument, and his temper seemed a little shorter than usual. She did not want to risk her husband getting wind of their conspiracy, and the best way to ensure it didn’t happen was to keep it far from his sight.

  What would happen once the fruits of their planning went public, she tried not to consider. If Faustus’ reaction to a straightforward proposal like a wage increase was this hostile, how would he respond when he learned that she’d worked in secret to oust as much of the conservative wing as possible? What would he do if they succeeded, and his allies – many of them, his friends – were unseated?

  The election was in three months’ time. Their child would be born two months later. She could only
hope that the birth of an heir would persuade him to forgive her.

  In the meantime, she focused on other things. She was empress, and her first duty was to her people. Not even Faustus should keep her from that. She’d been too paralyzed by uncertainty and doubt already. She should have done this long ago. She should have listened to Felix, and to her own judgement.

  Faustus had dropped by at breakfast, saying, “I can’t stay long, Cas. I’ve got to be on the road. Iulius is showing me a property south of the city, one of Octavia’s estates.” He shook his head. “You heard she agreed to marry him, right?”

  “I did. He’s a lucky man.”

  “Damned right. She’s rich as a prince.”

  She laughed. “She loves him, too.”

  “That I’ll never understand. But he’s a fool for her too, so they’re well matched I suppose.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “Anyway, I will see you tonight, I suppose. Unless we’re too long in the country. Then we may stay at the villa overnight.”

  She nodded. “Safe travels to you, husband.”

  He kissed her. “And you, my beauty.” Then, he was gone.

  She waited until after he’d left to fill Trygve in on the morning’s plan. “Your friend Lucretius will be at Felix’s home before the eleventh hour.”

  “Ah.” Trygve nodded. “Good. You will like him. He’s as passionate about politics as Felix, you know.”

  Aemilia had returned to prepare her morning tea – something the doctors had prescribed to keep up her energy, to which the priestess would add her own blessings – so she lowered her tone. She didn’t know the other woman particularly well, and though she knew no evil of her, had no desire to expand their conspiracy beyond the essential parties. “Once we’re sure he’ll run, we can move forward. Felix has been recruiting too. So far, we have a challenger – thanks to you – for Gallus’ seat, and strong leads on four others.”

  “Will that be enough,” he asked, “to flip the senate?”

  She nodded. “Yes. We’re going to try for more, though. Better a strong majority than a slim one. If it’s close, all it will take is a bribe to one or two on our side, and we’re no better off than before.”

  “How many seats do you think we can turn?”

  “Felix thinks we can flip a dozen. I think he’s overoptimistic. I think we’ve got a real shot at ten, especially if all goes according to plan with Caius.”

  “Your tea, ma’am,” a voice sounded. Cassia and Trygve started in unison. It was the nurse, and they’d been to engrossed in conversation to notice her approach.

  “Thank you, Aemilia,” she said.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No, I think that will be good.”

  “Very good, ma’am.” Casting a reproachful glance at the snow leopard, she shivered and added, “I’ll take my leave, then.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lucretius Septimius was a handsome young man, with a good face and a working man’s physique. His accents were what might be termed in some quarters “provincial,” but his manners were polished and his speech correct in its particulars.

  He was, she saw at once, nervous, and she did what she could to put his mind at ease. “Please, Lucretius, take a seat. Tryg has told me so much about you, I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  He stammered out a polite greeting and thanked her profusely. He was honored for the interview, although he wasn’t sure he deserved the attention; he was honored to be considered at all, although he wasn’t sure he was the right candidate; and so on.

  She determined early that she liked him. He was shy and seemed to lack the ego of most of the political class; but he was genuine, and she regarded that as an altogether superior trait. More than that, though, he was as committed to improving the state of Stella as she’d hoped.

  It was on this topic that, finally, he lost his reserve. At first, his answers were given with caution; but as the conversation progressed, he spoke more freely. And he spoke with passion, the passion of a man full of ideas, driven by them. He would not be one of these wishy-washy politicians who could be guided by the whims of his peers or the size of a bribe. He had another guiding force already: principle.

  He would be in the minority in the senate, she had no doubt. She’d seen the frustration that situation caused Felix through the years. She felt almost guilty at the prospect of subjecting another idealistic young man to the gauntlet that had been Felix’s years in the senate. But, then, there would be no change without men like Felix and Lucretius.

  She was impressed, and when he confirmed that he was indeed ready to sign on, to take the plunge and run, she was thrilled. Felix, though, sounded a note of caution. “Mister Septimius, you must forgive me. But before we can proceed…there is one more question I must ask.”

  He nodded. “Ask away, Senator.”

  Felix nodded, but his discomfort was palpable. “You will think this a very impertinent question, but I implore you to be absolutely honest.”

  “You have my word.”

  “Are you and Tullius lovers?”

  Cassia blinked at the words, and Lucretius’ face cycled through half a dozen shades of pallor and pink before he could manage a response. “I…I don’t see…what?”

  Felix nodded. “I will take that as confirmation, then.”

  The young man’s cheeks had gone crimson. “How is that relevant?”

  “To me personally? It’s not. To the campaign, though, it’s very relevant. Because when Gallus finds out – and he will, I promise you – we must have an answer ready.”

  Lucretius swallowed nervously and sat in silence for a moment. Then, his voice so low it was barely audible, he said, “We are. How did you know? Did Tryg–?” He threw a glance in Trygve’s direction.

  The Northman shook his head, and so did Felix. “Your friend – and not to his credit, considering the circumstance – said nothing.” He shrugged. “There are rumors. There are always rumors, but there’s been a persistence to the rumors about Tullius. A persistence that led me to believe there might be truth in them.”

  Cassia frowned, considering the implications. “Still, if we’re careful, if we manage our timing right…I don’t think it will matter much.”

  “No,” Felix agreed. “I don’t think it will either. But we’ll need to wait to announce your candidacy until shortly before we bring charges against Caius. Don’t give them time to do their opposition research.”

  Now, he sighed and sat back. “But – we must be ready in case the accusations do come out. If you had a woman, someone who would not mind being linked to you in rumors as a possible romantic interest…? Someone, perhaps, we could pay? Just until the election is over…”

  She didn’t think it was possible, but Lucretius flushed deeper. “That’s dishonest.”

  “Yes,” Felix agreed. “But unless you want to spend your entire candidacy dogged by rumors, we need to have a cover story.”

  “Do we?” Cassia wondered. “Even if there are rumors, so what? Compared to what Gallus has done, will it matter?”

  “Perhaps not. But I think it should be Lucretius’ call.” He fixed the young man with a hard stare. “If Gallus mounts a campaign calling you a ponce – calling Tullius a ponce – will you fold, Lucretius? Or will you stand your ground?” He spread his hands. “And if you say stand your ground, how? What will you say?”

  Consternation crossed Lucretius’s face, and he looked in the moment so mortified, so sad, that her heart hurt for him. Felix’s words had been harsh, and he’d wilted under the onslaught. But she couldn’t be angry with the senator for what he’d said. It was true, all of it. It would be a far worse cruelty to let this boy, this idealistic, innocent boy, go before the Stellan public like a lamb among wolves.

  “Lucretius,” she said, and her tone was kind, “you don’t need to have an answer right now. And we can help you think on it. We can help you practice your speeches, and your responses, shou
ld it come up. But – we will need to prepare for it.”

  “Especially when he feels his back is against the wall, Gallus will come out swinging for you,” Felix said, and his own voice was milder now. “If he catches you off guard, you are ruined – you, and your friend too. If his accusations stick, it will be more than rumors about Tullius then. So we – you – must be able to face those accusations unflinchingly and dismiss them as rubbish. You must be convincing, Lucretius. You must be able to persuade the crowds that there’s no truth to it; that it’s just the desperate tactics of a desperate man.”

  The meeting had not gone as Trygve anticipated. It was not a loss, exactly; but it certainly wasn’t an unabashed victory, either. Felix’s questions about Lucretius and Tullius had put his friend on the spot, and he’d never quite recovered his equilibrium after that.

  The day ran long, and in the end, it was decided that Lucretius would spend the night at Felix’s domus. “I don’t know when Faustus will be back,” Cassia confided. “Even if it’s not until tomorrow, I don’t want him getting wind of what we’re up to.”

  The plan was to reconvene on the morrow, once Luke had had some time to think. “You don’t have to go back,” Cassia told him, “if you’d rather catch up.”

  But she looked tired – more tired than usual – and so he took his leave with her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Luke,” he said.

  Lucretius nodded. “Sorry, Tryg. I hope this wasn’t a waste of everyone’s time.”

  “It’s not. Cas likes you. I can tell.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.”

  Cassia was quiet and grave on the way back, though, and Trygve began to doubt his own perceptions. “It’s ridiculous,” she said at length.

  “My lady?”

  “That we should have to go to such lengths. That your friend has to go to such lengths. We’ve got men who cheat and lie and exploit our entire city; and yet we have to worry about Gallus finding out who Lucretius loves?” She shook her head. “It’s ridiculous.”