“Come, Constantine, we have a feast waiting,” the governor called out, his voice becoming distant, as if he wanted to get away from the body quickly. “After you've bathed you'll feel much better. It always helps me forget things,” he prattled on.
Constantine grabbed the dagger from Marcus’ open hand. He raced after the governor. The two slaves, who might have stopped him, leaned away as he passed. They must have seen the grim look on his face. Inside he seethed. He could not let this go.
The governor was about to enter the house through a small side door when Constantine caught up with him. The man’s hand was already stretched out to grab the iron handle.
With one expert movement, Constantine gripped the back of the governor’s neck, and jerked him forward so that his head banged into the door. Then he pushed the point of the knife into the man's side, angling upwards at a pressure he knew would break the skin but not go in too far.
“Do not shout, my friend. Do what I say, or there'll be more than one suicide today.” He twisted the knife in a way that was bound to be painful.
The governor yelped.
“You will bury Marcus as a hero. You will grant his widow and children their home and give them his proper pension. Do you consent to my small petition?” Constantine gripped the man's neck even tighter, looking around. The slaves had gone.
“Of course, of course, please stop. I didn't know he meant so much to you. Please.” The governor's tone was nicely high-pitched, as it should be, and shaky. He clearly hadn't been physically threatened in a long time. He tried to squirm away from the knifepoint.
Constantine squeezed the governor's neck again. Silk-soft folds of flesh squished through his drill-hardened fingers. The bowel loosening stench of fear flowed.
“And if I hear you've gone back on your word, I swear to all the gods I will return to finish this job. Now.” He jabbed the knife in a little more.
“We feast tonight as if nothing happened here, and I will leave tomorrow, and you will keep your word.” He removed the point of the knife and slapped a hand on the governor’s shoulder amiably. As the governor visibly relaxed, he grinned at him as if it had all been a big game. Then he sniffed. The governor stood in a puddle of urine. Constantine walked away and didn’t look back.
He found Lucius and Sybellina sitting alone in silence in a walled courtyard at the far end of the palace compound. Lucius groaned as if wounded, stood, and paced up and down when he heard what had happened.
“When the messenger came for him he looked ashen. I should have guessed,” said Lucius. He cursed the governor over and over and began laughing.
“What's so funny?” said Constantine.
“We misjudged Marcus. If he was really a rebel and Sybellina introduced him to us, doesn't that make her a rebel too?”
“I'd say you were the real traitor to the empire, Lucius, if what I've heard is true,” said Sybellina.
Lucius stopped in front of her.
“There's a foul smell of the underworld about you, Sybellina. Don't try your magic tricks with us, they won't work.” He raised his hand, as if to strike her.
Constantine grabbed it.
“Sybellina,” he said. “Please, leave us.” He had to make sure she knew who was in charge on the journey north.
She walked out of the courtyard, her green robe flicking behind her.
He dropped Lucius’ arm.
“I promised Maxentius to take her to my father. Stay your tongue, Lucius. We've a long way to go yet. She's done nothing to deserve your enmity, unless you've something you want to tell me?”
Lucius looked disgruntled, but he said nothing. He simply sighed. Then he too walked away.
“Yes,” he said, over his shoulder. “I need a good bath.”
He found out from a slave that Tiny and Juliana had gone to arrange for all the baggage to be brought from the Tribune's villa. Darkness had arrived, and slaves had lit the lamps in the bedrooms by the time they returned. Constantine called out to them from the doorway of his room as soon as he heard Tiny’s voice. They brought his bags over. Then he asked them if they'd seen Marcus that afternoon and what they’d been up to for so long. Tiny shook his head, shrugged his shoulders.
Juliana said Marcus had been taken up to the main house soon after Constantine had been escorted away and they’d then been shown to this courtyard.
“Sybellina told us she needed her bags,” said Juliana. “And to get all our bags from Marcus’ villa. So, we got them. We did what was asked of us. Marcus’ wife was still waiting for him when we left her. She looked unwell.”
A shiver ran through him at the thought of Marcus' wife and children waiting for him to come home. Anger stiffened inside him. He'd tell his father what had happened. Only he had the power to punish this governor. Constantine pressed his hands into fists. Whatever it was, he hoped the punishment would be painful. He spun around.
An old slave woman was sweeping the other side of the courtyard. At the far end, by the doorway to the main house, two guards stood with their hands on the pommels of their swords. They looked more interested in what was going on inside the courtyard than in guarding it. He told Tiny and Juliana, in as few words as possible, what had happened to Marcus.
Juliana's face paled.
“We will speak no more of this until we're all well away from here,” said Constantine. He raised a finger to his lips.
“I dine with the governor tonight and in the morning, we leave for Treveris. Juliana, you will help me get ready. Tiny, you check the packhorses we're to be given. Ensure everything is ready for the morning. I will not have lame horses.”
Tiny grunted and trudged away.
Juliana grinned, as if she'd been given some present. He asked her to fetch hot water. He didn't have the time or the inclination to visit the baths, which he knew would be somewhere in the palace compound. They'd undoubtedly be full of the governor's guests anyway, and many of them would have been there getting drunk and indulging themselves with any female bath attendants since early that afternoon. By now they’d be smothering drunken praises on the governor as well. He'd seen it all before, too many times. Entertaining guests had been Galerius’ greatest skill. Not fighting wars.
He stripped to his loincloth and stretched his tired muscles as he waited for Juliana to return. He still missed the certainties of life in the legions, the never-ending training, the marching, the eating with comrades, the helpful slaves. The glow of the colored glass in the oil lamp sent tinted shadows across the walls and ceiling and over his brown body. His muscles were still firm. He was proud of that. He was also proud of the welter of scars that marked him. They were the irrefutable proof of his courage. These Juliana should see. The scars from his decisions, from the people who plotted against him were not as visible. She would see them in the lines on his face.
He turned to the doorway. She was standing there, perfectly still, wide-eyed, looking petrified, holding a steaming bucket of water.
“Don't be afraid, girl. I'm not one of those who forces himself on their slaves. I never was. Just bring that here.”
Juliana trembled as she walked toward him. Slave girls always want what's beyond their reach, so he’d been told, and he'd seen proof of it. Wide-eyed slaves used to shed their tunics in front of him as soon as they got him alone. Some of those girls had been exquisite and very persuasive.
“Avert your eyes.” He undid his loincloth and took the wet washing cloth from her shaking outstretched hand. He’d got used to washing from a bucket. It was the usual way legionaries washed when in the field.
“Check my tunic for marks.” He tried to sound understanding. Her mouth was wide open, as were her eyes. Perhaps she wasn’t as used to being a personal slave as Lucius had said. Then an idea came to him. There was one thing she could do for him.
“Juliana, there is something you can do.” He grinned as she turned to him.
“Anything, my lord,” she replied, stumbling over the words expected of her.
<
br /> “Go around as much of this palace as you can while we’re all at this feast tonight, and report back to me anything strange you see or anything odd you hear from the house slaves. I know you lot love to gossip.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes drifting over his body, then jerking back to his face.
“If you're asked, simply say you're looking for something for me.”
“What, my lord?” Her eyes were staring now. He knew he was better endowed than most and her long, appreciative stare felt good.
“Make something up. Say you’re looking for Bithynian wine or Thracian olives or the best cheese for our breakfast. But don't take any risks. I don't want to lose my little dream reader, do I?” She blushed and looked away.
“Now go and get some more water.”
The feast began with a ceremony of welcome for Constantine. The bowing and introductions finished, he, Lucius, and Sybellina were seated at the table to the right of the governor’s table, a massive lion-legged, green Spartan marble monstrosity. Thin, blood-red curtains hung from ceiling to floor in front of the windows on the far side of the room. They billowed occasionally, rewarding the diners with glimpses of a distant sea shining like a broken plate of silver illuminated by an early moon.
A scent of flowers filled the room. Skeletal thin, ash-blond Alemanni dancers from Germania, dressed in tiny animal pelts, entertained them with dances that reminded him of young wolves darting through trees in winter. A troop of grotesquely overweight jugglers followed, and then a giant African fire-eater with small skulls in a chain around his neck. Toward the end of the feast some of the more drunken revelers disappeared into the gardens with the dancers.
He was not in the mood for any of it, especially the oysters people kept pressing on him. He hated all this from a pit deep in his stomach. The luxury of his surroundings reminded him of Marcus’ accusations. The fruits of the governor’s corruption, the gold jugs, silver dishes and jeweled glass goblets lay all around.
If he could have his way, the room would have been cleared and the governor humiliated in rags and chains. He hated being powerless. Only the knowledge that he would soon be back with his father cheered him. Eventually his father’s powers would fall to him, if Fortuna stuck with him and he got his strategy right. He looked at the governor and imagined what he would do to him then.
Sybellina had a veil of thin gold chains over her face, through which her eyes peeked at him, bewitchingly. They were highlighted in swirls of black kohl, which went all the way to her hairline. Occasionally she stretched her body. It was full and lithe, appealing to his animal instincts as she moved it, exulting in its allure.
Her gown was tight, seamless. Gold armlets pressed against the light amber skin of her arms. One of the male diners nearby tried to engage her in conversation but left her alone when her monosyllabic replies made it clear she was far from keen on his company. The man looked like a fat carp from a fish pool in Rome, overfed and bred for sloth. She granted him a warm kiss though, before he turned away, and that left Constantine a little envious. Other people approached Constantine during the evening as well, most of them looking for news from Nicomedia.
The Emperor Galerius had taken over from Diocletian only the previous year and people were still hungry to learn what he was likely to do, now that he’d risen to become supreme emperor. His attitude to Christians was well known, but whether he would extend or repeal the controversial edicts about maintaining prices Diocletian had introduced, was the question that all the merchants apparently wanted an answer for.
Some people were also interested in Constantine's own plans, now that he was about to rejoin his father. He was tired of answering questions about what position he would hold at his father's court. People seemed genuinely surprised he didn’t know and assumed he simply wouldn’t say.
A fat, heavily perspiring merchant suggested Diocletian was planning a return to power. Constantine couldn't dissuade him of this wild speculation, the man was so convinced, and he grew tired of it all. He passed his questioner to Lucius, who seemed to enjoy being the center of attention. Lucius and Sybellina, he noticed, still weren't talking.
He had only one brief conversation with the governor. Late in the evening, as he was contemplating leaving, he came to their table, sporting a barely dressed female slave on each arm.
“Young Constantine, I see you're not enjoying our girls,” he bellowed. His tone suggested Constantine probably didn’t like girls at all, if he didn’t like the ones on offer at this party.
“How like your father. Well, there's no harm. It leaves more for the rest of us!” He pinched one of the girls' rumps. She squealed. “Why don't you stay here in Massilia and wait for the spring storms to pass? I can introduce you to some of our more interesting ways. Would a seaside villa entice you? You could stay there with your pet priestess.” He laughed, winked, then stumbled drunkenly, falling on Sybellina. His hand clutched at her. She pushed him away, roughly.
Constantine shook his head in disgust.
“Well, I'll arrange for some guards to accompany you on the road. They’ll be from my best legion, no less. Bandits and fugitives lurk on every side street these days. What do you say to that?”
Constantine looked up at him with disdain. The man's eyes were clouded with wine and his eyelids were drooping.
“I have dictated my testimony regarding the Tribune Marcus. It will be sent to your father, of course.” The governor looked pained. Constantine’s expression must have penetrated his befuddled brain. His face reddened as they stared at each other, each willing the other to look away.
“I provide the tax revenues that keep this province afloat, remember that,” said the governor, proudly. “Without my gold, your father could not hold the frontier with all those barbarians in Germania. He told me so himself.”
“It's not the raising of taxes I object to, it's the lack of proper justice.” Constantine spoke slowly, clearly, so the governor would understand he wouldn't be cowed or forget what had happened.
“Proper justice! Why, I believe in that too. We're in good company, then, you and I, along with the poets and the dreamers. Is it not proper justice that those who oppose our rule, our word, and our authority, should be discouraged from rebelling? What is a man's life, or a hundred men's lives, against the peace of a province, or…” He gripped the air in front of him, as if gripping a heavy column and roared, “The peace and safety of the empire?”
All conversation in the room stopped. A lyre continued for a moment. Then ceased. Its last note hung in the air.
Constantine wondered if the governor had planned some surprise for him. Surely, he wouldn’t dare. But the governor pulled his two slave girls to him, grinned at Constantine and stumbled away. The room filled again with chatter, like an amphora fills with water when plunged into a stream.
It's always the same, he thought. Every man of power tests how far that power extends. His father had been right about so much. Not long after that he looked around and noticed Sybellina had gone. He decided to leave too. Lucius was intent on getting drunk. He would leave him to it. He had other plans to think about.
He found Tiny in the stables and told him to go to the feast, wait for Lucius to finish, stand behind him all night if necessary, and then bring Lucius to his room.
When he got to his own room Juliana was waiting for him outside, sitting on a marble bench. Constantine sat beside her. She told him she'd overheard whispered talk of Marcus' death, and vague suggestions that there was more to it, but nothing more definite.
“The young slaves I talked to were more concerned about the wine they could steal, and which of them might be called on to sleep with their master, or his guests. I was invited to join in.”
She looked at him, bit her lip. “I told them my master would not allow it. I told them you were not like that. They said all men are like that. I told that slave he was a dung eater. Then I came here.”
“You did good.”
“They seemed afra
id of us,” she continued. “Well, of Sybellina. Her name made some of them wide-eyed. One fool-looking one was stuttering. They told me a story about. . .” She looked up, hesitated, then clamped her mouth shut.
Sybellina was walking toward them. She was wearing the most exquisite yellow nightgown he had ever seen. It clung to her body like water, yet was cut with a slit to well below her navel. Her breasts peeked from it, enticingly. She'd taken off her veil and had loosened her hair.
“It was nothing,” said Juliana. “I must go.” She stood and rushed away, with Constantine hardly noticing.
He was staring at Sybellina. She came closer. He could smell musk thickening the air around her. She is the kind of distraction I need, he thought. She bowed, which caused her nightgown to yawn wide, revealing her breasts in their full, oiled glory. She raised her head slowly, and sat down beside him, where Juliana had been sitting. The light from an oil lamp hanging between the doors to the bedrooms swam across her skin.
He spotted Juliana sitting on a bench at the far end of the courtyard, almost in darkness. He thought about telling her to find a bed.
“You have an eager guardian, my lord,” said Sybellina.
“I value loyalty,” he replied. “What can I do for you, Sybellina?” He leant toward her.
“I wanted to tell you something.” She paused, as if unsure how to say it. “You're a good man, Constantine, and you'll make a good ruler, I can see it in your eyes.” She touched his cheek.
He reached up, touched her cool silky arm. She stood, pulled him up toward her by the hand. They walked to the doorway of her room. There she turned, leant toward him and kissed his mouth with a passion he'd rarely known, her tongue forcing its way inside him like a snake’s.
His mind raced as it flickered like a wild thing. He wondered was he foolish to let this happen, but when she pushed her lower body toward him and her breasts rammed up against his chest, he didn’t care.
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