The Oath Keeper

by Alaric Longward

We took them out and disappeared to the rain and the gloom.

  Behind us, the insula was soon on fire.

  With luck, Sejanus would never know Pompeia was alive.

  ***

  The old, abandoned temple was in an alley, little used by honest men. Few would find or look for us there.

  Inside, it was many storied building of excellent tastes, paintings, and practical furniture. There were storehouses of food, supplies, and weapons.

  There, Julia clung on to Agamemnon, who was carrying her upstairs. When he collapsed at the stairway, she tried to help him, weeping. I put Pompeia to a corner, tied her to a rung on the wall, and helped them up. When Julia and Red tended to her, I finally came down to the old woman.

  She was snoring on the floor, her arms stretched up to the wall. The Pig was sitting near, and smiling. “Almost cuddly, isn’t she? To imagine.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Go and get some food?”

  He groaned and got up. “Sounds good.” He left.

  I sat down and watched her.

  I knew little of her. I knew she had been saved by her father, Sextus, and some family and allies of her father’s. There, she had lived, sheltered, until she had been forgotten. She had met who shared her passion for vengeance, and perhaps riches, and she had done well.

  Petty crime had turned into murderous business of extortion and favors, and I wondered at how long she had waited, until she had dared to strike against the terrible family itself.

  It must have been a torture.

  And then she had smelled the weakness of Tiberius, and I had come and given her all the solutions, and she had fallen.

  She had wanted to clean Rome.

  I would take it a step further.

  I untied her and picked her up, carrying her to the end of the house, where there was a separate room, a bed, and a bath.

  There, a slave appeared and took over her care.

  ***

  I sat with Pompeia, who looked at me, and the bath she was sitting in with doubt, and at the slave who was inspecting her fingers. She also stared at the room, which was serviceable and dry.

  “You do know how to make a lady welcome,” she whispered. She gave me a nervous look. “I wonder if your brother survived.”

  “You didn’t take him,” I told her. “We made sure you took a drunk he had set up as a victim. I know how to use people too, Pompeia. So does he.”

  She leaned back. “I knew of him. But he was never important. Silent, could be tough, and rich, but not important. I spent all my time on the traitors who used to bow to my father and grandfather, and still had the gall to live under Octavian. And Livia…Marcellus. She…” She groaned and leaned back.

  I smiled. “So, it was all about a revenge.”

  She sighed. “It was mostly about that. And you were right to mock us. While Kemsit’s family did have close link to gods, there is nothing of Set’s in my plans. Or…were. Did my husband die? His brothers?”

  “They didn’t tell you?” I asked. “I don’t know. Sejanus purged the entire city.”

  “I doubt the entire,” she whispered and smiled. “Our gold is hidden away.”

  “Kemsit was upset she didn’t know where it was,” I told her. “She was a scoundrel.”

  She closed her eyes. “Perhaps. Her mother was a friend. A true friend.”

  The slave got up and nodded at the fingers. “They have to be reset. It will be painful.”

  “So, you will,” I told him. “And first, make sure she is drunk as Bacchus.”

  “Thank gods,” she whispered. “I will happily have them reset now.”

  “I am happy,” I told her, “that you seem to enjoy life still.”

  She sat in her bath and smoothed the ripples in the water, unsuccessfully. She laughed at it. “Just like my life, eh. Cannot achieve my goals, just like water will not obey me. I have nothing left, save for my life. I appreciate it.” She swallowed. “I know that gladiator. And the other one.”

  “They both want their honor restored,” I told her. “And you can expect no mercy from them. But they are in no hurry. They also want other people dead.”

  “As long as,” she whispered, “I don’t die before Livia.”

  “That is all you want?” I asked.

  “That’s all,” she said. “Right now.”

  I frowned. “No. We make a deal now. You get to outlive Livia, or at least if the gods don’t take you, and you give me what you gave Sejanus, and you shall also give me what you didn’t.”

  She smiled as she leaned back. “Oh. He only got very little. He was furious I lied so much.” She grinned and watched me. “What will you do with that?”

  I smiled. “I shall make the lot pay. The details do not matter.”

  She looked nervous. “It might matter to me.”

  “Then we have no deal, Pompeia,” I said.

  “Will,” she whispered, “Tiberius die?”

  I nodded.

  “And the rest of the family?” she asked.

  “They are all doomed,” I told her.

  “And Rome?”

  I was silent.

  “You are plotting to destroy my city,” she whispered.

  “And perhaps your city,” I said, “is strong enough to survive the medicine I intend to feed it. That is your only chance. Give me your tools, and perhaps you are right, and I am wrong, and Rome will be healed.”

  She chuckled. “I could use that wine. It is much more persuasive than torture.”

  I couldn’t but help grin at the tough old woman. “I could use a list of tales, both those—”

  “I said; I told him only something,” she whispered. “Many lies. It cost me a lot of pain. And humiliation. I would have told him all, soon.”

  “All of it,” I said. “All. I want everything.”

  She nodded. “So be it. It will be hard to speak of it.”

  She saw my face and thanked me. “What will I see in these few years?”

  “Hear,” I said. “You are staying here.”

  “What will I hear?” she asked with a smile.

  “You will hear of the death of Drusus the Younger, and deaths of Agrippina’s children. Most of them. I doubt Tiberius can handle the loss, though, so things will be interesting.”

  She looked at me with horror and laughed. “You are Set. Set himself. I played with god!”

  “No, but I made a god,” I said. “A small one. Will you tell me all?”

  She sighed and nodded. “I agreed. But remember. Whatever you are trying to do, there will be someone clever enough to figure it out. You are risking much. All the people you love.”

  I hesitated and then nodded. “I doubt they have time for unseen enemies, when they are so busy with each other.”

  She smiled. “I hope so.”

  A scribe knocked on the door, and slaves brought wine and food. The man would sit for one week, every day and night, as the murderess confessed everything, sleeping little.

  On 14th of September, the first day of the week, I had a bag of tales, and I waited for Claudius. He came, and I gave it to him, and then I left, knowing Sejanus would be incredibly happy.

  Later that day, Drusus died in his home of poison, and Tiberius went mad.

  CHAPTER 15

  The years that followed were terrible, uncertain time for the older families who supported the Julii and the Claudii.

  For some, it was deadly.

  At first, after the death of Drusus, Rome seemed to be trudging along by a process that made sense to everyone. Tiberius Gemellus, son of Drusus the Younger, was still noticeably young, so Tiberius did what Augustus had done and finally adopted the sons of Germanicus—Nero, and Drusus Caesar— on September 23rd.

  People had hope. They finally had hope.

  Rome was thrumming with it.

  Feasts and celebrations were held, and vigiles had to put out fires when they got out of hand.

  Little did they know of Sejanus, who was a storm gathering power under the surf
ace of a calm pond.

  My tool, Gaius, had made him an ally.

  He had given Sejanus bits and pieces of what I had given Claudius and made him believe Agrippina had had such a trove of information, heaps of scrolls she was holding for Pompeia, the old family friend.

  Sejanus hated Agrippina enough to believe anything.

  Sejanus moved in the shadows at first.

  Powerful with the trust of Tiberius and armed with information, the man’s arrogance and nerve was growing. Slowly, over the next year or two, one or two immensely powerful senators were charged with treason.

  He always moved through Tiberius.

  Bodies stacked up, slowly at first, but then, month by month, faster.

  We watched, for it was our turn to be patient.

  In the year of Consuls Cethegus and Varro, just one year after the death of son of Tiberius, he asked Tiberius for Livilla, his secret lover of many years, and mother to the heir.

  Everyone expected Tiberius to accept.

  I expected him to agree.

  It would doom the heirs, sons of Germanicus. It would embolden Sejanus further, to act on the stories Gaius told him.

  And Tiberius refused.

  He said, ‘no.’

  Sejanus backed off and was spooked, and I cursed Tiberius profusely.

  And stories of Tiberius began to circulate too.

  The man was not well. It was obvious and had been for years. He was paranoid and wanted to escape Rome. Some said he locked himself in his room for days.

  To appease Sejanus, and to feel safer, Tiberius openly added to the praetorian guard, making it a force of twelve thousand men, and in parades and during holidays, he let the full might of the guard be shown. They were an awe-inspiring sight, enough to make you quake in your shoes, and Sejanus was their commander, indeed, always in sight.

  He was just not married to Livilla.

  Not part of the family.

  That Tiberius refused him slowed Sejanus’s ambitions a bit, and I seethed with every passing month. There were suddenly weeks when some poor bastard did not die to Sejanus’s malice.

  Then, finally in the year of the consuls Gaetulicus and Sabinus, Tiberius moved away from Rome.

  At first, he found his peace in Misenium, near where Gernot had his villa.

  He often had Gaius with him.

  And still, Sejanus was cowed, and finally I understood what was happening, for Gaius sent me word through Claudius it was all because Tiberius had stopped Sejanus from accusing Agrippina of anything, and not because of lack of trying to.

  And why would Tiberius stop him?

  Gaius did not know.

  I was seething and growing old, and our small house grew peaceful. Julia was with child. Agamemnon had grown happy and was smiling far too often, and Red had been looking around for a ludus of his own. Pig actually worked with Gernot now, and I rarely saw the man.

  Gernot, the little I heard of him, had grown richer and moved much of his business to Gaul and Egypt, and only I seethed impotently, as my plans seemed to be blocked by Tiberius’s odd refusal to actually act on Sejanus’s accusations.

  Pompeia was happy, old and by now, blind.

  Agamemnon ignored her, Red cursed her softly, and Julia called her a mother.

  Life was strange.

  And I was wasting away.

  It was at this time, six long years after the death of Drusus, and the failure of Gaius, Sejanus, and ultimately, me, to move the plan forth, when Gochan came back to Rome. One day, sent by Gernot from Neapolis, he opened our door while we were eating.

  He had changed.

  Older than I, he had apparently been successful in Ravenna. At least from Gernot’s perspective.

  He wore a rich silk tunic and black boots, and his sword, when he placed it on the table, eyeing us all, was sheathed in silver and gold. His hair had thinned to nothing, and he had new scars.

  He grunted. “Who are these vermin?” he asked me.

  Red got up, but I laughed and pressed him back down.

  I nodded at the servants, who sat him down next to me.

  When the others left, and we were left there with wine, he sighed. “Years have passed.”

  I snorted. “They have.”

  He smoothed his tunic. “I wasn’t here to help you. I am sorry.”

  “I suppose you helped Gernot, though,” I said. “His shady businesses must be thriving. You look like a male harlot in the Aventine Hill.”

  He rumbled and barbed. “I have not seen any, so I have to take your word for it. Yes, I helped your brother. I had a few adventures. I was actually not in Ravenna for years. I got involved in an affair with a…” He shrugged.

  “Woman,” I said.

  “It is a longer story, but there was a woman involved,” he said sadly, and poured himself wine. “Did you know they are preparing villas in the islands around Italy? They are, you know. They plan on relocating some very high people to very remote places.”

  “Sejanus might be,” I said, and explained everything that had happened to him, though he no doubt had heard it all from Gernot.

  In the end, he nodded. “First of all,” he said, “Sigimer is dead.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Did you poison him?”

  “I drowned him,” he said. “He sputtered like a fish.”

  “Good,” I said. “At least something is going well.”

  He winked. “And I found your father. He is a prisoner in Ravenna, indeed. He is too tired to be up to anything stupid and has no income. They are guarding him well. You need not worry about the old man.”

  I nodded. “It took you long years to figure this out.”

  He poured some more wine to his cup and sighed. “I regret to tell you, that Thusnelda is dead.”

  I stared at my hands and wondered why I was so sad.

  I remembered her from the time she had kept Lif from me and defied me. I had saved her later, she had returned the favor, and there had been that one moment, that one kiss, before she betrayed me. She had died betrayed, sad…

  “How?” I asked.

  “Fever, weeks after Armin died,” he said. “I stood on her grave. The fiery boy is alive. I didn’t find him. But Flavus knows where he is.”

  “Flavus,” I said.

  “Only Flavus,” he answered. “And that is why it took me years. I found him. And Flavus was a prisoner in Albion, a victim of a botched scouting mission to the island. The land far from everything. A shit hole, but wild and pretty place. A long story that, Hraban.”

  I blinked. “You went and got him.”

  “I went and got him,” he said. “He is now resting in Moganticum. He buried Thusnelda. His son, wife, and daughter are with him. And he knows where he is. He will tell you, if you wish to know.”

  He mulled his wine, staring at me.

  I rubbed my face. “I will. Later. All this time, you…”

  “Will you ask him about the boy they call Thumelicus?” he insisted.

  Later.

  He nodded, as he read the answer on my face, and there was a bitter look on his face. “You know best. I have changed on this trip, Hraban. A lot.”

  I looked down at my hands. “I suppose I have not, enough.”

  “Gernot loves you as a brother, and I do too,” he said. “But I also will not be part of this thing. I heard of your plans from Gernot. I will go to Gernot, and by your leave, I shall work with him for good.” He got up. “Actually, I need no leave. I wish you luck with this affair. Make sure Gernot and his wife doesn’t have to suffer for what you are doing here.”

  “I have not even met her,” I said. “And how would they find out where he lives?”

  “That is your own fault, that you do not know her,” he told me. “And you and I know there is balance in everything. You will have trouble soon enough. I will be with him, or in Ravenna. I guess I have fulfilled my oaths. Be careful, Hraban. You cannot expect to escape forever without burning your fingers. Or someone else’s.” He smiled. “Te
ll your people Gernot is happy to help them with their dreams, when you make a mistake.”

  He left, and I sat and stared ahead.

  I was walking back and forth after that meeting with Gochan and began to wonder, for just a moment, that moment, if I should stop there.

  Everyone told me so.

  None of them was Lok. Not one of them had suffered like I had and been lied to as much as I had been lied to.

  Except by me.

  I had nudged Gaius, and it might suffice. I might not be needed any longer.

  I had done little, and waited for years, and perhaps I would use my life better by going away.

  And then Lok grasped a hold of me and pushed me back on the dark path.

  It was Pompeia, well over ninety now, who entered, squinted, made her way on a sofa, and watched me. She was soon chuckling.

  I her. She had gone blind, and a bit deaf, and her broken hands were very sore when it was colder. She was not complaining, but it was clear she was in pain.

  We knew each other’s stories.

  I knew hers.

  I had scrolls of it.

  She knew mine. Over the years, she had learnt it, bit by bit.

  She listened to my pacing with her sightless eyes, back and forth, and finally spoke. “You know why?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “Not even what you mean.”

  “Why Sejanus is failing. He has all the tools you have…I have…given him. He has scared Tiberius off Rome, and all the reports from the boy are saying he is paranoid, even mad. He walks around his villa at night and talks with Drusus. Sejanus is setting up a clientele of his own. Still, Senators no longer disappear, and nobody is accused of treason. He is sending such documents to Tiberius, but Tiberius does not move on them. Nero, Drusus…both are alive. Both are heirs. And Sejanus is beaten, unless he risks civil war.”

  “I know this,” I snarled.

  “I said, I know why,” she whispered. “Sejanus has surrounded Tiberius. Few people get to Tiberius. I hear Tiberius is moving to Capri, soon. There, the navy will make sure none approach him. Spies are all over, and men are guarding the ways in. But there is one person who can pass through all that.”

  I stopped.

  “Livia,” she said simply. “Livia is fighting Sejanus. Softly, slowly, silently, but she is. Sejanus sends Tiberius requests to charge senators with treason, and Agrippina and her sons, but Tiberius asks Livia and Livia is hampering Sejanus. Perhaps she is looking for a way to kill Sejanus. Perhaps she hopes to hold Tiberius Gemellus under her wing, and finally, rule.” She gnashed her teeth in rage. “It must be driving him mad, Sejanus. He hopes she dies, but she lives on. No other explanation. Livia is keeping Tiberius on the track and seeking ways to put Sejanus down. They are warring in shadows. Hard to tell who is winning, truly.”