“Livia,” I breathed. “And she is stopping Sejanus. I guessed this. But Sejanus is a coward. He should…”
I stopped.
He should kill her.
She frowned and leaned forward, and I stared at her face, for I felt shadow passed before her eyes, and Lok watched me. She had dabbled with gods, and Set... She spoke with a grating voice. “You have to take a risk, Hraban. Kill her. Besides, I am dying. I do not want to die before she dies, remember? Have Gaius poison him.”
“Livia,” I sighed. “I made an oath. I must see her die.”
She shifted. “That is too risky.”
“It is,” I said. “But you are right.”
“Or you could,” she said softly, “not do anything. Dear boy, I can die before her. It is fine. You are risking much.”
I nodded. “I will have to meet with Claudius. Gaius must help. But I shall do it.”
She nodded. “I hope we are lucky.”
I went to the storage room and rummaged inside it.
There, I found armor, and one was the armor of the praetorian guard.
The helmet had a fine plume but left my face open.
I fondled it and hesitated.
Then I made up my mind.
***
It was dies saturni, and a red cloth would be needed.
I sat there, swathed in my cloak and tunic, and Claudius sat before me, smiling widely.
Red wasn’t there, but ill at home. Agamemnon was busy. I was alone.
“I haven’t seen anything of note,” he said. “Gaius is a bit…”
“Of a bastard,” I added.
“He is very kind to his sisters,” he said with a shaky voice. “Agrippina is, thank Juppiter, least in his favor. Julia Drusilla…she is afraid of him.”
“He has brothers,” I told him. “Tell the two older ones to look after the girls.”
He leaned closer and began whispering, spittle flying. “They don’t have to. Livia. The Augusta. She is telling Tiberius to marry the girls off. To men who have been awfully close to Sejanus lately. Now? They are less so. Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus married Agrippina.”
I had not heard about that.
He looked unhappy for it.
“And others,” he went on. “Julia Drusilla and Julia Livilla, both quite young still, are going to marry—”
“Longinus and Vincius.”
He blinked. “What? How did you guess?”
“I can see things in wine,” I told him viciously. “Those two have been close to Agrippina, and then Sejanus, and now even Agrippina must be happy. It will upset Sejanus.”
He shook his head. “Oh, no. It already has. He has been upset.”
He was terrified.
“Has Gaius been seeing his elder female relatives…the Augusta? Or Antonia?”
“Antonia, mother,” he said softly. “He doesn’t like to meet her. But he has not seen Livia. Not for a while. She has a birthday, did you know. Next week.”
I leaned forward. “Listen. Can he meet with her…say, today? Just tell him to take his guard and go and see her. He has many guards?”
He shrugged. He looked nervous. “The Germani Guards are gone. Dispersed. There was an incident in Moesia. They do not speak of it. Praetorians…he always has quite a few. They all do. Do I have to go?”
“It would be up to you,” I told Claudius. “But more the merrier.”
He flinched. “Fine. I shall tell him. Why?”
I shook my head. “Don’t ask. Tell him it must be after the dark. Make it seem like something he comes up with seemingly at that moment, and make sure he sweeps everyone along. Now, run along.”
I watched him go and then went home to prepare.
And totally missed the shadow that was following Gaius, and then, me.
CHAPTER 16
The boy had grown.
He had grown in every way.
He was pretty as a perfect apple, golden, especially of hair, and he was thin and full of energy.
He was clever and devious, and you could see madness in his eyes. He had grown to believe in his own dream.
He was Juppiter.
He was now seventeen.
He was the odd, silent power waiting for release.
While Rome belonged to Sejanus, and to his merry men, Livia kept Tiberius in check to preserve some form of balance. The many senators who followed Sejanus, either out of fear or for the opportunity, were uneasily in his pocket, but many were hesitating, and listening to Livia.
Livia, she was about to find out her throne of shadows could be removed.
But it was Caligula, obedient, mad, who looked the part of a ruler.
I was watching him, speaking with his sisters. He was bursting with energy, with easy authority.
Livilla was married to Ahenobarbus, and she was pregnant.
Julia Drusilla, her pretty little face screwed in a grimace, was admonishing his brother, who was laughing and telling a joke.
A large crowd, with dozens of praetorians, was there.
It was a chaotic mess.
I stepped out from under the shadows and brazenly joined the edge of the group, my helmet shadowing my face. I was walking with them, slipping under a portico.
There marched a century of Pretorian Guards, and with them was Sejanus.
The man had grown in the midsection, though his legs looked thin. His cheeks were fuller, his hair was curled, and armor was gilded. He looked like a whore master as he rode on a white horse, and Gaius, our Juppiter, he looked small with his sisters, looking up to the man and making clever comments.
Sejanus laughed at his jibes and stories.
Yes, Gaius, our little fish knew how to fit in with sharks.
I watched him speak to Drusilla. He looked like he was in love.
With his sister.
Perhaps with all of them.
Amid the crowd there were many senators too. They were men, who had been visiting Sejanus, or Gaius. They had their own guards.
I mingled in with them, pushing forth amid the merry crowd, always behind Sejanus, and anyone who might know my face.
Then I saw Cassius Chaerea near Sejanus, his eyes gleaming as he watched the shadows ahead.
I cursed and looked down, holding the shield tight.
Up ahead, opened the familiar street, and there, Livia’s house was to the left.
It had not changed. While the palace of Augustus was well situated to look over the Tiber, and more spacious than her own, she still lived in her closed-off domus in the winding alleys of Palatine, surrounded by greenery and ponds, and flowers.
Her fig trees would still be inside in her many gardens, well cared for, and her guards, most paid by her, would be lazy and bored.
We walked past marble statues and some overhanging gardens, and the great party of people stopped to wonder at the tall new statue of Octavianus. This one was guarding a beautiful junction near Livia’s house.
Sejanus approached Gaius. “Look, I find this a fine surprise, a wonderful way to honor Augusta, but it is late. She might be asleep. Perhaps we should…”
Gaius grinned. “Friend Sejanus. I am sure she will be delighted. Come, let us go then, and wake her up!”
Sejanus nodded and turned his horse to follow him, a dark cloud on his face.
He had no interest in meeting with Livia.
He loathed her.
Claudius was walking after them.
The bastards were looking around. He was trying to see if I was there.
I cursed him and walked slower.
I watched Sejanus and twitched with hate.
Everyone hated the man, except for Livilla, who would be doting on him. She was not there. In the Senate, they all stood up when he arrived, and again, when he left, and he only lacked the great powers of Tiberius, and the right blood to be called ruler.
I would love to see him die.
Then we arrived at Livia’s domus, and the bastard Gaius pressed past the guard inside, speaking loudl
y.
They all followed him.
I cursed him and walked after the lot, as they filed in.
I got inside, saw the wide corridor teaming with people, and rooms to left and right, and then I was stopped by Sejanus’s hand. He was not looking my way but trying to spot Gaius.
“You stay here with the house guard,” he murmured, and I was looking down, praying, and he left.
I felt the need to piss, and I looked to my left and saw one bewildered guard standing there, looking at the multitude in shock.
In the throng, begging to Lok, Woden, and even Set for help, I walked forward after Sejanus. I was looking down, begging Sejanus would not turn his head, or someone else know me.
Ahead, I heard Caligula shouting greetings, and Livia’s stern voice answering in shock.
There were yells of surprise, and some of faked happiness from Livia, and then slaves and servants were rushing across the house, trying to deal with so many guests when they had expected none.
And I dodged to a doorway to the right in the corridor and expected to be challenged.
I stood my back to the wall and waited.
Nobody said a thing.
The room was empty of life and filled with all sorts of gear. There was lamp oil, torches, and strange items probably related to cooking. There were many old pots and pans, all dusty, and I walked through the dark room, pulling out a large tunic from under my armor, now wrinkled. I looked behind, setting aside my shield and helmet, and saw people were still going inside. I pulled the tunic over my head and smoothed it. I belted it with a simple leather string. My sword and pugio were hidden under. I looked around, prayed to Woden, picked up a jar that was empty, and lifted it, walking forward to the doorway that led to some side corridor.
I heard the tumult of voices as I stepped to a corridor that ran through the house, and past the atrium, filled to the brim with people. I turned and knew I would be in full sight of everyone, and then I saw the doorway to Livia’s bed chamber. It was to the right of the atrium. I hesitated. Then I decided I would hide deeper in the house and near a garden that spread at the far end of the house, past a long corridor.
I had come back to the atrium later.
Women usually slept upstairs, but not her. I knew her chamber very well. Far too well.
I shifted the jar and put it on my left shoulder and covered my face. “Here we go, keep me safe,” I told the jar, and went ahead.
I walked forward, kept my eyes front, and heard Livia greeting everyone, extremely near. Four doorways away, I passed her chamber. I glanced inside it.
It was still hers.
I was sure of it. Ornate, very delicate furniture was neatly arrayed around the room, and scrolls were scattered on a side table. The bed was well made, and a plate of her damned figs and an amphora of wine was placed on the table.
I walked past it, and then, before I got to the corridor, a young servant came out of a side room. I had no chance to get out of sight.
He stepped before me and frowned.
I frowned back at him. “What?”
“And you might you be?” he wondered. “That’s what?”
“A new hand,” I grunted. “Step away, son.”
“Why would she hire such old hands, eh?” he asked. “You look like a dry grape,” he murmured, and his eyes went to the jar. “What is that for?”
“For my piss,” I said. “They want me to help her garden.”
He frowned. “Piss? You are mocking me?” His voice rose a bit.
I smiled inanely and felt Livia was walking nearby, speaking to Gaius. I leaned closer to him. “The piss, indeed,” I snarled. “It is excellent for fig trees. A rare thing, to be blessed with such a piss. Its green, boy, from the loins of goddess of Ceres herself. I was born on the same day as she was, see?”
“Well—”
“I pissed the gardens of King of Crete, and they are now fertile like a mother of ten. Used to be barren and sandy,” I said. “So, they sold me here. Do I tell Mistress Livia how you want to stop me from making her gardens the miracle of Rome? Or will you show me my room? Any room over there, back of the house, they said.”
He croaked and turned.
He walked away to the corridor, and I followed him, holding my eyes closed for a moment. We walked past another garden area, a more private one, and I saw a bench by a pond of fish, like the one Tiberius had used in Rhodes. There, too, on a table were apparently half-finished pages of writing, perhaps letters to her son.
The bastard had never intended to see Livia die.
She deserved it richly.
And I had been an idiot to think it mattered.
I followed the young bastard, and then he lifted his finger and stopped and was suddenly holding open door a for me.
I stepped in and saw at once I was not in any sort of a room they might give me, but a room with a very suspicious looking woman.
“The man,” said the young one, “claims to be here for his piss.”
She opened her mouth and closed it, eyeing me as I walked to her with the jar. “What?”
“Piss,” I said.
She shook her head, just before me. “You are looking for—”
I smashed the jar in her head. She fell with the broken thing and rolled to the corner.
The young man looked astonished, and then dead, as I turned, rushed forward, and rammed my fist to his throat so hard, his spine broke.
I caught him and threw him deeper to the shadows of the room.
I looked out and saw a woman coming forward.
She looked worried, and I shrugged. “Did something fall?” she asked, her nose twitching.
I grinned, probably a horrible sight. “Sorry. I broke something precious. Do not tell her, please? She’ll be furious.”
She hesitated, then she smiled, put a hand over her heart, winked and nodded. I grinned in thanks. “Best clean up. Don’t be here, in case she comes back.”
She walked back the way she had come, and I watched her go.
Then I looked at the bodies and saw the room was linked to a storage area, and there, twice the man high, jars likely held garum, or oil.
I dragged both corpses there, and with terrible effort, pushed them inside one. They splashed in and spattered the contents all over.
Oil.
It was olive oil, I decided, as I found my hands drenched in it.
I took a long breath and walked back to the room I had done my murderous bit, picked up the bits of jar, and pushed them to the corner.
Then I slipped out and watched the garden.
The party was going on in the atrium, and all the servants were there, struggling with the sudden invasion.
I had time.
I walked to the bench and the table and looked at her writings. There, advice, orders to Tiberius. It was like she was ruling Rome, after all.
I walked to sit in a shadows of two fig trees and waited.
It took a long wait for the party to wind down. Out there, men were yelling and laughing, and women giggling, and surprisingly, Livia had been a generous, happy hostess. Perhaps her cold heart had been warmed, at least briefly, by someone trying to surprise her.
“Enjoy it, you harpy,” I murmured. “Drink deep on the joy.”
Hour passed, and another, and then some guards walked past, and slaves were running about, and then, suddenly, it was oddly quiet in the atrium.
Birds were singing in the night, and I looked to the sky above. The roof was open to the stars, and I begged I would finally get my revenge.
I breathed deep, in and out, waiting and hoping, begging for a chance to fulfill my destiny.
I had waited to kill Livia for a long, long time.
I rubbed my face. I prayed. I waited.
And then, slave came forth and lit an oil lamp, and carried it towards me. I cursed, having not thought about that possibility and looked down in my less than shadowed spot. She hovered over the table, a guard walked lazily past, and began whispering t
o her. She rolled her eyes and left, giggling to his words.
I moved deeper to the shadows.
Another servant came and set up a table with wine, bread, and fish.
Then she left.
And finally, Livia came to the garden. She was draped in a thick blanket and looked as old as Pompeia.
She walked to her desk and sat down heavily. She leaned on her face for a moment and then picked up a large chunk of bread. She looked at it and muttered to herself.
And then, finally, after years of frustration, I moved.
I grasped her and threw her down, my hand over her mouth. I saw her eyes, wide with horror, and the claws were scratching my thighs. I grasped the heavy chunk of bread from her hand, pushed it to my mouth, where I held it, and tore a fistful of the soft bread from the crust. I showed it to her, a large bit of fine bread, and then forced it down her throat, quickly muffling her curses and wheezing cries for help. I stuffed it down deep, then covered the mouth, and held the hand there, and watched her die horribly.
I spat the half-spent chunk of bread from my mouth. And then I spoke.
“For Sigilind, and Hulderic, and thousands of others,” I snarled. “And you will see your grandsons and daughters too, joining you. The precious Tiberius, he will be there as well. Wait for him and help him across. You may speak of me, if you like. I will have killed you all.”
She was thrashing madly, her eyes nearly popping out of her skull, and then slowly, very slowly, too slowly, she went quiet.
I stayed there, on top of her for a long time.
I saw her chest still moving.
I relaxed my hand, but only for a moment.
She tried to get up, having faked her death.
She fought with all she got, wheezing. I kept my hand over her mouth, gouged even more bread out of the crust, and stuffed it in her mouth, more and more, until only the crust remained. Soon, she looked like a blue fish with bulging eyes, and her chest no longer moved. I got up, panting and dizzy, and then stepped on her throat, and pushed down hard, grinding down like I was trying to kill a particularly stubborn spider.
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