Emperor's Knife

by Emperor's Knife (retail) (epub)

  ‘I’ll offer a prayer to the Christos and his mother,’ said Atius. ‘Apart from that, I agree.’

  He put his arm around Silus’ shoulder and they walked towards the nearest bathhouse.

  * * *

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes, Augustus. The whole household.’

  ‘Including the girl?’

  ‘Yes, Augustus.’

  ‘And you don’t think they had time to tell anyone outside Tituria’s familia?’

  ‘I don’t see how, Augustus. The Arcani struck that night. I doubt they would have believed there would be such a swift response, nor have even considered the right course of action in that short time.’

  Caracalla sat back and let out a breath. It was highly unfortunate that this action had been necessary. Domna had initially advised against it, but it didn’t take much to change her mind. The consequences of their affair being made public were unthinkable. It might even be worse if the secret was held privately, especially by his brother, for then he would be Geta’s hostage.

  But it seemed the drastic action had been successful. The relief was almost ecstatic.

  ‘I’m sorry for the loss of your girl,’ he said. Oclatinius bowed his head in acknowledgement of the sympathy.

  ‘Augustus,’ said Oclatinius. ‘I have served you for many years and you have always considered my counsel in the past. Might I offer you some advice now?’

  ‘Speak.’

  ‘I don’t know what it was that the young girl saw that provoked this reaction. I believe it would have been of a private nature. And sufficiently damaging that a senator and his family had to die to keep it private.’

  Caracalla had a suspicion that Oclatinius knew or strongly suspected exactly what the girl had witnessed. Oclatinius knew everything about everyone.

  ‘Go on,’ said Caracalla, but his voice was low, urging caution.

  ‘Perhaps that private activity should be carried out with more… discretion.’

  Caracalla regarded him with a chilly glare.

  Oclatinius swallowed but continued. ‘There are ways of arranging liaisons away from spying eyes and ears. I can assist if you wish. But those meetings must become less frequent.’

  ‘Must?’

  ‘The more often this private matter takes place, the greater the risk of discovery, Augustus.’

  ‘Did you just say your Emperor “must” do something?’ Caracalla’s voice was getting higher, louder.

  ‘Augustus, I would never suggest that you be compelled to do anything, of course. I was merely suggesting—’

  ‘How dare you, Oclatinius? I should have the Praetorian Guard come in here right now and—’

  There was a loud knock at the door. Caracalla breathed fiercely through his nose, nostrils flaring. Then he shouted, ‘Enter!’

  The Praetorian on guard duty opened the door, entered and saluted.

  ‘Augustus. The deputy urban prefect, Gaius Julius Asper, is here to see you as you commanded.’

  ‘Choose your words more carefully in future, Oclatinius,’ said Caracalla.

  ‘Yes, Augustus. I apologise for any offence.’

  ‘Send Asper in,’ Caracalla said to the guard.

  Gaius Julius Asper was descended from nobles from Antioch and though he had been many years in Rome, including as a consul under Commodus, he still had the olive skin of his ancestry. He was approaching, but had not yet reached, old age, and had been around in politics long enough to have been a consul under Commodus. Now he acted as the deputy urban prefect under Cilo.

  ‘Augustus, how may I serve?’

  ‘Tell me about Cilo,’ said Caracalla.

  ‘Augustus? What in particular did you want to know?’

  ‘I know you are loyal to me, Asper. Oclatinius here has vouched for you. But we have concerns regarding the urban prefect. Where do his loyalties lie?’

  Asper became guarded, seeming uncertain what answer Caracalla was looking for.

  ‘He is a dedicated servant of Rome, Augustus.’

  ‘And of Rome’s Emperor?’

  ‘Of course, Augustus.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘I think…’ Asper hesitated. He looked to Oclatinius for help, but the spymaster’s face was impassive. ‘I think he keeps a foot in each camp.’

  ‘I thought as much. He whines about peace and harmony, but really he doesn’t want to commit to either side, and risk backing the loser.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Oclatinius. ‘Cilo appears to be a man who genuinely wants the best for Rome.’

  ‘I am the best for Rome!’ snapped Caracalla.

  ‘Of course,’ said Oclatinius quickly.

  ‘I think Cilo needs a lesson in loyalty. Asper, you are dismissed. You too, Oclatinius.’

  The two men bowed and left promptly.

  Caracalla watched them go, thoughts in turmoil. It had been a close call with Titurius’ girl. Oclatinius was right, he would have to be more circumspect. At least as long as the Imperial throne was still disputed. Without Geta to destabilise him, to use his love for Domna to his advantage if he found out, then maybe it wasn’t so important. Maybe he could even marry her. Would Rome stand for that? Would Domna accept if he asked?

  He stood up and paced. He had sacrificed a noble Roman family to protect his position and his relationship with Domna. He asked himself how much further he was prepared to go.

  He knew the answer: as far as necessary.

  * * *

  Silus returned to his apartment feeling clean on the outside and filthy in his soul. Atius had been his usual chatty, light-hearted self, and had tried to cheer Silus up. When that failed, he had become serious, attempting to get Silus to open up to him about what happened. He had known that Silus was becoming attached to Daya, maybe before Silus had realised it himself, and understood how devastating it was that he had lost her – especially in a mission he was leading, where the blame and responsibility would fall on him.

  Silus knew he had been sullen and uncommunicative, and it pained him to see the hurt in his friend’s expression at being shut out. They had bathed and one of the bath attendants had washed Silus’ tunic for a copper coin while he had a rub-down with oil and a strigil. But when Atius had suggested they get some lunch and a drink, Silus had pleaded exhaustion.

  Atius, clearly worried, had again offered to take Silus back to his apartment, and suggested they eat and drink and dice there. He had looked confused and dejected when Silus had declined, and they had walked away with Atius watching him in puzzlement.

  At the top of his stairs, he knocked on the door and called out Apicula’s name. He heard the door being unbarred, and it opened just enough to admit him, without showing the occupants of the apartment to prying eyes.

  Apicula held a hairbrush, and Tituria sat on a stool, her back to her. The slave was running the brush gently through Tituria’s long hair, easing out the tangles. The young girl had Issa in her lap, and was stroking the old bitch’s head between the ears. She stopped the fussing and looked up when Silus entered. Issa protested about the interruption to her attention, and butted Tituria’s hand with her head. Tituria gave a half-smile and carried on stroking.

  ‘Apicula, take this purse and go and buy some supplies. Wine, bread, cheese, some honeyed pastries. Some ox liver for Issa. She can’t manage anything tougher with her old teeth.’ He looked at Tituria, dressed in a tunic of fine wool, but covered in grime and dust. ‘And buy a change of clothes for our young guest.’

  Apicula gave one last stroke of the brush, patted the girl’s head, then took the money from Silus before leaving. Silus looked at the hairbrush and considered picking it up before thinking better of it. Instead, he poured himself a cup of water from a jug and sat on the floor on the far side of the room. Tituria watched him uncertainly, still subconsciously smoothing the little dog.

  ‘We haven’t introduced ourselves yet, have we?’ he said. He kept his voice quiet and gentle, the sort of tone he had used when telling Ser
gia bedtime stories. Calm and unthreatening. ‘I’m Silus. Your name is Tituria?’

  She nodded cautiously.

  ‘This is my home,’ said Silus. ‘I’m sorry it isn’t what you are used to. But you are welcome here as long as is necessary.’

  Tituria said nothing.

  ‘The little dog is called Issa.’

  Tituria looked down, as if only just remembering she was holding the pet. ‘Issa,’ she repeated.

  ‘She is older than you, I would think,’ said Silus. ‘How old are you? Eight years?’

  ‘Nine.’

  ‘I had a daughter. She was younger than you.’

  ‘Did she die?’

  ‘She did.’

  ‘Is my father dead?’

  Silus had no idea what he was supposed to say. Lie? The truth, or at least as much of it as he was prepared to reveal? He decided there was nothing to be gained from delaying her discovery of the awful facts.

  ‘He is.’

  Silus watched for a reaction. Tituria said nothing, betrayed no emotion except an acceleration in the rhythm of her stroking. Then, not looking at Silus, she said, ‘Is my mother dead too?’

  A memory of the matron pleading for the life of her children, just before his knife pierced her heart, flashed through his mind.

  ‘Yes.’

  She breathed through an open mouth, her nose snotty and blocked. Her voice became even smaller, even quieter. ‘Quintus?’

  Silus presumed that was the name of the brother. Now his own voice was thick with emotion.

  ‘Yes.’

  He stared at the child, wondering why she didn’t cry, why she didn’t scream and beat her fists on his chest, and yell that she hated him. He felt as though he couldn’t stand what he had done to her, what Caracalla had ordered be done to her. That he had saved her life felt like scant comfort at that moment.

  Of course, she believed he was her saviour. That he had come to their rescue, but arrived too late to save the rest of her family. Was that true? Had he really saved her, or just delayed the time when Caracalla discovered she still lived, and ended her life?

  ‘Why did that woman kill him?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ That was true, beyond the obvious answer that she had been ordered to. Someone had seen something they shouldn’t? What? Who? Was it Tituria herself? He was desperate to ask, but if it had been her, then she would be the reason for the death of her entire family, and that wasn’t a burden he wanted this child to bear.

  ‘Do you know how to play knucklebones?’ he asked, looking for anything to distract her.

  ‘Father wouldn’t let me gamble. But Quintus and I played the game where you toss them in the air and catch them on the back of your hand.’

  Silus knew the version. He had played it with Sergia. The throw and catch were repeated as many times as possible until they had all been dropped. He found his knucklebone set after a short search, as Apicula had tidied them away somewhere. They were old, their surfaces worn by time spent rubbing against each other in the same bag. One had tooth marks from when he had rescued it from Issa’s mouth after he had foolishly left her alone with them for the merest moment.

  He sat on the floor and indicated that Tituria should join him. He took his turn first, tossing and catching the four bones until they had all fallen.

  ‘Six,’ he said. ‘That’s not bad, is it? Your turn.’

  Tituria hesitated, then set Issa down. The little dog stared intently at the bones, licking her lips. Tituria picked up the bones and threw expertly, dropping the last on her eighth toss.

  ‘You’re good at this. I need to up my game.’ Silus picked the bones up and had another go.

  The game required just enough concentration to be a distraction without being so complex that the miserable Tituria would give up easily. Every time it seemed that Tituria’s thoughts were wandering, Silus brought her attention back to the game, and this way they played on until Apicula returned with the supplies.

  When she offered Tituria some bread and cheese, the girl looked up at her and said, ‘I’m not hungry.’ But when she offered her a honeyed sponge cake, Tituria took it with a timid ‘Thank you’ and put a small piece in her mouth. The sweetness was enough to overcome her lack of appetite and soon, one morsel at a time, she had finished the whole cake.

  Apicula had bought some goat’s milk and she poured a cupful. Tituria took small sips from this while the slave brought out the clothes she had purchased. Although not as expensive as Tituria was surely used to, the little girl looked appreciative when Apicula passed her a light blue linen tunic with a woollen belt, and a matching palla to drape over her head and shoulders.

  Apicula instructed Silus to turn his back, and he stared at the cracks in the wall while his slave helped Tituria out of her clothes of the previous day and into the new purchases. Apicula cleaned Tituria’s face with a damp cloth, and then told Silus he could turn back again.

  Silus regarded the little girl standing before him, chin lowered, looking up at him with wide, bloodshot eyes, and felt as though something inside him crumbled. His legs started to tremble, and he dropped to his knees and took her hand.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Tituria. So sorry for your loss. For… everything. But I swear to the gods, and to my daughter’s shade, that I will not let any harm come to you. You are safe. Do you understand?’

  Tituria nodded. Then she turned and picked up Issa, and sat cross-legged on Silus’ mattress. He saw that the tears in Apicula’s eyes matched his own. He gave her a nod, and she pursed her lips and nodded back. Apicula didn’t know the circumstances of the girl’s bereavement, or her background, but Silus could tell that she would protect her as one of her own. He desperately hoped that between the two of them, it would be enough.

  * * *

  Silus met Atius near the Praetorian barracks, well away from the Subura, away from his apartment and Tituria. Sitting on chairs in front of the tavern on the street, they drank and diced, and watched the citizens go about their day.

  ‘I was drinking with a chap I met from the vigiles last night. They are all talking about the fire on the Esquiline.’

  Silus sipped his drink and said nothing as a heaviness settled in his stomach.

  ‘They are speculating that the fire might have been started deliberately, but they don’t know, and they say it is just as likely that it was an accident – an overturned oil lamp or suchlike.’

  ‘Have they been through the embers?’

  ‘They had a poke around, and found a few bodies. None were identifiable. The heat had burnt too fiercely, and the collapsing walls and roof had smashed up the bones too much to even be able to sort them into individuals. Not that I think they tried too hard. They don’t get paid much. They will put some bones in a box and present them to the relatives as if they knew who was who. The nobles will be cremated and placed in the family tomb, and the slaves will be no doubt be tossed into the Tiber.’

  The tightness in Silus’ guts eased a little. They hadn’t counted the teeth to confirm the number of corpses. Why would they? So Tituria was presumed dead with the rest of her family. That much at least helped with her safety. For now.

  Atius reached out a hand and gripped Silus’ shoulder. ‘If you like, I can ask them to go through the bones more thoroughly, see if they can identify Daya.’

  ‘No,’ said Silus quickly. Then he took a deep breath and said more calmly, ‘She is gone. We have no need of her body to honour her memory.’

  ‘I’ll pray that she gets resurrected with the Christians when the Christos returns,’ said Atius.

  ‘If you like,’ said Silus.

  Atius looked over Silus’ shoulder, and his eyes narrowed.

  ‘Where are they going, I wonder?’

  Silus turned to see a detachment of a dozen legionaries from the Urban Cohorts marching purposefully down the street, led by a military tribune in full dress uniform. They had got used to seeing patrols of two to four strolling around the city, keeping a wat
chful eye open for civil disturbances, but as Silus had learnt quickly, for most minor offences the citizens policed themselves. It was unusual to see a larger group of legionaries looking as though they had somewhere important to be in a hurry.

  ‘Should we follow them?’

  Atius smiled. ‘We’re spies, aren’t we?’

  * * *

  Cilo lay in the warm water of his bath, situated in his private bathhouse which opened onto his peristylium, and inhaled the scent of roses and lavender. It was not like the large public baths in the city as it lacked the pools of different temperatures, the gymnasium and the massage rooms, but it also lacked the crowd, the noise, the commotion and the smell.

  Bees buzzed around the flowers in the garden. Evergreen bushes pruned into neat cones were interspersed with statues of Hermes and various nymphs. A gentle splashing sound came from the central fountain, where water spurted out of the mouth of a dolphin into a surrounding pool. Cilo’s town house on the Aventine had been gifted him by the Emperor Severus, and the garden and bathhouse had always been a peaceful retreat for him, a place of tranquillity where he could contemplate the beauty of nature shaped by man’s artistry. He needed it now more than ever.

  Sacked.

  He had never suffered such a humiliation in his long life and his heart cried with the insult to his dignitas. But his head told him it could have been far worse. At least he still had a head. He had taken a risk in addressing Caracalla the way he had, and if losing his job as urban prefect was as far as his punishment went, he could consider himself fortunate.

  Caracalla had been cold to him that morning, rather than angry, when he had informed him he was being stripped of his position. He did not give a reason, but he did not need to. Cilo’s words in the triclinium of the unfortunate Titurius had given offence, as he had feared. Caracalla wanted to hear no counsel of peace and harmony. If you weren’t behind him alone, then you were behind Geta, and Caracalla would clearly no longer tolerate that.