The Conqueror

by Bryan Litfin

  No, Ignatius thought. You were trained.

  The so-called House of Fausta—or the Lateran Palace, as Pompeianus preferred to call it—was unusually quiet this morning. For one brief moment, no pressing matters demanded the prefect’s time, no momentous rumors swirled in the halls, no deadly crisis seemed imminent.

  Then the three Praetorians arrived.

  Pompeianus met them in the palace’s reception hall, irritated by the disturbance and ready to dish out punishment if the news that the soldiers brought was anything but the most urgent. The guardsmen had made sure to look their best to meet the prefect—their chainmail sanded to a shine, their neck scarves clean, their metal trim polished, their helmets plumed with bright red horsetails.

  “What brings you here today?” Pompeianus demanded, dispensing with the usual formalities.

  The leader stepped forward, saluted with his fist to his chest, and proffered a small urn.

  “Bring it to me,” the prefect said to his slave.

  Pompeianus received the clay jar and peered inside. A fine gray powder was there. “What is this?”

  “Human ashes, sir.”

  Grimacing and turning away, the prefect motioned for the slave to come get the jar. “Whose?”

  “Lady Junia Flavia, sir.”

  Pompeianus froze. His jaw clenched, and his grip on the urn grew tighter. The hall was silent as he sought to control his anger. Finally, he burst from his chair and hurled the urn to the floor. It shattered in an explosion of pottery shards and pale dust. The three Praetorians took several steps backward.

  “Tell me everything!” Pompeianus screamed.

  The spokesman for the three soldiers gathered his courage and returned to his place. The two others joined him, one on each side. After a quick glance at his comrades, the leader in the middle said, “We chased the fugitives on horseback and trapped them at one of Tibur’s cliffs. Foolishly, they leapt over the edge, and the woman was killed on rocks at the foot of a waterfall. To confirm this we”—the man shifted his feet and licked his lips—“inquired around and found where the funeral was to be held. The mourners were about to burn the body when we arrived. We saw the barbarian there—a German gladiator, we think, escaped from one of the schools. He held the woman’s corpse in his arms.”

  “Did you get a good look at her? Were you sure it was her?”

  “No question,” the leader said, and his comrades signaled their agreement with nods. “Her face was visible to us. We couldn’t stop the funeral because the mourners locked the gate. But we saw the body burn. Up close, actually. And later we got her ashes by bribing some relatives. They were surprisingly happy to cooperate.” The soldier gestured to the gray dust on the floor. “That’s all that’s left of Lady Junia Flavia. We thought you’d want to know, sir, so we came right away.”

  Pompeianus felt the claws of anger gripping his gut, but he restrained his urge to lash out at the men who had brought the news.

  Jupiter’s beard, this is so annoying!

  The purpose of putting the girl to death was to shame her—and thereby her father, Neratius—in front of the whole population of Rome. Instead, she became the talk of the town when she escaped the floor of the Flavian Amphitheater. And now she had just been privately cremated in some obscure village necropolis! The plan had failed.

  After dismissing the men with more courtesy than he actually felt, Pompeianus retired to a private garden and called for wine. He paced back and forth under the shade of a tall pine with an umbrella canopy, considering his dilemma. Senator Neratius Junius Flavianus was growing in power, newly appointed as the city prefect and enjoying Emperor Maxentius’s favor. A successful term in that prestigious office could ruin Pompeianus’s aspirations for political advancement. Since Maxentius—unlike the other members of the Imperial College—spent all his time in Rome, the accomplishments of a capable urban prefect would quickly come to his attention and call for rewards or promotion. The situation was getting out of hand. Neratius had to be brought down.

  It was Pompeianus’s wife who provided the inspiration for a solution. Livia glided into the garden at just the right moment, fashionably coifed and bedecked with jewels like always. She was a beautiful woman. And unlike most aristocratic wives, Livia knew what it meant to be seductive. Modesty was a meaningless word to her, and that was just how Pompeianus liked it. So unlike Neratius’s prissy wife. Hmm. I wonder if . . .

  The thought of virtuous Sabina Sophronia raised some immediate questions in the prefect’s mind. A devious plan began to come together.

  Yes, this could work, he realized. Everyone knew about Emperor Maxentius’s taste for adultery. He enjoyed bedding the lawful wives of Rome’s elite much more than the professional courtesans so readily available to him. Until now, the ancient rules of aristocratic propriety—going back to the times of Caesar Augustus himself—had prevented most liaisons with senators’ wives. Only the most unchaste and lascivious matrons had found their way to Maxentius’s private chambers. But lately the emperor had shown all the makings of a tyrant. If he could be persuaded that the Senate was turning against him and that they might support a coup led by Licinius or Constantine . . . What would he do?

  Everything in Maxentius’s history suggested he would respond to feelings of insecurity with violent retaliation and paranoid domination of his perceived enemies. Those who bent the knee would regain the emperor’s favor. But those who seemed reluctant to obey his commands would become instant villains in Maxentius’s suspicious mind. Perfect.

  “Your brow is furrowed, my love,” Livia said. “Does that fine Falernian not soothe you? Shall I call for medicinal herbs or a tincture from the physician?”

  Pompeianus approached his wife. “No. The medicine I need is one only you can give.”

  “In that case, I shall grind the pestle myself.”

  A little laugh escaped Pompeianus’s lips. “Ah, my dear, you are quite adept at that. Perhaps a little mandrake root later?” When Livia gave him a quizzical look, he waved it off and continued. “You know that I have been pursuing a case against the daughter of Neratius Junius?”

  “Yes. It is said the girl escaped the amphitheater.”

  “That is true. But my men chased her down in Tibur. She’s dead now.”

  “So your problem is solved. Why the anxious face?”

  “My problem remains, for the city prefect wasn’t shamed in the eyes of Maxentius. In fact, he enjoys greater favor by the day. I must find a way to make Maxentius hate Neratius. That man is the biggest obstacle to my career.”

  “How can I help, my love?”

  Pompeianus directed a stern gaze toward his wife. “I intend to whore you out to the emperor.”

  The statement, shocking though it was, did not make Livia flinch. She returned her husband’s stare. “Whatever it takes, lord,” she said with fire in her eyes.

  “Excellent!” Pompeianus spun away and poured a second glass of Falernian wine from a decanter on a cart. “I feared you might protest. At least a little.” He handed his wife the glass.

  “Why should I? Power always has its price.”

  “Ah, yes. I can see we understand each other perfectly.”

  “What will my seduction accomplish? Do you wish me to uncover a secret from the emperor?”

  “All you have to do is plant an idea in his mind. I am going to meet with Maxentius as soon as possible. I’ll tell him my spies are saying Licinius and Constantine are moving against Rome. And I’m going to say the whole Senate is ready to go over to the invaders. That will terrify the little coward, and he’ll want to lash out. He’ll feel the need to prove his dominance, especially over the upper classes. I’m certain I can convince him to send out some Praetorians as pimps. He’s done that often with peasant girls. He has his soldiers procure the local daughters wherever he goes. Now it’s time for the next level: senators’ wives. You must convince Maxentius to put Neratius to the ultimate test.”

  Livia giggled. “Getting Maxentius to
commit adultery is like getting water to run downhill. It comes naturally to him.”

  “Exactly! But what is the biggest faction in our empire that avoids adultery? Speaks out against it? Calls it wrong and immoral?”

  “The Christians.”

  “And did you know Senator Neratius Junius is one of those scum?”

  “Ugh. I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t surprise me. What is Rome coming to when the city prefect worships a crucified criminal as a god?”

  “It’s disgusting, I know. But it works in our favor. If Neratius is a Christian, he certainly won’t send his wife to the emperor’s bed.”

  “And Sabina Sophronia wouldn’t go even if she were ordered to by her husband. Ha! ‘Sophronia,’ she’s called. What a name! Everyone, please notice the lady’s sophrosune!” Livia put her hand to her bosom and fluttered her eyelids. “Oh! I must remain faithful to my husband!” she said in a high-pitched, mocking tone. “I must wear dowdy dresses! I must keep my legs together! I must follow ancient Jewish morals!”

  “The Christians disgust me.”

  “Me too, my love.”

  “So you’ll go to the emperor’s bed when called?”

  Livia gulped down the last of her wine and set aside her glass. She turned toward Pompeianus and grasped him around the waist, pulling him tight and gazing up at him with delightfully painted eyes. Her expression was sultry. “For you, my love, I will do anything.”

  “Good. In this way, we shall gain ultimate power.”

  “I can see we understand each other perfectly,” Livia replied, then drew her husband into a passionate kiss.

  The time had come to part ways. Though Rex had often tried to deny it, in the back of his mind, he had always known this time would come. He just hadn’t thought it would be so complicated. And he certainly hadn’t anticipated that Flavia would cry.

  She stood facing him outside the stable at her uncle’s villa. Even in the faint light of dusk, he could see her eyes were moist. Does she care that much about me? he wondered. Or is it just the safety I’ve been providing her? Or maybe it’s the bond we share from facing danger together? And what does she think of me, really? Am I her friend? Her peasant bodyguard? Or something more?

  Rex had considered pulling Flavia aside and asking her about it, but he knew that would only make things worse. The emotions would be complex and awkward. In any case, it didn’t matter. The plan was to send her to her father’s estate across the sea in Sardinia, so it was unlikely Rex would see her again soon. And it was time, he told himself, to refocus on the mission for which he had come to Italy. Rex hadn’t been sent to start friendships, and certainly not romances. He was here on the direct orders of Emperor Constantine, the rightful Augustus of the West and true ruler of Rome. Rex felt he had already spent too much time away. Once he got back to the city, Centurion Aratus was going to bawl him out like a drill instructor breaking down a new recruit. Any regular soldier would be facing a severe beating for an escapade like this, though Rex thought Aratus would refrain because a two-week recovery period would compromise the mission. Even so, the reunion was going to be nasty.

  And so it was time to say goodbye to Lady Junia Flavia.

  Rex took a step closer to the beautiful girl with tears in her eyes. “We certainly had some exciting adventures out there, didn’t we?” he remarked with a little laugh and a shake of his head. “I never thought I’d crawl through an aqueduct with a senator’s daughter,” he added lamely.

  “You were brave, Rex. Always brave and protective. It meant a lot to me, even if I didn’t say so at the time.”

  Rex shrugged. “It was nothing.”

  “It was everything,” Flavia insisted. “You saved me from certain death. I am deeply grateful.”

  “Well, I was happy to do it for you. So, then . . . goodbye, I guess.”

  Rex had started to dip his head in a polite bow when Flavia took a step forward. Rex’s mind immediately began to assess the proper social move. She’s a noblewoman. I’m a commoner. What do I do? Surely we shouldn’t embrace like lovers, right here in front of her uncle?

  Fortunately, instead of moving toward an embrace, Flavia held out her hand. Rex wondered if he should kiss her ring, but he stopped when he realized how stupid that would be. Instead, he grasped her fingers and squeezed. Ach! What is this weird handshake? She must think I am so strange!

  “Maybe you can write to me?” Flavia suggested, staring up at Rex with those wide, wet eyes.

  “Uh, yes. Maybe I could. I think so.” Rex released Flavia’s fingers and turned over a pebble with his toe. “I learned it from my mother. I’m a pretty good writer, actually.” No sooner had he spoken than he kicked himself for saying something that no well-educated aristocrat would ever think to say.

  Ignatius cleared his throat. “I believe your friend must be on his way now, Flavia,” he said gently. He turned toward Rex. “I have something for you, young man.” The senator held out a gold solidus, pressing it into Rex’s hand when he tried to refuse. “I intend to pay my niece’s debts,” Ignatius said. “My honor requires it.”

  Rex thanked the senator and tucked the coin into his moneypouch, then he mounted the sturdy cavalry pony Ignatius had given him. Up in the saddle, Rex felt a little more at ease, like he was back in a world whose rules he knew.

  “Could you perhaps meet me at Ostia before I sail?” Flavia asked.

  “I think . . . I think that wouldn’t be possible, my lady. I’m afraid this is goodbye.”

  The statement elicited a nod and a little whimper from Flavia. She dabbed at the tears in her eyes with a silk kerchief. “You’re right,” she admitted, staring at her feet.

  Rex gathered the reins and called for a trot from his mount. At the gate, he turned one last time and raised his hand. Ignatius had already begun to return to the villa, but Flavia was still there, alone.

  “God be with you, Rex!” she called.

  In response, he patted the tau-rho amulet at his neck, then reined around and passed through the gate. A heavy overcast had rolled in, making the evening darker than normal. From over his shoulder in the distance, he heard Flavia cry, “I love you!” Probably some kind of Christian expression of sisterly affection, he decided. Something they often say.

  The lane from the villa eventually joined the main highway to Rome. Rex had been riding only a short time when rain began to fall. It started as a sprinkle but quickly became steadier. He pulled his hood over his head and eased up on the reins, letting his horse find its own natural pace on the slippery road.

  Soon after Rex had turned onto the Tiburtinian Way, he heard hoof-beats from behind, approaching at a canter. Not good, he thought. The purpose of traveling after dark was to avoid being seen, at least by anyone who might be hostile. It seemed unlikely that any respectable citizen would be out here on such a cold, rainy night. Rex pulled up and waited for the rider to draw near, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. The downpour intensified, but even the sound of the droplets pattering against the pavestones could not obscure the hoofbeats of the oncoming rider. He was clearly in a hurry.

  A tall horseman emerged from the gloom, swathed in a heavy cloak. He slowed to a walk as soon as he spotted Rex, then stopped a few paces away.

  “I know who you are,” the nameless voice declared.

  In the far distance, thunder rumbled. Rex loosened his sword in its scabbard but did not draw it. “State your business,” he replied.

  A light mist began to fall as Flavia walked back to her uncle’s villa. The sky was heavy and cold, as if the weather could somehow sense the melancholy state of Flavia’s heart. Her trunk of new clothes and necessities was packed and waiting in her room. Tomorrow she would depart for the port of Ostia, and from there she would sail for the island of Sardinia. After that, what? Only the Lord God knew.

  But whatever my future, it won’t include Rex.

  Alexamenos met Flavia on the path that led back to the villa from the stable. “It’s wet out, Lady Juni
a,” he said, stretching his cloak to shield her head. He escorted her to a courtyard with a lively fire burning in the fireplace. Raindrops fell on a pool at the center of the patio, but the chairs by the fire were dry under the surrounding porch. The two friends sat down by the hearth, its radiant warmth a welcome relief.

  “I know it was hard to leave him,” the kindly schoolteacher said. “Young Rex has been a comfort to you the past few days. For what it’s worth, I would be willing to escort you to Ostia tomorrow. Then it’s back to Rome for me.”

  “Thank you, Alexamenos. That is most kind of you. I’d be very glad for your company. And you’re right about Rex. I didn’t think saying goodbye would be so hard.”

  “It is easy for a woman’s heart to get bound to a man’s, especially someone as vigorous and handsome as Rex. But it is probably better that he left. After all, he is . . . well, he is perhaps not the man for a believer like you.”

  Flavia glanced at her new friend. He was about thirty, a common age for men to take a wife, which would usually be a girl of about seventeen, like Flavia. Even so, she did not sense Alexamenos had any such interest in her. He spoke instead like a Christian brother, with charity and genuine concern in his voice.

  “You know, it’s funny,” Flavia said carefully. “I do feel drawn to Rex. I even feel that I love him. Yet in my heart, I wouldn’t want him to be my husband.”

  “Because he worships demons?”

  “Yes, primarily that. I couldn’t live with a man who isn’t within the catholic faith.”

  “And so you shouldn’t. It is most unwise. All the best theologians counsel against it. For example, the African Tertullian.”

  “I have read his essays on marriage, and I agree. But beyond that, Rex and I have entirely different futures. He’s going to join the imperial army, and I’m going into exile across the sea.”

  The statement was too bleak to discuss any further, and Alexamenos was wise enough to recognize Flavia’s mood. Instead of offering inept words, he sat in companionable silence with Flavia and shared her sorrow. The steady rain pattered onto the courtyard pool. Every so often, the logs in the fireplace popped, but otherwise all was quiet.