7: The Seven Deadly Sins

by Bach, Tia Silverthorne

Beritus looked Thomitus straight in the eye. “I swear it, both to you and to her.” He nodded to Josephine, who quickly busied herself with cleaning up the mess her husband had so unthoughtfully made.

  The three plotted and planned. In the end, they decided to present Josephine to the Emperor, per his request, as they could find no way to avoid bending to his will. But, they would lie. They would say that she had felt ill, tell him that his health was at risk by being around her. Nero was ever paranoid about his wellbeing. He would send her home—or so they hoped.

  Thomitus

  Anger, when coursing through a man’s veins, is not crimson, as most would believe. It is white, he thought. White hot and scorching, even to the soul. Thomitus had never felt such anger as he did at Nero in the moment Beritus said the Emperor had requested Josephine return to the palace with her husband. It was one thing to call on him. He was in the inner circle. It was a completely different thing to call upon and involve his wife in any of the debauchery within that complex.

  His wife had never seen the snake handlers or the whores who sought the pockets of their next conquests. She had never seen unadulterated insanity either. And Nero had crazy to spare.

  Why? Why would he want to meet her? An unsettling thought crept into Thomitus’s mind. For a flash of a moment, he considered that he might be becoming as delusional and paranoid as the Emperor himself. Pushing that thought aside, reason won the battle. Nero might have had a fiery temper, and his moods might have changed like the seasons, but he was smart and calculating. Rarely did he make a move that was not thought out beforehand. Nero had a plan, and his plan seemed to have changed to involve Josephine.

  Thomitus was beside himself as he sat by the impluvium, asking the gods to grant some form of respite from the wicked request. Water usually calmed him, but he was beyond mortal help. If Nero requested it, whatever it was, it had to be done. If not, death would come swiftly.

  Beritus dragged his friend from the pool’s side and pushed him into his wife’s waiting arms before granting the couple one hour to prepare themselves and their home before they would need to leave for the palace. In that time, he would run home to check on his Aena and their son, needing to make sure they would be safe.

  Thomitus watched Josephine take out her best stola, deep emerald and embroidered along the edges with golden thread. He observed her delicate fingers slip the fabric over the curves of her body. She pinned the garment modestly, and fixed her hair in an intricate knot, adding the laurel leaf comb on the left side. Brushing some wine on her lips to stain them, she regarded herself in the mirror.

  Josephine

  She stared at her reflection, the lines that had settled around her eyes and outlined her mouth, wondering what the visit might mean for her and her love. She, too, had changed since Thomitus had taken on the burden of spying. Time had a tendency to do that: transform a person, inside and out. The vow she took to carry him with her still burned strong in her bosom. She would simply need to remind him of it and of the reason he took on the challenge. Rome needed him. She needed him.

  Looking through the mirror, she marveled at the very sight of Thomitus, already donning his pale blue toga, lacing his sandals around his calves. “Is there anything in particular you can tell me about Nero? Anything I should know?”

  Sighing, Thomitus bowed his head. “He is volatile at best. I tried to remain calm, to be a fly on the wall—anything to avoid being the focus of his rage. The damage of an earthquake is greatest at its epicenter.”

  She swallowed, affixing silver baubles to her ears and pulling at the high collar circling the column of her throat. Somehow, it felt more like a noose than an accessory to enhance a woman’s beauty. She could feel it tightening around her. Her breathing became shallow and more desperate as she considered the trouble they faced.

  Once more, Thomitus had slipped up behind her, staring at her reflection. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek as he turned her body around to face his. “You have heard the plan?” he rasped.

  “Yes.”

  “Please, do not falter. You are ill.” With a brush of his thumbs, he removed the pinkened powder from her cheeks. With a kiss of his lips, he took away the stain of wine. She regarded herself in the mirror. Her complexion was changed. It was sallow, pale, and sickly. Perhaps it would even be believable. She certainly felt ill.

  Beritus returned, and the trio left the villa, assuring the servants their masters would return within a few days.

  The walk through the maze of Rome’s streets seemed to take an eternity. The sun had just tucked itself between two of the seven hills that kept watch over the great city. Josephine hoped those hills would also keep the three of them safe. Beritus walked more swiftly than his companions did. Perhaps he was eager to return to his wife and child. Maybe he was worried they had taken too long to return. Either way, she was convinced they were like flies walking into a spider’s intricate web.

  As they neared the complex, Thomitus stopped, earning an exasperated look from Beritus. He put his hands up and slapped his thighs. “Why are you stopping? We really should hurry.”

  Thomitus gnashed his teeth and grabbed Josephine’s elbows, pulling her tightly to him and kissing her roughly. Whispering in her ear sternly, he said, “You will only speak when necessary. Blend in and keep low. I will guard you.”

  She nodded and drew a deep inhale to calm her racing heart.

  Turning, he ordered. “You guard her with your life.”

  “What about you, my old friend?”

  Thomitus shook his head. “Without her, there is no me, no point to life, or living it.”

  In silence, the three resumed a steadier pace, and before any of them wanted to, they had arrived at the palatial complex.

  Beritus was dismissed by a guard near the entrance, but stayed with the couple, keeping his vow. Josephine’s mouth gaped as she took it all in: the gold, the statues that stood taller than the ceiling in their villa, the colorful stones and tiles, and the intricate paintings along each wall. Every painting was different, but the themes were similar. Nero wanted to show the world he was important. One room depicted him leading the way during a difficult battle, soot smudged on his face, his sword pointing toward the enemy. Josephine was certain the Emperor had never stepped foot on a battlefield in his short life.

  In another room, the scene’s theme was dramatically different. Winged women, barely clothed, stretched in the air atop Nero, petting him and feeding him grapes by hand. It was hedonistic, and bile burned the back of her throat.

  With each room, the scenes morphed: Nero taming wild beasts, Nero being dressed by his servants, the citizens of Rome bowing to him. Then, she saw a fresco depicting the gods and goddesses themselves bowing to Nero. Such a thing was unheard of. Does the man consider himself a god?

  The scent of lush plants and their perfumed flowers filled the air along with the sound of trickling water. There were fountains everywhere. Peacocks strutted around the courtyard square, its foundation made of intricate tiling. The males squawked and revealed their plumage. The fowl ran toward the edges of the great square.

  Josephine could hear the sweet sound of various instruments melting into melody in the warm, night air. If she had not been concerned for her life, she might have allowed herself to get lost in the beauty of such a place.

  And she knew immediately that very beauty had been what tempted Thomitus, what kept him away from her so long. Bitterness and sadness roiled through her veins until the beautiful façade crumbled and she could see the opulence for what it truly was: a den of thieves.

  It had become abundantly clear to her. The rumors that swirled through town like the acrid smoke after the Great Fire were true. Nero wanted a palace. There was no room for one to be built in the city, not for one of that size. He had leveled an enormous number of buildings to make room. Perhaps the fire was not lit by his hand, but it was certainly by his command. Either way, men, women, and children had died to make room for his dream, a fantas
y he had put before the lives and welfare of his own citizens.

  Boisterous laughter and giggling came from a room on the other side of the square. Candles flickered in the window, illuminating those inside, all clustered around one man, a man Josephine was growing to hate with each passing moment. Nero.

  The guard led them into the room where the women were barely dressed in sheer fabric, and the men, those Nero trusted the most, had access to the most powerful man in the Empire.

  Josephine looked at him, really looked at him.

  Her first impression was one of pity. He was so young, just seventeen when he rose to power, to have assumed such responsibility. “How old is he?” she whispered to her husband.

  “Twenty-nine.”

  She nodded almost imperceptibly.

  Beritus cleared his throat. “Emperor, I have fetched the couple, as you ordered.”

  Nero’s eyes were like that of a hawk’s. His mouth did not even flinch, but those eyes never missed anything, darting from person to person, taking in what their bodies said, beyond the words they spoke.

  Josephine felt his scrutiny as though she were a bug beneath a thick glass.

  Chuckling, Nero stood from his couch and approached with arms outstretched. “We have missed you, Thomitus. I feared you would not return, so I called for you. We have much to discuss.”

  Thomitus did not back down but smiled openly. “I apologize, Excellence. My wife and I have been apart for far too long and had some catching up to do.” He grabbed Josephine’s hand and gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze.

  She returned it with one of her own, though she was not sure she could hold on much longer. Her palm was wet with perspiration from worry.

  Nero simply laughed and clapped Thomitus on the shoulder. “This is the sweet Josephine?”

  Thomitus stiffened beside her and clutched her hand so hard it hurt, but he would not let her go.

  Nero looked her over from head to toe and back up again, a satisfied smirk on his face. “You have kept him away, have you?” he asked, biting his too-plump lip until it became purple and bulbous. Skin marred with pitted scars from the plague he battled at a young age was taut on his face. His hair was limp and greasy, and Josephine had to hold her breath to keep from smelling the sour body odor radiating from him. She simply smiled and lowered her head and eyes to the floor. She could feel the heat waft from him when he stepped in front of her.

  When his pudgy fingers lifted her chin, she felt Thomitus stiffen again. Will he assault the Emperor for me? Maybe there is hope left for the man.

  “Look at me, Josephine,” Nero ordered sternly. “Are you ill? You are very pale.”

  “I-I have been lately, Emperor. But the physicians say that the malady will pass.”

  “Good, good,” he said as if pondering whether her recovery would be a blessing or curse.

  She swallowed and met his eyes with her own.

  “You are quite a beauty. Have you ever been with child?”

  Josephine felt gutted. It had always been her dream to have children of her own, but Thomitus’s life as a soldier, and of late as Nero’s plaything, had pushed those dreams aside. “No, Emperor. We have not conceived.”

  Thomitus opened his mouth, and she worried what might fly out, so she spoke again first. “However, we are working on remedying that situation. Right, husband?” She smiled up at Thomitus and squeezed his hand again.

  With a sly smile, he straightened his spine. “Of course. I cannot wait to attempt the remedy again, wife.”

  Nero burst into a fit of laughter, enjoying the innuendo more than one ought to have. His laughs became forced, and then he stilled, strangely raking his eyes over the two of them. “There is someone feeding information to the Senate about me, Thomitus. Would you know who that person is?”

  Thomitus’s dark brows knitted together. “I have no idea, my Emperor. But as my vow, I will find out who the traitor is.” Releasing Josephine’s hand, he placed his own over his heart, kneeling deeply.

  Nero smiled, seemingly placated, but Josephine noticed the smile did not reach those dull blue eyes. “See that you do, or I will make sure that all of my men have a turn at trying to help your wife conceive the child she so desperately craves.”

  Her gasp filled the air just before Thomitus’s pleas fell upon Nero’s deaf ears.

  Josephine was dragged away and locked in one of the palace’s rooms, the Frescos within depicting a variety of vile sexual acts. The Emperor had surely chosen that room specifically to remind her of his threat. She was certain he would make good on his promise should Thomitus fail. A feeling of dread and despair filled her, exhausting her, and she fell asleep recalling the way Thomitus had pleaded for her freedom. “Please, Emperor. Allow her to return home. I swear that I will find the traitor, and that I will personally make him pay.”

  “You will make the traitor wish he were never born, Thomitus. Or I will make you wish the same,” Nero had coolly responded before sauntering away with his entourage.

  Thomitus

  Nero had no right! He may be Emperor, but he had gone too far. He certainly does not own Jo! She is my wife. Beritus had been ordered to escort Thomitus to his own room and to stand guard outside it until further notice. Nero had even gone so far as to threaten Beritus’s family if he failed in his duty.

  Thomitus’s sandals slapped against the smooth tiles along the floor of his room. There were few furnishings, only a lounger in the corner, a few plants potted in glazed or gilded urns, and the frescoes that Nero had become obsessed with. They depicted diverse scenes illuminating how amazing the Emperor was, and a small desk with parchment and a dry inkwell sitting atop it. Roaring deep inside, Thomitus cursed and raged for hours trying to figure out how to get Josephine out of the Emperor’s grasp. They would have to flee the city of Rome, leave their home and belongings.

  But, that would put Beritus and his family in danger. No. They must stay. Thomitus could not do that to his friend.

  Thomitus rushed to the door, placing his palms against the cool wood. “Beritus?” he whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think you could somehow find some ink and a quill?”

  Beritus shuffled beyond the door. “I will see what I can do, but can make no promises. And I will not risk my family.”

  “I would not ask if it was not important, but please, do not endanger yourself or the wellbeing of your loved ones.”

  “Very well,” came the muffled reply.

  Thomitus could not rest. He tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable or ease the thoughts rushing through his mind. When the night seemed darkest, he heard the faintest whisper. But it was not Beritus who called out. It was Josephine.

  Through a tiny crack in the western wall of Thomitus’s room, her voice came, tentative and trembling. “Thom?”

  He rushed to the wall and knelt before it, searching the cold stone with his hands, just thankful she was on the other side. “Are you okay? Did they harm you in any way?” His voice broke on the last word. He squeezed his eyes closed and hoped she had been handled delicately and treated as a lady should be.

  “I am unharmed, other than my confinement, that is. I did not speak sooner for fear of the guard outside my door, but I can hear his snoring now.”

  He smiled and thanked the gods for their mercy. Then he asked for their continued blessing, that she be kept safe, asking the he be sacrificed before her.

  “I have a plan,” he whispered. “It may take some time, but it also may work to our favor. I just need for you to stay strong no matter what.”

  “I can be strong,” she answered, with enough strength in her words that his own resolve was made more rigid. “But I need you to also be strong, Thomitus, without hope of gain. You need to do the right thing. Though it is not always the easiest way, it is the path that should be taken.”

  Thomitus hung his head. He had been changed by that place, by the man who owned it. He had become just like Nero, slothful and gluttonou
s, not only gorging on food but upon power and wealth. The deadliest sins often overlapped. That palace was built upon lust, pride, and the wrath of an absolute mad man—a tyrant—who not only threatened the empire, but everything Thomitus held dear in life.

  Vowing to speak again the following night, the couple kept quiet. For weeks, they met in secret, in the dark, clinging to one another through a small crack in the stone façade. He would fall into a fitful sleep, his head propped against that cool stone, and she would calm him, as she did at their home. Each dream was the same: He had done something wrong, something terrible, and was running for his life. When he tried to right the situation, it was too late. He would beg and plead to take the place of the one he had wronged. The feeling of dread and emptiness consumed his dreams, but his waking moments were filled with Josephine and determination.

  Beritus had been able to slip a quill and a vat of fresh ink beneath the door. And with those simple gifts, locked in a room in a palace constructed of and for sin, Thomitus secured his place in history.

  He was allowed out of his room during daylight hours, ordered to locate the traitor. And he did search diligently, questioning guards and even those who counted themselves among the inner circle. He made notes and scribbles of whereabouts and dates, of pertinent information. Knowing he was the spy Nero sought. During those interviews, Nero kept a close watch, his eyes searching for anything that might condemn Thomitus and his wife. He also learned of more secrets to which he had not previously been privy.

  Some of them were damning. Nero had spies everywhere. He also had appetites no one seemed to be able to whet. If a married woman caught his eye, her husband would be enlisted in the military. If he was already a soldier, he would be sent to the front line. If the enemies did not tear him apart, Nero would order one of his trusted men to take care of the obstacle. Then, the Emperor would console the woman, luring her into bed. When he had his fill, he would toss her aside, penniless, into the streets.

  His trusted men ran the city with iron fists. They took a district, and everything coming in or going out of the area was taxed. They were made rich on the backs of the poor. Those men took what they wanted—just like their Emperor. Those were only small examples of the corruption. Nero had senators in his pocket. No one was going to take his power.