by Martha Marks
Finally, Theodosia tossed the improvised pouch in her hand. There was no tell-tale rattle as she slipped it into her tunic beside the papyrus scrap she had written on yesterday.
<><><>
The kindly evening guards, Silvanus and Vespillo, came on duty at twilight and carried Theodosia to her chair on the balcony.
“They’re building a bonfire beside the sea,” Vespillo said. “You’ll have a good view from here.”
Silvanus returned to the balcony with a large, heavy military blanket. Theodosia thanked him prettily and snuggled under it from toes to chin.
“Won’t you join me?” she asked as the men headed to their post by the door. “Why should you be the only ones stuck inside tonight?”
Vespillo glanced at Silvanus, who was older and in charge. Silvanus thought a bit, then shrugged.
“Why not? It’s a holiday, after all.”
“Too bad the clouds are so heavy,” Vespillo said as he stood beside Theodosia. “We’d see everything much better if the moon was out.”
“Such a shame!” But she smiled to herself.
As always, Juno is my best ally.
“Do you build bonfires, Vespillo, when you’re home for Saturnalia?”
“Sure. We’ve only got three slaves to work the fields with my father, but tonight they’ll be the kings of the harvest. Father and my sisters should be serving ‘em dinner about now.” He sighed. “I ain’t been home for Saturnalia in years.”
“Where’s home?”
“Arretium. Just this side of the Apennines.”
“So... you’re an Umbrian! And you, sir?”
“From Tarentum, in the south,” Silvanus said. “Too poor to have land or slaves. Me and my oldest son are both in the army. My wife and younger children live off our wages. Ain’t much of a life.”
“How many children do you have?”
“Seven living. The youngest is just five. Four dead.”
“It must be wonderful having children.” Theodosia gave a short, sad chuckle. “I’ve always wanted them, but now it just doesn’t seem like...”
She let her words trail off.
There was silence, broken only by the loud crackle of the bonfire as it flared up and the laughter of the men around it. After a while, Theodosia picked up her theme again, letting a catch creep into her voice.
“The closest thing I’ve ever had to a child of my own is a slave boy here at the villa. Lycos. He’s such a sweet little fellow.” She raised her eyes, hoping the light from the lamps inside would catch the tears in her eyes. “Have either of you seen him around?”
“Ain’t many children here,” Silvanus said. “I only seen one, to tell you the truth. Good-looking lad?”
“Beautiful!” She gave him a broad smile.
“Sure, I know him. He’s made friends with everyone.”
“Lycos would. But I was afraid they wouldn’t let him out to play.”
“Oh, he plays all right. Runs all over the place. Nobody worries about a lad that age.”
“Thank the gods.”
Thank the gods!
She sat silently, watching the noisy crowd along the shore.
Poor Nicanor. He must be devastated. And poor Rila… all alone now at the mercy of so many drunken— No! Don’t get distracted!
There was too much left to do tonight.
A bit later, she looked at the older guard.
“I was just wondering— Any chance I could—” Breaking off, she shook her head, as if too timid to ask, and dropped her eyes.
“Could do what, lady?” asked Silvanus.
Full of hope, Theodosia raised her eyes again, making sure they were as soft and liquid as possible.
“Oh, you know... just see Lycos for a moment or two. I understand you’re not supposed to let anybody in, but... it’s Saturnalia... and...”
Vespillo took a step forward.
“I could find the boy, sir, and bring him up for a visit. Everybody’s busy celebrating. Nobody’s gonna know.”
Silvanus shook his head.
“Better not. It’s too risky.”
“Oh please, sir! With everything I’ve got ahead of me...”
The legionary exhaled loudly. Finally, he nodded.
“Well, all right.” He turned to his younger colleague. “Be careful. Everyone knows you’re supposed to be guarding the prisoner tonight.”
Vespillo grinned, saluted, and moved to the door.
“Hope it don’t take him too long,” Silvanus said. “I could lose my head for disobeying orders.”
“The gods will reward you, sir.” She raised her right hand to her throat. “Oh, I’m so thirsty. Bet you are, too! How about some more of that wine you liked so much last night?”
Silvanus brightened and left for the pitcher and cups that sat waiting on a table inside.
Alone on the balcony—and completely enveloped in the blanket—Theodosia reached into the front of her tunic and pulled out the pouch full of rubies. Then, without hesitation, she leaned forward and dropped it through the balcony railing into the acanthus bushes below.
<><><>
Rubbing his wrists and flexing his shoulders, Alexander left the tent where he had been confined for days and joined a group of slaves heading for the bonfire dedicated to Saturn.
“A good night of freedom to you all!” said a passing soldier who was clearly far down the path to oblivion in wine.
The harvest festivities were well under way. Slaves mingled and drank and joked with soldiers inclined by tradition to tolerate their insolence on this topsy-turvy night. Two houseboys were casting verbal abuse on the legionary who had flogged them. Alexander stopped to listen and tried to laugh with the others.
How can they be so unconcerned about their fate?
Glancing around, he spotted Stefan’s bulky shape on the opposite side of the fire and elbowed his way toward him.
Stefan broke into a big smile when he saw Alexander.
“We thought you was dead. Lycos cried for hours till someone told us they’d just locked you up.”
“Parts of me are dead.” Alexander gingerly patted his black-and-blue shoulders. “Where is Lycos?”
“Don’t know. A soldier came for him.”
“What for?”
“You think they’d tell me?”
Alexander glanced toward the house and caught his breath. Theodosia was sitting on her balcony, silhouetted against the brightly lit room behind her. Two legionaries flanked her chair.
“Is she all right?”
Stefan shrugged.
“Nobody’s talked to her for almost a week.”
“Not even Timon?”
“Timon’s gone. Lady Flavia came one day, but the soldiers wouldn’t let her in. She begged them to give Timon a chance to check Theodosia’s legs once more, but they refused... so she took him home with her.”
“Timon’s lucky to belong to Vespasian. Looks like the rest of us may soon be at the emperor’s disposal.”
“You heard about Marcipor?”
Alexander shook his head.
“Otho got him back. I sure wouldn’t want to be him right now. Heard about Lucilla and Etrusca?”
Alexander hadn’t, so Stefan told him.
“Poor Rila’s getting it bad these days. Real shame, too. She was a honey. Won’t be fit for nothing but a cheap whorehouse when they’re done with her.”
It was all too much to learn at once. Alexander knelt on the ground and retched. Had there been anything in his stomach, he would have thrown up.
He was still there a while later—head in his hands and thoroughly miserable—when he heard an excited voice calling his name. He looked around, then swept Lycos into his arms and pressed him tightly.
“I was so afraid they’d kill you!” Lycos sobbed, burying his face in Alexander’s neck.
The pressure on his bruised shoulders hurt, but he held Lycos until the tears subsided.
“Where did the soldier take you?”
Ly
cos pointed to the balcony.
“You saw the mistress?”
“The man said she asked to see me.”
“And they let her?”
Alexander and Stefan exchanged amazed looks.
Maybe things aren’t so dire, after all.
Alexander lowered his voice.
“I’d been thinking that the three of us should try to escape tonight, but maybe it’s not—” He turned to Lycos and switched into Greek. “How did she look?”
More than anything else, he needed to know that Theodosia was not being mistreated.
“All right.”
“Did she say anything to you?”
“Not much. She hugged me. She never did that before.”
“She was glad to see you.”
“She took me on her lap. I was real careful not to kick her legs! And she talked to me in Latin.”
“She didn’t want the soldiers to think she was telling you secrets.”
Lycos nodded soberly, then his eyes brightened.
“I could see the fire from up there. It was pretty! Then, one time when the guards weren’t watching, the mistress dropped something down the front of my tunic.” He pulled out a folded scrap of papyrus. “I don’t think she wanted them to see it.”
Alexander closed his hand around the scrap and looked about. Nobody but Stefan was watching him.
“She mentioned you, too,” whispered Lycos. “She said: ‘Give my regards to Alexander.’ Then she patted my chest and said it again. ‘My regards to Alexander. To Alexander.’ It was weird!”
Alexander stood and lifted Lycos into Stefan’s arms.
“Create some distraction,” he said in Latin.
Stefan tossed Lycos into the air, then swung him to his shoulders for a lofty gallop through the crowd. The soldiers poked each other and grinned as Lycos squealed in delight.
Alexander sat down on a rock facing the sea and unfolded the scrap close to his body. Shifting sideways to catch some light from the fire, he strained to make out the message.
BAG UNDER BALCONY. SEND L.
LEAVE TONIGHT WITH L. & S.
OBEY ME.
Alexander crumpled the scrap of papyrus and rose to his feet. Without a word, he stepped to the fire and tossed the tiny wad into the center. It popped and flamed and disappeared.
Stefan and Lycos came galloping around.
“Hey,” Alexander called. “I heard a good joke.”
Together they sat on the rock. Under his breath, Alexander repeated the message. On cue, the others laughed.
“It’s a dangerous venture she’s proposing for us,” Alexander said. “How brave do you two feel?”
“Brave enough,” said Stefan.
“Me too,” said Lycos.
“Good.”
Neither of you has the slightest idea what we’re getting into.
“So, now... how do we go about doing this?”
<><><>
By the time the revelers—soldiers and slaves alike—had polished off their second enormous wineskin, Alexander and Stefan and Dabini and Selicio and a dozen others, their arms linked in drunken camaraderie, had begun snaking through the crowd. Memories of past revelries kicked in. Everybody knew the popular snake-line dance.
Lycos ran back and forth in crazy circles, dashing in and out between the men, shrieking with joy.
From his place at the front of the line, Alexander caught sight of Stefan... merrily waving his arm at the rear of the string and urging others to come and salute the mistress.
“C’mon, ever’body! Godda greed our lady!” Stefan cried. “Godda give ‘er Saddurn’s comp-lents!”
“Saddurn, hell!” yelled Dabini, who had been drinking heavily. “Godda give ‘er our comp-lents!”
Dabini stumbled on the uneven ground and cursed, provoking a reproach from the less-tipsy Selicio behind him.
One by one they joined up... until the snake line numbered about sixty, all of them slaves.
Soon afterwards, Alexander led the swaying, singing, staggering group through the garden, where they whooped and mocked the besotted soldiers sprawled around the fountain and in the pergola. Half a dozen sober, heavily armed legionaries on duty near the house closed ranks as the rowdy slaves approached, eyeing them with suspicion.
“What’s this all about?” The soldier pointed his spear at Alexander.
Alexander swept his arm in an expansive gesture and swayed on his feet at the movement.
“Godda greed our lady,” he mumbled, pointing unsteadily toward the balcony where Theodosia sat between her guards. “Up there. What’sa madder, ossifer? Don’cha see ‘er?”
“No one goes near the house! Get back, all of you.”
“Aaaaaaaaw! Don’cha know we’re free tonight? Saddurnalia! Godda greed our lady!”
With a giddy chortle, Alexander casually knocked the spear aside and lurched toward the balcony, tugging the man behind him to do the same. Lycos skipped on ahead, unobserved in the confusion.
Apparently, the guards decided it would be easier to let the mass of inebriated slaves go ahead and greet their lady than try to contain them, for they offered no resistance and followed the line with their torches.
Alexander pushed ahead until he and the entire group stood squarely in front of Theodosia’s balcony. From his spot in the center, he grinned up at her astonished face, raised his hand to his forehead in an intoxicated salute, and bowed with a deep, wobbly flourish.
“Greedings from Saddurn, mis-dress!” he shouted.
Others around him were performing similar noisy obeisance, their incomprehensible shouts mingling with the guffaws of the soldiers.
Meanwhile, Lycos darted in and out of the bushes in the shadows beneath the balcony.
Rising from his exaggerated bow, Alexander lifted his eyes again. The glow from the soldiers’ torches illuminated Theodosia’s face. Her forehead was furrowed, her eyebrows knitted together, her hands clasped tightly and pressing on her lips... a look of amusement combined with stress.
She leaned toward the railing and grasped the bars with both hands.
“This is forbidden,” insisted a guard on the balcony.
Theodosia turned her head and gave him her widest smile.
Alexander stared up at her, as amazed as ever at her spirit.
Zeus! Is she manipulating them!
“I know, sir,” she said, “but even you must admit... it’s funny! Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they leave right away.”
The forced smile vanished from her face as she turned her eyes to the slaves on the ground.
“The gods be with you all.”
Lots of tension in her voice.
“Now, you must go.” Theodosia stretched one arm toward Alexander and made that familiar flicking gesture with her fingers. “Be gone!”
Alexander bowed, then straightened to look at Theodosia once more.
I’ll never see her again.
Through the bars, her eyes bore into his. She gave him another impatient wave.
“Be gone, fellow!”
He held her eyes as long as he dared.
“We will obey you, miss,” he said, no longer bothering to sound drunk, “and may all the gracious gods of Greece watch over you.”
PART III
A.D. 54 to 56
Chapter Twenty-two
Theodosia opened her eyes in the darkness and—with a curse—lifted herself on one elbow. Rain racing its usual course to the Tiber River sloshed into the jagged fissure over her head. Through the crack, she saw a yellow-white flash of lightning. The earth rumbled as a rush inside the Cloaca Maxima echoed through the solid-rock walls.
As always when she awoke, she gagged at the foul ooze seeping through those walls from the gigantic sewer that hustled its egalitarian mix of patrician, plebeian, foreign, and slave wastes toward the Tiber. Now, with this torrent, the stench from the Cloaca was even worse.
She sat up and pushed back as far as she could from the splashing water. Sharp edges san
k into her palms and added another rip to her already frayed tunic. The walls dripped steadily, summer and winter, but the floor rose on this side, so it stayed a bit drier. Propped against the wall, she hugged her right knee to her chest, pulled the new blanket around her shoulders, and tossed the old one over her inflexible left leg.
A fine way to start a reign. The gods grant our beloved emperor joy in his moment of glory.
On an ordinary day, a prisoner in the cave cells below the Carcer Tullianus would know nothing about goings-on in Rome, despite the fact that the busiest part of the imperial capital spread out around and above it. But today was no ordinary day. The whole city would turn out this October morning, rain or shine, to watch the new emperor ride in his chariot down the Via Sacra, on his way to address the Senate in the Curia.
“If you’re lucky,” the guard had remarked yesterday when he tossed in the blanket that was her gift from this latest Caesar, “you’ll be able to hear Nero’s procession as it moves through the Forum.”
“Such luck,” she had retorted, “is more than I’d dare hope for.”
So... old Claudius was gone at last. No doubt the corrupt freedmen who had run his palace for years were scrambling to ingratiate themselves with their new lord. Now Otho would have even more of the power he craved, though Theodosia knew that would do her no good. Her only reasons for hope were Vespasian and Lucius Sergius Silus.
If they’re still my friends—if they ever were my friends—this is the time for them to plead my case with Nero.
New emperors generally liked to right the wrongs of their predecessors. It made them look good by comparison.
There were other reasons to hope that Nero might be benevolent. Seneca, his tutor, was one of the most humane men of the century; if anyone could soften the imperial urge to tyranny, it was Seneca. Burrus, prefect of the Praetorian Guards—also respected by the prince—had often spoken out against injustice. And Nero took an interest in artists and musicians, for he fancied himself one of them.
Theodosia prayed he would remember her, too, as one of them.