The Emperor's Games

by The Emperor's Games (retail) (epub)

  * * *

  Lucius Paulinus sat at his desk with a shocked, panicked look on his face. Grattius Benacus, the “right man” who was to have pulled the empire back from the downhill course that Domitian had set it on, was dead. The plans for Domitian’s death were made, a long and complicated chain of events already put into action. And now there was no one to replace him, no man to replace Grattius Benacus in judgment or honor or acceptability to Senate and people. Only a handful of sharks to tear the government to pieces when Domitian died. It would have to be stopped, all of it, the whole chain, link by link, without Domitian learning that it had existed. Lucius, Gentilius, Sulla, and Roscius Celsus were to meet that morning to decide how best to do it.

  That was when they found out that they couldn’t.

  * * *

  “No.” Faustus Sulla stood stubbornly in Gentilius’s library, an airy, open room with tall windows to let in the light. It would be difficult to be overheard here, but Tullius stood guard in the doorway, just in case. “No. We have come this far. If we stop now, Domitian will find out eventually, and then there will be more deaths than you can count.”

  “If we don’t stop now, there will be civil war,” Gentilius said. “We didn’t invite you here to debate that, Sulla. It is not a matter of if but how.”

  Sulla’s dark face was obstinate. “There are more men involved than you, Gentilius. And a lot among them who agree with me.”

  “Oh? Are you trying to threaten me, Sulla?”

  “No, but I will do what I have to, to see that there are no more prisons full of condemned men whose only crime has been having property worth confiscating or falling afoul of the informers the emperor gives his ear to.”

  “There will be war again then,” Gentilius said grimly. “Is that what you want, Sulla? Roman fighting Roman?”

  “Of course not. We will put up Velius Rufus instead.”

  “The Senate won’t accept Velius Rufus. And he doesn’t have Benacus’s reputation. Someone will fight him for it.”

  There was a murmuring at the door, and Tullius admitted Roscius Celsus. He was clutching his toga awkwardly with one hand, and a wax tablet with the other, and his shortsighted eyes were worried.

  “What about you, Celsus?” Gentilius said as he came in. “Are your tradesmen fool enough to think we can go on now?”

  “I don’t know,” Celsus said unhappily. “I am not, and I have some influence. But they are afraid. We have gone so deep. If we stop now, they are afraid that what they have done will catch up to them later.”

  “That is the truth!” Sulla exploded. “No man who has come within a mile of this will be able to sleep at night for the rest of his life.”

  Lucius sat up on his couch and looked Sulla in the eye. “If there is civil war, we won’t be sleeping at night, either. In fact, I’m not sure we’d be safe from Velius Rufus if we did bring that off. Rufus could take it into his head to track us all down just to prove he had nothing to do with it, especially if the Senate is kicking about his confirmation. You’re leaving too many ifs, Sulla.”

  “Then we should not have hung this on one man!” Sulla said. “Men get killed when they fight a war, or didn’t you think of that?”

  “Legionary legates don’t get killed,” Lucius said quietly.

  “Not as a rule, not in a minor skirmish. Rufus has cashiered the primus pilus. Stop and think about that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that somebody wanted Benacus dead,” Lucius said levelly. “Now who was he so important to, besides us? I smell something here, and I don’t like it. It makes me inclined to pull back in my hole and stay there.”

  “That’s your usual style, Lucius,” Sulla snapped.

  “And thus have I lived so long,” Lucius said.

  “Stop it!” Gentilius said with a voice he had developed on the parade ground and which had not entirely left him. “I begin to wonder myself if we can halt this thing with hotheads like you, Sulla, running loose in it. Celsus, you’ve been staying out of our squabbles like a gentleman. I want your opinion.”

  Celsus had sat down on the edge of one of the leather couches and appeared to be trying to arrange his words to provoke neither side. At the far end of the room a gilt cage full of ornamental birds could be heard squawking in the silence. “A number of our men feel as Faustus Sulla does, I am afraid,” he said at last. “There is bad feeling against Domitian, and it goes deep. Also, we have had to use many men who have come to us only because they expect a reward at the end of it. If we stop now, they may seek their profit elsewhere, with Domitian.”

  “That is a danger also,” Gentilius admitted. “It may be that we will have to spend some money, but I think that they can be dealt with.”

  “You’ll just invite them to blackmail you over again when they decide they want more,” Sulla said.

  “I didn’t necessarily mean to pay them off with silver,” Gentilius said. “Not if they prove awkward.” There was a calm menace in his voice that the others duly noted.

  Sulla gave him an angry look. “And how many men can you have killed to keep a secret, Gentilius?”

  “There is also one other matter,” Roscius Celsus said unhappily. He held out the wax tablet. “This.” He was holding it toward Lucius, gingerly, as if it were dangerous.

  Lucius took it with an interested expression that changed to pure fury when he opened it. Roscius Celsus looked guilty, and Uncle Gentilius gave him a raised eyebrow of curiosity. Lucius rarely got mad, and when he did, someone had generally better watch out.

  “Have you read this?” Lucius asked.

  Roscius Celsus nodded. “It was sent to me, you see, through the cargo master in one of my shipping offices, with instructions to pass it on to you. I’m afraid I can trace the trail through my cargo master.”

  “Whose trail?” Uncle Gentilius said.

  “Marius Vettius,” Lucius said reluctantly. He read: “Marius Vettius wishes the enterprise well and would like to see Lucius Paulinus to discuss how he may best assist in its completion.”

  “Dear gods,” Gentilius said.

  * * *

  “I do not recall, Paulinus, requesting that you bring your uncle with you.” Marius Vettius reclined elegantly on his couch. He propped himself up on one elbow. “Or your dog.” He turned his sleek, fair head to the doorway where Tullius stood, looking surly.

  “I don’t recall asking your permission for my doings,” Lucius said. “I got a very cryptic message from you, and when you are cryptic, Vettius, I always bring reinforcements.”

  “I thought perhaps it would be as well to be cryptic. Don’t you?”

  “Depends on what you’re being cryptic about,” Gentilius said. “Vettius, you’re boring me. What do you want?”

  “Why, only to help. I understand that funeral arrangements will shortly be in order, and I thought I might be of use.”

  “I can’t imagine at what,” Lucius said. “No one’s died.”

  “Ah, but someone’s going to.”

  “No.”

  Vettius arranged his tunic into a slightly more perfect fold and snapped his fingers. A slave pushed in past Tullius. “Bring something for my guests.” He gave Lucius a charming smile. “No? I think you’re mistaken. And I’m afraid a great many of your, uh, comrades agree with me.”

  Lucius could feel his temper rising and pushed it firmly down. A cold knot of panic came and sat in his stomach instead. “What’s your stake in this?” There wasn’t much sense in continuing the pretense that he didn’t know what Vettius was talking about.

  Vettius gave him another pleasant smile. “Why, the good of the empire. Isn’t that yours?”

  “The good of the empire now requires that the emperor Domitian live long and safely,” Gentilius said.

  “Oh, I disagree. And I am afraid that it’s out of your hands now, you know. As I said, too many of your people feel I am right.”

  “I take it the fox has been busy persuading the chickens to
come home with him,” Gentilius said.

  “Not at all.” The slave came in with a tray, and Vettius made a hospitable gesture while the two of them sat and glared at him. “I merely thought you had conceived an admirable idea and that it would be a shame to stop now.”

  “The emperor would hate to hear that,” Lucius said.

  “I do trust you weren’t thinking of telling him, Paulinus.” Vettius poured himself some wine and filled the other two cups in a friendly fashion. “It would be a shame to cut your own throat.”

  “I do hope I misconstrue you, Vettius.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t think you do.” Vettius sipped his wine. “You see, I can do you so much more damage than you can do me. It just wouldn’t be a contest. Shall I be blunt? I suppose I had better. This little plot you have hatched is going to go ahead. If it doesn’t, the emperor is going to find out about it, and you will wish you had gone on, at least until your execution.”

  Lucius gritted his teeth and gave Vettius a bland look. “Which should take place shortly after your own.”

  Vettius shook his head. “Oh, no. The emperor trusts me. Or at least he thinks he can control me. You, on the other hand – you haven’t been particularly obliging. I don’t think we can expect Domitian to favor your viewpoint.”

  “He didn’t when I warned him about you,” Lucius said.

  “Quite.”

  “Benacus is dead, Vettius.” Gentilius gave him a thoughtful eye.

  “Yes, so I had heard.”

  “Whom would you suggest putting in his place?”

  “Oh, I expect Velius Rufus will do to go on with,” Vettius. “Perhaps someone else will occur to me. When I get to Germany.”

  “Get to Germany?” Lucius’s eyes narrowed.

  “Yes, didn’t I mention it? The emperor has been good enough to give me command of the Fourteenth Gemina. I’ve been wanting to get back into harness. A civilian post has its disadvantages, I find.” He smiled at Lucius over his wine cup.

  XVI The Bridge

  “So you are going to Germany!” Julia gave her husband a scathing look. “To try to stop what you put in motion yourself! How dare you, Lucius!”

  “How dare I what?” Lucius said tiredly. “Go to Germany or try to keep what happened with Nero from happening again?”

  “Any of it! All of it! You have jeopardized me and the children along with yourself, and you had no right! You weren’t appointed to save the world!”

  “I thought maybe someone should try,” Lucius said. “Look, Ju, I am sorry. We did something that we thought was necessary.”

  “Murder.” Julia turned her back on him. “I am ashamed of you.”

  “Now, just a minute. You knew what I did when you married me.”

  “Yes, you worked for the emperor. Now you are planning to kill him—”

  “I am planning that he not be killed!”

  “You are planning to kill him, and if he finds out, he will kill you. And probably me. And the children.”

  “It won’t come to that,” Lucius said desperately. “You can divorce me,” he added. His voice was thick with unhappiness.

  Julia turned around. “What do you think I am? You’re my husband. I married you confarreatio. They wouldn’t give me a divorce if I asked for one.” Confarreatio was the old religious form of marriage, before the Pontifex Maximus.

  “I could arrange it,” Lucius said grimly.

  “Well, I don’t want one! You’re horrible!”

  “You aren’t being very logical,” Lucius said.

  “I don’t intend trying to be.” Julia started to cry, and he put his arms around her. “This is horrible. I don’t want to divorce you, I’m just afraid something awful will happen.”

  “It won’t touch you or the children, I promise you,” he whispered into her hair. But that wasn’t the truth. If he were executed for treason, there was no certainty that his family wouldn’t follow him. Domitian was vengeful, and Marius Vettius was worse.

  “I don’t want to lose you!” Julia sobbed. “Lucius, how did this happen?”

  “My own foolishness,” Lucius said wearily. “I expect it comes to that in the end. It will be all right,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “Stay here, and sit tight. If anyone wants to know where I am, just tell them I haven’t been well, and my physician has sent me to the seacoast for the summer.” Julia wiped her face with the end of her mantle. “What about Papa – and Aemelia? And your uncle Gentilius?”

  “My uncle knows where I’m going. You’ll have to lie to your father. Don’t tell Aemelia anything if you can help it.”

  “All right.” Julia laid her head against his chest. “I am sorry I yelled at you. I’ll pray to Juno and Isis to send you back to me.”

  He held her for a moment and then pulled away reluctantly. “It’s time, Ju. Tullius is waiting for me.”

  When he had gone, she went and got the children. She pulled her mantle over her head and took them with her to pray.

  * * *

  Correus dropped onto a couch in the green-tiled atrium of the house he had taken in the vicus, the civil settlement, outside Moguntiacum Fortress, and pulled his helmet off. He misjudged the distance to the floor, and it dropped the last few inches with a clatter that would probably dent it, he thought, companion to the dent he would like to put in the collective skull of the Fourteenth Legion Gemina. As he had predicted, they were a demoralized mess, and even the pleasure of his promotion didn’t always provide him with the patience to put up with them. In their defense it could be said that the death of their legate in a border skirmish and the subsequent accusation of responsibility against their primus pilus was enough to render any legion nervous. Correus told himself this three times a morning when they fell over themselves at drill. They would be better when they had a legate again. Or so he thought until the post was announced. Now he thought that a legion with no legate at all would be better off than a legion with Marius Vettius. Especially for its primus pilus.

  Correus ran a hand through his hair, which left it standing wildly upright, and slumped back on the couch. He expected his cuirass was scratching the upholstery.

  Eumenes came in, and Correus sat up again and let him unbuckle it and strip off his greaves. Ygerna was behind him, shooing a slave before her with a cup of wine.

  “You look surly,” she said, inspecting him.

  Correus took the wine and drank it. “Observant of you.”

  “I am not in your legion, Commander.”

  “No, darling, you are not. I am sorry. Come and sit with me.”

  Eumenes gathered up the armor and departed with it, pushing the other slave ahead of him. If she couldn’t tell when the master and mistress were best left alone, he could.

  “Marius Vettius will be here tomorrow,” Ygerna said, sitting down next to him. “I heard in the camp market.” Correus’s leather harness tunic was damp with sweat, but she cuddled up to him anyway. “Will that help or make things worse?”

  “I don’t know,” Correus said. “It may help the legion to have a legate again.”

  “And you?”

  “That depends on whether he thinks I named him to Domitian for dealing with pirates, along with Flavius. And if he cares. I may be too small a fish for him to bother with.”

  “I don’t like this,” Ygerna said. “That man is dangerous. That general Rufus would have kept him in line.”

  The emperor had split his army. He had sent the four British detachments and the Twenty-first Rapax under Velius Rufus to show Marbod of the Chatti the error of his ways. The Upper

  German legions would move the other way, to take in the last of the Agri Decumates lands, and box Marbod in between them and Rufus.

  “There may be a bright note,” Correus said. “Julius Frontinus is coming out too, as chief of Engineers under Domitian. Not much gets by him.”

  “No.” Ygerna gave him a thoughtful smile. “What a long time ago it all was, Correus. Could we ask him to dine, do you think?�
� Julius Frontinus had been governor of Britain when they had last seen him.

  Correus laughed suddenly. “Yes, why not? He’d like to see you again, I should think. And Felix is his namesake. It wouldn’t hurt to have old Frontinus on our side.”

  Sextus Julius Frontinus, former governor of Britain, and Marius Vettius, new legate of the Fourteenth Legion Gemina, arrived in Moguntiacum almost side by side. Correus paid his respects to Vettius and formally turned over the legion to him. The new legate greeted him with sleek charm and disappeared in the direction of the emperor’s headquarters. Julius Frontinus snorted and gave the disappearing back a look of dislike. Correus pushed through the crowd of legionaries still wrestling with the mountain of baggage belonging to Vettius and the more modest accoutrements of Julius Frontinus, and invited the chief of Engineers to dinner.

  “You’d do better to save it for your commander,” Frontinus said. “Though I expect you’ll be seeing more of him than you’ll want to. What’s Domitian about, to put that horse’s rear in charge of a legion?”

  “He’s a good enough commander, or so I’ve heard,” Correus said noncommittally.

  Frontinus snorted. He was an angular man, with heavy, callused hands. He inspected Correus. “You’ve done well for yourself, Julianus. I’m glad to see it. Keep an eye on Vettius. That’s an honest warning. We’re into tricky times.”

  “Yes, sir. Now, will you dine with us? My wife wants to see you.”

  “I heard you’d married that Silure child,” Frontinus said. “I’ll be interested. Can you promise she won’t put poison in my dinner?”