by Bilinmeyen
All the hours of running in their woods were paying off. I huffed my way after them, surging past people and funeral parties on the road. I ran as far as I could, far enough that I barely saw them. I was keeping up, cursing when they whipped speed to the horses, but I didn’t lose them. And in the end, the road made its way to the hill of the gardens. I kept rushing, covered in sweat, my tongue out from thirst. I was panting like a dog.
I rounded a corner between a garden and a brown walled domus.
The wagon was there, very near. I saw past a garden full of fruit trees and a fountain. The thing was settled on the side of a domus of red bricks, and a rich doorway was open. The thick shouldered man jumped down, and the door was opened by a shadowy figure, fat and strong.
I couldn’t see him. But, I was sure it was Antius.
I turned and bowed to a woman carrying a jug of water, her clothes that of a servant. She smiled at me carefully, her eyes on the spear. I pointed a finger at the domus. “Who owns that place?”
She looked relieved with a question she could answer. “It is the house of Iullus Antonius. He has many, one in the Palatine with the high ones, but he spends a lot of time here.” She leaned closer to me. “His son is there, always sitting around with ruffians in the shade, plotting mischief.” Indeed, a boy of twelve was laughing with others of his age. He was wide like his father.
I stared at the house where Iullus had been plotting for our demise, for the deaths of so many fine men and women. He was there, ripe for the taking.
And there, Antius, Grim, and Istros hid as well, no doubt.
Iullus. The man whose father Octavianus had ruined. A man who would happily take the reins of power after Augustus was dead, the man who probably felt cheated out of power. He would marry Julia after he killed Tiberius, and then, eventually, he’d decide on the fate of Rome herself.
Through Julia.
CHAPTER 21
“Iullus,” Livia said unhappily. “Iullus, always Iullus,” she added, stroking her palla thoughtfully. “I had always thought it would be Lollius, but no. Has he slept with Julia?” she asked.
I laughed, astonished by the question. I was feeling giddy with happiness, now the end was near. “Not while I have. I would have noticed.”
She frowned, not appreciating my levity. “I’ll not bother your tired brains with the exact ties to the family, but he is step-nephew of Octavian. My husband has given him much honor, though he has also ruined most of Iullus’s family, including his mother, who helped raise legions against Octavian.”
“Didn’t you suspect Iullus?” I asked her. “Have you not watched him?”
She smiled wryly. “I have limited power to watch people for years and years. You know this. I have spent my time with Julia. I was right, Corvus, was I not? But, Iullus makes sense. They have not spoken for years, not that I know of, and in the various events, they avoid each other.” She shrugged. “Augustus feels he owes the man something. I always thought him ambitious and shady. He is rich, certainly. He has grudges. He’d probably jump at the opportunity to guard and further Julia’s cause. Would he dare kill my sons? Possibly.”
I frowned. “But, surely, he wouldn’t attack Antonia’s children?”
She shook her head, confused. “Why not?”
I waved my hand. “You need not bother me with family history. I know something of him. Sextus, a man in the Guard mentioned him in the funeral last year. He has two half-sisters. One is Antonia. He would not attack his sister’s family.”
She snorted. “Anyone is suspect, and Iullus has no love for anyone but himself, Corvus. Don’t be stupid.” She was rapping her fingers on her couch. “I assume the tube contained a message from Julia? You have no idea what it was?”
“I assume,” I said uncertainly. “I cannot know. I think it was the information on Tiberius and his plans. It was not a recipe for a stew.” I opened my throat. “Antius might be in that house.”
She frowned. “You will forget Antius, Corvus. Concentrate on this problem. In three days, my son will be in Rome. How do you suggest we deal with the problem?”
I flexed my hands. “I suppose one should ask Iullus?”
“Ask Iullus?” she mouthed. “Ask him nicely? Or ask him under duress?”
“Drug him?” I asked. “Like you wanted me to drug Julia.”
She shook her head. “He is a very careful man. He will not go anywhere without guards, nor does he eat or drink anything unless someone tastes it. He can disappear in a moment.”
I shrugged and frowned, sitting there for a long time, thinking about it. And then Lok, the god whose servants I had previously killed, probably wanted to amuse himself, and gave me an idea. “I know what to do. You will not like it.” I smiled. “Or perhaps you will. I will need something. Does Antonia have a house of her own?”
“She does. Drusus had one, of course.” She frowned.
“Antonia and Iullus are not in good terms, I remember,” I said.
“They have bad blood, though Iullus regrets it,” she said guardedly. “What part might I not like?”
“Iullus has a son who likes to play outside,” I told her.
“Yes, he has a boy,” she said, her face brightening. “You are growing Roman. I think I know how we will trap him out of sight. Tell me, and let me see if I guessed right.”
“Listen,” I said.
She agreed.
***
The former domus of Drusus was a peaceful affair on the slopes of Palatine. It had a large garden, where herbs grew along the white washed walls. It had a large atrium, and red painted walls, where flowers had been subtly painted in white. A slave, her stola of the best possible materials, painted yellow, was receiving guests in the atrium. I sat in a study deep in the house, near a pond of green water in the garden beyond the atrium. I stared across the corridor at the milling guests Livia had invited in Antonia’s name. There was a feast in the making, a happy evening in a merry company. There were people Antonia would know, and others of her family.
Antonia wasn’t there, which probably confused the guests who had already arrived, though the slave did a commendable job at telling everyone how she was late.
There was no guarantee Iullus would attend. None. He had not responded to the written invitation, and the evening was dark already, with crickets making a ruckus around the hillside. The study had a small window, and air was cool as it ruffled the drapes in the fine study Drusus had once used.
The feast went on.
People were getting drunk, and it was as acceptable, even desirable, in Rome, like it was in Germania. Slaves were holding silver basins where people would throw up. There were probably many famous people of Rome there, but I only cared for one. A pipe was playing in the atrium, a young girl in a red tunic blowing into it gently. A couple was entwined in each other’s drunken arms by the altar, and I was despairing. I looked to the side, at the couch, and wondered what I’d do if the man didn’t arrive. The whole scheme made me sick, but it was my scheme, and so we’d see it through.
Then, finally, a sound of door opening.
A figure entered, then two more. One was huge, fat and grisly, and I nearly got up to walk and murder the man. Antius.
Then I saw the man clearly, and it wasn’t Antius. This one had a huge curly hair, thin chin, and a childlike look on his face. I held myself seated, uncertain, frowning.
But, the man leading them was our man. Iullus. He had heeded his half-sister’s call, in hopes of reconciliation. He was brooding, short but muscular, and nearly forty. His toga was draped regally over his arm. I was almost sure he had been the man in the holy spring. They had arranged for that method of delivering information, someone had told Iullus—possibly the witch—there would be a message, and he knew all about Tiberius now. The beautiful slave stiffened, gathered herself, and approached him. Her back was straight as she approached. Iullus smiled, a forced thing, and leaned closer to the slave, trying to catch her soft words. Soon, Iullus was nodding vigorously
, and the slave was chatting amicably.
I tensed and held my breath. I looked over to the side of the room, where a young boy sat with dark hair. His eyes were horrified, but he couldn’t speak. He had been gagged and tied. He had pissed himself with fear. He was only twelve, and I tried to keep that fact away from my thoughts.
My son was important. Drusus had been, and so was Tiberius.
The girl was whispering to Iullus now. She nodded towards the study. The man and his two guards turned. They began to walk our way, and I got up to my full height. They entered the garden, and saw the half open door. I had no helmet, only the armor and the sword. I heard them speaking, then they were near the doorway, and the frowning man stepped in, confused. He hesitated at the doorstep. “What’s this then?”
“Come in, my lord,” I said.
He was about to ask a question when his two guards were grabbed from behind, and two daggers flashed. Turdus and Wandal were there, pushing the twitching, soon-to-be corpses inside and past the man, and as Iullus turned to flee, Agetan held a spear in his throat. He took steps back from the spear, backed inside the room, then back again until he saw Lucius, his son, tied on the couch. Iullus whirled to stare at me with fury and fear, as the doors were closed behind him.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked hoarsely. His eyes kept sneaking to Lucius, and as if by a magical strike of lighting, the boy’s face distorted. Rochus, whom Adalwulf had ordered to come and help us, stepped out from the shadows near the boy, and pulled at his hair. He held aloft an empty bottle, which Iullus stared at with a frown.
I pushed him.
“How dare you—”
I pushed him again, this time with the sword. He went quiet, trembling with fear and resentment. I took a goblet of wine from the desk, and offered it to him. I frowned as he refused to take it. “You will want to take this. Don’t spill the drink.” He hesitated and took it.
He held it far from himself. “I’ll not drink your poisons. And I don’t know who you are, what you want and—”
“What we want,” I said, “and what you will want, is to give that drink to your son.”
He stared at me with feral eyes. “My son?”
“You will give that to him, because it is the antidote for a poison that bastard poured into his throat.” Rochus let the glass fall to the floor, where it splintered.
Iullus shook his shoulders, taking deep, frightened breaths. He was shaking his head, then looking back at the merciless men behind him. “If,” I said, and he snapped his attention to me, “I had my way, I’d slit your belly right here. Your men have caused the death of my friends. Your hunger for power have killed high, good men and women, and destroyed whole villages across the lands. I’m sure you get a deserving death later, my lord. But, save your son tonight. Like your father died and you survived, perhaps your son will live on while you get strangled.”
He looked down at the corpses, then the goblet, and his son. I looked at his face, and thought I knew what he was thinking about. Once, Augustus had spared his life, his and most of his relatives. His famous father had ruled half of Roman empire, and he had hoped to rule all of it, once Augustus was dead. And now? He’d possibly save his son. He loved Lucius, but it was hard to accept his plans were crumbling. “Can I give it to him now?” he asked. “How long do I—”
“You will answer our questions first, my lord,” I answered with a snarl.
“I have a powerful family. You have made a great many enemies,” he answered with a subdued voice. “Great many.”
“I care not for enemies who wail across the river from Hades, my friend,” I answered. “Questions, answers, then the medicine.”
He took a ragged breath, and agreed. “I will tell you everything.”
“Did you receive a message from Julia Caesar hidden inside a tube of metal?” I queried, and his face went white.
“I …” he began and cursed. “I did.”
“What was in the message?” I asked, my sword glinting. “The message hidden in a roll meant for a goddess of the spring.”
He shrugged. “We have an affair.”
I snorted. “You have not met her for years.”
“We had an affair,” he said. “That is—”
“What was in the message?” I asked with a very short temper. I tapped the goblet on his hand so hard it nearly tipped. “You cur. Lie to me one more time, and see your son choke on his swollen tongue.”
He rubbed his face with one hand. “What do you think there was?”
“Something to aid you in killing her husband,” I answered and stared at him, straight in the eye. “You make the plans on how kill Tiberius. You have his dates, the details of his arrival to Rome. Such things.”
He nodded carefully, twitchy as a rabbit. “I am not sure why you would be interested in Julia’s and my correspondence.”
“I’m interested in what you planned on doing with that information,” I told him, and pressed the sword to his throat. “How will you kill the man? And when?”
He looked over to his son with feverish eyes, calculating if his love for the boy was greater than his thirst for power.
I leaned closer. “I know what you wanted in the end. You are the blood of the rulers, eh? Your son there? Better than Gaius and her Lucius. Marry Julia, guard her children, and slowly, very slowly have your own boy grasp the power. Why not? You deserve it. You were robbed were you not?”
He nodded, his eyes those of a defeated man. “I was. Augustus stole the empire from us. But, I care for Julia. No matter what, I would take care of her and the boys, and—”
“How, and when?” I snarled. “I tire of the game.”
“You cannot prove anything,” he said with spite. “And you cannot stop it. I sent the message today.”
I froze. Today? “Stop what?” I asked him.
He looked at me spitefully, struggling. His eyes looked at Lucius, a boy still, who looked back at him, begging, and in the end, the conspirator gave life to his son, and left himself exposed to the fury of Augustus and Livia. He took a shuddering breath. “Poor Julia. She was always so afraid for her sons. She was terrified for them. She tried to have one with Tiberius, but failed, and then, she had nothing. So she chose me.”
“Why did she choose you?” Rochus asked.
“Why?” he mused. “Why? Because she used to trust me, growing up. I was friends with Drusus, but despised Tiberius. So she asked me. She asked me to take his place, and I did try.”
“Did she want you to kill Tiberius?” I asked.
He held on to the goblet fiercely. “She wanted me to kill her man. I said yes, and we made a pact. Then, we kept far from each other. We had our understanding and ways to communicate. But, the thing is, my unknown friend, I will not want to kill only Tiberius. I will kill them both. Him and Augustus. And it is happening. Augustus met the man in Tergeste, and they are sailing the same ship down the coast. They will be in Ravenna, in two days.” He smiled. “I wanted to rip Rome back from his claws, to give it back to the people, my friend. Republic once again. Like Drusus dreamed, I dreamed. We were allied in this goal.”
I stared at him in shock. Republic? Drusus’s dream?
“Not what Julia wanted, probably,” he chuckled. “But, I would have married her for her influence, and led the Senate after Augustus died. And that will still happen, though perhaps I shall not lead them.” He lifted his head. “My son?”
“How will they die?” I asked, enraged and utterly confused.
Rochus’s face was full of worry as he regarded the scene. “How?” he asked tersely.
Iullus chuckled. “I bought Illyrian pirates, my friends. They have been around for weeks, and are waiting on my message on which ship to attack, and when, exactly. They are waiting for them north of Ravenna. They will catch them, kill them, and none can blame me. You have no proof.”
A door opened.
Maximus and Livia, and several other nobles stepped out. The feast was disrupted as praetor
ians marched in. Iullus stared at them in shock, and held on to the goblet with desperate fingers. He spoke weakly. “I—”
Livia nodded at Maximus. The man walked forward, and slapped the goblet across the floor. Iullus shrieked, and tried to reach for it, but Tudrus and Wandal grabbed him. Maximus turned to me. “Join the fourth and the third. Adalwulf will take them out. You will go to Classe, Ravenna’s port, and save them.”
I nodded and took steps out. Livia’s eyes followed me, and she nodded gratefully.
I hesitated and whirled, and kneeled next to the sobbing Iullus. “Why did you kill Drusus, if he was hoping to bring back the Republic?” I shook my head. “And why attack Antonia?”
He looked at me aghast. “I have done no such things!”
I hesitated, and stood up. “Your son was not given any poison. You can get up from your knees now.”
I walked out, deep in my thoughts.
We had not one but two lords to save.
And a mystery to unravel.
CHAPTER 22
The cavalcade was riding hard. It rode through that night, into the next day and deep into the following night. We thundered through Rome and out of Porta Collina, up Via Flaminia to the north. We galloped through plains, hills, and valleys, stopping to eat, shit, drink, and then we progressed on again. We crossed the passes over the mountains that separate Italy, and traversed dangerous roads in the dark. We rode, losing men and horses, until we passed from Italy into the Cisalpine plains, crossed Rubicon, passed Arminum, and admired the great works being built in that mighty city, like the great stone bridge and a fabulous, white theatre. We took Via Aemilia to north east, and took a terrible road east, which entered marshes where the horses stalled. By now, men nearly toppled from the saddles in their fatigue.
It was a mad ride, and one I shall always remember. We continued on, guided by local peasants, until the lonely jewel of the coast came to sight. It was Ravenna, the silent city, built to withstand attacks from land and sea. The city that was partially built over water. We headed past the city, sending men ahead to make sure the rulers of the city knew what was taking place. We headed for Classe, an Augustan built harbor of Classis Ravennae, the great fleet and found a lagoon filled with warships. There were a hundred, or more, of all sizes and shapes, and we could only gape at the sight.