He looked shocked, but found his composure quickly. “She is odd, isn’t she?” he answered nervously, smoothing his tunic. “Always talking about my great future. It is exhausting.”
The smile shrunk from my lips.
A dozen thoughts shot through my head, and I cursed myself for a fool. Livia was planning for his great future?
Yes, yes, of course she was.
The bitch had probably already planned how to use the sons of the young man standing before me.
He shook his head and whispered to me. “She keeps telling me how Gaius and Lucius are taking honors that belong to me. It is odd.”
Creating ill will, that is our Livia.
I bent down to him, and spoke like a father. “Don’t listen to her. Your future will be bright as a light in the sky, a beacon of hope. But for now; do not worry about it. Who is in there? Only Germanicus?”
I spoke, but inside, my mind was whirling. A world of opportunities opened before me. I had a thought, then another, and discarded both, but the thoughts came back like a disease.
“Only Germanicus,” I heard him say. “He is happy. And a true bastard.”
I chuckled. The cousins were often together these days. Livia had raised most of the youths in the family, or at least had had a hand in their education, except for Germanicus, where Antonia had stood firm. She had travelled much of her time with the children and Drusus, where Drusus the Younger had been in Rome, and the cousins were like night and day. I was sure they actually hated each other.
I squinted at Ulrich, then the doorway to the domus.
Why was Germanicus staying inside the domus with Livia? Why had Drusus the Younger been there, and what plans did she have for him?
“Why?” I asked, too loud.
He looked confused, for a guard should mind his own business. Yet, he told me. “Marriages. A feast this very night.”
I stared at him aghast. “He is fourteen!” I blurted.
He waved his hands. “No, no. Sorry! The betrothal is for Gaius Caesar,” he said nervously, as if giving away secrets. “Augustus has arranged it. And he is arranging more. Germanicus will eventually marry into Julia’s family. To Agrippina. You know, I think she is ugly. Constantly looks like she has licked a chunk of salt.”
“Like a mule, she looks,” I said, to appease his jealousy. Agrippina was far from ugly, but had an elegant face like her mother Julia. She was simply serious.
He nodded gratefully, embarrassed, and spoke on. “That marriage will take place later, not now. But it is agreed. He was just told and I had to congratulate the shit.” He nodded towards the domus. “Did you know he boasts of a whorehouse he visits? Says he goes there every night he possibly can. Some seedy shit-place called Juppiter’s Embrace. I feel sorry for his wife, eh?”
“He is only— “
“He is young,” he said, “but he has vices. I rather think …” He went quiet. “I won’t say.” He gathered himself, and smiled like a ghost. “I was told I am not forgotten either, and dismissed. Imagine! They only told me I am not forgotten. That itself tells me I am totally forgotten.”
And you should be happy for it, I thought. “Will you marry into the family of Augustus as well?”
“No, I think not,” he said sullenly. “Into money, no doubt, but not to his blood. My family shall be an unhappy offshoot that will end up living in the countryside, forever dreading news of their feats.”
And how did Livia feel about this marriage of Drusus the Elder’s son, and Julia’s girl, I wondered, when her favorite son Tiberius and his son would be forgotten? Drusus the Younger had no mother like Antonia. Now Livia, the murderess, would be staring at the young men who were being married around, all carrying blood of Augustus; and I, her blade, would execute anyone she wanted dead.
“Gaius is getting married as well, then. To whom?” I asked.
Germanicus walked out at that moment, whooped, and ran to me. Apparently, he had recovered from the shock. He pushed and punched my leg, grinning like an imp. “Will you be at the feast today?”
I nodded and held him at arm’s length. “I shall. And I think, perhaps, I should congratulate you?”
He frowned, pushed Drusus and shook his head. “Secret! Mustn’t tell anyone.” He turned his attention back to me. “But yes! I think so. Augustus has arranged it, and Livia told us. Even the dolt here shall marry someone rich, they said. But not to the blood, no!”
Drusus the Younger looked down, Germanicus chuckled like a little shit, and I wanted to whip his ass raw, but of course merely stared at him with disapproval. He grinned arrogantly and went on. “It is odd, isn’t it? Years will pass, before we marry. And I know her already. I used to tease her mercilessly. Agrippina. Stole her toys so many times, and she was weeping.”
I began to feel sorry for Agrippina.
He went on. “And Gaius …” He went mulishly quiet, and then whispered. “He shall marry as well. He’ll rule the lot of us. And he has no talent for it. Only Lucius would be worse.”
“Truly?” I said, and grinned as the boy looked down. He would not tell me. I nodded at the doorway. “I must enter the Den.”
He winked. “She is odd, and asks a lot of questions, and has plenty of … suggestions. But good luck, Raven. Tell me the story of Father winning the war in the North later, if you can, if you have the time. Come, Drusus, my fool!”
He, Drusus, and their chuckling guards left, and I entered the doorway. A slave showed me inside, and my steps took me to the usual garden.
There, Livia was pruning her figs.
This was her favorite pastime, and possibly the only time I ever saw her seemingly content. The rest of the time she would seem happy, as the wife of Augustus should, but there was that devious look in the dark eyes, the one that spoke of a keen, unscrupulous mind putting together plans, while eliminating others. In her own world, with no mask on, she was humming, standing on tiptoes in her tunic as she reached for a troublesome branch, the surprisingly toned muscles in her arms and legs were coated with sweat. The day was hot, as usual, and the garden’s sides were shaded with porticos, but she stood in the heat, her hair a halo of gray and brown, twisted into severe braids around her head. She was nearly sixty, but looked no more than forty.
I had changed into my chainmail, the Guard’s helmet with the white horsehair, and I wore my greaves. The military caligae were comfortable, and I had left my toga off, disdaining it. Spear, and shield with Germani Guard emblem of star and thin, gorgeous leaves I left leaning on a pillar. The chainmail was hot and the helmet scorching but I stood in my place.
I forgot the discomfort the moment she glanced my way.
There was a slight look of displeasure on her noble face.
“Murderous cur,” I whispered very softly as she turned away. I noticed one Ubii standing in the garden’s shadows, hand on a sword’s hilt. The man was thin and tall, with a scar over his brow, and kept an eye on me. I tried to ignore the man and kept my eyes on Livia. She had no reason to act displeased at the words she had likely heard. We hated each other, and both were aware of the fact. She had summoned me. I had no wish to be there.
She kept working, as if she hoped I would suffocate and break down to speak first.
I stared at her, while she kept tugging and cutting at leaves and branches, and hated her with all my heart. I stood there, she worked and in the end, I gloated, as she was no longer humming, her peace finally and apparently shattered by my presence, the Germani she had not quite snared with her lies.
I had sworn I would avenge Drusus the Elder.
I had sworn it, and though a man accustomed to breaking oaths, I held dearly on those few ones I felt truly mattered. The dilemma was clear. Slay her, and lose my family. Regaining them was likely impossible anyway.
How would I gain both vengeance and my family?
The words of Drusus the Younger slithered to my mind, and I pushed them away, storing them for later.
I stared at her, hoping to see a gl
impse of the monster that had to live under her skin. How could a mother scheme to have her own son slain? And how could one not truly care about what misery her devious plans had caused so many others? The dead of Germania were in their thousands. My family was included in that tally. Yea, Rome was always going to come for the tribes, one day, but not like this. She had built a play of murders, and all to benefit her favored son. Tiberius would rule, she thought. Tiberius would conquer the North, she hoped, when it was in chaos. She would see him thrive, and she would be avenged on Augustus, who had taken her when she had been pregnant, young, a captured Republican wife with no chance to deny him.
Her hopes were born of a twisted mind.
I had always cursed Father for his callous plans. And yet, all those plans originated inside this skull, right there, before me. Father had merely gone with the river, followed her lead, hoped for a kingdom and a Roman son.
Postumus. He wanted Postumus. A boy with blood from Augustus, and him.
Postumus carried noble Roman blood. Was that the difference between Postumus and me? The one thing that made him love Postumus better? And if so, perhaps Father had plans beyond Livia? Perhaps he did.
And none of that mattered then.
I had oaths, I had a missing family, I had revenge postponed, and I had put all my friends in jeopardy. A solution was needed. Wandal was right. It was all filth. The Roman games, the Roman nobles were all shit, who diced away lives with remarkable ease. Germani were not like them.
And yet, perhaps if one were as callous as a Roman shit, a solution might be born?
Or, perhaps, I could just kill Livia like a Germani would.
She was weak. I could easily take her life.
Walk over to her, push her into her tree, and stab until you see the heart. That would do it. The Ubii would die next, shaking with shock and soon with pain.
Be Roman, rather than Germani, I heard my sense whisper to me, and I calmed myself.
A Roman was patient. A Roman looked for a way around his enemy, to stab them in the back, no matter the cost. I lacked the way to save Cassia and Gervas, or Saturninus, as I had named him in a Roman way. I had something over her, a simple scroll, but it was a temporary thing. Cassia, and my Gervas would be in danger, always in danger. The scroll kept her at bay. For now.
The words of Drusus the Younger came to me again, and an evil spirit whispered a plan to my ear.
“I think,” she said dreamily as she kept working, “that I need to ask about the scroll of Kleitos. I dreamt of it this morning. Is it safe?”
“Do you read minds, lady?” I asked harshly.
She smiled. “I do read minds and thoughts, if they are simple and plain on a man’s face,” she said softly. “A woman’s face is a harder thing to read, isn’t it? You are struggling and plain to read. And I do not trust you, Hraban. Raven of Maroboodus, the ill-bird of ill luck. Is it safe?”
The scroll was safe.
Had she tried to find it? Was she spying on me? Likely.
“It is with a man who will deliver it to your husband, should something odd take place in the Guard,” I said, afraid she’d have the Ubii on my back in the depth of the night. We share barracks. We share the shitter. Anything could happen. The Prefect Maximus had purged the Guard silently, but Livia had plenty of slaves and servants as resources, and at least three Ubii allies. They weren’t limitless resources, as she was widely disliked, but they were there.
And there would be people I had never seen. Surprises I had not anticipated. She was patient. She could very well surprise one, even after years and over great distances.
She was nodding, her eyes glowing. “I gave you a promise, Hraban. Your son will survive in every possible case. Cassia will not. If you fail to obey, she will go to Hades, and Gervas shall live under my foot. Will he be a slave? He might. Do make sure no trouble comes my way.” She plucked a broken branch with a savage jerk.
I nodded. I didn’t believe her. Gervas would die in every case. Or, Woden take him if so, he was already dead. “I would see them.”
Livia shook her head. “I sensed your little rebellion in Adalwulf’s words. He used to be much less aggressive. The answer is ‘no.’ There is no reason I would risk bringing them back to Rome. You and your filthy brother Gernot might try to break them free. I tell you, Hraban, that your one-handed brother is a very clever man. Since I captured him, he has built a considerable empire of shadows in the Suburba. Rich, affluent, and practical, he is not easy to corner.” She shook her head. “Your and Adalwulf’s families won’t come back to Rome now. I told Adalwulf this already. Lollius. Did you get those scrolls? Is Iullus guilty of something.”
I swallowed my disappointment. “He is sending unauthorized scrolls to Lollius,” I said.
“He is?” she asked, her eyes wide as she stared at me. “Truly? He is not supposed to write to anyone other than Augustus. The guards are to make sure. But he truly is? They were throwing scrolls to that alley? To Lollius? A crime—”
“A tiny crime,” I said, and tossed the scroll to a small couch. “He is sending out his apologies. He is making good his past, and making no accusations. He is sure he will be executed soon. There is nothing there. Lollius won’t go down for being kind enough to help his friend meet death with a clear conscience. And it might be he has not even sent these along, though he does collect them from Iullus. What if Lollius has handed them over to Augustus? That would be awkward for you. It might raise questions, eh?”
She sighed, and visibly resisted walking to the scroll to see if I had lied. Instead, she went back to work. “You killed the men.”
“They were a bit like a herd of sheep,” I said. “Ran about in panic, and we couldn’t risk one of them escaping. Couldn’t carry one someplace to be questioned. We had to shear the lot. And they wouldn’t have known anything. There is nothing to know, see? They are dead, they knew shit, and that’s all there is to it.”
I pulled away my helmet, and placed it next to me, and glared at her with such intense hate, she flinched.
She gathered herself and threw away her knife, then walked to a table and chair next to me and sat down. She reached for a goblet of water, and sat there looking down at the scroll, deep in her thoughts.
“Sit,” she said, and I sat across from her on a couch made of yellow fabric, with silver and golden etched wood. I stared at her mulishly.
She noted my dark look, and shuddered. “Julia likes men like you. Iullus has the look, your father as well. Dangerous, with the savage eyes of an animal. I never had a chance for such a man. I married a scheming boy with seizures, but he has a very clever mind as well. And yet, where would he be if not for Livia? Do you miss Julia?”
I shrugged. “I do not wish to—”
“Do you miss Julia?” she insisted.
I shrugged. “I do not miss Julia. I pity her, but do not miss her. What I had to do with her nearly broke Cassia and me. In fact, I have no idea what Cassia is truly thinking of my … service.”
“In Julia’s bed,” Livia laughed. “Oh, you gave Julia pleasure! I know. You had some as well, no doubt. Nay, do not lie! Cassia is a virtuous one. Like Gisil, Adalwulf’s woman, they have worth and virtue, and I suspect guile as well, but most of all, they love and she will forgive you. I envy that sort of love. Love and forgiveness are things I had to abandon long ago.”
I rubbed my hands together. “I wish you had forgiven your son his hate for Augustus and the twisted form of the Republic, and loved him instead.”
She chuckled. “It is enticing to see a man so wrathful, and yet helpless. Poor Drusus! I tried, Hraban, to make him see his dreams would not amount to anything. My first husband loved the ‘Republic’ for long years as he fought Octavianus, but that dream died and should stay dead. The civil wars, Hraban, are born of men who wish power, and a Republic who tries to stop them. Nay, nay, it is best to let men who want power stop such wars for good. The Republic is a dream best forgotten.” She smiled. “With my Augustus, I have ev
er been the one who gives him ideas. I have power, but I am never able to flaunt it. I admit I get some satisfaction of seeing you seethe there, gnashing your teeth together, but unable to snap my neck. Oh, I see you touch the hilt of your sword. And I see you would never risk Gervas and Cassia as well.” She sighed and stretched. She was old, but looked much younger, and flexed her fingers that were dirty and sore from her labor.
“I merely wish to leave,” I told her. “I want to leave with Cassia, and Gervas. And Gisil, and her Wulf, and—”
She nodded. “And, and, and. Yes, yes. You have sworn to avenge Drusus. I shall risk that oath, but later. We shall hold the deal. You may leave after my son receives the powers of my husband.”
“He doesn’t bloody well want the power!” I yelled.
She lifted her finger. “I think he does. He shall rule like Augustus does, through the Consuls and the Senate. He will be the patron to the clients of Augustus. He shall sit over the great provinces and their armies, the grain of Sicily and Egypt, and be named Augustus by the priests, and Princeps by the Senate. More, he shall wear the purple and the gold, like Julius Caesar did, and adopt a scepter and a diadem, and his power will be far superior than that of my husband. I shall see it come to pass. Tiberius shall hold consular imperium, tribunicia potetas, tribunicia sacrosanctitas. Imperium, in Rome and out of it, all that is his.” She panted and hugged herself, as she dreamt of the honors heaped on her son. “And then, one day Drusus the Younger will have his power.”
It was true. She was planning far to the future.
I laughed tiredly. “Tiberius is currently counting goats in Rhodes, lady. He holds no imperium, unless to his hay-floored bedchamber.”
She looked at me unkindly. “This is funny to you?”
“I think there is a dash of irony in the entire evil business, Livia,” I answered.
She growled with anger. “My husband railed against my exiled son in the Senate again,” she said with simmering rage. “He has called Tiberius a disappointment for months, and raged at him for abandoning the nation when he is most needed. He needs another Agrippa until the boys are grown up. And you find this funny?” She grasped the scroll from the couch next to her and tossed it across the garden. “Tiberius could be in danger. There is no proof, but that too, is possible. Danger is everywhere.”
The Bane of Gods Page 5