Gaius
22 August
The home of General Cerialis, Naples
The wedding takes place in the home of General Cerialis, a villa on the water, on the outskirts of Naples. The groom is on the pier, greeting guests as they arrive. He is dressed in a fine silk tunic, dark red in colour; gold adorns his neck and wrists and glints in the torchlight like a fish darting through the sea. He is shaking each man’s hand vigorously, his grin ear-to-ear.
There are about two hundred guests; only those closest to the emperor were invited. Uncle Pliny successfully lobbied Titus not to invite the Parthian emissaries. There had been a fight between Ulpius and Uncle Pliny about it. Ulpius said it would be rude not to invite the Parthians. Uncle Pliny, however, thought it was dangerous. He thought Barlaas declining to attend meant something. ‘He’s hiding something, Caesar,’ he told the emperor. It was a testament to their long friendship that Caesar relented. Anyway, he was happy to insult the Parthians after they had duped him into giving up his favourite secretary, Ptolemy. Titus delayed delivering Ptolemy until this morning, but his pride overruled his love for the boy. He didn’t want to seem weak by backing out of the bet he’d made.
Sinnaces is the only Parthian in attendance. Normally, you wouldn’t know it to look at him because he is usually dressed and shaved like a Roman. But tonight he seems to have discovered his heritage. He is dressed like a Parthian, wearing trousers, a Median robe, and a dagger is fixed to his belt.
The bride and her family arrive by water; two ships in all, filled with family, friends and attendants; they glide into the harbour after dark, each deck awash in yellow lamplight. The ships have been stripped of any remnants of their original use, warfare, and converted into pleasure crafts, with plush seating, and well stocked with wine and tanks of seawater, filled with oysters and other local fare. Tonight, after the ceremony, the ships will take all of the guests out into the bay for a cruise – to drink and relax until dawn.
Uncle Pliny and I follow the line of guests from the pier, up to the house, and into the garden. A priest stands at the far end and a dozen armoured Praetorians are stationed throughout.
Uncle Pliny finds Virgilius in the crowd. ‘Is this all the men you brought?’
‘It’s a wedding, admiral,’ Virgilius says, smiling. ‘I thought I might have brought too many.’
Uncle Pliny scowls. ‘Virgilius you know my—’
Virgilius puts his hand on Uncle Pliny’s shoulders. ‘Calm yourself, admiral. Do not let me get under your skin. There are twice as many soldiers outside, ready to move if necessary.’
Appeased, Uncle Pliny nods.
The garden continues to fill with guests. Quiet, easy conversations fill the night.
I find Sinnaces leaving the garden and rush to catch him. ‘Sinnaces,’ I say as I grab him by the arm.
Sinnaces stops but does not look me in the eye.
‘What do you want, Gaius?’
‘Where are you off to? The ceremony is about to begin.’
‘Goodbye, Gaius,’ he says and walks off.
‘Strange,’ I mutter to myself.
I find Uncle Pliny and pull at his sleeve. ‘I had an odd conversation with Sinnaces,’ I whisper. I begin to explain the exchange, but the ceremony commences before I can finish.
At one end of the garden, opposite the priest, the bride appears, arm-in-arm with the emperor. A hush falls over the crowd.
She looks stunning. Her almond hair is crimped and twisted into a weightless cloud above her head. She is wearing a white stola, with a belt of rope tied at her waist.
Caesar and his sister come to a stop in front of the priest. Praetorians and Imperial body guards stand on either side. The Batavian, who has been put to use as an Imperial guard since his loss in the arena, is there as well.
The priest takes the couple through their vows. He brandishes a rope, which he will use to tie the couple’s hands together for their vows. The priest is old, though, and clumsy. He drops the rope.
The audience laughs in a mild, good-natured way. The priest smiles; as do the bride and groom.
The old priest starts to bend down to pick it up, but Domitilla stops him with a light touch to his arm; she crouches to retrieve the rope herself.
There is a sound – something whizzing through the air.
And then there is an arrow in the priest’s chest.
The arrow must have passed directly above the Augusta’s head.
The audience stands in stunned silence.
The priest looks down at the arrow; his eyes wide with terror.
A rim of blood forms around the shaft of the arrow.
The priest cries out in pain.
The Batavian is the first to move, throwing his body on top of the bride. He uses the shield, which is strapped to his left arm, to protect her, aiming it in the direction the arrow came from. He moves quickly and, in his haste, knocks the priest and Cerialis off balance. Both men fall to the floor.
Caesar – his instincts as a general taking over – pulls a sword from the scabbard of one of the Praetorians standing beside him and he starts to scream instructions to his soldiers.
A second arrow hits the Batavian’s shield with a heavy thud.
Prefect Virgilius – concerned only with Caesar’s safety – tackles the emperor to the ground. Three lictors pile on top, shielding Caesar from harm.
A third arrow misses the Batavian’s shield and buries into his flesh. He cries out in pain.
The stunned audience finally realizes what is happening. Guests start to scream.
Every soldier draws their sword and looks about wildly.
Uncle Pliny calls out to Virgilius and points to where the arrow came from. There is an open window from Cerialis’s home, looking down into the garden.
But it’s empty now, its drapes blowing in the sea breeze.
Domitilla
22 August
The home of General Cerialis, Naples
I bend down to pick up the rope the priest dropped. Before I can stand, I hear a strange sound, a dull slap, and then I feel the weight of someone draped over the top of me, a black shadow of warmth and sweat, covering me like a blanket.
My heart races.
Titus screams at his soldiers.
I hear that sound again and the man on top of me cries out in pain. I can sense his body clench when he screams.
He stands and helps me to my feet.
It’s the Batavian. Pain has leached the colour from his face.
I look around the garden, trying to understand what has happened. Guests are now shrieking. Titus is beside me. He grabs the Batavian by the arm and says, ‘Get her to the ship, back to Baiae. Don’t let anything happen to her.’
‘Titus, what are you—’
Before I can finish, the Batavian is dragging me through the garden, through the atrium and out of the house. Praetorians are on either side of us, swords drawn, shields up.
The Batavian pulls me along the pier to the ships. We swing our heads back and forth, looking for an attack that never comes.
Three soldiers are lying dead on the pier, their throats slit. We don’t have time to mourn them. The Batavian drags me onto one of the ships.
Panicked wedding guests are streaming out of Cerialis’s home. Some follow us onto the ships – more than we arrived with.
Prefect Virgilius is on our ship. He is shouting orders, demanding we leave immediately or he’ll ‘skin them alive’.
I can see Titus being dragged onto the ship behind us, surrounded by his lictors and Praetorians. Another cluster of soldiers surrounds a figure that must be Domitian.
Our boat casts off. Oars power us into the bay.
Titus’s ship is slower to leave the pier. The general is reluctant to retreat.
Jacasta is nearby, calling for me, but I cannot see her.
The Batavian pushes me to the deck and, with arms like the branches of a tree, stands over the top of me.
My face is next to th
e deck. It smells strange – different than it did hours before when we sailed here from Baiae. It smells medicinal, or like strong wine.
‘The smell . . .’ I say.
The Batavian looks at me and I point at the deck, then my nose. He bends and smells the wooden planks.
Virgilius is watching us. His gaze narrows, he also bends and smells the deck. From his knees, he yells, ‘back to shore! Back to shore NOW!’
There is a crackling whiz, like a torch flying through the air, and I watch as three blazing arrows land on the deck of Titus’s ship.
It ignites in flames.
The Batavian drags me to the gunwales.
‘No, no, no,’ I say, ‘I can’t swim.’
He throws me over the side. I hit the water face first.
As I’m sliding down, below the surface, under the weight of my dress, I can feel the heat of our ship go up in flames.
Gaius
23 August
The home of General Cerialis, Naples
‘She did not drown!’
Caesar is sopping wet; his purple tunic a second skin.
The smell of fire – of burning wood, resin and flesh – wafts off of the sea. Dinghies continue to ferry in survivors. Along the pier, those who survived drowning but not the fires cry out in pain.
Uncle Pliny is calm. ‘Did anyone see the Augusta? Gaius and I saw her fall into the water, but her ship was far from shore when it was set on fire. It appeared to have headed east in the chaos. And she was not among those we helped bring to shore.’
‘She is alive,’ Caesar growls.
Uncle Pliny and I – thank Fortuna – did not board the ships headed back to Baiae. We stood on the pier, helping direct those who were escaping, when flaming arrows were shot from somewhere on shore and the three ships carrying Caesar and his family went up in flames.
Uncle Pliny acted quickly. He ordered the remaining soldiers and Imperial slaves – anyone with a pulse – to commandeer any available ships and rescue those who had abandoned the burning ships in time. Thanks to him, many lives were saved. Caesar didn’t need Uncle Pliny’s help, however. I watched Caesar grab Domitian and dive into the water as flames were consuming their ship. He tucked Domitian under his arm and swam to shore while the dinghies were still pulling survivors from the sea.
‘Does she know how to swim?’ Virgilius asks.
Titus shakes his head. ‘No. But she was with the Batavian. They are the greatest swimmers in the empire. They swim with their armour on. I’m sure he can swim with a ten-stone woman.’
‘I’m not indifferent to your sister’s fate, Caesar,’ Uncle Pliny says, ‘but our ships are scouring the water. If she’s not drowned, they will find her. We also need to act against those who tried to take not only your sister’s life, but the entire Imperial family. We need to move quickly, to stop them before they can make another attempt.’
‘The admiral is right,’ Virgilius says, with one eye still on his troops along the shore.
‘What are you proposing, admiral?’ Caesar says. ‘Do you know who did this?’
‘It was the Parthian emissaries,’ Uncle Pliny says. ‘I have little doubt.’
‘How did they get inside?’ Caesar asks.
‘Sinnaces,’ Uncle Pliny says. He explains my strange interaction with him earlier this evening.
‘I agree with the admiral,’ Virgilius says. ‘No Roman could have shot arrows like that.’
‘The use of arrows is hardly conclusive,’ Caesar says. ‘But I agree they are the most likely suspects.’ To Virgilius, he says, ‘Take soldiers to the Parthians now, under the pretence of seeing that they are safe. If they were involved in tonight’s attack – it may be obvious. Take enough men to protect yourself, but not enough that it looks as though you are going to war. And Virgilius,’ he adds, ‘bring me back Ptolemy.’
Virgilius nods and hurries off.
*
We travel to Baiae, to the Imperial villa. We convene in the throne room. Ulpius and Marcus join us during the second hour. They were at the wedding. Like Uncle Pliny and I, they had not boarded the ships in the chaos.
During the third hour, Virgilius arrives out of breath. He is bleeding from his arm. He looks fresh from battle.
‘Well?’ Caesar asks.
‘We did as you asked,’ Virgilius says. ‘We went to the home you lent to the Parthian emissaries. I brought twenty men. We knocked on the door and said there had been violence at the wedding and wished to see that they were alright. The old interpreter, Atropates, answered the door. He invited me into the atrium. The three Parthian emissaries were there. The four Roman soldiers charged with watching the Parthians. Their presence put us at ease – not completely, but enough that they could surprise us.’
‘What do you mean?’ Caesar asks.
‘I don’t know how, or why, but the Roman escorts are with the Parthians. They attacked our men, stabbing their fellow soldiers without warning. And they had the assistance of gladiators. About a dozen of them came streaming into the atrium. We lost four Praetorians before we overwhelmed them. We killed one of the Roman turncoats and a few gladiators. We captured the Parthian Arshad, their translator, and a few of their slaves.’
‘And the brothers?’
‘They escaped, along with many of the Parthian soldiers.’
‘Escaped?’
Caesar is furious.
‘Sulpicius,’ Ulpius says. ‘Who else would have supplied gladiators?’
‘Perhaps,’ Virgilius says. ‘But I didn’t recognize any of the gladiators. The ones we killed didn’t have any markings on them.’
‘It has to be Sulpicius,’ Ulpius says. ‘Sulpicius was seen talking with the Parthians two nights prior. Isn’t that right, Gaius?’
I had been watching this argument like a fly on the wall. But now I feel the weight of a dozen sets of eyes on me. I had forgotten that I told Uncle Pliny about Sulpicius’s secret meeting with the Parthians and he’d told Ulpius.
‘Is this true?’ Caesar asks. This is the first time Caesar has acknowledged my existence since becoming emperor.
My cheeks flush, a mottled bright red.
Uncle Pliny nods at me to speak.
‘I – um – yes,’ I say. ‘Sulpicius met with the Parthians the night before the gladiatorial matches, the day they arrived. In secret, I think. But I don’t know what they said.’
Caesar curses.
A moment of angry silence follows.
Then Caesar asks: ‘What about Ptolemy? Was he in their home? Where is he?’
Virgilius stares at the ground. ‘We have Ptolemy. But . . .’
‘Out with it, Virgilius.’
‘He’s not in good shape, Titus. They tortured him.’
‘What? Why?’ Caesar is visibly shaken.
‘For information.’
‘What information?’
‘He was too weak to say.’
‘Will he live?’ Caesar asks.
Virgilius nods. ‘I think so.’
‘And what of Sinnaces?’ Uncle Pliny asks. ‘Was he with the Parthians?’
‘I am not sure,’ Virgilius says. ‘He could have been. But if he was, he escaped with the brothers.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Caesar says. ‘What did emissaries of King Pocorus hope to gain by attacking the Imperial family like this? I was acknowledging their leader as the rightful king of Parthia. That alone is a victory. What more could they hope to achieve?’
‘And how did they turn Roman soldiers to their cause?’ Virgilius adds. ‘And possibly Sulpicius?’
The room is silent. No one knows the answers to these questions.
I look to Uncle Pliny. I’m certain he has a theory, but he is reluctant to voice it until he’s certain.
‘What next, Caesar?’ Virgilius asks.
‘How many men do we have?’
Virgilius and Uncle Pliny exchange a flurry of numbers, figuring out how many soldiers are stationed in Baiae, Puetoli and Misenum, and debatin
g how best to deploy them.
‘We don’t know for certain Sulpicius is involved,’ Uncle Pliny says. ‘And we don’t know the Parthians ran to him. We should send soldiers to Sulpicius’s compound, but also on the roads that head north and east, in case the Parthians have tried to escape Italy. And my sailors should continue scouring the bay to find Domitilla.’
‘Agreed,’ Caesar says. ‘I will lead the men going to Sulpicius’s home.’
‘You can’t,’ Uncle Pliny says, sternly. ‘You are no longer Prefect, Titus. You are no longer a soldier. You are Caesar. You are the state itself. You must stay here, in Baiae, and the majority of our men should be here, protecting you.’
Caesar is about to argue, but Ulpius uncharacteristically comes to Uncle Pliny’s aid. ‘He’s right, Caesar. Your safety is paramount. You must remain here.’
Caesar shakes his head in frustration, but he sees his advisors are right. It is the same advice he would have given his father, when Titus was Prefect.
‘I will take men to Sulpicius’s compound. It is only a short ride north of Misenum,’ Virgilius says. ‘Do we attack right away?’
Caesar shakes his head. ‘No, he is a Roman citizen. We do not break down the door of Roman citizens on mere suspicion.’
We are surprised at Caesar’s comment. As Prefect, Titus would kick in any door he pleased. It appears that Titus, emperor of Rome, is more judicious.
‘Barlaas knows something,’ Uncle Pliny says. ‘The attack on him the night before the Parthian emissaries arrived cannot be a coincidence. They must have sent men ahead, secretly, to compel him to help.’
‘And it’s possible he was involved as well,’ Virgilius says.
‘Perhaps,’ Uncle Pliny says. ‘We cannot rule it out. But I think Barlaas would see it as dishonourable.’
‘Can you make him talk?’ Caesar asks.
‘I don’t know,’ Uncle Pliny says. ‘I have tried before and failed. But it is worth trying again.’
Caesar nods. ‘Agreed.’
‘Give me the captured Parthians,’ Ulpius says. ‘I will see what I can learn from them.’
‘Do you have experience in interrogations?’ Virgilius asks.
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