The Last King of Rome

by Laura Dowers

  ‘I won’t be sent off to bed,’ Tarquinia whined. ‘I’m not a child.’

  Tanaquil’s eyes closed briefly in irritation. ‘Very well, stay and listen, if you prefer. Servius, there is talk in the city, some murmurings among minor patricians complaining there wasn’t an election.’

  ‘I knew it,’ Servius declared. ‘I said there would be oppo… oppo—’

  ‘Opposition,’ Tanaquil finished for him, unwilling to wait. ‘And yes, you said it. At present, it seems to be nothing but talk between two old men who have nothing better to do, but we must stop it before it spreads.’

  ‘Who do they want as king?’ Tarquinia demanded indignantly. ‘Who is there better than Servius? The old fools.’

  ‘Yes, daughter, I know.’

  ‘But how do we stop them?’ Servius slurred. ‘We can’t stop people from talking. And besides, maybe they are right. There should be an election. I could stand down—’

  ‘NO,’ mother and daughter shouted in unison.

  ‘You will not do that,’ Tanaquil said quietly, stroking her throat, a little embarrassed by her outburst. ‘There is no need. If there was an election, you would be elected anyway, I know it. Why waste money buying votes?’

  ‘Would they have to be bought?’ Servius asked sourly.

  ‘It’s how these things are done,’ Tanaquil said, ‘you know that, Servius. Don’t make difficulties. As if I don’t have enough to do.’

  Servius muttered an apology. ‘Then how do we stop the talk?’

  ‘All it will take is the personal touch, my boy. Let the people of Rome see you and you will win them over. Listen to them when they talk to you. Be gracious.’ Tanaquil glanced at her daughter, considering. ‘Take Tarquinia with you. Let them see the daughter of a king on the arm of a king.’

  ‘That’s all I have to do?’ Servius asked doubtfully.

  Tanaquil smiled. ‘You’ll be surprised what personality can do, Servius. Mind you, you’ll have to try. None of your brooding, you hear me. Look up, smile, greet people warmly.’

  ‘I can do that,’ Servius assured her, a little annoyed by her criticism.

  ‘Then do it,’ Tanaquil said. ‘Tomorrow. You will go into the city. A small, spontaneous procession. The King showing himself to his people.’

  ‘Tomorrow!’ Tarquinia scrambled up from the couch. ‘But what shall I wear? I shall have to look the part, won’t I? I must go and see what I have.’ She hurried from the room.

  ‘At least your wife is pleased,’ Tanaquil smiled mockingly. ‘Tarquinia does so like to show off.’

  ‘And why shouldn’t she?’ Servius said quietly. ‘She has little else to occupy her.’

  Tanaquil knew what he meant and recalled what Lusia had reported the two men had said about Tarquinia’s lack of children. The lack of children between Servius and Tarquinia was a worry to her too. She knew Tarquinia bled regularly and was seemingly healthy in every other respect. Tanaquil had often wondered if the trouble lay with Servius for she had never heard of him siring a child on any woman.

  ‘You should go to bed, Servius. I don’t want you leaving it too late tomorrow. You want as many people to see you as possible and give them time to talk.’

  ‘Very well. Will you come with us?’

  Tanaquil shook her head. ‘You want to show them you are the future. I will just remind them of the past.’

  Servius climbed clumsily off the couch, wobbling a little as he straightened. ‘Thank you, Tanaquil.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, my boy. Get to bed.’

  Tanaquil watched Servius as he left the room. He was still so unsure of himself and yet, he was ambitious, she knew. She had seen it as he grew up, always wanting to be involved, always asking Lucomo why he pursued such-and-such treaty, why he attacked who he did. Servius had far more knowledge of kingship than he realised. All he needed was approval from the people. Well, tomorrow would see to that. Let the patricians try to overrule the plebs and just see what they would risk.

  She yawned, realising how tired she was. She rose from the couch and made her way to her cubiculum.

  Tarquinia woke him with a poke to his ribs and an abrupt, uncompromising, ‘Servius, you have to get up now.’

  Servius did not need telling twice. He climbed out of bed, called his servant to wash and shave him and put on his finest toga. Tarquinia looked him up and down from her seat at the dressing table as her hairdresser poked and prodded her curls into place, then ordered him to hold out his hands like a child to be inspected. She tutted and scolded him for getting his hands so inky and ordered fresh soap and water to be brought up from the kitchen, along with a small brush so they could be scrubbed clean.

  Tarquinia looked beautiful, he thought, as she watched the scrubbing take place. The dress she wore was not a new one — there had been no time to buy a new one — but the way her hairdresser had styled her hair with braids and tortoiseshell combs was new and it suited her well. There was an amber necklace he hadn’t seen before around her neck as well as a gold bracelet on her wrist, his present to her on her last birthday. The jewellery made her look older as well as more beautiful. She had been so young when they married, only a girl of fourteen, and he, a moody, old-before-his-time man of twenty-five. She had not wanted to marry him — there was a lad, Publius, she was keen on — but Lucomo and Tanaquil were not to be dissuaded from their plan of bringing Servius into the family and Publius’s family had been told to keep their son away from Tarquinia. Once married, Tarquinia had done her best to forget Publius and be a good wife. Servius couldn’t remember if he had ever told her he loved her.

  ‘You look magnificent,’ he said.

  Tarquinia’s face broke into a wide, toothy smile. She leant forward and kissed his cheek. ‘I do, don’t I?’ she said, picking up her hand mirror, holding it at every angle to get a complete picture of her appearance.

  He gestured at his toga. ‘Will I disgrace you?’ he asked, only half-joking.

  She set the mirror down and turned to him, her expression reproachful. ‘Don’t begin like that, my dear. You are the King and you must act like it. Show any sign of weakness and the patricians will be on you like dogs.’

  Servius laughed. ‘How like your mother you sound.’

  ‘Oh, do I?’ she asked unhappily.

  The lictor entered the room carrying a crimson cushion with a gold band upon it. Tarquinia took the band and placed it upon Servius’s head.

  ‘There,’ she said, standing back to examine him. ‘Now you really are a king.’

  He smiled and took her hand. ‘Ready?’

  They decided to walk through the city. A litter had been suggested for Tarquinia, but she had refused, saying she intended to walk by her husband’s side. And so, the procession began, Servius and Tarquinia at the head, their bodyguards immediately behind.

  At first, the people had stared. There had been no announcement of the procession and they had been going about their daily business when the entourage first entered their streets. They had been too startled to even bow their heads as their king and queen passed.

  But word quickly got around. The further into the city Servius and Tarquinia went the more packed the streets became. The bodyguards had to divide in two, some going ahead to force the people back, the remainder staying behind. And then the cheers began, and women called out to Tarquinia, cooing over how beautiful she looked and praising her dress. Tarquinia was so very pleased and she gave them her most gracious smiles.

  Servius was pleased, for himself as well as her; the people, it seemed, were for him as Tanaquil said they would be. But these, he noticed, were the plebeians, the labourers and the shopkeepers, the butchers and the bakers. Would the patricians come out of their houses to see him and Tarquinia? Would they bow their heads before him?

  Their little procession was heading for the forum, and as they emerged from the claustrophobic street into the openness of the square, Servius began to recognise a few patrician faces. Here they were, then, no doubt having
come out of the senate to see what all the fuss was about. There was Ursus Gratidia and Libanius Manilius. Were their heads bowed? It was difficult to tell. He thought Baro Pomponia and Pertacus Ammianius were bowing, but Flavius Alectus and Pinarius Longus seemed to be standing as tall as they could.

  Here, the press of bodies was so great that even the bodyguards were having trouble holding the people back. They began to shout and shove, causing those on the end of their shoves to protest loudly and fiercely. Servius and Tarquinia could do nothing but stand still. The air seemed to be standing still too. Servius could hardly breathe and the smell of so many unwashed bodies was forcing its way into his nostrils. He saw Tarquinia raise her hand to cover her nose and shook his head almost imperceptibly at what would doubtless be perceived as an insult. She let her hand drop to her side. Smile and wave, he reminded himself, we must smile and wave.

  A young boy suddenly broke free of the crowd and pushed his way under elbows to hold up a small posy to Tarquinia. She bent down to take the posy — the flowers were dry and wilted — and thanked the boy. As she did so, a cry, louder and harsher than all the others, shouted, ‘Son of a whore,’ and something dark came flying through the air. It struck Servius in the face and dripped into his mouth. He could taste and smell what it was: shit.

  And then there were screams and shouts and pushing and pulling. Tarquinia was tugging at his arm and he looked into her blotchy face and saw that she too had been hit with the ordure. Lumps were clinging to her hair and there was a brown smear across her cheek.

  They had to get out of there. Where on earth were the bodyguards? He scanned the crowd. The guards ahead seemed to be trying to find whoever had thrown the shit but there wasn’t time for that. Servius grabbed Tarquinia’s arm and pulled her back the way they had come, shouting to the bodyguards behind to clear the way.

  Servius had no notion of how he and Tarquinia reached the domus. He just kept a tight hold of her and run as fast as they could, heedless of their dignity. The guards on the front doors started towards them as they approached and Servius shouted at them to keep away anyone who ventured too close. He pushed Tarquinia inside the domus and followed, watching as the doors closed.

  Tarquinia was sobbing.

  She had fallen to her knees and was holding her head. Her hair had fallen out of its pins, the tortoiseshell combs lost, and her dress was ripped and torn.

  From her room, Tanaquil heard her daughter’s crying and came running down the stairs, holding up her dress so her feet wouldn’t get caught in its folds. She hurried to Tarquinia. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We were assaulted in the forum,’ Servius snarled. ‘Someone threw shit at us.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know, I didn’t see.’

  ‘Animals,’ Tanaquil spat. Her hands explored her daughter’s body, feeling for injuries. Finding none, she grabbed Tarquinia’s head and made her daughter look at her. ‘You’re not hurt, Tarquinia, so stop crying.’ She got to her feet, wincing as her knee bones cracked. Servius looked so angry. His clothes were dirty and dishevelled and the excrement was flaking from his jaw. ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked him.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Are you sure? Let me see.’ She stepped towards him and lifted her hands to his face.

  He swatted them away. ‘Stop fussing. See to your daughter. She’s the one who needs you.’

  He was furious with her. He thought this was all her fault. ‘I know you’re angry,’ she began cautiously.

  ‘Angry?’ He glowered at her. ‘Oh, Tanaquil, I’m beyond angry. You told me to go, you told me I would be received well.’

  ‘Servius—’

  ‘Is this what you wanted? Me to look a bloody fool? Because that’s what you’ve made of me. The people of Rome didn’t see a king and queen today. They saw two cowards running away.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Servius, where are you going?’

  Servius was heading up the stairs and didn’t answer her. He had turned away from her, blamed her for this mess. Hatred welled up in her. She had had to endure the horrific attack on Lucomo and now her children had been publicly abused. Servius and Tarquinia hadn’t deserved this insult. She hadn’t deserved this.

  Watching her daughter as she clambered to her feet with the aid of a servant and followed haltingly up the stairs after her husband, Tanaquil resolved that Servius would see she was not to blame. She would find whoever had thrown the filth and make them pay. She would put this right and Servius would know he could trust her. Servius would love and need her again.

  5

  Tanaquil had grown unaccustomed to giving dinners. She had given plenty in the early years of Lucomo’s reign, when it had been crucial to cultivate friends and craft alliances with those who would be useful to them. Back then, the dinners had been created to impress. She and Lucomo had still to shake off their origins and their dinners had been more Etruscan than Roman in style, reflected in both the food on offer and the way it was served. The Romans had been impressed by their Etruscan opulence back then, but as time passed, Tanaquil thought it politic for them to become more Roman in every aspect of their lives. Once alliances had been forged and friendships made, and once Lucomo was secure on the throne, she had not found it necessary to entertain nearly quite so much or to bestow her favours so extravagantly upon those lower down the social scale.

  But today, she had a good reason for giving a dinner. She needed information.

  Camilia Segestes was a woman close to her own age although, Tanaquil thought with some satisfaction, Camilia had not aged so well as she. Camilia’s hair had turned white in her late thirties and eleven pregnancies had left her body bloated and shapeless. A healthy, some might say greedy, appetite had had its effect too, so that her eyes had sunken into her puffy cheeks to become mere black pebbles in a sandy complexion, and three chins bobbed upon her collar bone.

  Axia Quintilla was quite different. She was younger than Tanaquil and Camilia, having only just celebrated her forty-sixth birthday, and had been less fecund than Camilia, providing her husband with a mere four children in all the years of their marriage. Her body had escaped the ravages of pregnancy and Tanaquil had to admit she kept herself well, not skinny but not plump either, and she still managed to turn the heads of her husband’s friends, or so Tanaquil had heard.

  But it was not for their personal appearances nor their maternal achievements that Tanaquil had invited them to dine. If there was one trait both women shared it was their willingness to talk, especially about the affairs of other people.

  And Tanaquil wanted them to talk. The fracas in the forum had unsettled her greatly. She could not erase from her mind the fury Servius had felt towards her, nor could she shake off the belief that the sorry episode had been her fault. Guilt lay heavy upon her.

  ‘Do try the sea urchins, Camilia, they’re delicious,’ Tanaquil said, pointing to the dish before them on the table.

  Camilia dipped her pudgy finger into the sauce and stuck it in her mouth, her eyes closing at the taste. ‘Oh, they are good,’ she said. ‘We never have them at home.’

  ‘We have them often,’ Tanaquil said. ‘Sea urchins are a favourite of my daughter.’

  As Tanaquil hoped, the comment provoked a new line of conversation.

  ‘Oh yes, how is Tarquinia?’ Axia asked earnestly. ‘Has she recovered from her horrible ordeal? I heard there was almost a riot.’

  ‘She was very shaken. I doubt she will ever get over it entirely.’

  ‘It was disgraceful,’ Camilia said. ‘I wasn’t there — I don’t like to go out at that time of day, the streets are so hot and you simply can’t avoid the people — but I heard about it. To throw excrement! I mean, one just isn’t safe in Rome these days.’

  ‘And the King? How is he?’ Axia asked, irritated by Camilia’s interruption.

  Tanaquil paused to give the impression she was seriously considering her answer. ‘Servius was saddened by
the incident more than anything,’ she said eventually. ‘He thought he had the love of the people. It was quite a blow to discover there are some who hate him.’

  ‘Do people hate him?’ Camilia asked.

  ‘Well, someone must,’ Tanaquil said, ‘to say and do what they did. I would just like to know who it was so I could talk with them, ask them why they dislike Servius so. I know Servius would like to know so he could do something about it.’

  Tanaquil saw the look that passed between Camilia and Axia. Would they need more prompting or would they speak now?

  ‘I expect he doesn’t dislike the King,’ Camilia simpered. ‘Not really. It was just one of those things. He lost his temper, that’s all. It was the heat probably. It can make one feel so irritable, don’t you find?’ She dipped her finger in the sea urchin sauce again.

  ‘Who lost his temper?’ Tanaquil asked quietly.

  Camilia froze. ‘I.. I..,’ she stammered, her face turning pale, ‘that is, I don’t know. Whoever it was. I don’t know.’ She looked away, nervous under Tanaquil’s penetrating gaze.

  ‘Oh, I suspect you do know who it was, my dear,’ Tanaquil said silkily, forestalling any idea Camilia might have of leaving by gesturing for the servant to refill her cup. ‘You must tell me.’

  Camilia gave a tight shake of her head.

  ‘I insist,’ Tanaquil said in a tone that would have been charming in another situation. ‘You will have me guessing all night else. If you won’t tell me what you know, Camilia dear, it will make me wonder whether you played some part in the attack and... well, let me just say I would be very unhappy to believe that.’

  ‘No, you mustn’t think.... my dear Tanaquil, please don’t think I had anything to do with it.’

  ‘But you know who did?’

  ‘My husband told me,’ Camilia said with a little strangled laugh, ‘that is, he thinks he knows who was behind it, but of course, that is only a guess on his part.’

  ‘Of course, just a guess as you say, but tell me anyway. Who?’