The Last King of Rome

by Laura Dowers

  Tarquinia, sitting opposite her mother in the litter, swatted irritably at a fly buzzing around her head. ‘We’ve seen enough, haven’t we? Can’t we go now?’

  ‘Must you be so impatient, daughter?’ Tanaquil snapped.

  ‘I’m not impatient, I’m uncomfortable,’ Tarquinia retorted, smoothing her hand over her stomach.

  She was pregnant again and she wasn’t enjoying her condition at all. Her morning sickness had been acute, so much so she actually lost weight during the first two months. Her skin had lost all its colour and she felt tired all the time. The sickness passed eventually and Tarquinia began to gain weight. But the fatigue didn’t leave her, not until Tanaquil overruled the doctor who wanted to give her evil-tasting potions and told Tarquinia she was to eat more red meat and, once a week, the testicles of a goat. Desperate to feel better, Tarquinia had not protested, even though she gagged at the testicles. Her mother had been right; she soon began to feel better.

  But that wasn’t the end of her suffering. During her sixth month of pregnancy, Tarquinia’s hair started to fall out. At first, it had been just a few strands caught in the comb, but then her hair started coming out in clumps. Wigs had to be purchased to hide her bald spots and this distressed her greatly, worried Servius would begin to find her unattractive. The thought terrified her. She found comfort in food and her weight ballooned alarmingly. Tanaquil had joked her daughter was twice the woman she had been. Tarquinia hadn’t found her words funny.

  Servius rested his arm on the litter’s canopy and ducked his head in. ‘What do you think of it, my love?’

  ‘Yes, very nice, Servius,’ Tarquinia smiled as best she could. ‘Now, please. You said we would move into the new domus today.’

  ‘And we are, I just wanted to show you the temple,’ Servius said, disappointed at Tarquinia’s lack of interest. ‘I’ll just have a word with the foreman and then we’ll be on our way.’

  ‘Really, daughter,’ Tanaquil scolded when he had gone, ‘cannot you show just a little enthusiasm? For your husband’s sake?’

  Tarquinia glared at her mother. ‘It’s a temple, Mother. I’ve seen temples before.’

  ‘That may be so, but this one has only been built because of your husband’s hard work and perseverance. Because of your husband, the people of Rome have a place to worship Diana.’

  ‘And I’m sure the goddess is very grateful,’ Tarquinia said, swatting at the fly again. ‘Ye gods, let us please get to our new house before nightfall.’

  Tanaquil saw it was useless to persevere. She drew the curtain of the litter to shield herself from the sun and from the stares of the passers-by.

  Servius finished his conversation with the foreman and came back to the litter. He told the bearers to take up the litter and he walked alongside as they made their way to the Esquiline Hill.

  Servius had been building there, too. He had decided that, grand though the domus on the Capitoline was, it had never been intended for a large family and had become too small. It was showing its age, too. Lucomo and Tanaquil had taken up residence there back when Ancus Marcius died, and it seemed that barely a month could go by without roof tiles needing to be replaced, flagstones relaid or plaster crumbling from the walls. Servius had decided it was time for Rome’s king to have a home that reflected his status.

  Work on the new domus had begun almost a year earlier and had raised a few sceptical eyebrows among the patricians. The Esquiline Hill was not where Rome’s rich had ever thought of living before, but Servius wanted to change that. Rome was growing every year; more people were coming to live and work there and the city was in danger of becoming overcrowded. New parts of it had to be made fit to live in and he, Servius, would lead the way.

  Tarquinia complained during the entire journey to the Esquiline Hill. Even for the strongest bearers, carrying a fully occupied litter across uneven streets and up and down hills was hard work, and the men shuffled and stumbled their way along. Tanaquil, although aware her daughter’s pregnancy made the journey very uncomfortable, found her complaining extremely wearing and was glad when they arrived. She had so little patience these days and there was only so much of her daughter’s complaining she could take.

  The bearers set the litter down outside the front doors of the new domus and Tarquinia cried, ‘Thank the gods for that. Help me out, Servius, I need to pee.’

  Servius took Tarquinia’s hand and helped her down from the litter. She waddled through the front doors, ignoring the people who had gathered to see the King and Queen arrive. ‘So much for making a dignified entrance,’ Servius murmured to Tanaquil as she joined him on the front steps.

  ‘That’s my daughter for you,’ she said. ‘Now, let us see this new home of yours, shall we?’

  They entered the new domus hand in hand. Tanaquil’s eyes quickly noted the familiar furniture, brought on carts from the old domus over the last few days.

  ‘That’s in the wrong place,’ she said, pointing to a small round table that had come from the old tabiculum. ‘Are the frescoes finished?’

  ‘Yes, all done,’ Servius said, and as they walked through, Tanaquil saw that the walls were indeed decorated to her specification. The decorators must have only just finished because the smell of the paint still lingered.

  ‘The floors need sweeping,’ she said, noticing the stones were covered with plaster dust.

  ‘Do you want to give the servants their orders or leave it to Tarquinia?’ Servius asked with a hint of amusement at her scrutiny.

  ‘It’s your house, not mine.’

  ‘It’s our house, Tanaquil. And besides, the mood Tarquinia’s in, I doubt if she’ll want to do anything. She’ll probably come out of the latrine and go straight to the cubiculum and sleep.’

  ‘Very well, if you want me to, I’ll see to the servants. Tell me, when are the children arriving?’

  ‘I told Nipia to bring them over when their lessons are done. They haven’t seen the domus yet. Do you think they’ll like it?’

  ‘Oh, I should think so. There’s more room here for them to make a nuisance of themselves.’

  ‘Being nuisances is what boys do. And you can’t accuse Lucilla or my little Tullia of ever being naughty.’

  Tanaquil smiled and shook her head. She knew Servius could never bear to hear criticism of his darling daughter. ‘I know, I know. I’m old, my boy, that’s all. I long for a quiet life.’

  ‘You weren’t destined for a quiet life,’ Servius said. ‘And what’s all this talk of being old? You’re not old.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Servius, I am seventy-two,’ Tanaquil said, settling into a chair. ‘I can’t pretend I’m a young woman anymore and nor should you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t care how old you are.’ He pulled over a footstool, lifted her legs and put her feet up on it carefully. ‘Don’t think of retiring any time soon. I’m going to need you.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, peering at him. ‘What are you planning now?’

  ‘Wait and see,’ Servius said, grinning mischievously.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’

  Tanaquil’s breath caught in her throat. For an instant, looking up at her from behind his desk, she suddenly saw Servius as a boy, eight or nine years old, eyes wide and bright, eager for her approval. She shook her head; the memory threatened to bring tears and Servius wouldn’t understand why. She found herself remembering such things more often of late and she knew she was becoming the very thing she had so often despised, a sentimental old woman.

  ‘Go through it again,’ she said, covering up her weakness by searching for a chair. ‘You talked so fast before, I couldn’t take it all in.’

  ‘Sorry, I’ll go slower this time.’ Servius took a deep breath and began again. ‘The current legislative system is blatantly unfair and favours only the highest level of our society.’

  ‘The patricians. Of which class, need I remind you, you and I are a member.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Servius held out a hand to stop her, �
��but it isn’t fair.’

  ‘I hope you have a better reason than that, my dear,’ Tanaquil said, raising a thin eyebrow. ‘Fairness doesn’t interest the patricians a great deal.’

  ‘Agreed, but that’s no reason not to try and change them. Listen, this is how the current system works. The comitia curiata advises the King and they always advise me on matters close to their own hearts and their own money chests.’

  ‘You can’t blame them for that, Servius. We all look after our own interests.’

  ‘I don’t blame them and I’m not asking them to forsake what’s good for them. But is it not my duty as king to consider all members of our society, Tanaquil, not just those who have been favoured by Fortuna?’ Tanaquil looked away quickly, but not quickly enough. Servius had read her thought in her expression. He slumped in his chair. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he sighed.

  ‘Do you?’ Tanaquil asked warily.

  ‘You’re thinking this idea of mine, fairness for all, is because I’m not a patrician, not really, just the son of a slave.’

  ‘May the gods have pity on me,’ Tanaquil moaned, rubbing her forehead. ‘Servius, when will you ever forget–’

  ‘My lowly birth?’

  ‘The gossip about you?’

  Servius picked up his stylus and twiddled it between his fingers, not looking at her. ‘I’ve tried. I can’t forget it.’

  Tanaquil wished she could reassure him, once and for all. She wished she could lie to him, tell him she had known his parents, that they had been of her class. But she didn’t know the truth about his origins and she could not deceive him. For all her pride, this man before her, a man of indeterminate and suspect parentage, with whom she shared no bloodline, was as a son to her. Even before she had witnessed the portent marking him out for a special destiny, she had been drawn to the boy. She had liked his face with its big brown eyes and wide mouth, and she had liked him. It had been as simple as that. Tanaquil wondered how long Servius had been thinking about this… what else could it be called but reform? It wouldn’t be easy. This wasn’t the same as building a new temple or domus; it wasn’t even the same as extending the property rights of the plebs or keeping the corn merchants in line. What Servius was proposing was changing the very fabric of Roman society.

  She tapped the papers on his desk. ‘Carry on.’

  Encouraged, Servius stopped sulking and sat up. ‘We get rid of the comitia curiata. We replace it with another assembly made up of plebeians. We call that assembly the comitia centuriata.’

  ‘What of the senate?’

  ‘The senate stays as it is.’

  ‘I see,’ Tanaquil nodded her approval. ‘And how do we decide who makes up this assembly of plebeians?’

  Servius’s grin widened. ‘We carry out a census. Every citizen of Rome has to register his details. They have to tell us their rank, who lives in their house, what property they own and how much money they earn.’

  ‘And from this we establish what?’

  ‘How much tax each man should be paying, if he has workers that can be used in the army when the need arises. And then, we put each man in a specific group that sets out his voting rights. You see what this will mean, Tanaquil? Every man in Rome will have a say in how Rome is run. Every man, regardless of his background, will have a voice.’

  Tanaquil stayed silent, considering his words. ‘It sounds complicated,’ she said after a moment.

  Servius held his hands out. ‘It’s complex, not complicated,’ he assured her.

  ‘It’s ambitious. There will be a great deal of opposition.’

  ‘Yes, from the patricians, I know.’

  ‘They’ll fight you hard on it.’

  Servius gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Let them. I’m the King of Rome.’

  Tanaquil threw back her head and laughed. Reaching across the desk, she grasped his hand. ‘Yes, you are, my boy.’

  9

  Placus kicked a stool over to the wall beneath the awning and sat down with a loud harrumph.

  The boys had been a pain in the backside all day. Lucius simply refused to attend to his lessons, and his refusal had encouraged Arruns to behave just as badly, so that in the end, Placus had slammed the boys’ wax tablets shut, snatched the styli out of their hands and told them to get out of his schoolroom. He knew that that was what Lucius had wanted all along and he had to restrain himself from slapping Lucius’s self-satisfied face when he’d grinned up at him in triumph and rose from his stool slowly, as if he had all the time and the right in the world to abandon Placus. Arruns had, at least, looked shamefaced as he slunk out after his brother.

  Should he tell Tanaquil or Tarquinia about this incident? Placus wondered. Would it make any difference? He knew Tarquinia hated to be drawn into anything that involved Lucius and she would just tell him to inform her mother. Tanaquil would only give him an earful for not exerting a more controlling influence over his pupils. Placus knew he wouldn’t win whatever he did, so he decided to take the opportunity to rest his bones in the sunny yard and drink a jug or two of wine.

  Settled under the striped awning, Placus watched through half-closed lids as Lucius and Arruns each collected a wooden sword from the chest kept in the yard for arms training and began to play. It would end in tears, Placus knew, it always did. Lucius would forget he was supposed to be playing with Arruns and instead try to beat the shit out of him. But the sound of wood on wood was strangely pleasing to the ears and soon, Placus’s eyes closed. He dozed, his head resting against the stone wall. He was roused by the sound of crying.

  Lucius was in the middle of the yard, swinging his wooden sword around him. Arruns was a few feet away, his back to his brother, holding his hand up to his mouth and whimpering. Placus sighed and rose from the stool, pulling his tunic away from the back of his thighs where sweat had made it stick. He ambled over to the boys.

  ‘What’s the matter, Arruns?’

  ‘It’s nothing, Placus, ignore him,’ Lucius said.

  ‘You hit my finger,’ Arruns yelled.

  ‘Show me,’ Placus said.

  Arruns held out his hand, curling three fingers to leave his index straight. There was a small red mark on the skin.

  ‘It’s not cut,’ Placus said in a tone meant to be soothing but which came out bored.

  ‘It really hurt,’ Arruns insisted.

  ‘You’re going to get hurt playing with swords. That’s what happens.’

  ‘You’re such a baby,’ Lucius said and thrust his sword at Arruns’s belly.

  Arruns tried to swat it away but he was too slow and the point poked deep into his skin. It was too much for the boy after the assault on his finger. He started crying again and Lucius shouted at him, calling his brother all the bad names he could think of.

  Placus had had enough. He barked at Lucius to stop, shaking the boy’s shoulder vigorously to show he meant what he said. Lucius stopped, though not before poking his tongue out at Arruns. Lucius sloped off in disgust and put his sword back in the chest, slamming the lid down and slumping onto it with his arms crossed. Arruns went off into a corner and crouched on the ground, resting his head on his arms.

  Satisfied the altercation seemed to be over, Placus returned to his stool, reminding himself not to doze off again but to keep an eye on the boys while they were out here in the yard. He believed Arruns would soon run out of tears and then would simply take himself out of Lucius’s company, probably going off to find his Aunt Tarquinia, who would give him a cuddle and agree what a nasty boy Lucius was.

  Two little girls emerged into the sunlight. Tullia Prima, the eldest, was holding her sister’s hand and led her over to where Arruns was sitting. Tullia Secunda, who was known to everyone as Lolly, a nickname coined by her sister who had been unwilling to share her name when the new baby came along, wanted to go to Lucius and her body angled in his direction. Tullia spoke to Arruns who stood up and showed her his injured finger. Placus had no doubt Arruns was exaggerating how painful the blow had been.
Tullia let go of Lolly’s hand, placed her arms around Arruns’s waist and laid her head against his shoulder in sympathy at his ordeal. Placus smiled to himself. That Tullia, she was such a compassionate little thing, always ready to provide comfort to anyone who asked for it, whether they deserved it or not. Placus glanced at Lolly, who was not paying any attention to her sister and cousin. Her eyes were fixed on Lucius, still sitting sulkily on the chest and pretending not to notice the girls. Now that one, Lolly, she was trouble, in Placus’s opinion. A right little madam, even at only five years old. Lucius must have grown jealous of the attention Arruns was getting from Tullia, for he got up from the chest and strode over to the three children.

  ‘He’s a cry-baby,’ he told Tullia.

  ‘You hurt him,’ she said reproachfully. ‘You’re mean.’

  ‘I hardly touched him. I didn’t cry when he hit me. Look.’ And he showed Tullia his left shin where a large black bruise was already emerging.

  Lolly bent and kissed the bruise. ‘All better,’ she said to Lucius, who curled up his mouth in distaste and gave her a shove.

  ‘Are you going to play anymore?’ Tullia asked.

  ‘Only if he stops crying,’ Lucius said.

  ‘I’m not crying,’ Arruns retorted. ‘And I don’t want to play with you.’

  ‘I’ll play with you,’ Lolly said, slipping her hand into Lucius’s. She didn’t let go, not even when Lucius tried to prise her fingers away.

  ‘Girls can’t play with swords,’ he said.

  ‘We can play something else,’ Arruns sniffed, his tears drying.

  ‘Chase?’ Tullia suggested.

  ‘It’s too hot now,’ Arruns shook his head.

  ‘Kings and Queens?’ Lolly piped up.

  Placus saw both Arruns and Tullia open their mouths to say no, but Lucius snatched at the idea.

  ‘Yes, we’ll play Kings and Queens. I’ll be the King—’

  ‘And I’ll be the Queen,’ Lolly said quickly, jumping up and down.

  ‘You can’t,’ Lucius said, ‘you’re too young.’

  ‘I want to be the Queen,’ Lolly stamped her foot.