The Last King of Rome

by Laura Dowers

  He felt he had spoken the speech well. He and Lolly had spent half the previous day writing it and Lucius most of the night learning it by heart. It was a good speech, succinct, direct. The senators should have liked it. So, why were they silent? He felt his muscles tense and he longed to jump up from the throne. But he knew he must not. He must sit still and not fidget. He must not give any sign that he was panicking. But, please, someone say something, he thought, someone speak.

  Someone started to clap, slowly at first, then faster and faster. That clap was joined by another, and another, and another. Lucius’s heart began to beat again, his muscles relaxed. Oh, the noise of their adulation was joyous. It was what he had been born to hear. If only Lolly could have witnessed this. How proud she would be. Lucius smiled beneficently on the senators.

  And then Servius appeared in the doorway.

  Servius stared at Lucius. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  Lucius stared at his father-in-law, shocked into silence by Servius’s sudden and unexpected appearance.

  Servius was panting, trying to catch his breath and ignore the sharp pains in his chest. He had rushed out of the domus when his secretary had burst into his office and told him something was afoot in the senate house, that he had better see for himself. Servius hadn’t even waited for his lictors to escort him but run all the way. He waved his arm weakly. ‘Get out of that chair. It’s not yours.’

  Lucius found his voice. ‘It is mine,’ he shouted. ‘My grandfather sat on this throne. My bloodline, Servius, not yours.’

  ‘I was Lucomo’s son,’ Servius protested.

  ‘You are the son of a slave,’ Lucius cried. ‘You usurped this throne and no one had the courage to pull you down from it.’

  ‘Is that what you are doing? Do you think you can become king through this stratagem?’

  ‘I am king now, you old fool. See, here I sit and say I am the King and none save you says otherwise.’

  Servius looked about him, at the senators who stood nearby. ‘They’re waiting to see what will happen, Lucius, nothing more. You think they support you? Take away whatever it is you’ve bribed your so-called supporters with and they will return to me, I promise you.’

  ‘They will not, Servius. They are mine, they will obey you no longer. And they will not stop me now!’

  Lucius bolted from the throne and threw his arms around Servius’s waist, lifting him off his feet. Servius cried out in astonishment and thrashed in his arms, but he was no match for Lucius. He struggled but could not free himself from Lucius’s grip. He cried out for help, but no one came to his aid. Cossus stood with his sword drawn and his men behind him and they were enough to convince any man thinking of helping to think again and reach a different conclusion.

  Lucius dragged Servius to the top of the senate steps. Bending his legs and making a great cry, he lifted Servius off his feet and thrust him from his arms. Servius fell, a groan escaping him with each stone step he hit. His body snapped and cracked as bones broke and splintered and blood daubed the stone. Over and over he went, stopping only when he came to the bottom of the steps. He lay motionless, one arm bent beneath his body, blood flowing from his mouth and nose.

  No one moved. No one spoke. The crowd looked on the body of their king while Lucius stood alone at the top of the steps, chest heaving, eyes blazing, his face flushed and shining.

  Servius wasn’t moving. Was he dead? Lucius looked down on his father-in-law, not quite believing what he’d done.

  He took his eyes off the mangled body and stared out over the forum. He saw the carts piled high with sacks, saw the oxen and donkeys that pulled them, their ears twitching. He saw the birds perched on the pediments of the Temple of Vesta and of Diana. He saw the people, his people, staring up at him, their mouths open.

  What fools they looked with their vacant faces and wide, staring eyes. See how not one of them was brave enough to have stopped him. Was not Bellona truly his mistress and did he not fright his subjects so? Well enough. He wanted his subjects to fear him. He didn’t want their respect. What good was their respect? It gave them leave to question, to rebuke. He wanted nothing from them but their obedience.

  Lucius shrugged his clothing straight, smoothed back his hair. He turned and re-entered the senate, those senators near the door backing away from him. He met Cossus’s eye. There was a glint in it, a silent appreciation for what Lucius had done and Lucius had to stop himself from grinning. He sat back down on the throne.

  ‘Senators,’ he said, gesturing for the men to take their seats, ‘the reign of Servius is over. I am your king now.’

  Hands were clutching his arms. He struggled feebly against their grip, thinking they belonged to Lucius. But then he heard voices and recognised none of them. It was not Lucius who bent over him or tugged parts of his body, not that fiend who had realised he was not yet dead and had returned to finish the job.

  Servius was pushed up into a sitting position and the movement was agony. He felt pain everywhere: in the arm that hung uselessly by his side, in his bruised and broken ribs, in the skin that had been scraped and torn. Vomit rose in his throat and he belched forth the bread and wine he had consumed when he had been safe at the domus, soiling his disarrayed clothing and bringing with it a foul acrid stench.

  ‘He’s alive,’ someone said and Servius was grateful for the confirmation. It made sense. To feel pain this acutely could only mean that he breathed still.

  Oh, why had he left the domus without his bodyguards? This would not have happened had he only waited for them. He knew he had to get back to the domus, rouse his lictors from whatever torpor kept them and return to arrest Lucius. Lucius must have thought he was dead, otherwise he would not have left him here to be helped to his feet in this way.

  ‘What do we do?’ someone asked. ‘Do we help him or leave him?’

  ‘He’s the King,’ another replied.

  ‘The Prince said he was king,’ a fearful voice said.

  ‘You want him as king?’ the voice came back.

  ‘The senators are with Lucius,’ a young voice cried out. ‘They’re not here with him, are they? If they’re not for Servius, it doesn’t matter what we think.’

  ‘You spineless cur,’ the strong voice said. ‘Go, go and wait to see what you should do. Wait for the senators to tell you how to think.’ The voice came close to Servius’s ear. ‘Can you get up?’

  I must get back to the domus, Servius thought. He nodded, leaning heavily on his supporter and managing to stand, though a jolt shot through his right leg and made him cry out in pain.

  ‘Shall we carry him?’ someone asked and Servius could not tell who spoke. He was fearful. Who could he trust in all this crowd? Someone might offer help only to complete Lucius’s terrible crime and kill him dead.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ he croaked and tested putting one foot in front of the other. It hurt, but it was bearable. He would get back to the domus, he would.

  ‘Let us help you,’ the voice protested.

  ‘Leave me,’ Servius growled.

  He was left standing alone, mutterings of his ingratitude fading in his bloody ears. He moved his legs again, slowly, painfully, waiting for the pain to ease before moving again. His eyes had become puffy — one was almost swollen shut — and he was unsure where he was going. He hoped he was heading for an exit; there were many of them out of the forum. He begged Fortuna that he would find one. He went blindly, his right arm out in front to test for obstacles. He did not see them but people moved out of his way and their bodies formed a natural corridor to an exit. He determined to keep a straight course and so find his way home.

  Lolly was pacing the atrium.

  It had been more than two hours since Lucius and Cossus had left for the senate house, almost an hour since she witnessed her father’s departure, his toga held up above his knees as he ran out of the domus. She was proud of herself for having the foresight to tell the lictors to take their ease and not worry about guarding her
father, her lie that he was content to remain in the domus for the rest of the day all too convincing.

  Lolly had wanted to go with Lucius and Cossus, wanting to see her husband take his rightful place on the throne. She was not allowed, of course, no woman was allowed in the senate house. She knew why. Let a woman in to have a say in ruling the country and those old fools would soon see what quick action, decisiveness and power truly meant. All those feeble senators did was talk and debate; they never actually did anything. Well, that was going to change. Lucius and she would rule together and pay no heed to the senators with their stale wind. They would make Rome into what they wanted.

  Oh, it was so frustrating, this waiting at home, not knowing what was happening in the senate. Was Lucius safe? Had he taken the throne? Did he have the support of the senators? And what of her father? That was the question most on her mind. They couldn’t have predicted how Servius would act, that he would even hear of Lucius’s actions before they had a chance to despatch him.

  After her fifth dash to the front doors to see if Lucius was returning, she knew she could bear it no longer. She called a servant and ordered her chariot to be got ready. She snatched up a bronze platter from the table and examined her face, turning it from side to side to get a good idea of her appearance in the rippling metal. She patted the underside of her chin, cringing at the little extra flesh that made a slapping sound when she patted it. She would have to watch that, especially now. She didn’t want to be known as a fat queen.

  Lolly heard the rumble of wheels that signalled her chariot had come round. She hurried out to meet it. Synistor, her chariot driver, held out his hand to help her up onto the tightly woven leather straps. Synistor was the strongest man in the royal household, she choosing him for his muscles, honed during a youth spent felling trees and hacking stone out of the ground. He also had a great deal of knowledge about horses and had bought the two that were harnessed to the chariot. Lolly knew these horses were the best in Rome, probably among the best in the whole of Italy.

  She wrapped her right wrist around the leather strap tied to the front of the chariot, a means to keep her steady and prevent her from falling off. ‘To the forum,’ she told Synistor, ‘to the steps of the senate house.’

  Synistor flicked the reins and the horses moved off. They were fleet of foot but the narrow streets of the city meant it was not possible to drive too fast. She told Synistor not to take the Sacra Via, knowing it was the route Lucius and Cossus had taken and not wanting to hinder them should they plan to return the same way. Synistor knew his mistress well and gave no quarter to the people who lived and worked on the streets they passed along. They had to move out of the way quickly or risk being trodden beneath the horses’ hooves and the wheels of the chariot.

  The chariot entered the forum and Synistor was forced to slow the horses to a walking pace. There was no cheering, no shouting, just an eerie stillness. Lolly looked into the faces of the people she passed and she saw wariness in them, not joy, not surprise, not any of the emotions she should be seeing. What had they to be frightened of, the fools?

  Synistor drew the chariot up alongside the steps of the senate. Lolly unwound the leather strap from her wrist and stepped down. There was blood on the steps. Whose blood? she wondered and her heart missed a beat. Could something have gone terribly wrong? Could something have happened to Lucius?

  She climbed the steps, sidestepping the blood so it wouldn’t stain the hem of her dress. The doors to the senate were open; she could see inside but it was dark, the sun now behind the building. But she could see the outline of the throne and it was occupied, she couldn’t see who by. But she could see Cossus and her heart leapt. If Cossus was standing by the throne, then Lucius must be on it. Lolly saw Cossus bend and whisper. The figure on the throne turned and looked over his shoulder at her.

  Lucius had done it, he had seized the throne. He’d had his moment; it was time for hers. She raised both arms above her head.

  Great king,’ she called out in a strong, clear voice. ‘So I will call you for so you are. You have done a great thing this day and the people of Rome thank you for it.’

  Lucius was coming towards her now. Slow down, she thought, you’re walking too fast. It’s undignified for a king to be in a hurry.

  But Lucius didn’t slow down. He came right up to her and grabbed her elbow. ‘What are you doing here? I told you to stay at home.’

  ‘I couldn’t bear it, being there and not knowing what was happening. But you’ve done it, Lucius. You have, haven’t you?’

  Lucius was frowning, looking over her shoulder. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Where’s who? Lucius, what is it?’

  ‘Servius, he was there.’ Lucius pointed to the base of the steps. ‘He was dead. That is, I thought he was dead. Lolly, I threw him down the steps and he wasn’t moving.’

  ‘The people will have taken him,’ Lolly said quickly. ‘That’s all. Lucius, look at me. You sit on the throne, do you not? Then it doesn’t matter where my father is. Dead or alive, he’s gone. He’s gone, Lucius.’

  ‘Find him, Lolly,’ Lucius said desperately. ‘Find him and make sure he’s dead. I won’t sit easy on the throne until I know he’s dead.’

  ‘I’ll find him,’ Lolly promised with a kiss. ‘Now, go back in there. The senators are waiting for you. Be a king, Lucius. For me.’

  He smiled thinly and re-entered the senate house. Lolly returned to her chariot, her eyes drawn inexorably to the blood. She wasn’t sure what to do, whether she should question the bystanders as to her father’s whereabouts or go home and get Cossus to send out his men later. And if she did find her father, what would she do with him?

  Synistor held out his hand to help her back into the chariot. ‘Lady,’ he said as she stepped up next to him, ‘I’ve been talking to some of these people. They’ve told me your father went off that way,’ and he pointed to the Sacra Via exit. ‘He was injured but alive.’

  ‘We must follow him,’ she said. She moved to tie her wrist to the leather strap again, then changed her mind. ‘Give me the reins.’

  ‘My lady?’

  ‘I want to drive.’

  ‘Let me—’

  ‘No. I will drive. Stand aside, Synistor.’

  Synistor handed her the reins, then moved behind her and tied his wrist with the leather thong. Lolly snapped the reins against the backs of her horses.

  The crowd parted instantly. The horses lifted their hooves and the chariot soon reached the exit, making its way swiftly along the long, straight road. Synistor had taught Lolly well and she handled the chariot expertly. She enjoyed the thrill of controlling the two horses and the lightweight frame beneath her feet, and she almost forgot what she was supposed to be doing. But then, up ahead, she saw a figure in the middle of the street. As the chariot drew nearer, she saw it was a man; nearer still, she saw it was her father.

  Lolly didn’t stop to think. She snapped the reins again and the horses increased their speed. They were getting closer and closer to her father and had Lolly changed her mind, she knew she wouldn’t be able to pull them up in time. But she wouldn’t change her mind; she knew exactly what she had to do.

  Servius heard the thunder of the horses’ hooves and the rattle of the chariot. He stopped, turning to see the equipage bearing down on him. He lifted his arm to protect himself and his startled face was the last Lolly saw of her father before he disappeared beneath the horses’ stamping legs. The chariot bucked and tilted as it passed over Servius’s body and Lolly pulled on the reins. The horses responded and the chariot stopped.

  Lolly turned the chariot around. Servius was on the ground, unmoving.

  ‘You got him, my lady,’ Synistor said. ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘Let’s make sure,’ Lolly said and drove the horses on, on towards her father. Once again, she drove the chariot over him, stopping and turning it around.

  ‘He can’t be alive after that,’ Synistor assured her.

  ‘Give me
your sword,’ she said, holding out her hand.

  Synistor drew his sword and gave it to her. ‘You should let me,’ he said.

  ‘I have to do this,’ she replied and stepped down from the chariot. As she walked towards the battered thing that had been her father, she became aware of faces at windows and around door frames. She held her chin a little higher. She would show them the kind of woman she was. Let any who dared try to interfere and just see how she would deal with them.

  But no one did dare for they instinctively knew that Lolly did not walk down the street alone. Though invisible, the goddess Bellona was by her side.

  Lolly reached her father and knelt beside his body. Synistor had been correct; Servius was dead. She pulled out his arm from beneath his body. Broken bones had ruptured the skin and it made a grinding noise as she pulled. She tugged it to lie flat on the ground, then lifted the sword and brought it down with all her strength. The sword cut easily through the flesh and bone and the hand came away from the arm, blood spattering her dress and pooling where she knelt. She felt the sticky, warm mess seep through the fabric, soaking her knees. She took hold of the severed hand and returned to the chariot.

  ‘Dead, my lady?’ Synistor asked wryly.

  ‘Dead,’ she returned. ‘Take me home, Synistor.’

  Lucius had said all he wanted to say to the senators. Now, he wanted to get back to the domus, get back to Lolly, find out what had happened to Servius. The only safe former king was a dead former king. If Servius wasn’t dead yet, then he would have to be made so as soon as possible.

  He and Cossus, and the hired men Cossus said they couldn’t afford to dismiss just yet, took a circuitous route back to the Esquiline. The people stared as they passed but none called out ‘Vivat Rex’.

  ‘It will come,’ Cossus assured him, reading his thoughts.

  ‘Why are they not happy?’ Lucius snarled. ‘I’ve deposed a weak king.’