The Last King of Rome

by Laura Dowers

  ‘So, what do you think?’

  ‘About what?’ Manius’s mind was becoming a little clouded.

  ‘About coming back to Rome,’ Lucius said irritably, ‘about staying in Rome, being a senator, working with me.’

  ‘You need my help?’

  Manius saw Lucius’s face darken a little and remembered how Lucius hated to be thought of as needing anyone or anything. How little his old friend had changed.

  ‘Yes,’ Lucius admitted eventually, keeping his eyes on his cup.

  Manius relished the admission for a long moment. It was delicious — the King of Rome, Lucius Tarquinius — asking for his help. But then he remembered how Lucius had come to the throne, the brutality of Servius’s deposition. The news had shocked Manius’s small community, and his neighbours had stared at him and asked him how he could call a man like Lucius friend. ‘I’m not sure.’

  Lucius snorted. ‘I said you wouldn’t agree. But Lolly wanted me to ask you.’

  ‘Lolly did?’ Manius was surprised. He hadn’t thought Lolly particularly liked him.

  ‘She said you would be best. For what we have planned.’

  Oh, so that was it. Lolly had looked at Lucius’s friends and worked out who would play best with the senators, who was approachable and not intimidating, who best could make Lucius appear amenable, kind even. Manius didn’t really want to be Lolly’s tool, but curiosity made him ask, ‘What do you have planned?’

  ‘Well, I say planned. They’re just ideas at the moment, really.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Manius prompted.

  Lucius sighed. ‘Make changes to the law courts so I have more direct authority. Reduce the number of senators so they actually have a chance of agreeing on policies rather than debating all the time. And make new alliances, strengthen our position.’

  ‘Those are quite definite ideas,’ Manius said, his eyes widening at the scope of Lucius’s ambition.

  ‘They’re long overdue,’ Lucius insisted.

  ‘The first two will be unpopular,’ Manius said, the fug of the wine beginning to clear. ‘You’ll be accused of tyranny, I expect, making yourself the chief authority.’

  ‘I am the King,’ Lucius pointed out indignantly.

  Manius held up a hand to say he understood. ‘The third, new alliances? Do you mean through treaties?’

  Lucius licked his lips. ‘Not necessarily. Conquest.’

  ‘You want to go to war?’

  ‘Why not? Rome can only grow great if we expand. And to do that, we need to take greater control of Italy. Our nearest neighbours are a thorn in our side, Manius. We need to bring them under control.’

  Manius thought for a long moment. It sounded interesting, exciting even. He would quite like to be a part of that. But…

  ‘I can’t,’ he said regretfully. ‘There’s just too much for me to do at home. The farm will go under if I leave.’

  Lucius was looking upset. Why does he always do this to me, Manius thought, annoyed, make me feel guilty about not doing what he wants? I’m not going to change my mind, I’m not.

  ‘I’ll tell Lolly you said no,’ Lucius said, getting up from the couch with a sigh. ‘She’ll be disappointed.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lucius,’ Manius said, grabbing hold of Lucius’s arm as he made to pass. ‘If I would, I could. It’s just you’ve asked at the wrong time.’

  Lucius halted. ‘So, once your farm is running well, you’ll come to Rome?’

  ‘Well…’ he sputtered, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.

  ‘You just said—’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ Manius said, holding up his hands. ‘When the farm is up and running, I’ll come to Rome. But you find me a decent house to live in when I come. I’m not living in a pigsty.’

  20

  It had been a strange five years, Manius mused. Strange, engrossing, and in some respects, downright unpleasant.

  He had returned to his farm after his trip to Rome to read the Sibyl’s scrolls and thrown himself into his work. It occupied him completely for about three months, and then the farm had settled, had found its rhythm. The labourers were happy, or as happy as labourers ever could be, and the farm was surviving rather than failing. His farm manager, having come to grips with the job, began to resent Manius’s interference and Manius found he was needed less and less. He began to grow restless, discontented, until his wife, fed up with his moods, begged him to take up Lucius’s offer. She assured him that she had no desire to live in Rome nor be beholden to the Tarquins. So, if he went, he went alone.

  Lucius had found him a house a few doors along from the domus on the Esquiline Hill. Lucius even bought it for him, which, so Lucius said with glee, had pissed Cossus off no end. Manius was grateful and knew he was expected to be so. But he didn’t care that he was now under obligation to Lucius. He enjoyed being back in Rome, enjoyed using his intellect, enjoyed being Lucius’s chief adviser and shaper of policy as Lucius came to rely less and less on the senate.

  But Manius knew this was different. This was more Cossus’s territory than his. This was conflict, face to face with a sword at his side, not a debate in the senate house with a wax tablet and stylus to hand. If they weren’t at battle now, he had an uneasy feeling Lucius was heading towards it. He paused and almost laughed at himself. Manius, you fool, you’re getting old before your time.

  Lucius had meant what he said, Manius had discovered, about extending Rome’s authority in Italy. Manius had been surprised that Lucius had extended the hand of friendship to the Latin tribes rather than the sword and they had been pleased to accept. Lucius had even married his daughter to the most important leader of the tribes, Octavius Mamilius, though she, by all accounts, had protested. Manius believed Lolly had locked Cassia in her room and refused her food until she agreed to go through with the marriage. When Manius had visited the domus to talk through some proposed legislation with Lucius, he had found Cassia crying in the garden. Uncle Manius was a favourite with the girl and she had welcomed his avuncular embrace, swearing she hated her mother and that she was actually glad she was to marry Mamilius as it would mean getting away from Lolly. Manius could sympathise; he had never found it easy to be in Lolly’s company.

  But despite everything Lucius had achieved in reconciling the Latins, there was one tribe who was reluctant to come into Rome’s embrace: Aricia.

  In Ferentina, Lucius was pissing against a tree. As the arc of amber liquid dwindled, he decided that it was almost time. Finishing, he let his toga drop and turned to stare out over the hill behind him. The sun would soon be setting and he had made them wait long enough.

  They couldn’t see him from the grove, even if they had bothered to look up. The trees gave him cover but allowed him to see through the branches. There were so many of them, he hadn’t realised. All the better. When he arrived, he would be the focus of many eyes, not just a few.

  He stared harder. Where was Turnus Herdonius? Skulking in his tent probably. Lucius looked over his shoulder and saw Cossus and Manius talking together. Although he knew they had never been friends, they had always at least tolerated one another. But over the last five years, even the facade of civility had gone and they openly loathed one another. The only thing that kept them from sticking swords in each other was Lucius; he had use for them both and they knew it.

  ‘I want to get closer,’ he called and they both turned in his direction, breaking off their conversation.

  ‘How close?’ Cossus asked as Lucius came towards them.

  ‘So I can hear them,’ he said.

  ‘What are you hoping to hear?’

  ‘Nothing in particular,’ Lucius shrugged. ‘I just want to get an idea of what they’re thinking. Turnus is against me.’

  ‘Turnus is against everyone,’ Cossus said dismissively.

  ‘I don’t care about everyone,’ Lucius said. ‘Just me.’

  ‘If we all go, they’ll hear us,’ Manius said.

  ‘We’ll leave the men behind for the moment,’ L
ucius said. ‘Just us three. The trees will give us cover. We’ll need dark cloaks.’

  The necessary cloaks were found and donned and the three men made their way down the hill, going carefully, avoiding any terrain that would betray their presence. At the bottom of the hill, not more than twelve feet from the grove, they each found a tree to hide behind and waited until Turnus Herdonius stepped out of his tent.

  Turnus made an impressive figure, Lucius thought with reluctant admiration. He stood a good head taller than most of his countrymen, was thickset without being fat, and had huge knuckly hands. He smacked those hands together as he emerged and immediately got his associates’ attention.

  ‘Where is he?’ Turns bellowed. ‘He invites us all here and then makes us wait. Does the arrogance of this king know no bounds? Is it any wonder his own people call him Tarquin the Proud?’

  A rumble of laughter erupted from his audience. ‘Not to his face,’ someone shouted out and Turnus identified the speaker with an approving wag of his finger.

  ‘They wouldn’t dare,’ he cried happily, revelling in the laughter he provoked. Then he turned serious. ‘Who does this king think he is? Is he hoping that by keeping us waiting, we’ll be all the more grateful when he does deign to appear? Is he expecting us to fall to our knees and submit our necks to the Roman yoke?’

  His audience murmured.

  ‘And if we do,’ Turnus continued, ‘what future do we have as independent Latins? Just see how King Lucius treats his own people. He came to the throne in blood; he murders any who oppose him. He continues to silence and put away anyone who speaks or acts against him. If King Lucius can treat his own people in such a way, what care will he have for us?’

  The murmurs grew louder, more aggressive. Lucius signalled to Cossus to fetch the men.

  ‘We should leave,’ Turnus said and waited. He looked around the group. ‘We. Should. Leave. We should pack up our tents, gather our men and go home. Let this king arrive, if he arrives at all, and find none of us here to listen to his false words.’

  Lucius stepped out from behind the tree. ‘Turnus Herdonius,’ he greeted, holding his arms wide. ‘How good it is to see you.’ He kissed the astonished Turnus on the cheeks. ‘You are in good voice, I hear.’

  ‘You’ve been here all this time?’ Turnus asked.

  ‘Well, not all. I was up there,’ Lucius pointed to the top of the hill, ‘and then I was there,’ he pointed to the tree. ‘I heard everything you had to say, if that’s what you’re wondering.’

  ‘Then I don’t need to repeat myself,’ Turnus said, folding his arms over his massive chest.

  ‘No, you don’t.’ Lucius turned to the Latins who were watching their interaction with interest. ‘Please forgive me for my lateness. I was called upon to act as arbiter in a dispute between father and son and so anxious was I to see them reconciled, I am afraid I lost track of time. And now, the greater part of this day is gone,’ he gestured towards the sun that had half disappeared and which had turned the grove a deep orange, ‘that I do not want to keep you from your dinner and your beds.’ He smiled his most charming smile. ‘‘What say you all? Shall we resume in the morning?’

  ‘Do we have anything to resume?’ Turnus said, the remark a response to Lucius but directed towards the Latins.

  ‘Oh, I think we do. Don’t we?’ Lucius appealed to the Latins.

  ‘We’ve come all this way, Turnus,’ one of the Latins said. ‘We may as well hear what King Lucius has to say.’

  His companions seemed to agree. Some of them had even started to walk away. Turnus watched them go with disappointment in his eyes.

  ‘We’ll stay then,’ he said. ‘But don’t take me for a fool. I see you for what you are and I’ll make sure they all do too. Till the morning, Lucius.’

  Manius joined Lucius as Turnus went back to his tent. ‘I didn’t hear. What did he say?’

  ‘That I can’t fool him. That’s he going to convince everyone to do what he wants.’

  They both turned as Cossus strode into the grove, at least twenty armed men following.

  ‘Can he?’ Manius asked, ignoring him. ‘Does he have that kind of influence?’

  Lucius stared at his men. ‘For the moment, perhaps. We need to change that.’

  ‘How, before the morning?’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Cossus said, looking around at the emptying grove. ‘I’ve brought the men as you asked.’

  ‘Not needed as it turned out,’ Manius said with some satisfaction. ‘Lucius talked them into boredom.’

  Cossus scowled. ‘Are you going to let him talk about you like that?’ he said to Lucius.

  Lucius ignored him. ‘We need a plan,’ he said. ‘Let’s go back to our camp and see what we can come up with.’

  He led the way out of the grove, Cossus glowering at Manius, Manius suspecting Lucius already had an idea of how to deal with Turnus.

  Lucius instructed Manius to arrange for food to be sent in and told Cossus to make sure the flap to the tent was closed. While they waited for the cold pork and beans to arrive, the three men made themselves comfortable on their camp chairs, listening to the talk of the men outside the tent and the occasional female laugh or shout from one of the camp followers.

  ‘Turnus is never going to be a friend to Rome,’ Cossus said, putting his feet up on the table and showing Lucius the dirty soles of his shoes.

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Manius said, frowning at the liberty Cossus insisted on taking with Lucius. ‘He agreed to listen.’

  ‘Just to make himself look good,’ Cossus said. ‘You wait. Tomorrow, he’ll spout more of the same shit and he’ll take the rest of the Latins with him.’

  ‘Lucius?’ Manius asked.

  Lucius was playing with a knife, twisting it in his fingers, catching the flame from the oil lamp on the desk in its reflective silver surface. ‘Cossus is right,’ he said to Manius. ‘Turnus won’t change.’

  ‘So… what do we do?’

  Lucius shrugged. ‘We kill him.’

  ‘We kill him?’ Manius repeated, eyebrows raised.

  ‘You got a problem with that?’ Cossus asked.

  ‘A bit of a problem, yes,’ Manius shot back. ‘We kill him and the rest of the Latins kill us. We’re outnumbered, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  Cossus and Lucius glanced at each other and smiled.

  ‘What?’ Manius said, infuriated.

  ‘By Dis, you’re stupid at times.’

  ‘Cossus, Cossus, be nice,’ Lucius said as Manius lunged towards Cossus. ‘Manius, sit down. We thought it likely Turnus would oppose me. I just wanted to make sure before we acted.’

  Manius glared at Lucius. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that?’

  ‘Cossus is better at this sort of thing,’ Lucius said.

  ‘Better at thuggery.’

  Cossus threw a cup at Manius and it caught a glancing blow on his shoulder. ‘Can we get on with it?’ he appealed to Lucius.

  Lucius nodded and Cossus rose, leaving the tent in two strides. ‘Where’s he going?’ Manius asked.

  ‘He’s gone to fetch our means of getting rid of Turnus.’

  Cossus returned a few minutes later, pushing a young boy in front of him. ‘This is him. He’s Turnus’s boy.’

  Lucius looked the boy over. He was about fourteen, he calculated, scrawny and blotchy skinned. There was a dark purple bruise across his left cheekbone.

  ‘How did you get that?’ Lucius asked.

  The boy kept his eyes on the floor. ‘My master did it, my lord.’

  ‘He’s a hard master, then?’

  The boy nodded. ‘He beats me often.’

  ‘Do you know why you’re here?’

  ‘Not really. He,’ he glanced up at Cossus, ‘said you would give me gold if I did what you wanted.’

  ‘He was right. Two pieces of gold for one night’s work. Cossus, get the swords.’

  Cossus moved behind Lucius and knelt, opening up a long wooden chest and taking ou
t an armful of sheathed swords. He got back to his feet with a groan that showed his age and returned to stand by the boy.

  ‘You see these swords,’ Lucius pointed the boy to the weapons. ‘You’re going to hide those in your master’s tent. And you mustn’t let anyone see you do it.’

  ‘I…I don’t think I can do that, my lord,’ the boy stammered, staring in horror at the swords.

  Lucius sighed in irritation. ‘Why not?’ he said, his voice harder than before.

  ‘I’ll be seen.’

  ‘We’re paying you to be invisible, boy,’ Lucius said. He saw the boy tremble and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. ‘You can do it if you try.’

  ‘I suppose I could go in the back of the tent?’ the boy suggested. ‘But my master has retired. He’s already in the tent.’

  Lucius glanced at Cossus. ‘Can we do something about Turnus?’

  Cossus nodded. ‘I’ll go and invite him for a drink. Make him come out to the fire. The boy can do it then.’

  Lucius returned his gaze to the boy. ‘There. You can do it, yes?’

  The boy looked from Lucius to Cossus and back again. ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Good,’ Lucius said. ‘Cossus, give the boy something to cover those with so he’s not seen on the way back to the Arician camp.’

  Cossus nodded. ‘Leave it to me, Lucius. Come on, boy.’

  ‘When do I get the gold?’ the boy blurted out, his eyes wide at his daring.

  Cossus smacked the back of his head. The boy cried out and kept his face down, used to such blows.

  ‘Cossus!’ Manius protested. ‘Leave the boy alone.’

  ‘You don’t tell me what to do, Manius,’ Cossus growled.

  ‘Enough!’ Lucius slammed his hand down on the table. ‘Cossus, go. Do what you have to. Manius, for Jupiter’s sake, sit down and take some wine.’

  Cossus left with the boy and Manius did as he was bid. He poured a cup of wine for himself and topped up Lucius’s.

  ‘Cossus is a brute,’ he muttered.

  ‘He’s useful,’ Lucius said.

  ‘What do you hope to achieve with this?’ Manius gestured at the tent flap which Cossus had left open. ‘Putting swords in Turnus’s tent?’