The Blood of Caesar, page 27
part #2 of Pliny the Younger Series
I leaned toward Nelia and placed a hand on one of hers. “I will do everything in my power to see that no harm comes to you. I promise you that.”
She did not seem reassured by the gesture. “You don’t command any troops. How can you stand up against Domitian? You don’t exactly look like Horatio on the bridge.” She pulled away from my touch.
She was right. I couldn’t play the role of one man valiantly holding off an advancing horde. The only way I could protect her would be to hide her, as Musonius had done. But too many people already knew about her. By now one of my own slaves who had been in the library might have said something careless. Those words would fly over my back wall and be in Regulus’ ear with the speed of a lightning bolt. From there they would strike the Palatine.
“We can’t defeat Domitian,” Nelia said. “And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in hiding.”
I just wanted to insure that she would have a rest of her life to spend, but I couldn’t be so blunt. “Right now my only concern is to get you out of Rome until we can decide what we’re going to do. For the time being you could go to my house at Comum. And Tacitus has property in southern Gaul. I’m sure you could stay there. Agricola might know some place in Britain where you would be safe.” I congratulated myself for coming up with the germ of a plan so quickly.
“So your solution is to keep moving me farther and farther from Rome until I get to the edge of the world?” The fear in Nelia’s voice gave way to a rising anger. “Then where? Ultima Thule? I’ll bet Domitian would find me even there, if I didn’t freeze to death first.”
When someone of my class does something for a client or a friend, we expect them to express their gratitude, even if what we’ve done for them isn’t all they wanted. That’s how Roman society works. Being subjected to the anger and sarcasm Nelia was heaping on me in the gloom of my litter was like being spit on by some barbarian.
“By the gods! You are the most exasperating woman I have ever known. I’ve gone to great lengths to oblige Musonius by taking you into my home, clothing you, even buying you jewelry— ”
She yanked the necklace off, breaking the clasp, and threw it at me. “I didn’t ask you for any damn jewelry! I didn’t ask you for anything. I just wanted to stay on Musonius’ estate and be with Marcianus.”
“This morning you said you didn’t want to go back there with him.”
“But I would if you’d never brought me to Rome. I could have been happy there, not knowing any of ... this.”
“By ‘this’ do you mean Rome, or what you’ve learned about yourself tonight?”
“Both ... all of it. I wish I’d never seen or heard any of it.” She wiped tears on her gown.
“I would gladly take you back tomorrow, but I’m sure Domitian already has his men watching the place.”
Someone knocked on the wooden frame of the litter. “Sir,” Laberius said softly, “may I speak with you?”
I stuck my head through the curtains. “What is it?”
Laberius drew back from my anger and motioned for me to keep my voice down. “There’s some sort of disturbance ahead, sir, around the Amphitheater. The street’s blocked.”
Glancing ahead, I could see torches flaring, bobbing around in the dark as the people carrying them moved from one place to another. “We can get around them by going through the Forum and coming out beyond the Amphitheater.”
“Is that safe at night, sir?”
“I think we’ll be all right if we keep moving.”
“Yes, sir. That’s usually the safest thing to do, is to keep moving.”
As I settled back in the litter Nelia drew herself up and wouldn’t look at me. I was left to ponder the situation and my options. At first it seemed similar to the situation Musonius had faced fifteen years ago. But it was more complex. All he had to do was hide a small child, whose existence was known to almost no one and her true identity to no one except Musonius. In my litter, riding past Domitian’s house at the moment, I had an heir of the Caesars, a grown woman, and a pregnant one at that. She knew who she was now, and so did a growing number of other people. Was it realistic to think about hiding her any longer?
In one sense she would be safer in my house here in Rome. If she were in some country villa, Domitian could send men to attack her without arousing much notice. He could hardly storm the house of someone of my status here in the city without provoking a strong reaction. Perhaps the wiser course, then, would be to keep Nelia in Rome but out of sight.
“Gaius Pliny,” Nelia said from her corner, “I want to see the Forum.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. The fewer people who see you, the better. The Forum will be very crowded in the morning.”
“No, I want to see it now. If we’re going through it anyway and if you’re going to send me away soon, I want to see it.”
She wasn’t whining or pleading, the way I suspected Julia would. Her request fell on my ears like a command. Was that ability to bend people to her will something she had inherited from her imperial ancestors? Was it one more proof of who she was? All my life I’ve been taught that a person’s true character cannot be hidden forever. Regulus might act like a kind and noble man for a time, but in the end his baseness would rise to the surface, the way a dead fish floats to the surface of a pond. Nelia might take on the guise of a country girl, but eventually her true imperial nature would assert itself.
“The Forum? At this hour? We’re taking a big enough risk just dashing through it. If we stop and get out, we’ll be risking our lives.”
“Please. Just a quick peek. We have Laberius and the others to protect us. If you’re going to bury me in Ultima Thule, I’d like to see this much of Rome before I go.”
Feeling sure I would regret the decision, I poked my head out through the curtains and told Aeolus to take us on into the heart of the Forum. We were carried under the Arch of Titus and along the Via Sacra into the Forum. Nelia drew the curtains back.
“That’s the house of the Vestal Virgins,” I said, pointing to my left.
“I obviously don’t qualify.” Nelia patted her stomach. “I want to get out. How do I stop this thing?”
“You don’t. I do.” I put my arm out to signal Aeolus to halt. It takes a moment for the bearers to get themselves in position to put a litter down. But even before we touched the ground Nelia jumped out. The unexpected shift in the weight caused the litter to lurch to the other side, almost dumping me. I would have to give her some lessons in litter etiquette before letting her venture out in one again.
Recovering my dignity, I got to my feet, straightened my clothes, and wondered how best to protect us, but Laberius was already taking charge.
“This is foolhardy, sir,” he said in a low voice.
“Tell that to your mistress,” I said. “It’s her idea.”
“Let’s make it quick then. Your man Aeolus and I are the only ones armed. He and half a dozen slaves should stay with the litter and the women. The rest can come with us.”
“Laberius, you don’t need to hover over me,” Nelia said.
“My lady, don’t you hear the vermin scurrying away from our torches? These are two-legged rats with no tails. Now, see what you want to see and be quick about it.”
“What is this?” Nelia pointed to the triumphal monument in front of us.
“That’s the Arch of Augustus,” I said.
“It’s a bit overdone, don’t you think?” She turned her head to one side like an artist appraising her work.
“It’s better not to say such things,” I reminded her, “even when it’s dark and you think there’s no one around.” I didn’t admit that most people in Rome agreed with her. Unlike a typical triumphal arch, such as Titus’, with its one opening, Augustus’ was a triple arch. The central opening, a true arch, was flanked by two shorter passageways with flat ceilings. On top of those side openings stood statues of Parthians offering tribute to Augustus, shown driving a four-horse chariot on top of the taller central arch.
“Well, it is garish,” Nelia whispered. Gathering up the loose folds of her stola, she passed under the arch and stopped in front of the building next to it. Laberius and I kept close to her. The slaves accompanying us huddled together behind us, hoping we would protect them, I think, rather than intending to protect us.
“That’s the temple of the deified Caesar,” I said. “Augustus built it where Caesar’s funeral was held. That altar in front marks the very spot where Caesar was cremated.”
I had never thought much about this building before, perhaps because I had always seen it as just a backdrop for the flurry of activity which is always going on in the Forum during the day. Now, standing here in the quiet, I sensed the truth of what Tacitus had said about the imperial monuments surrounding us, choking off the freedom of Rome’s past.
Oddly enough, in spite of all the men honored here, Nelia carried Caesar’s blood through women without whom the Dictator’s bloodline would have dried up long ago. All of his ‘descendants’ ultimately came from his niece, Atia, the mother of Augustus and his sister Octavia. Anyone who was related to Augustus had to trace his or her ancestry back to Augustus’ daughter or to his sister and her daughters. Augustus and his family ruled Rome for a hundred years, but no princeps in their line was succeeded by his son. And yet the only woman in the family honored by a monument was Octavia, and her portico was out on the Campus Martius.
This end of the Forum, the heart of Rome, had once been open. But, since the erection of Augustus’ arch and Caesar’s temple, no one could enter the Forum from this direction without walking through or around a structure that glorified Julius Caesar and the men in his family.
Just as Augustus’ arch is larger than normal, Caesar’s temple sits on an unusually high platform. Once you’ve climbed the steps to the speakers’ rostrum in front of the building, there are five more steps leading up to the temple itself. Through the large double doors the statue of Caesar is always visible, as though he still presides over everything that goes on in front of him.
Nelia wasted no time climbing the steps. Her confident manner said she had a claim on these monuments which no one else in Rome could make. Or was she just too much of a country girl to feel the proper awe for the place? As she reached the rostrum and started up the steps to the temple, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled across the Forum. She stopped and raised her face to gaze at the huge statue of Caesar. A breeze sprang up, ruffling her stola and her hair.
I place no credence at all in the signs and omens which frighten the mob, and yet I couldn’t help but shiver as I wondered if Caesar had recognized his own blood.
Another clap of thunder seemed to plant a question in my mind. Why did Nero drive Antistia and her father to commit suicide if their only connection to Caesar’s bloodline was through her marriage to Rubellius? That was no connection to Caesar at all, or at least none that should have worried Nero once Rubellius and his son were dead. Without a male heir of Caesar’s as her partner, Antistia could not produce another descendant of Caesar.
Unless she herself bore Caesar’s blood!
Naomi and Domitia—a slave and a noblewoman who had no knowledge of one another—had testified that Antistia was the daughter of Agrippina. As unlikely as that seemed, I now realized that Nero himself had confirmed it. What reason would he have had for ordering the death of Antistia unless she presented a threat to him? And the only threat she—or any woman—could pose to Nero was her ability to produce a child who bore Caesar’s blood.
If Nelia was Antistia’s daughter, she posed that same threat for Domitian. I had no doubt Domitian would react to the threat exactly as Nero had done.
“My lady, we need to get out of here,” Laberius said down below us. He took the torch from one of my slaves and thrust it out in front of him. Dim forms were creeping toward us.
“We’d better get down now,” I told Nelia. Taking her hand, I could feel her reluctance to descend the steps of the temple.
Laberius drew his sword and gave the torch back to the slave. “Light that other torch, too.”
“Do we want them to be able to see us?” I asked.
“A lit torch makes a better weapon than an unlit one,” the centurion said. “Fire in his face will always make a man hesitate.”
“Let’s just call out for the Praetorians who’re guarding the steps up the Palatine. Surely they’ll hear us and—”
“And get here in time to count our dead, sir. This rabble has outflanked us. They’ve cut us off from the arch. We’ll have to go around the other side of the temple. The gods only know what’s waiting for us there.”
Nelia clung to me as we began to work our way past the front of Caesar’s temple. “Stay in a circle,” Laberius exhorted my slaves, “facing out. Keep the lady and your master in the center. Stand firm and you might even win your freedom.”
How dare the man offer my slaves their freedom? But I couldn’t very well contradict him at this moment. We needed any incentive that would encourage a handful of unarmed house-servants to stand up against a gang of killers off the street.
“Something’s odd here, sir,” Laberius said to me over his shoulder. “They’re not attacking us so much as they’re herding us.”
I sensed the truth of what he said, especially because the men around us were not brandishing knives or swords. They were using only clubs or their fists and seemed to be holding back, content, as Laberius said, to push us in one direction and into a tighter and tighter circle.
We had made our way to the very front of Caesar’s temple when the men facing Laberius—what I thought of as the front of the line—surged toward us. At the same time the shadowy figures behind us melted away. We found ourselves giving ground, edging backwards, into the semicircle formed by the arms of the platform of Caesar’s temple.
“Push!” Laberius cried. “Don’t let them trap us.”
But my slaves were overwhelmed by the weight of the assault. Some of the men surrounding us ran up the steps of the temple and jumped down on us. I put my arm around Nelia, pulling her down with me next to the altar in front of the temple.
Laberius fought bravely. Two men with swords emerged from the crowd attacking us, but they could not get past Laberius until someone ran up the steps of the temple and swung a club, striking Laberius on the back of the head. He crumbled to the pavement.
The two armed men, taller and stronger than any of the others attacking us, stepped over Laberius. One pulled me away from Nelia and flung me aside like an unwanted toy. My head struck the wall of the temple platform. I saw a bright flash and wasn’t sure of anything for a moment until Nelia’s scream cleared my head.
I looked up to see one of the men dragging Nelia away. To muffle her screaming, he put his hand over her mouth. Fool, I thought. In the next instant she bit him. He yelled and let go of her. Seizing her opportunity, Nelia picked up a torch that a slave had dropped. As the man advanced at her again, she thrust it into his face.
Dropping his sword, the brute screamed and grabbed at his eyes. He pulled a knife from under his tunic and lunged at Nelia, but, half-blind, he could only swing the weapon wildly. His partner and, I now realized, the leader of the attack, stepped in front of him. “Remember your orders!” he barked.
“Orders be damned! That bitch burned half my face off.”
“We’re here to do one thing.”
The injured man tried to push past the other one. “She burned my face! I’m going to—” He gasped and doubled over as his companion plunged his sword into his belly.
Nelia took advantage of their confrontation to pick up the sword the injured man had dropped. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed Laberius’ sword. My brief stint as a military tribune in Syria enabled me to look like I knew something about using it. The leader of the mob glared at us as though considering his options.
When he took a step toward us, Nelia drew the sword back over her shoulder. “I’ve slaughtered pigs bigger than you!” she cried.
The man gave a sharp whistle and the attack stopped. Two men picked up the dead assailant, and the crowd melted back into the shadows.
“Are you all right?” I asked Nelia. Any other woman I might have hugged for reassurance at that moment, for me as well as for her. But, with the sword in her hand and a kind of fire in her eyes, Nelia seemed unapproachable, an Amazon in the heat of battle.
“I’m fine,” she said. “What about you?”
“Just a bump on the head.” I turned to my slaves and quickly ascertained that one had been stabbed in the arm, but the others had suffered only bruises. Nelia knelt over Laberius, who was regaining consciousness.
“Carry him to the litter,” I told the two nearest slaves. Nelia and I, swords at the ready, served as a rear guard while we quickly retreated from the Forum. When we reached the litter, Aeolus’ eyes bulged in surprise.
“My lord, what happened?”
“We were attacked. Why didn’t you come help us? Didn’t you hear the lady Cornelia scream?”
“I heard something, my lord, but you told me to stay here and guard the litter and the women.”
I hate it when a slave can use my own orders as a defense. “We’ll talk about it later. Let’s get out of here.”
“Yes, my lord.” Aeolus began ordering people around, apparently glad to be back in charge with Laberius out of action.
As we placed Laberius in the litter, he mumbled, “My sword? Did I lose my sword?”
“We’ve got it,” Nelia said, handing him the sword she was carrying.
Laberius ran his hand over the hilt and motioned for a torch-bearer to come closer. “This isn’t my sword.”
“Then I’ve got yours,” I said.
“But this one—look here, sir.” He pointed to the hilt. “The insignia. That’s Praetorian.”
XVIII
WHILE WE WERE MAKING Laberius and my slave comfortable in the litter my hand landed on the note Marcianus had sent to Nelia as we left the house earlier. Not even asking her permission, I found the stylus I always keep in my litter, smoothed out the wax in the tablet and wrote a brief message to Tacitus, telling him about the attack. On the facing side I made an impression of the Praetorian seal on the sword handle.
