The Blood of Caesar, page 28
part #2 of Pliny the Younger Series
I picked out Critias, a slave whom I knew to be fast on his feet, and handed the tablet to him, wishing I could seal it properly. “Take this back to Cornelius Tacitus, as fast as you can. Tell him what happened here and that we have gone on to my house.”
Critias looked up the dark street anxiously. “But, my lord ...?”
“I know there’s some danger.” I couldn’t give him a sword. A slave running through the streets at night with a sword in his hand would be arrested by the first party of vigiles he encountered. I slipped the knife out of Laberius’ belt and handed it to Critias. “Keep this out of sight, but at least you’ll have it if you need it.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“I don’t know how Tacitus will respond, but I’m sure he’ll send someone with you if he sends you back tonight with a message. And I’ll see that you’re rewarded for taking this risk.” I patted him on the shoulder and pushed him on his way.
We proceeded home as fast as we could without causing discomfort to the injured men in the litter. Our arrival threw the house into an uproar. Nelia, finally giving in to tears, found comfort in Naomi’s arms. My mother hovered over me, pressing me for the full story of the attack, while I tried to tend to the wounded.
We brought lamps into the atrium so Diocles, the freedman who had taken care of our medical needs since I was a child, could work. Two other men held the injured slave down and gave him a folded cloth to bite on while Diocles washed out the knife wound with the strongest wine we had and sewed it up with linen thread. My mother held the man’s hand and comforted him the whole time. How could she be so sympathetic to his pain and yet so hard-hearted to Aurora?
When he finished, Diocles walked over to where I was sitting outside my tablinum, with my arms on my knees and my head down. “Are you all right, my lord? Were you injured?”
“No. I’m just suddenly exhausted from everything that’s happened this evening.” I looked up and took a deep breath. “How is he?”
“He’ll be fine, my lord. It’s a clean wound. There’ll be a scar, of course, but I think it will heal quickly, with no lingering damage.”
“What about Laberius?”
Diocles chuckled. “A head that hard isn’t going to be affected by one blow, my lord. He’ll be himself again by tomorrow.”
“Good. Thank you, Diocles.”
“Of course, my lord. I’ll check on both of them early in the morning.”
As he walked away that phrase, ‘early in the morning,’ hung in the air. Yes, Homer’s ‘rosy-fingered dawn’ would inevitably come. Bringing with it—what? Domitian’s soldiers knocking on my door? To whom would the Praetorian report about the failed attack on us in the Forum? When he noticed that a sword bearing the Praetorian insignia was missing, he was bound to realize I knew who was behind the attack.
What should I do? Would it be realistic to try to get Nelia out of the city? There wasn’t any place under Roman rule that I could take her where Domitian couldn’t find her. I had naively thought he might hesitate to attack her in Rome, but this evening had disabused me of that hope.
Three sharp knocks on the outer door reverberated through the atrium. Everyone looked in that direction and froze as though turned to stone by a glance at Medusa’s head. The knocks were repeated.
By the gods! I thought. Are they here already?
Old Moschus, my doorkeeper, was still snoring in his bed, so Demetrius and I approached the door, as slowly and fearfully as characters in a Greek comedy. We heard a voice.
“Hello? Anyone? It’s me, Critias. Let me in.”
I sighed with relief as Demetrius slipped the bolt and opened the door. Critias entered, accompanied by two men. They had the hardened look of veteran soldiers, from the scars on their faces and arms down to the short legionary swords they carried, but they wore the tunics of working men.
“These are two of Agricola’s veterans, my lord,” Critias said. “Marcus Licinius and Publius Velleius.” Each man nodded as Critias spoke his name. “They live near Cornelius Tacitus’ house.”
“Good evening, sir,” Velleius said. “Imperator Agricola asked us to accompany your man and to relay his advice to you.”
“I’ll be happy to hear what he thinks.”
“Shouldn’t you offer them something to drink?” my mother said from behind me. I turned to find her, Naomi and Nelia eavesdropping on us.
“Thank you, but no, my lady,” Velleius said. “We have an important matter to discuss with Gaius Pliny. Is there somewhere we could talk privately, sir?”
“Let’s go in the tablinum.”
When we got to the door of the tablinum, Nelia was right on our heels. Velleius placed himself in the doorway. “This is men’s business, my lady. Please excuse us.”
“You’re going to talk about what to do with me,” Nelia said. “I have a right to know what you’re planning.”
“Are you the lady Cornelia?”
“That’s the name by which I’ve been known until today.”
Velleius looked around at me for guidance.
“It would be just as well to let her hear what Agricola has in mind,” I said. “It’ll save me having to repeat it later.”
Licinius closed the door of the tablinum and Nelia sat in one of the chairs facing my table. I sat behind the table, opposite her. Licinius and Velleius remained standing. The two small lamps still burning in the room left them half in shadow. When he spoke, Velleius sounded like an oracle pronouncing doom from deep within a gloomy cavern.
“I’ll be brief, sir. Imperator Agricola recommends that you get the lady Cornelia out of Rome tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow? Shouldn’t we leave tonight?”
Velleius shook his head. “That’s just the panic you’re feeling, sir.”
“Why shouldn’t I feel panic?” I stood and came around to the front of the table. “Those were Praetorians who attacked us tonight. They had to be taking orders from Domitian.”
“No doubt, sir. But they failed. If you give in to panic and run when an enemy’s attack has failed, you give him the victory he couldn’t earn.”
“How can Agricola expect us to just sit here, waiting to be attacked again?”
“Moving at night is difficult, sir. If you don’t use lights, you’re stumbling along blind. If you do use lights, you’re also marking the way for your enemy. Imperator Agricola urges you to spend the night preparing to move in the morning.”
“Move? Where?”
“You usually take your household to one of your villas at this time of the summer, don’t you, to escape the heat and pestilence of the city?”
“Yes. I was thinking of moving to Laurentium soon.”
“That is imperator Agricola’s recommendation.”
“But where will I get wagons and horses and drivers on such short notice?”
“They’ll be here at dawn.”
“Agricola can do that?” Nelia said, sitting up straight.
“Those who’ve served under the imperator are always ready to answer his call, my lady. His veterans are settled all around Rome.”
“But that will put us out on the open road in broad daylight,” I said. “We’ll be easy targets for Domitian.”
“It’s highly unlikely he’ll attack you so openly, sir. There are no real charges he can bring against you or the lady Cornelia. That’s why he tried to disguise his troops tonight and stage a kidnapping. Imperator Agricola believes he does not have any other strategy in mind. A good commander would, but Domitian’s German campaign showed what kind of commander he is.”
I leaned back against the table, feeling some relief at having decisions made for me, even if I wasn’t entirely happy with them. “All right, then. What are we going to do? And does Agricola have an alternative plan?”
“He always does, sir, but I’m afraid you won’t be terribly pleased with this one.”
* * * *
I had never been happier to see the sky growing light. During the entire, sleepless night, as we packed, I kept expecting to hear Praetorians pounding on my door—or beating it down, more likely. But, as dawn approached, all we heard outside the house was the snorting of horses, the bellowing of oxen, and the creak of arriving wagons.
The loading of our gear went so smoothly I wished I could have a squad of retired soldiers on hand every time I needed to move. Even as tired as my slaves were, they responded to the veterans’ efficiency by working more adroitly than I ever imagined they could. Before the first hour of the day had passed, the wagons were packed, the horses and oxen fed and watered. At this rate our caravan would be in Laurentium by late afternoon.
Our sudden departure did attract the neighbors’ notice. In any other July my slaves would have gossiped with those in the houses around us for several days in advance of our leaving, saying goodbye to friends and lovers. Instead I had posted guards—a couple of more of Agricola’s veterans who arrived shortly after Velleius—to make certain that no one left the house. If Regulus had planted a Sinon in my midst, the only thing I could do was contain him. In the morning I left it to Demetrius and my mother to satisfy the curiosity of those who stopped in. Our story was that a recent storm had done more damage to our crops in Laurentium than we first realized. I had already left to survey the situation.
Explaining my absence was easy. The hard part was sending my mother off in one direction while Nelia and I decamped in the other.
“Gaius, I’m frightened.” Mother took my hand as we said goodbye in the atrium.
“You have nothing to worry about, Mother.” That was my hope at least. “Agricola’s verterans are with you, and more will join you along the way. We have to trust Agricola and be thankful he’s with us.”
“I suppose so, but look at you. Is this really necessary?” She stood back and shook her head as she picked at the dirty peasant’s tunic I was wearing and touched the greasy spots on my face.
“If I’m going to ride in a cart with a group of workmen, I need to look like one of them. That’s no place to flaunt an equestrian stripe.”
“But it’s so undignified, dear. It’s as though you’re some sort of criminal who can’t even hold his head up in the streets of his own city.”
I forced a laugh. “I could do the noble thing, like Cicero, and offer my neck to the executioner’s sword.”
She gasped and put a hand to her heart. “Oh, Gaius! Don’t even joke about that.”
“I can joke about it because this is such a minor inconvenience.” I hugged her. “I’ll get myself cleaned up when I get to Musonius’.”
“But what about poor Nelia? Just cleaning up won’t fix what’s being done to her.”
“We had no choice, Mother. And it’s only temporary.”
“Maybe not,” Nelia said behind us. “I kind of like it this way.”
We turned to see what appeared to be a peasant boy walking toward us in a dirty tunic that was a bit too large for him. Naomi had cut Nelia’s hair almost as short as mine, so that it emphasized her square face. A strip of cloth wrapped around her chest had flattened her breasts. Her naturally low voice and her skin—brown from her life in the country and so unlike a Roman noblewoman’s—would let her fit in with any gang of workmen. Standing next to her, I felt somewhat pasty myself.
Mother patted Nelia’s hair like she was touching a dead animal. “Oh, dear. I had no idea it would be so short.”
“It’s all right, Mother Plinia.” Nelia shook her head vigorously and ran her fingers through her hair. “In this hot weather it’s actually quite comfortable. And it will grow back.”
“May we all live long enough to see that,” Mother said.
“On that cheerful note,” I said, “it looks like we’re ready to go. Here comes Velleius.”
Agricola’s veteran stopped a respectful distance from us and gave me a quick nod. “Sir, if you and the ladies are ready, we should be on our way.”
We escorted my mother to the door, where Laberius was waiting beside one of my slave women who most closely approximated Nelia’s height and build. With a scarf over her hair, the curtains on the litter partially drawn, and with my mother and Laberius to address her as Nelia now and then, she ought to convince the neighbors or any of Domitian’s spies who might be watching that Caesar’s heir was on her way to my estate south of Rome.
Mother patted the girl on the arm. “Just remember, dear, you must not call me ‘my lady’.”
“Yes, my lady ... I mean, no, I won’t. I’m sorry. It’s so hard, and it feels wrong. These clothes and the jewelry ...” She was close to tears.
“That’s all right. We’re all doing things and wearing things today that don’t feel right. It might be better if you just let me do the talking.”
“Yes, my lady.” The girl clamped her lips together.
Laberius turned to Nelia. “My lady, I wish you would let me go with you. Gaius Musonius charged me to protect you.”
“You’re doing exactly what he asked of you,” Nelia said. “By now I think anyone who’s watching us knows you won’t leave my side. If you’re walking beside the litter on its way to Laurentium, they’ll conclude that I must be in it. If you go with us in the cart, your very presence could defeat the whole plan.”
“All right, my lady.” The centurion bowed his head as though receiving an order from his commander. “But, if anything happens to you, I’ll not rest until I find the man responsible.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant Domitian or me. I wanted to remind him it was Agricola’s plan we were following.
“Now you need to go,” Nelia said, turning him toward the door.
When Laberius was in position and the women were safely in the litter, Velleius jerked his thumb toward the back of the house. “This way, sir. My lady, if you please.”
Outside the rear entrance of the house, behind a pair of horses, sat a cart with two large, solid wooden wheels and fence-like pickets around the sides but open at the back. It was long enough for a man to lie down in and a bit more than half that wide. On a bedding of straw it carried three plain clay jars with handles, lashed to the sides to keep them from tipping over. In spite of their covers the jars stank of the latrine. My house, like any large house in Rome, has water from an aqueduct flowing under the seats of its latrine. But not all of the waste gets flushed away, so twice a year I hire the people who clean out the public latrines to clean mine and cart the waste away. The three men on this cart were Agricola’s veterans, but they had cleaned enough material out of my latrine to make the show convincing.
One more jar still stood inside the rear door. Stopping us in front of it, Velleius picked up a handful of straw, dipped it in the jar and—before Nelia and I could anticipate what he was going to do—smeared it down the front of our tunics.
“Sorry, sir. My lady. You look the part, but you’ve also got to smell the part.” Then he dipped the straw again and smeared it across his own tunic. “Now let’s get this one stowed on the cart.”
He placed the lid on the jar and looked at Nelia and me. “Let’s go, men,” he said loudly. “Master Pliny’s not paying us to leave that stuff sitting around in his garden.” Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, “We do have to make it look real, sir. Some of Regulus’ private guards are still out in the streets.”
Nelia and I hoisted the jar, which came almost to my shoulders, and managed to get it onto the cart. It was the heaviest thing I had ever lifted. Velleius tossed me a piece of rope. “Tie her tight, boys. Let’s go.”
I walked around to the side of the cart and tied the stinking jar as securely as I could. Nelia gave it a tug, as though checking it. When she took hold of the side of the wagon to get in—call it instinct or stupidity—I started to take her elbow to help her up.
“Hey, don’t try to hold me back, pal,” she said, pushing me away with her foot. “Last one in has to sit between the jars, and it’s not going to be me.”
As soon as we found places to sit the driver flicked the reins and we started up the street, with the slop jars swaying precariously.
I slumped back and tried to breathe as little as possible. We had just reached the next corner, beside Regulus’ house, when two of his guards stepped in front of us.
“Hold up there!” one of them ordered.
“What for?” our driver asked. “We’ve got a job to do.”
“You’ll have to wait until Marcus Regulus passes by.”
* * * *
I nearly added some more stains to my tunic. “By the gods! What’ll we do if he sees us?”
“Just stay down, sir,” Velleius said, patting my arm. “A rig like this is all but invisible to someone of his rank.”
“I’m ‘of his rank’.”
“No insult meant, sir, but would you even turn your head to look at us if you were walking by? Just stay down and you’ll be fine.”
He was right, of course. I would probably make a point of looking the other way, to avoid polluting my vision with so common and unpleasant a sight.
Nelia, who had crouched down beside me, wriggled her way to the front of the cart and peered between the two men sitting on the high driver’s bench and over the backs of the horses.
“What are you doing?” I said. “Get down!”
“He’ll never see me. And he wouldn’t recognize me if he did ... May the gods strike me! Oh, Gaius, you must see this.” She tugged on my tunic so urgently that I had to turn around and kneel beside her or have my garment ripped. My eyes widened in amazement.
Just a few paces in front of us strode Regulus, surrounded by thirty or more of his clients. A dozen of his slaves were outfitted as Scythian warriors, complete with long tunics over barbarian pants and leather boots, pointed caps with a ball on top and iron collars around their necks. They carried shields on their backs and had false beards pasted on. Forming a vanguard, they forced their way through the crowd of other men’s clients like a spear point through unprotected flesh.
Toward the rear of the noisy cluster walked the great man himself, with a behemoth of an African slave behind him carrying a fan that doubled as a sun-shade, as though his master was some Egyptian deity. Roman aristocrats are no strangers to ostentation, but only a man supremely confident of his relationship with the princeps would risk such an audacious display.
