The Blood of Caesar, page 32
part #2 of Pliny the Younger Series
“I’ll give you ... the girl.” I lowered my voice, but not enough that his soldiers couldn’t hear me. “She’s what you’re really after, isn’t she?”
Domitian grabbed me by the hair, pulled out an ivory-handled knife and pressed it to my throat. Before I could grab his hand I felt a sharp prick and a warm trickle of blood. Off to my left Nelia gasped. Agricola hadn’t mentioned this in his plan.
“If you say another word,” Domitian hissed in my ear, “I’ll kill you right here.”
“In front of all these witnesses?” I said softly, making him glance over his shoulder at his soldiers, who were still mounted. “How many of them will you have to kill then?”
Still clutching my hair, he pulled me to my feet and dragged me into the house. Aside from a half-hearted grab at one of the pillars in the portico, I offered little resistance. Getting him away from his men was a key part of Agricola’s plan. Domitian wasn’t particularly strong, but I knew I had to pretend to be weaker and more frightened than I actually was. I knew how the play was supposed to end. Domitian didn’t.
We stopped just inside the house, at the foot of the stairs leading up to the room where Agricola and I watched Domitian’s arrival. The slightly open door and the stairwell provided the only light. To my left was the door to Musonius’ library, where Tacitus was stationed. Being in the house emboldened me. I knew Agricola was on the stairs, out of sight beyond the landing, waiting to step in like a deus ex machina and rescue me.
Domitian threw me against the peeling paint of the wall, clamping one hand on my throat and waving the knife in the other. “Where is she, Gaius Pliny?” He pressed his face to mine. He had eaten something heavy with garlic on his trip up here.
“Where is my mother?” I gasped.
He relaxed his grip and stepped back, my blood staining his hand. One corner of his mouth turned up. His knife remained at my chest level. “So we’re going to bargain. Well, your mother is in your house in Rome, under guard. No harm has come to her and none will, I assure you. I have no reason to harm her, or anyone else in your house, as long as I get what I want.”
“And how will you explain to your men that they have to slaughter a girl? Or will you do it yourself, like you killed that mason, Maxentius?” Agricola had urged me to get Domitian talking about his crimes when he thought no one else was listening.
“The mason?” He snorted derisively. “A falling brick hit him on the head. It was an accident. You said so yourself, in front of witnesses.”
“That was before I found out where he was working—in your cryptoporticus. The only way he could have been hit by a brick in that underground passageway was if the brick was in someone’s hand.”
“And you think I have nothing better to do than stroll around randomly killing my workmen? Do you still believe I was trying to test you?”
“No, you were trying to protect yourself.” I pressed the edge of my tunic against my throat to stop the trickle of blood.
“Protect myself from a mere workman?”
“A workman who knew a secret that could pull your power right out from under you. He was starting to talk about it in a tavern—an unknown descendant of Agrippina, a bearer of Caesar’s blood. One of your spies heard him, so he had to be silenced. And you had to do it yourself. You couldn’t explain to someone else why you wanted him killed.”
“I have learned there are some jobs I can’t hand over to anyone else.” He sounded almost proud of himself.
“Such as killing your brother?” It was a stab in the dark, but I saw, from his quick intake of breath and the hardening of his expression, that it had hit the mark. “Was he the first man you killed?”
Domitian lowered his knife and rolled his eyes in disgust. “Dear Titus, the ‘favorite of the gods.’ I got so tired of hearing everyone call him that. What’s worse, he was our father’s favorite. If I had waited for him to die, I would have been old and gray before I ever got near this power. Yes, I’ll admit it. When he was weak with a fever I held a pillow over his face. It didn’t take long.”
“Was killing Maxentius easier than killing Titus?”
“Yes.” Domitian seemed to be enjoying his confession. I was, I realized, the first person to whom he could boast about his crimes. “Maxentius didn’t suspect a thing, even when he saw the brick in my hand. I was pretending to examine its quality. I asked him about his work. When he turned to point at something ... well, you’ve figured out the rest.”
“Did Regulus help you?”
“He stood look-out. But it won’t do you any good to know these little secrets, because you’re going to die very soon yourself.”
He grabbed my tunic and pulled me toward him. “Is she really a descendant of Caesar? Are you sure of that?”
“Her veins are a veritable aqueduct of imperial blood.”
“Unlike mine, you mean.” He shoved me back. My head bounced off the wall and I slid to the floor. “How did you find her?”
I rolled onto my side, grabbing the back of my head and feeling for the place where I was sure my skull had cracked. Agricola could step in any time now. “I followed the only lead I had, that letter of Agrippina’s that you gave me. Musonius was the only person mentioned in it who was still alive, so talking to him seemed the logical place to start.”
“That was my first instinct, too. But I couldn’t come out here, asking questions. You could.”
“So you already knew of my friendship with Musonius?”
“Gaius Pliny, there’s nothing I don’t know about you. I know your mother’s favorite color and the name of every slave in your household.”
“Then perhaps you can tell me which one is Regulus’ spy.”
“Are you sure there’s only one?” He smirked at my look of dismay. Crouching over me, with his knee on my chest, he thrust his knife in my face again. “We’re wasting time. Where is the girl?”
The more pressing question for me was where was Agricola. As I understood his plan, he should have made his appearance by now. How long was I supposed to hold Domitian off?
The sudden confused sound of angry men’s voices from outside surprised Domitian. “What’s that?”
“That, Caesar,” Agricola’s deep, imperious voice said at long last, “is my thirty men surrounding your six.” He stepped down from the stairs, sword drawn, and blocked the door out to the portico.
“Agricola! By my father’s ghost!” Domitian stood, but slowly, like a man in full control of a situation, or one who knows the outcome has just passed inexorably beyond his control. “So that’s what this is all about. You’re finally going to kill me and take power yourself.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Agricola said, but he looked embarrassed, the way men do when they’re caught in what they thought was a clever lie. “We’re just trying to protect the young woman you want to kill.”
Velleius stepped in the door and saluted Agricola. “Everything is secure, sir.”
“And there’s Velleius, your fidus Achates,” Domitian said, almost relaxing, as though he no longer had anything to lose. “Now it’s all clear. Gaius Pliny, do you realize how badly you’ve been duped?”
I scrambled to my feet, still clutching my head. “What are you talking about? Agricola has been protecting me and my family since your Praetorians attacked me in the Forum the night before last.”
When Domitian turned to me the confusion on his face seemed genuine. “Praetorians attacked you in the Forum?”
“Yes. They weren’t in uniform, but one of them dropped his sword. It had the Praetorian insignia on it.”
“A Praetorian sword dropped. How convenient!” Domitian pursed his lips and nodded like an orator who’s heard exactly what he needs to finish off his opponent in court. “Are you aware, Gaius Pliny, that Velleius’ brother is a centurion in the Guard? He can get a Praetorian sword any time he wants one.”
I looked at Agricola, for the first time unsure of his ultimate plan and my role in it. Since the moment Velleius arrived at my home, everything I had done had been at Agricola’s direction. Suddenly his protection looked more like entrapment. He had cut Nelia and me off from any support but his veterans, then maneuvered us into an isolated spot where he knew Domitian would come after us with only a handful of men. He had refused to return to Rome or even to consider fleeing from here.
“He’s just trying to turn you against me,” Agricola said calmly. “I have no intention of harming him, let alone overthrowing him.” I wished I could read his face better, but what little light we had in the narrow space was coming from directly behind him.
“Oh, don’t be ashamed of your plan,” Domitian said. “It’s perfect, especially since it must have been crafted rather hurriedly.” He seemed to be taking this all as a joke. If not for Agricola’s sword, I think the princeps would have patted him on the shoulder. “You can’t overthrow me unless you can find someone who has a stronger claim to power than I do. Ironically, acting on my request, Pliny finds exactly what you need—a descendant of Caesar’s. The people will rally around anyone with a drop of old Julius’ blood in their veins. You can rule through her until you can father a child by her and establish your own dynasty. You already have the name—Julius Agricola. All you need is a bit of the right Julian blood. Will you become ... Julius Agricola Caesar Britannicus? That has a nice ring to it.”
“I’m quite content with my own name,” Agricola muttered.
“You’ll feel differently when you’re living on the Palatine. Have you married the girl yet?”
“I can’t marry her.”
“Of course you can,” Domitian said. “Just divorce that little bag of bones you’re married to now.”
At the insult to his wife, Agricola raised his sword, then lowered it again. “But Nelia’s husband might object to her marrying someone else.”
“Her husband? Who—?”
Agricola nodded at me.
Domitian swung around and thrust his knife out in front of him. “You, Gaius Pliny? Since when?”
“We were married this morning.”
“Are you to be the puppet in this scheme then?” Domitian’s eyebrows arched. “How long do you think you’ll survive once Agricola has the senate and the army behind him?”
I stepped back, to get as far from Domitian’s knife as possible. “I just wanted to guarantee that Nelia had some protection, some standing before the law.” At least that was what I had thought I was doing when Agricola raised the possibility of Nelia and me getting married this morning. But what if Domitian was right? Now that Agricola had him trapped, did he still need me as bait?
Domitian took a step toward me. “You fool, she has Caesar’s blood. She’s a direct descendant of Augustus. What more protection does she need, damn it?”
“That’s exactly what she needs to be protected from,” Agricola said, causing Domitian to spin around and face him again. “She knows what happened to the rest of her family and how dangerous it would be for her and her child if anyone else discovered that she bears Caesar’s blood.”
“She has a child?” Domitian gasped.
“She’s carrying one,” I said.
“Hmm. And thirty men to my six, you say?”
Agricola nodded. “And your men have been disarmed.”
Domitian sighed heavily and shrugged his shoulders. “Then I guess there’s no hope for me.” As he spoke the last two words he lunged at Agricola. The general, as surprised as I was, barely had time to get his sword up and parry the thrust of Domitian’s knife. He pushed the princeps back, and Domitian stumbled into me, knocking us both to the floor, with Domitian on top.
Agricola stood over Domitian, who bowed his head and covered it with his arms. I could feel him quivering and became aware of a warm wetness seeping through the imperial tunic onto mine.
Raising his sword, Agricola said, “In the words of Catullus, Caesar, hail and farewell.”
It will probably take me the rest of my life to sort out the whirlwind of emotions that rushed through me as Agricola’s sword arced upward. Domitian was a cold-blooded killer, a tyrant, and a coward. He had murdered his brother so he could usurp his place. He had killed an innocent workman in cold blood. How many more people would he slaughter? I could prevent that by simply letting Agricola’s sword fall.
But, as the sword descended, I rolled over, pushing Domitian out of its path and leaving me on top of his sobbing hulk. The sword clattered loudly against the mosaic tile of the floor, gouging out chips.
“No!” I shouted. “You can’t do this, Agricola.”
“Are you mad?” Agricola roared. “This is the only way to save Rome.” He had turned now so that half his face was in the light, half in shadow. He was breathing heavily and his eyes seemed to glow.
“How will this save Rome? Domitian murdered to seize power. Will you be any better if you kill him?”
“You know me, Gaius Pliny. You know I could never be the sort of ruler this wretch has been.” His sword hung idly by his side now, but it seemed to twitch with eagerness to strike again.
I tried to keep my voice low. “I know you’re an excellent commander, my friend, and a generous father. But power can corrupt even the best of men.”
Tacitus emerged from the library and stopped, whether in amazement or just waiting to see how the drama ended, I couldn’t tell.
“Are you in on this?” I asked.
Before he could answer, Agricola laughed. “He knows nothing about it. I couldn’t trust this to a man who can no more keep a secret than a sieve can hold water.”
The sword began its upward arc again. “Move, Pliny. I must do this.”
I stiffened and tried to judge if there was room for me to dodge again, but we had rolled up against the wall. “You’ll have to kill me first.”
“Then, with the most profound regret, I’ll do exactly that. I can’t turn back now.”
“Of course you can,” Tacitus said. “You haven’t done anything you can’t undo.” He began to edge toward me until his father-in-law lowered the sword and pointed it at him.
Agricola laughed harshly. “Spoken with the naiveté of youth. Do you think Domitian can let me live after I’ve gone this far?”
From beneath me Domitian, with his arms still covering his head, whimpered, “Yes. Yes, I can. I’ll ... I’ll do anything.”
“You’ll say anything to save your miserable life,” Agricola said.
“Any of us would,” Musonius’ voice said. The door swung all the way open behind Agricola and Musonius stood in it, outlined by the sunlight. Over his shoulder Nelia’s head was barely visible. “However miserable it is,” he went on, “it is our life, and no one else has the right to take it from us.”
Agricola turned, raising a hand against the glare. His sword was still poised at shoulder level. “Don’t interfere,” he growled.
“I just did,” Musonius said softly. “Must you kill me now, too?” The old philosopher held out his hand.
Agricola looked from Musonius to me and Domitian. His breathing grew heavy. Then he raised the sword over his head, gripped the handle with both hands, and plunged it toward Musonius like a dagger. Nelia screamed.
Before I could react, Agricola drove the blade into the door beside Musonius’ head. Musonius never flinched. With a deep groan Agricola let go of the sword and stepped back. As though some strength inspired by madness was ebbing out of him, he seemed to shrink. He sank down on the stairs, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Hercules must have looked like that when he awoke from the mania that led him to kill his children.
Or was this more of Agricola’s act?
Domitian crawled out from under me, his head still drawn down into his shoulders, like a child who wasn’t quite sure the thunderstorm was over. “You just signed your death warrant, Julius Agricola,” he said, his voice barely more than a hiss. “As soon as I return to Rome—”
Musonius closed the door and stood against it. Reaching over his shoulder he clasped the handle of Agricola’s sword with both hands and, with surprising ease, pulled it out of the wood. “No one is leaving here, Caesar, until we have negotiated some kind of truce and guaranteed the safety of all concerned.”
“I won’t negotiate with anyone,” Domitian said.
“Then I’ll give this back to Agricola.” Musonius raised the sword.
Domitian looked around, but the two doors were blocked by Musonius and Tacitus, the stairs by Agricola. And I had picked up his knife. “Now I know how old Julius felt that day in the senate. You, Gaius Pliny, with the knife in your hand, will you strike the first blow?”
I handed the knife to Musonius. “What are you proposing?”
“We must insure that no harm comes to you, or to Agricola, Tacitus, or Nelia and her child.”
“I give you my word on that,” Domitian said.
“But we have no way to hold you to your word,” Musonius said.
“We all heard him confess to murdering Titus,” Tacitus said. “If he breaks his word, we can charge him before the senate.”
“He’ll deny everything,” Agricola said without looking up. “And his toadies in the senate will never vote to convict him.”
“What if they saw a written confession, with his seal on it?” I suggested.
“Excellent!” Musonius said. “And not just one copy. Each of us should have an identical copy, written in Domitian’s own hand and sealed with his seal. Everything we need is in the library here.”
He took a step toward the library, but Domitian folded his arms and backed up against the wall. “What do I get if I sign such a thing? All I’ve heard is how you’ll protect yourselves. How do I know you won’t bring forward this child with Caesar’s blood in a few years?”
“I will sign a statement,” I offered, “that, after careful investigation, I have determined that there are no living descendants of Caesar’s family.”
“And I,” Musonius put in, “will likewise attest that Nelia is the daughter of my cousin Fulvia and her husband Lucius Cornelius Catulus, both deceased. We will see to it that she lives quietly, away from Rome, and will never challenge your authority.”
