The Sun of God, page 43
“Is it the war with Sextus?” she asked. “You know you shall defeat him in time. Agrippa has not failed you before and he will not fail you now. You told me as much the other day.”
“It is not that,” he said, averting his eyes. “It is you.”
Livia’s heart stopped. “Me?”
He would have to exile me first before I leave you.
But don’t you see? He already did it once. Why might he not do so again?
Caesar nodded reluctantly. “Yes. You see a future that is hidden from me. What if I spend my whole life searching for something that does not exist? What if I have already doomed my fate to oblivion? Will my life have been for nothing?”
Livia could breathe again. “Your fate is already written. As is mine. There is no use worrying about it now.”
“And yet I worry,” he whispered, placing a hand on the small curve of her stomach. “I worry for us.”
“You must trust in the gods.” Livia took his hand and kissed his palm. “They hold your fate in their hands.”
A shadow passed across his face at her words. “And do you trust them? Do you trust the gods with your fate?”
Livia smiled, but it felt more like a smirk. “Of course not. That is why I married you.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he looked at her with a tenderness she had never seen before. “I love you.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that,” Livia teased.
But he remained serious, his hand at her waist pulling her closer. “I do.”
Livia’s smile faded, and she could not hide the doubt in her voice. “Do you?”
“Yes.” He paused, a slight blush on his cheeks. “But I am not sure you do.”
She looked at him silently, then traced a fingertip down the side of his face as she liked to do when they got this close, around his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. He was still as beautiful to her as the first day she saw him, nearly six years ago now, when she had first married Tiberius and he was just a boy with a hidden dream, the son of a god.
“I shall love you,” Livia said, finally, “if you love me.”
He smiled, and then with his hands he gently lifted the skirts of her nightgown.
She reached out a hand and touched his arm to stop him. “You do not need to.”
He only raised a brow and continued to lift up her nightgown. “The baby will know the difference.”
“What?”
“That I love you. The baby will know the difference.”
She meant to speak, but the words caught in her throat as he kissed her, and all she could think of was his gentle touch and the heat of her body. When she tried to turn over, he stilled her with a hand and continued to kiss her much slower and more deliberate than ever before.
As they fell asleep to the crashes of thunder above and below, Livia whispered in his ear softly. “I love you too.”
40
Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa
APRIL 37 BC
The lake glittered beneath the sun like a silver shield of armor. Agrippa watched the small figures milling about the warehouses on one side of the shore, hard at work building the large, slender ships that would be necessary to destroy Sextus’ fleet for good. He breathed in the salty air borne on the breeze coming off the bay.
If Rome was the center of the world, then Naples was the belly of the beast, where exotic foods and pleasures were consumed with such decadence and abandon, and the sea surged blue-green and warm against the sand, wide and intoxicating as a woman, that one forgot the troubles of politics and wars in the world abroad. There was only this moment and the best thrills that one could find at the best price.
“If I were an enemy, you would already be dead.”
Agrippa whirled around, his heart beating fast at the familiar voice behind him.
Octavius stood at the other end of the dock, and as he walked closer, Agrippa felt the wood beneath him rock strenuously on the water.
Lake Avernus was not big enough to feel dangerous, but legend told that its waters were the entrance to the Underworld. Many traveled here to worship the lake, while others skirted death in their luxurious villas and bathhouses lining the curved shore.
“If you were an enemy, there are a thousand men here who would have killed you before you stepped foot on this dock,” Agrippa said, raising a brow.
A shadow of a smile hovered over Octavius’ mouth, but it could have been a trick of the light. “Ah, it is a good thing I am not an enemy then.”
Agrippa watched as Octavius stopped three steps away, hesitating. “You have come to check my progress.”
“Yes.” Octavius paused, and Agrippa’s heart skipped a beat as he saw a flicker of thought cross those dark eyes. Agrippa almost knew what it meant before he spoke. “And there is something else.”
“What is it?”
He motioned back towards the military camp. “Not here.”
Agrippa did not protest, following Octavius back to camp. They fell into step beside each other, the silence heavy in the midmorning heat. He wished to ask him a thousand questions, but Agrippa had never been very good with words, and soon they reached his tent. Octavius spoke as soon as they were in private.
“How do you find Naples?”
Agrippa pushed down the urge to shove him. “Wonderful.”
Octavius raised a brow. “Really?”
They both knew Agrippa had always found Naples slightly distasteful, as it was the epicenter of the wealthiest Romans who liked to flock south in the summer for their leisure, wasting away on wine and women.
“Balbus has been very welcoming,” Agrippa said at last. He did not wish to explain himself to Octavius. Besides, it was true, and Agrippa had no complaints about Balbus’ hospitality. Attica, too, enjoyed the old man’s company, and as a close friend to Cicero, they spoke often of the orator’s legacy.
“I see.” Octavius fiddled with the belt of his gladius. “And Attica?”
Agrippa was momentarily too surprised to answer. “She is well. The seaside agrees with her. But her father is in Rome, and she ultimately wishes to return to be near him.”
Octavius nodded as if the question had simply been protocol. At one time, Agrippa would not have blinked an eye, considering it merely friendly. But they had long ceased being friends.
“Have you encountered any difficulties with the project?”
“None that we have not already resolved,” Agrippa responded easily, as though he had rehearsed his answers. He supposed the hours he had wasted reliving their past conversations had come to good use after all.
“Good,” Octavius said curtly, his tone sharpening as they turned to business. The commander was back. “Maecenas has confirmed that Antonius shall return to Rome, and he will bring three hundred ships to aid in the war against Sextus. Then we will draft our terms and renew our alliance. Only once the fleet is finished shall we launch an attack on Sextus.”
“I am glad you have finally seen reason,” Agrippa said dryly, recalling the many arguments they had when Agrippa tried to persuade him against fighting a hopeless war.
“Oh, there is much you don’t know,” Octavius said with a taunting smile. “I see beyond the horizon, not merely the limit of sea and sky.”
Agrippa felt that familiar flame kindle within him, and he could not decide whether he wished to wrestle Octavius to the ground or kiss him. He settled on whichever would wipe that smile off his face. “That is because you sent me into exile. I no longer keep your closest counsel.”
“An exile you wanted,” Octavius shot back. “Or did you forget?”
“I thought we agreed that things had changed,” Agrippa said in a low voice. “Or did you forget?”
They stood across from each other, silent, as if an ocean stood between them, and yet Agrippa only needed to take a few steps to touch him. How had they lost the very thing Agrippa had held close amidst all their enemies and friends, whether in life or in death?
I will always find you.
How had the world kept turning when Agrippa felt as though his own had stopped?
Octavius took a step forward, then paused. “Livia is pregnant.”
Agrippa’s heart dropped. Was this why he had come all this way? To bear him news of his wife? He forced the words past his throat. “The gods have blessed you.”
“They have.” Octavius’ eyes looked far away, before settling on Agrippa again, who had the sudden feeling that there was another side of Octavius he had never seen before, and never would, and the thought was like death itself, terrible and cold.
“Do you love her?” He could not help himself, but he regretted asking the question once he had.
Octavius looked at him in mild surprise. “Yes.”
“Then I suppose you have the life you always wanted,” Agrippa said coldly, wishing that he had never crossed the sea from Apollonia all those years ago, wishing that he had died in his first battle, before he knew what love was, and before he knew what it meant to lose it.
“Agrippa,” Octavius said quietly, and something in his voice made Agrippa stand still, his heart beating rapidly.
“Yes?”
“Livia…it is different.” Pain flitted across his face, as if the words were impossible to say, though Agrippa had never seen Octavius run out of words before. “It is different…with you.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, it is,” Octavius whispered urgently, crossing the distance between them until he was close enough to kiss, eyes dark and dangerous. Agrippa felt the world slipping away from his grasp, and his head grew light. Nothing has changed. I have always wanted you. “It is not love with you. It is not even desire. It is something else. Something more. I cannot explain it.”
Agrippa did not speak, looking at Octavius standing before him, his eyes searching Agrippa’s face desperately. Octavius brought a hesitant hand up to touch him, and without thinking, Agrippa snatched his wrist in a tight grasp, a breath away from him.
“Why should I believe you?” Agrippa asked.
Octavius’ brown eyes flickered with doubt. “It is the truth.”
“Prove it.”
Octavius moved forward and their lips brushed. The touch was so shocking after months of nothing that Agrippa nearly stepped back, if only to catch his breath.
But Octavius did not let him, taking a step forward to kiss him again, and Agrippa had to grasp Octavius’ other wrist just to remain standing. Agrippa’s pulse pounded in his ears, in his chest, a twin flame to the heartbeat in Octavius’ wrists.
As they kissed they staggered back against the desk, Octavius’ legs hitting the edge. Agrippa could not wait any longer, the year of nothing fading to oblivion, and he released Octavius’ wrists and fumbled with the hem of his clothes, at the same time as Octavius struggled with trembling hands to unhook Agrippa’s belt. Their breaths were heavy in the quiet as they cast their clothes aside and returned wordlessly to each other.
Octavius was pure heat against him, his muscles tensing in his embrace, lean and strong. Wherever skin kissed skin Agrippa felt those sparks of an undying flame, his breath gone as if he were drowning. Octavius placed his palms on Agrippa’s abdomen, and he shuddered, circling those wrists again, keeping them in place. But the hands inched down, down, down—
Agrippa stumbled away. He stared wildly at Octavius leaning against the desk, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Not here.”
Octavius’ brow hitched as if to ask, Then where?
“This was a mistake,” Agrippa said, his voice rough. He walked to where his clothes had been strewn so carelessly on the ground, shrugging them on. “You must go.”
“Now?” Octavius asked idly, glancing down at himself.
“After you dress,” Agrippa said tersely, strapping his belt on and giving Octavius a hard look. “It is too dangerous. Anyone might have walked in.”
Octavius’ smile was nothing but sly. “I thought that was how you liked it.”
Agrippa said nothing, merely watching as Octavius strode over to his pile of clothes and calmly pulled them over his head, taking his time adjusting the sleeves and buckling the belt. He wrapped a hand around the hilt of his gladius, his fingers flexing, and for a moment he looked like he was going to say something.
But he just shook his head and settled on, “Until next time, Agrippa.”
“Goodbye, Caesar.”
The corner of Octavius’ smile twitched, and then he left.
JULY 37 BC
“If you were not my brother,” Octavia said angrily, “I would strangle you at this very moment.”
Agrippa watched as Octavius raised a brow and smiled at his furious sister, who looked like a vengeful goddess descending to earth in fiery wrath.
They were in the triclinium of Octavius’ Palatine house, discussing Antonius’ arrival over dinner. Antonius had sent Maecenas and Octavia back to Rome to convince Octavius to meet in a conference, who thus far had continually delayed their meeting. Attica, who reclined beside Agrippa, looked between brother and sister in vague alarm.
“Has love addled your mind, sister?” Octavius asked curiously. “Or is it because you are pregnant?”
Octavia scowled. “Perhaps I shall strangle you.”
She moved to stand and Maecenas just managed to catch her by the arm and stay her before she decided to actually murder her brother, her hands ready to pounce. Octavius sat amused and continued eating as if he had not just been in mortal danger.
“Fighting shall not solve anything,” Maecenas drawled, then added hastily at a glare from Octavia, “but might I suggest a moderated debate?”
“I appreciate your efforts at peace, Maecenas,” Octavius said with an exaggerated sigh, “but they are futile. Octavia cannot be reasoned with.”
“And you can?” Octavia shot back, earning a stifled laugh from Livia, who had not deigned to interrupt this familial argument.
Livia was now very pregnant and would probably give birth in less than two months. Agrippa noticed that she had been less preoccupied with politics in conversation as of late, perhaps content for now to lie back and be doted upon.
Octavia, on the other hand, had become more prideful in her pregnancy, and quicker to anger, though that may as well be from her proximity to her brother.
“Antonius will not suffer too much if he must wait another month,” Octavius said. “After all, he was content to delay much longer than that when it was I who called for him. It is important now that he remembers who has the upper hand here.”
“If I remember correctly,” Octavia replied slowly, “Sextus has the upper hand until Antonius arrives with his ships. Are you so sure Sextus shall not starve us all to death before then?”
Octavius’ smile was undeniably smug. “Do not worry, sister. We will not starve. But I must wait until the last possible moment before I meet with Antonius. It is only fair that he receives a taste of his own medicine for once.”
“It is difficult to marshal such a number of ships,” Agrippa added, though he almost regretted speaking when Octavia turned her fierce gaze upon him. “Antonius knows Octavius has men he can spare for his Parthian campaign, so now he will be forced to wait, and more willing to do what we ask. It is merely politics.”
“Merely politics?” Octavia asked angrily. “Tell that to the thousands of Romans half-starved to death!”
“It is either that,” Octavius said sharply, “or the death of our family and friends. Do not forget, dear sister, how quick Antonius would be to abandon our alliance and join with Sextus. We must dangle a bone before the dog or else he will walk away.”
But Octavia was stubborn, and she knew her brother and her husband better than they thought. “And you would not abandon Antonius likewise? Let us not play pretend, brother. We are too old for that now.”
“That is precisely why I must delay,” Octavius said impatiently. “If I wish to have an equal footing in our alliance, he must remember what it would cost to lose my aid, as I his. We must be at each other’s mercy.”
“You are my brother,” Octavia said in a low voice, “so I yield to your counsel. But Antonius is the father of my children, and I am bound by my vows to aid him where I can.”
Octavius frowned. “That is honorable of you, but we both know he would not do the same for you.”
Octavia lifted her chin proudly. “Unlike you, my honor does not depend on his.”
“Very well,” Octavius muttered with a sigh. “We shall continue as planned. Antonius will remain at the ready until I say otherwise. You may tell him I am not available for the rest of the month, as the riots in the city do not allow me to depart any sooner.”
The meeting concluded soon after, Livia wishing to sleep, Octavia to rest, and Octavius wishing to discuss something with Maecenas in private. While Agrippa could not prevent the small flare of jealousy, it quickly faded at the memory of Octavius’ visit to Naples. Until next time.
After they said their goodbyes and walked into the atrium, Attica took his arm in hers. “I have been thinking.”
“Yes?”
She stopped and turned towards him, her gray eyes kindled with hope. “I would like to have a baby.”
Agrippa stared at her. Since the night of their marriage, Attica had been very clear that she would prevent a child in any way possible, both on her part and his. He had accepted it, even preferred it, but now everything could change in less than a year.
He could be a father.
“Attica—“
“I know what you are going to say about the risks of the upcoming war,” Attica interrupted. “But I am sure. I realized today that there is no one I would rather have as the father of my children, and there is no one I would rather share my life with, however long it may be.”
“All I was going to say,” Agrippa whispered, taking her face gently in his hands, “is that I love you.”
Then Attica beamed, and he kissed her.
When they returned home, Agrippa led them to bed. He brought her close as he always did. Later in the night, Agrippa kissed her cheek, and his fingertips grazed her bare stomach until they both fell asleep.
