Empress of the Seven Hills (55 page)

“No, I’d already planned to give you a legion. A bellow like that is wasted on a centurion. Your term as First Spear is up, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Caesar.”

“Good, then you’ll be eligible to join the
equites
. All the plunder we’ve taken, you should be able to afford the fees. Now, I can’t make you legate of the Tenth; I’ll have to find some senatorial prat for that.”
Trajan’s eyelid dropped in a wink. “But I can drag a bit on appointing one, eh? And I’ll give you some pliant fellow who knows how to manage the payroll and sign his name where you tell him. It’s going to get dangerous up in Dacia again, and I want a
soldier
in command. Not a sprig in a toga who just wants to be consul someday.”

“Caesar,” I choked.

“Don’t thank me yet. I’ll probably work you to death up there. But for saving my life just now, I hope you will take this”—my Emperor pulled a ring from his finger and put it in my hand—“and this.” He kissed me heartily on the cheek. “Now get that shoulder bandaged up and come see me for your orders.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I had tears in my throat, blood on my arm, a kiss on my cheek, and joy in my heart. The other officers all looked at me as they filed past after Trajan, some with amusement, some with disdain, most with outright envy. If I was young to be a First Spear, how young was I to command a legion?
You made a slew of enemies the minute he raised you up,
I thought, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care at all. I just looked down at the ring in my hand as my Emperor moved away. A plain thing of heavy gold, carved with the word
Parthicus
. The title Trajan had been awarded by the Senate: “Conqueror of Parthia.” I slipped it over my middle finger, and it fit as though it had been made for me. “Parthicus,” I said, and my voice was thick.

“Glad you shouted at him,” one of Trajan’s Praetorians grumped in passing. “How many times have we told him he has to wear his helmet, but does he listen to us? He’ll get himself killed someday, the royal fool.”

“Not while I’ve got breath,” I said, and I felt no pain at all when the surgeon stitched up my torn shoulder. When he was done I had it tattooed with an X. An X for
Tenth
.

My
Tenth.

PLOTINA

“Apologies, Domina, but someone is requesting an audience.”

“I am far too busy.” Plotina made a careful note on one wax tablet and reached for another. Four slave girls hurried behind her, busying themselves with a pile of silk gowns ready for pressing; two more slaves sat with the mending, and a pair of pages hovered ready to run errands, but the Empress of Rome at her desk in the middle of the bustle was busier than any of them. A statue of Trajan to be raised in his new forum… her winter gowns and cloaks to be unfolded from storage and checked for moths… a certain gentleman among the provincial governors who had recently gotten into debt, and who might be most amenable to throwing his support behind Dear Publius if a tidy loan came with it… spiders getting into the wine stores again… Dear Juno, how much there was to do. The Empress of the Roman Empire was the biggest slave in it!

“He is most insistent, Domina,” her steward persisted. “It’s—”

“I don’t care who it is. I have no time to see anyone this morning.” Plotina scanned the latest letter from her husband—short and courteous, as always, looking like it had been carved out with a sword between battles. Trajan really had no gift for elegant correspondence. Plotina supposed she would have to plan a state visit to see him if this campaign dragged on much longer. She’d made the trek to Antioch two years ago to spend a very official month or two at his side, as a dutiful wife
should, but the journey had hardly been pleasant. Eastern fleas, eastern wine, and eastern whores who called themselves Roman ladies and actually expected to
dine
with her.
Perhaps I can put the visit off another year.

“It’s Titus Aurelius Fulvus Boionius Arrius Antoninus, Lady.” Her steward still hovered. “He said it was most important.”

“Is he deaf, or are you? I am not to be disturbed.” Certainly not for the likes of that jumped-up boy whom everyone seemed to regard as quite the coming man. Trajan’s rare letters hardly went a page without praising some action of Titus’s to the skies—the progress on the public baths, the tact with which he had smoothed over some fracas in the Senate. As if Dear Publius hadn’t done far more impressive things, and to far less applause! Plotina had spread a few rumors about this new favorite of Trajan’s—that he was a drunkard, that he worshipped obscene foreign cults like Isis and Ancasta and Taranis rather than good Roman gods—but nothing seemed to stick. The boy was dully, distressingly virtuous.

“I fear it can’t wait, Lady.” A firm voice interrupted the steward, and Plotina looked up to see the boy himself planted solidly before her desk. “I must speak with you, and I would prefer to do so in private.”

“You have no right to barge into my private quarters—”

“You have no right to help yourself illegally to public funds,” he returned. “But if you wish to discuss it before your slaves, I will do so.”

Plotina stared. Behind Titus, the steward stood pop-eyed. Two slave girls folding Plotina’s silks looked up, startled, and a third girl whispered behind her hand to the page boy holding Plotina’s cup of barley water.

“Leave us,” said the Empress.

Titus waited until the last slave had filed out, and the door swung shut. “Thank you,” he said, and sat uninvited. He wore a tunic and sandals—not even the dignity of a toga!—and he was unshaven as though he’d risen straight from bed without a stop at the bathhouse.

“Is this how you call upon your Empress?” Plotina said icily. “With a stubbled chin and a mouthful of wild accusations?”

He produced a handful of scrolls, arraying them across her desk. “Hardly wild.”

Plotina glanced at the first scroll. “What, are you pretending these come from my private accounts? I assure you, I review my accounts daily and nothing is missing.”

“I made sure of that. My informant put copies into your study after bringing me the originals.”

Informant?
Plotina snatched across the desk to tear open the first scroll. Just a line or two was enough to chill her to the bone. “How did you lay hands on my private papers?” One of the slaves?
I’ll have the wretch crucified, I’ll—

“Never mind who brought them to me. They’re long gone, and you won’t find them.”

“How dare you—”

“I’m very tired, Lady. I spent most of a week untangling your cheap little financial schemes, and most of another week wondering what to do about it all. So I’ll be plain.” Titus brushed the hair out of his eyes, looking at her squarely. “You have been stealing funds, Empress Plotina, and I can prove it. From the building monies set aside for the Emperor’s public baths, from the
alimenta
program, and from other projects as well.”

“I do not have to explain myself to the likes of you.” Plotina summoned all the crispness she could manage. Crisp but impersonal, yes, as if she were dealing with an impertinent slave. “An empress has reasons of which a common little man like you knows nothing.”

“I’m not interested in your reasons, Lady.”

Ah. Plotina sat back a little in her chair, feeling the ground begin to solidify beneath her. “What are you interested in, then?”

He looked at her silently.

“You can hardly want a rich wife, considering the fortune left to you by your grandfather. But perhaps you would like to add something a bit more illustrious to your title than
quaestor
.” She lifted an inviting
hand. “Would
consul
suit you better? I can see your name on the list for next year.”

Perhaps this was no bad thing. Young Titus Aurelius, one of the richest men in Rome, in her debt. A rich young consul who could easily be led about by the nose; oh, yes, that would be quite an ally for Dear Publius.

“And after a year as consul your name would be eligible for a governorship,” she went on. “Shall we say Germania? Or Hispania, if you prefer something warmer. Or perhaps—”

“My dear lady,” Titus sighed, “are you really trying to bribe me?”

Plotina’s teeth snapped shut on an offer to see him Prefect of Egypt within five years if he made a few timely loans and some public support to Dear Publius. She could feel the familiar twin pinpoints of pain begin to hammer faintly at her temples. She had not felt those steely drilling pains in so long; it had been so many years since anyone had thwarted her—since anyone had looked at her and not simply
obeyed
—

“Let me make myself plain.” Titus looked at her, weary and implacable. “I want nothing from you. Nothing but the immediate halt of your petty pilfering from the Imperium.”

“You dare—”

“I’m not the thief in this room, Lady, so yes, I do dare. No more skimming from the building funds for the baths—that should be easy enough; the baths are nearly complete. But the Emperor has just informed me that I am to oversee the
alimenta
project next, in support of Roman children orphaned in the provinces, and you’ve helped yourself from that quite generously over the years. It stops now. And really,” he added, exasperated, “your famous moral scruples should have stopped you from stooping that low. Skimming off a building fund is one thing, but stealing from
orphans
?”

Plotina surged to her feet, the twin pains hammering now against her skull. “You think you can threaten the Empress of Rome?”

“Of course I can threaten you. I have enough definitive proof to
expose you to the Emperor. I doubt he’d be pleased with me, and I doubt you’d suffer much punishment. But everyone in Rome would know, and I doubt you’d like that at all. ‘Empress Plotina, so virtuous and high-minded. Empress Plotina, the common thief.’”

“You dare—”

“Skip the threats, Lady. And if you’re thinking of going on to blackmail, I’d advise you to skip that too. There is nothing in my life you can use to buy my silence. One advantage, I suppose, of being a dull little plodder. Dull little plodders have nothing to hide.”

“Oh?” Plotina gave a vicious smile. “Your affair with Vibia Sabina is nothing you wish to hide? I saw you with her, before she left for Antioch. Usually she is more discreet, but when she wore that whore’s dress I suppose you couldn’t keep your hands off her.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Titus agreed, unruffled. “And that was the only intimacy I have ever enjoyed with Vibia Sabina, not that you’ll believe me.”

“Never mind what I believe—will her husband believe you? Will anyone in Rome?”

“I don’t particularly care if they do or not. By all means, spread the news that I managed to steal your protégé’s fascinating wife out from under his nose. My reputation could use a little spice.”

“You wretched, interfering little stork!”

“I promised myself I could leave as soon as insults started to fly.” Titus rose. Plotina could hardly see him through a red mist.
I will see you in the arena for this
, she thought.
Disemboweled by lions—strung up for the vultures to eat your eyes out
—if she’d had a blade in her hand she would have plunged it through his throat.

“One more thing.” Titus looked back at her over his shoulder. “You’ll soon find some other way to skim money for your schemes, and I know I probably won’t be able to stop you. I’ll be satisfied if you just don’t try it with any project of mine. Not ever. Agree to that, and I’ll keep what I know from the Emperor. Do we have a bargain?”

“I will not bargain with you! I am the Empress of Rome!”

“And you’re trying to buy the next Emperor.”

The words sent a jolt up Plotina’s spine, and she stared at the weary young man looking back at her over the desk. Such an unassuming boy; so trifling; so unimportant. “What do you mean?” she said through stiff lips.

“Give me some credit, Lady. You live modestly here, you have few expenses, you barely spend your household allowance. What would
you
need with more than two million sesterces?” Titus’s gaze traveled around her neat apartments, comfortable but hardly sumptuous with their dark marble walls, their unadorned couches and low tables, the woolen hangings Plotina had woven with her own hands. “No, you don’t need to steal money on your own account. But I imagine it cost quite a lot to maintain your protégé Hadrian in suitable style as consul. Not to mention his new post as governor of Syria. Two million sesterces—that’s a good start, buying him the kind of support he’d need to become Imperial heir.”

Titus shook his head. “The thing is, if you’d simply
asked
me to support Hadrian… well, I’d have done it. He’d make a good emperor. I don’t imagine he even knows about all this, does he? He may be a cold fish, but he’d rather die than become a thief.”

Plotina’s voice came out in a guttural rasp. “I will see you dead for this.”

“No, you won’t,” Titus said. “Because if you do—if some sudden accident should befall me—the information about your misdoings will be made public anyway. You think I would come to see you today without making certain I could walk out alive afterward?”

He left quietly, closing the door with a faint click. Plotina opened her mouth in a silent shriek, her head clamped in a huge vise of agony.
No.
She strode back and forth, blundering into the furniture.
No, no, no.
A box of linens tripped her and she kicked it away, showering neatly folded tunics over the floor.
He will not, he will NOT—

Plotina took herself to Juno. She ordered the worshippers of the temple out in a whisper that had them fleeing for the doors, and unburdened
herself to her sister. Juno listened, stone-carved and sympathetic as Plotina wept and raged and tore at her hair.

“He’ll pay,” she said at last, in a voice hoarse from screaming. “No one speaks to a goddess that way.”

Juno agreed.

“If he thinks he’s stopped me, he’s a naïve little bumbler. My Publius will be Emperor. He’ll be Emperor, and then I’ll see that interfering little wretch’s corpse on the
floor
.”