Lady of the Eternal City (14 page)

I tilted my head, surprised. “Is that what you want? A court career?”

“It’s what they train you for, in the
paedogogium
.” It wasn’t exactly an answer, and as Antinous leaned down to ruffle his dog’s ears, I wondered if he was avoiding my gaze. “I . . . don’t really see myself in the legions.”

“Why not?” Antinous sat a horse better than I ever would, wielded sword and spear with a grace that was beyond me, and had won his share of fistfights among the other boys as he grew. “You’d be an asset to any legion. You wouldn’t have to start as a legionary the way I did—I could contact my old friends in the Tenth Fidelis; get you made a tribune.”

He shrugged, definitely avoiding my gaze. “I don’t really like killing things.”

“You like hunting,” I pointed out.

“Hunting’s different. You hunt to stock your table, or to kill something that preys on men, like bears or mountain cats. I can do that, but—” He hesitated. “I think about shoving a sword through a man’s chest, and it sickens me.”

“It should,” I said seriously. “No one enjoys that part, Antinous.”

“You do.” He winced as soon as the words were out, seeing the way my jaw dropped.

“I do
not
—”

“I didn’t mean that, I meant—sweet gods, I’m making a fumble of this.” Antinous ran a hand through his hair again. “You might not enjoy killing, but you can get past it. You make it mean something. I wouldn’t. I’ve no wish to be a killer.” He took a breath, meeting my eyes square. “
Or
a legion man.”

I don’t know what look he saw on my face, but he stood with his shoulders braced as if for a blow. “Well,” I began, but couldn’t think what else to say.
Are you going to tell him it’s such a shining path, being a hired killer?
I thought of the Dacian king I’d watched die on a solar disk—the Parthian rebels I’d killed in Trajan’s wars—the four men I’d had hauled from their cells and butchered at the beginning of Hadrian’s reign. Did I want such memories for Antinous?

“Well,” I said again, forcing a little cheer into my voice. “It’s a good thing you’re not my son by blood, then, or you’d—”

His amber-brown eyes flew to mine, and they looked stricken.

“I didn’t mean it like that, let me finish—” I nearly groaned at myself. Now
I
was the one making a fumble of things. “I only meant it’s good you didn’t have to inherit my brains. Because I don’t have the wit to be a chamberlain or an archivist or a translator, and God knows you do.”

His shoulders relaxed then, relief flowering visibly through his whole body, and the sight made me blink. Had he been dreading this moment, screwing up the courage to tell me he didn’t want to follow my path? It had never occurred to me. All I’d wanted when I was young was my father’s path; he’d practically had to beat me off it with a stick. I’d assumed Antinous would be the same. I won’t say I hadn’t looked forward to seeing him in a tribune’s armor, my son and I both the same rank, but . . .

I pulled Antinous into another rough embrace, feeling him stiffen in surprise. “You’re no killer,” I said. “You won’t have the nightmares and the scars that I do, and that makes me glad, because you’re made for better things. You’re fine and clever and brave, and you speak more languages than I’ve even heard of—we’ll get you the best post in Rome, whatever you want. And you’ll make me proud.”

I gave his shoulder a thump and he thumped mine in return. When we pulled apart, I felt a trifle thick in the throat and he had a grin wide enough to light a legion camp.

“Mind you,” I couldn’t help adding, “I’d rather you found a post for yourself back in Rome! Not here under the Emperor’s nose.”

“I promise I won’t try to break it again.” Antinous’s smile was quick and relieved. “I doubt he’ll remember me.”

“How many people do you think hit him in the face? He’ll remember you.”

“Then I’ll stay out of sight.”

“Start tomorrow. There’s a hunt in the morning—the Emperor’s determined to bag a she-bear he’s been tracking in the mountains. He takes an army on his hunts; you could blend in among the retainers easily enough.”

His eyes lit. “Can I?”

God help me, I didn’t have a single premonition. Not one.

ANTINOUS

“Where’d you get
that
?” Vix asked.

Antinous hefted the long hunting spear. “Stole it right off some perfumed courtier’s saddle! It clearly wasn’t going to get used even if the bear fell right in the man’s lap.”

“And you’re not using it either.” Vix offered a stern look from under his Praetorian’s helmet, leading two horses through the press of the hunting party. “You’re staying well back of the chase, remember?”

“But my father told me never to go unarmed,” Antinous said, innocent. “And I always obey my father!”

“Don’t get wide-eyed with me, boy. And are you starting a
beard
?”

“Everyone here has a beard.” Antinous rubbed a hand over his night’s worth of gold stubble, looking around at the thronging hunting party that had turned out on the wooded slopes of Mysia. Near a hundred men from Praetorians to courtiers, and every one had a beard in imitation of the Emperor.

“Not me.” Vix tossed him a set of reins.

“Of course
you
don’t!” His father wouldn’t follow the Emperor’s example in anything—if it got about that Emperor Hadrian had taken a great liking for
air
, Vix would probably try to stop breathing. “But I’m going to be a creature of the court, remember? So I must follow the fashions.”

His father groaned, hauling himself up into the saddle with his usual lack of grace. “I should have forced you into legion life.”

But you didn’t
, Antinous thought, rubbing his borrowed horse’s nose, and the relief was dizzying. How long had he had that little dread in the back of his mind, wondering if his father would be disappointed in him once he realized Antinous had no desire to follow in his footsteps? A father had a right to dictate his son’s path in life, after all, and expect obedience. What would he have done, if his father had put that massive booted foot down and stated that he was going to the Tenth Fidelis?

Tried to do it, I expect. Tried to please him.

But after all Antinous’s agonizing, Vix had barely blinked an eye. They’d stayed up half the night pouring wine and making plans instead, debating whether the archivists or the huntsmen or the translators might make a better fit, Vix striding up and down getting excited—“You should consider the law; with that honey tongue of yours, you could wind any judge round your hand like a wet woman!” Antinous had gone to bed with a buzzing head and a smile on his face.

His father’s voice broke his thoughts. “Coming?”

Antinous vaulted up onto his borrowed horse. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

The Emperor came trotting out on his big bay stallion, and Antinous craned for a look. He hadn’t laid eyes on the man since he’d nearly broken the Imperial nose, after all, and that hadn’t been much of a look. Just a terror-filled impression of muddy height and ice-cold eyes. “Doesn’t seem quite so fearsome as I remember.”

“He’d still cut your hand off if he felt like it,” Vix said. “Don’t you forget that.”

The Emperor halted his horse, lifting his face to the sky. He sat easy and erect in his saddle, reins looped through his brown fingers, massive spear with its glittering point behind his shoulder. His bare dark head rode taller than any of the guards at his side, his curly hair and purple cloak stirred in the warm air, and his broad chest expanded contentedly as he sniffed the morning breeze. “Hah,” Antinous heard him say to no one in particular. “Good hunting weather!”

The thought of losing a hand made Antinous flex his fingers rather gratefully, but he couldn’t help saying, “I don’t really blame him, you know. He had a perfect right to punish me if he wanted.”

Vix lifted a reddish brow. “You have no gift for grudges.”

“You have enough for the both of us,” Antinous teased.

The Emperor kicked his horse ahead, and his entourage fell in behind: guards, huntsmen, grooms, courtiers trying desperately to look as though they enjoyed all this muddy exertion. Antinous followed his father as he gave the nod to the other Praetorians enveloping the Emperor in a phalanx of spear points. The path climbed, tracking into the wooded hills, and when the Emperor kicked into a gallop, Antinous was only too glad to give his horse its head. To be outside again after droning tutors and stuffy rooms—Antinous inhaled it all, the smells of pines and animal musk, rocks and leaf mold and moss, overlaid by the sweat of the horses, the yammering of the dogs, the creak of leather and chinking sound of armor as the hounds began to cast for a scent.

“See that man over there?” Antinous gave a nod to where the Emperor had pulled up his stallion and leaned back in the saddle to address someone beside him. “The one next to the Emperor, patting his own hair back into place? He’s the one I stole the spear from.”

“Lucius Ceionius.” Vix snorted. “He’s a fool. Always playing a part. He told me he’s Actaeon the Hunter today—a stag-skin cloak for him, just like the myth, and those two slave girls he never goes anywhere without are supposed to be Huntresses of Artemis.”

“Just the thing to bring along on a bear hunt,” Antinous agreed. “Matched blondes in green silk and crescent moon embroidery.”

“Don’t know why, but the women adore him.” Vix looked grimly amused. “The man’s charmed his way through half the beds in Rome.”

“Including the Imperial couch?” Antinous laughed. “I can see him flirting with the Emperor all the way from here!”

“No. Even Lucius Ceionius wouldn’t go so far as the Emperor’s bed.”

“Why not?”

He felt his father looking at him. “He might parade his pretty profile if it gets him Hadrian’s favor, but he wants to be consul someday. Maybe even Imperial heir. He’ll never get that if he’s the Imperial bum-boy.”

“Of course not.” Antinous fiddled with his horse’s mane. In the
paedogogium
, of course, things had been different—you still counted as a
boy
there, free to go look for girls at the local whorehouses, or have a sweaty post-gymnasium fumble with one of your fellow students. Antinous had done both, but it all just made him more lonely. The brothel girls were hard-eyed, and the boys desperate to prove something.

Maybe I’m still a boy, then
, Antinous thought.
Because I
am
desperate to prove something.
Prove he had Vix’s confidence, maybe—he looked at his father, so graceless on his horse but not caring a whit that he looked like a sack of millet in a saddle. Vix was so
certain
, sure of everything in his world. He could hold a sword and he could not ride a horse; he was a man of Rome and he had a master he hated and a wife he loved, and that was that. He didn’t care for the opinions of others, because certainty came so easy to him: in his loves, his hates, his place in the great scheme of things.

Not so much for me
, Antinous thought.

One of the hounds gave voice, and the whole pack bolted off into the thicket. The Emperor raised his spear and gave a shout, cloak billowing as he kicked his stallion in pursuit, and the whole hunting party streamed after him. Antinous was grateful to kick his horse into the thick of things, shedding his momentary gloom. Over the cracking of branches and the thunder of hooves, he heard the roar of a bear and his blood began to pound.

The beast was already surrounded by a ring of spear points by the time Antinous’s horse came skidding into the wooded clearing. The she-bear was a storm of teeth and claws and rage, dark fur gleaming in the dappled light from the trees. The dogs seethed and snapped around her, snarling as they dodged the clawed swipes of those enormous paws. A cluster of huntsmen circled with spears and nets, eyes alert. The rest of the entourage circled and milled and laughed.

Poor bear
, Antinous thought, and then his eyes went to the Emperor. His bearded face had a look of perfect, taut focus as he yanked his stallion to a halt and came vaulting to the mossy ground all in a single fluid motion. One powerful sling of his arm and his spear flew, true as a god’s arrow. Antinous’s breath caught as droplets of blood rained like rubies from the dark flank to the moss.

“Sweet gods,” Antinous breathed. “He’s good!”

His father sounded sour. “Just ask him.”

The beast roared, whirling on the Emperor. Two of the huntsmen shouted and jabbed with their own spears, goading her haunches, but Hadrian motioned them away. His eyes never left the bear; he put out his hand and it was filled by a new spear haft even as Antinous reached instinctively for his own. Hadrian went into a crouch, circling the beast as his hunting hounds snarled at his heels.

The bear came for the Emperor in a lumbering rush. He slid out of reach, lithe as a shadow, his spear point raking her muzzle. More blood, and the bear rose to her full height, roaring fury. Antinous saw the muscles in the Emperor’s arm bunch clear up to his shoulder as he flung his second spear, dead into the massive chest. The bear screamed at a higher pitch, and the spear haft splintered away as she came down in another rush. Hadrian had another spear and was circling again.

“He’ll get mauled!” Antinous felt his own heart hammering in his chest. “Aren’t you going to—”

“Jump in and spoil his kill? He’d have me flogged.”

A howl raked Antinous’s ears. One of the bitch hounds had danced too close; the bear caught her with a tremendous clawed swipe and sent her tumbling end over end. The bitch screamed piteously, blood flying bright, and Antinous saw the Emperor’s taut focus change to utter fury. Hadrian winged his spear straight into the bear’s ribs, then waded in with the sword at his waist as Antinous came flying out of his saddle and flung himself into the chaos, aiming for the wounded hound. “You she-demon,” he heard the Emperor snarl at the bear, “if you killed my dog—”

Antinous was already darting low for the screaming hound, as somewhere in the background Vix bellowed for the guards. Scooping up the bleeding bundle of fur, Antinous caught the rank breath of the bear, the rancid stench of matted pelt and old blood, and flung himself desperately out of the way, turning in time to see the Emperor bring his sword down like a wood ax. The bear’s great clawed paw sheared away. Hadrian’s sword punched forward again in a brutal lunge, and he buried the blade to the hilt in the great furred breast, giving a savage twist as his teeth bared in a feral hiss.