Blood Games (67 page)

"We try again,” Saint-Germain informed her grimly. He realigned the pry-bar and tested it once. “Good. Now, push!” He leaned against the iron bar with all his strength, and this time they were rewarded by a popping sound from the bricks. “Good!” Saint-Germain called out. “Very good. Olivia, are you holding the bar at the very end?"

"No,” she said. “Should I?"

"Yes. And put all your weight behind it.” He was careful with the pry-bar, placing it with care. “Now!"

Two more bricks broke under the impact and Saint-Germain began to feel encouraged.

"There's another brick loose, I think,” Olivia called from inside the tomb. “To your left. There's mortar scattering around it.” She sounded very pleased.

"Fine. Good.” This time he took his stance so that he could swing more of his weight against the bricks. At the end of this attempt, two more bricks had been dislodged. “Olivia,” he called to her softly, “I'm going to change the angle of the bar. I know it will be awkward for you to reach it, but do what you can. If I don't do it this way, the bricks might fall inside the tomb rather than outside. I don't want you to get hurt."

"But if it would be easier another way—” she began.

"I have much more room out here,” he said, cutting her objections short. “Do what you can.” This time, his end of the pry-bar was pointing downward and it was an easy thing to put all his weight on it, pressing down on the bar until the metal seemed to hum with his effort.

"There're a few bricks loosening,” Olivia cried, by way of encouragement. “I can see the mortar starting to crumble."

Saint-Germain redoubled his efforts. This time the masonry groaned as the pry-bar began to bend. He refused to let up.

A breeze had sprung up at moonset and there were the first gentle rustlings that were the precursors of dawn. The soldiers would be back soon, Saint-Germain thought, prepared to investigate the disturbance that the messenger Brutus had observed. That could mean imprisonment for them both. Saint-Germain bore down on the pry-bar with all his might, and the iron bent.

"How are the bricks?” he asked, disheartened.

"Holding,” she said unhappily.

"Turn the pry-bar around, so that the part that's curving down is curving into the bricks.” It was a last chance, he knew, for he could not dare to remain here at the Silius tomb much longer. He had to get Olivia out. He took the bar in both hands, lifted it, then came down on it with all his might.

There was a strange sound, like distant thunder or the tearing of thick silk. Bricks fell around him, one knocking him on the shoulder as the top part of the bricked-up tomb gave way.

Saint-Germain moved quickly, reaching in through the gaping hole. He felt Olivia's hands slip into his own. “Climb!” he whispered fiercely. “Hurry!"

In the distance he could hear a bird singing in the sky, and the rustlings in the long grass around the tombs got louder as the nocturnal animals sought their nests and dens and hiding places. There was a distant sound of trumpets, the changing of guards at the slaves’ prison, in very little time there would be people on the Via Appia, coming to Rome for market and pleasure.

"It's awfully high,” Olivia said, disquieted. “I don't know if I can—"

"
Climb!
” The word was quiet, but there was no mistaking the order. He held out his hands to her, and a moment later she took them.

Though it took her no more than a quarter of an hour to struggle out of the tomb, to Saint-Germain it seemed as if days had passed and that this was the culmination of the effort of months of work.

Olivia's face was scraped, her funereal garments were soiled and her hair hung about her face in lank strings. As she pulled herself through the gaping and ragged hole in the bricks, Saint-Germain opened his arms to her and caught her as she fell.

Their embrace was long and tender. He held her tightly until she had stopped shaking.

"I thought you weren't coming,” she said shamefacedly.

"What? Didn't you know I wouldn't desert you?” He shook her by the shoulders in kindly ire. “When I cherish you so, you can believe that?"

"I know,” she said, putting her hands on his shoulders. “But after my trial, when there was no word from you..."

"No word?” he repeated, incredulous. “Rogerian left you a basket of fruit. There was a small scrap of paper in the bottom of the basket, and there was a message on it. I was sure that...What is it?” he asked, breaking off.

"I was never given the basket of fruit. I was told that no one had left anything for me.” She nuzzled her head into the curve of his neck. “Oh, Saint-Germain, I was frightened. All that time alone in the dark, with the air more and more foul and the walls closing in. It was like being dead."

"Was it?” he asked ironically.

There were more bird calls now, and a second trumpet call sounded from the slaves’ prison.

Saint-Germain broke away from Olivia. “Come. It's nearly morning, and we must be gone. Rogerian is waiting, and there is a ship ready to take us away from here.” His hand closed around one of Olivia's. “Did you truly believe I would abandon you?"

She shook her head. “You said you wouldn't. But alone in the dark like that...” Her voice almost broke. Her free hand came up to her eyes. “It was so long, and I was frightened,” she said, by way of apology.

He kissed her brow. “Well, never mind. You're free now. That's all that counts.” He stepped back, tugging at her hand. “You must come with me. There are soldiers not far away, and by the time they arrive, we must be gone."

She accepted this, following him through the tall dry grass toward the Marco tomb, where he had tethered the blue roan.

"Can you ride?” he asked as he steadied the horse.

"I haven't before, but I can learn.” She looked at the roan with some apprehension.

"There's no saddle. I've hidden it—it won't seat two, so...,” he pointed out. “You'll have to sit astride behind me and hang on. Are you willing?” He had no idea how he would get her away if she said no.

"Of course.” The answer was brisk, almost amused. She stood back while Saint-Germain gathered the reins at the base of the neck and vaulted onto the horse. The roan minced eagerly as Saint-Germain got his seat. Then he steadied the horse and reached down his hand. “Here. Come up behind me and put your arms around my waist. We have a way to go."

Without a word she took his hand and came up behind him. Her arms went around his waist, her legs dangled behind his. He touched the roan with his booted heels and the horse sprang away toward the Via Appia.

As they reached the first crest of the southward hill, Saint-Germain glanced back once to see the first pale light catch the bright articulated loricae of a line of mounted soldiers riding out from the Praetorian camp on the east side of Rome. He watched them a moment, checking the roan. Then the horse lengthened his stride and the ridge cut off the sight. Olivia's arms tightened around him as he turned his face toward the south and the inn where Rogerian waited.

TEXT OF AUTHORIZATION FROM RAGOCZY SAINT-GERMAIN FRANCISCUS.

To the Senate and the procurator of the Praetorian Guard:

It has pleased the Emperor to lift the sentence against me and to remove any and all claims against me. He has also asked that I absent myself from Rome, and this I am very willing to do. I have arranged passage for myself, my body slave and a companion, and will depart with haste.

Because there is little time to make formal arrangements, I cannot make full provision for my property. I therefore place my estate under the administration of Constantinus Modestinus Datus, and give him full rights and powers to be exercised at his discretion. A copy of his annual accounting will suffice me and his decisions are to be regarded as my own. I will provide this man with a record of my whereabouts in the unlikely event that my formal agreement is needed in any matter concerning my estate.

I have three requests to make of the state and Constantinus Modestinus Datus. First, that those slaves who have been in my household for more than ten years, upon their request, be given their freedom and be provided with land plots of their own. Deeds to such plots on my own holdings are to be found in my records and C. M. Datus is at liberty to award them as he chooses. At the time of freeing, the slave is to be given two mules and three pigs and the sum of one hundred sesterces. Second, that my private wing of Villa Ragoczy be sealed until such time as I or one bearing my authorization endorsed by my sigil, the eclipse, return to occupy it. Third, that my ships be regularly inspected and maintained at the highest possible level, and that the captains be given a portion of all moneys in trade, not to exceed fifteen percent of the profit they bring me. All reasonable requests for improvements upon a ship should be granted.

Until such time as I set foot in Rome again, I commend myself to the justice and the wisdom of the Emperor and the Senate.

By my own hand, under seal, in the trust of the Emperor's messenger.

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IT WAS a very select gathering that evening. The Emperor had invited only the most respected Senators and patricians. There were sixteen of them, and for once women had been excluded.

"I don't want them adding more intrigues to our business,” Vespasianus had explained when questioned about his decision. “Women do very well, but they wield too much power already. There are some things a man must keep among men."

"Very wise,” Cornelius Justus Silius had applauded him that afternoon, and now, in the torchlit dining room, he repeated his praise more lavishly. “Women are as necessary to men as air, and who of us would willingly bar them from every aspect of our lives. Yet what Caesar says is true. Women thrive on intrigue and it is a wise man who does not share his secrets with them."

"You're bitter, Justus.” Domitianus laughed nastily.

Justus lowered his head and cursed the Emperor's younger son in his mind. That rough-tongued young cur would ruin everything! When he knew he could present a proper face, he looked up again. “I probably am,” he said heavily. “I have tried not to be. Olivia was perverse and her demands such that no man, not the most stalwart man alive, could meet all her desires. She came from a family whose honor was stained, and I should not have let myself believe that the taint had not touched her.” He raised his golden cup. “To your wisdom, Caesar.” In the next instant he had recklessly drunk all the wine.

Vespasianus nodded, his bright, shrewd eyes studying his effusive guest. “To justice,” he responded, chuckling at his own pun.

"To justice,” he answered promptly, and drank, to show that he did not believe he deserved the praise the Emperor had implied.

"You've met Lesbia?” Vespasianus asked as he motioned to the slaves to serve the next course.

"Twice now. A lovely, delightful girl, intelligent, charming, a winsome way about her. She is a most pleasant change from...” He stopped suddenly, as if embarrassed. “I didn't mean to compare them, Caesar."

"Certainly not,” Vespasianus agreed, his mouth strangely stern.

"It was an unwitting offense,” Justus added, determined to be conciliating. “If the memory were not so fresh, I would not have said..."

"The memory...” Vespasianus said in an odd voice as he broke off a piece of bread to scoop up chunks of pork cooked with dates and raisins in gravy from the platter that had just been set before him. He chewed a moment, then added, “Lesbia wanted me to ask you a few questions, since you desire to marry her. That is what you desire, isn't it?"

Domitianus started to speak but was quelled by a look from his father. He turned to Justus and gestured helplessly. Two of the Senators reclining on the silk-covered couches snickered.

"Certainly I desire to marry her, if she and her family are willing.” Justus could feel color mounting in his cheeks and he breathed a little faster.

"Would you feel that way if she weren't my niece?” Vespasianus asked without looking at Justus. He dropped a section of bread into the gravy to sop it up. “Well?"

At that moment Justus wanted to attack the Emperor for this abuse. He wanted to see that common face turn purple and black, the tongue protruding as the life was squeezed out of him. It was an effort to keep his tone respectful. “Certainly I would want her. A girl like that is always desirable. But marriage is another matter. I might prefer to have an understanding with her if an important marriage were offered me.” He knew that this candor was risky, but at the moment he had no choice. A lie now, a single question from the Emperor, and there would be endless difficulties later. “I'm an ambitious man, I admit. I've never sought to hide that. My three marriages were made largely for political reasons. As were the marriages of all the men here, I wager.” He glanced over the couches and chose a Senator younger than himself. “Arminius Aloisius Vulpius Solis there"—he gave the man an understanding nod—"is known to have made a marriage for the advantage of all his family. Who among us has not? Is Vulpius questioned because of this? Certainly not. He is considered a responsible and practical man. He and his wife do not enjoy each other's society, which is unfortunate but not unusual. He makes few demands upon her and she is free to live her life as she sees fit. The law supports the wisdom of this, and all around us there is evidence that such decisions are wise. I can appreciate your concern, Caesar, knowing what you have learned about Atta Olivia Clemens."

"I would not like Lesbia to meet with a similar fate,” Vespasianus said quietly as he held out his wine cup to be refilled.

Justus achieved what he hoped was a heroic smile, the smile of a man who has had to endure much. “If she does not have a taste for gladiators and other low-life—"

The Emperor interrupted him. “She tells me that you are attentive and respectful, Justus. She said she would not mind having you for a husband, in a year or so, when the scandal about your wife has died down."

A year? Justus wanted to shout a challenge to this. A year could be too long. He could lose his influence with Vespasianus and his sons in a year. There were other men, as ambitious as he, who would be eager to wed any of the Emperor's nieces. “I...” He stopped while he gained control of his voice. “I am not a young man, Caesar. It is hard to wait so long."