Devil's Island (41 page)

She arched an eyebrow at him, then walked around the table to the
triclinium
and stretched out beside him. Lucius seldom spoke harshly to her, and she didn't like it.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I've had a very long, exhausting day.”

Mollified by his quick apology, she prompted him to continue. “So, tell me everything that happened.”

“As best I can reconstruct it, the emperor's wife enlisted Norbanus and Petronius Secundus, the new prefects of the Praetorian Guard, to help plan it. The man who actually stabbed Domitian was a former family slave; he was killed in the struggle.”

“When I first suggested the idea, you said it was bound to happen sooner or later. I thought it might as well be us. Instead, someone else got to him first.” Naomi wrinkled her mouth in a pout.
Six
weeks of scheming to come up with a plan that would work—and for
nothing,
she thought. Lucius had said it would be risky and that it would take a while to coordinate; they simply hadn't had enough time. She could have kicked herself for not coming up with the idea months ago.

“Domitian used to complain about assassination plots,” Lucius said. “He often said it was an emperor's unfortunate lot that no one would believe the rumors about a plot against him until it had been successfully executed.”

“Maybe if he had rereleased the coins with Domitia's image on them, she might not have had him killed.”

Lucius laughed so hard at the droll remark, he nearly spilled his wine. “I don't think that was the reason, but it might not have hurt.”

“Why
did
she do it?” Naomi couldn't conceive of an emperor's wife wanting to assassinate her husband. With her husband dead, she would no longer be empress—out of power—and why would she want that?

“He'd become extremely paranoid,” Lucius said, “and he suspected everyone, including his wife, of disloyalty. I think Domitia worried that he would have her killed in order to prevent her from killing him, so to keep Domitian from killing her, she had him killed first. See how convoluted palace politics can become?”

“Do emperors always have so many enemies?”

“The bad ones do. Domitian had angered a lot of people in fifteen years, especially the last few years. He took over complete control of the membership of the Senate, and he had a penchant for getting rid of people he didn't like. He had executed or exiled a number of senators recently.”

“I'm glad Domitian didn't get rid of you.” What a dreadful thought that was; she pushed it aside quickly. “But I'm still mad that they picked Nerva to be emperor, and not you. Why him?”

Lucius shrugged. “Several reasons, I suppose. Nerva's popular, and very stable—he's been around a long time. And he'll provide a counterbalance to some of Domitian's more drastic measures.”

“In other words, he won't make waves.”

“No, we don't like waves in the Senate.” Lucius smiled and set his plate aside, then laid his head on the slope of the sofa. “Also, Nerva has no heirs, so he can't start a dynasty. I'm sure that was part of their consideration.”

“You're taking this very well. Didn't you want to be emperor?”

“It was more your dream than mine, actually.” He repositioned himself so he could see her face. “Are you really disappointed, darling?”

“Only for you. I thought you deserved to be Caesar.”

To be honest, she was very disappointed. And dissatisfied with her life. But how could she explain it? Naomi wasn't sure what she wanted anymore, just that she wanted to
be
somebody. Somebody important in her own right. Not because she was her father's daughter. And not because she was a senator's wife, although she loved the status it brought, and she had grown rather fond of Lucius.

Being Caesar's wife had seemed like the next logical step toward an uncertain destination. Naomi would outlive Lucius by many years, and she had figured that someday, as the widow of an emperor, she would have the clout to do whatever she wanted— when she finally figured out what that was.

“I learned something else today.” Lucius paused and then smiled when she quickly gestured for him to continue. “Domitian had ordered Damian home. He wanted him for another special assignment.”

“Doing what?”

“I don't know. The emperor had signed the documents for his recall, and I suppose he would have told Damian upon his arrival.”

Naomi didn't want to think about Damian. Based on the one time she'd seen him, she didn't like him. And she certainly didn't trust him, although she had admitted he might be useful in their abortive plot against Domitian. She and Lucius had talked about enlisting Damian to help them carry it out—he certainly would not have had any qualms about it. But they had not arrived at a way to get Damian back to Rome without making Domitian suspicious.

As she thought about it now, Naomi decided that her first plan—the plan to take control of her father's business—was what she should have concentrated on. She hadn't abandoned the idea; she had simply gotten unexpectedly sidetracked with the notion of her husband becoming emperor.

“Lucius, I think we should go to Ephesus.”

“Now?”

“Yes. After my father died, you managed to get a declaration that I'm the sole heir to the family fortune, didn't you?”

He nodded. “Domitian signed it several weeks ago. But it will probably have to be approved by a court—if your brother Peter produces the original will and challenges us. Not that we couldn't win; it would simply mean a legal battle.”

“All the more reason we should start right away. I want to get that finalized, then I want to move the headquarters of the shipping business to Rome. That way I can run it from here.”

“My wife, the beautiful entrepreneur.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss, then said, “But I can't leave right away, Naomi. With the change in rulership, I have to be here to protect my interests. I don't think Nerva has a quibble with me, but I need to make sure the status quo holds in the Senate before I leave on an extended trip.”

“But what about my interests? We have to protect them too.” She knew Lucius was right, and she certainly didn't want to do anything to jeopardize his position. But Naomi was impatient, now that she had decided it was time to quit talking about taking control of her father's fortune and actually do it.

“You could go ahead without me,” he suggested. “And I can join you later.”

She brightened at the thought. The
Mercury
had been restored, and if the weather cooperated, she could be in Ephesus in ten days— two weeks at the most.

“I'll leave as soon as I can,” she said. With Fulvia's help, it wouldn't take her more than a day or two to get ready.

“I'll see that you have the document that names you sole heir, and plenty of money to tide you over until I can arrive in the spring.”

“Spring? You can't come until then?”

“I might not be able to leave before the seas close in November.”

Naomi frowned darkly. Spring was six months away; anything could happen between now and then. “But what if—”

“I know,” Lucius said suddenly. “When Damian arrives, I'll send him to you in Ephesus. With Domitian dead, he won't have a new assignment, and perhaps he could be of assistance to you until I can get there.”

She didn't like the idea, but she didn't resist it. No woman had ever run a worldwide shipping operation before, and Naomi decided she'd deal with the devil himself if it meant being the first one.

“All right,” she agreed. “But promise you'll hurry, darling.”

Jacob wanted to run down the street shouting, “I'm free! I'm free!” But he slowed to a walk, telling himself he couldn't afford to lose the precious document clutched tightly in his hand—the document that had put an end to almost a year of torment.

When the admiral had left early yesterday morning to meet with the emperor, he'd told Jacob to wait on board the ship, which had docked overnight at the port of Ostia. Juvenalis hadn't returned for more than twenty-four hours, and Jacob had spent most of that time pacing on the deck and praying. When the admiral finally showed up, he had the edict of liberation he'd promised, and he had generously given Jacob the money to take a carriage from Ostia to Rome.

The carriage had deposited him at the Capitoline Hill, the heart of the city, and now Jacob was headed for his father's riverfront office on the Tiber. He hoped by some chance that Abraham might be there or at his villa. The office was closer, so Jacob had decided to go there first. He knew his father would have been trying to get him and Rebecca released, and that would necessitate a trip to Rome, so it was possible his father was in the city even now.

Jacob turned off the street toward the warehouses lining the river. Nothing much had changed since the last time he'd been here. When he got to the wharf, Jacob broke into a sprint, unable to contain himself any longer. And when he neared the part of the dock where his father's office was located, he recognized the man with salt-and-pepper hair sitting on a post at the water's edge, idly watching the barges drift by.

“Kaeso!”

The captain jerked his head around and stared. Then he stood, wide-eyed and wondering, as Jacob ran forward.

“Jacob? . . . Jacob!”

“It's me.” Jacob laughed exuberantly and threw his arms around Kaeso. The old sailor was probably unaccustomed to such demonstrative behavior, but Jacob couldn't help it.

“The deep tan, the uniform . . . What did you do, boy? Join the navy?”

“No, I—it's a long story.”

“I've got plenty of time to hear it. I've got nothing but time—”

“Is my father here? If you're here, then the
Mercury
must be here, and I knew Father would be in Rome trying to do something to . . .” Jacob's words tumbled over themselves in their hurry to escape his mouth, until he finally realized that Kaeso was silent and unsmiling. The news about his father must be bad, whatever it was.

“We'd better go inside and sit down,” Kaeso said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

They found a nearly empty corner of the warehouse and sat down on a couple of bales of cotton.

“Is my father alive?” Jacob asked.

Kaeso shook his head. “No. He died two almost two months ago.”

Jacob doubled over, as if he'd suddenly exhaled all the air in his lungs.

Kaeso put a hand on his shoulder. “I'm sorry, Jacob.”

“Why?
Why?”
Jacob wanted to break down and sob, but he wanted to hear about his father even more. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded. “All of it.”

Kaeso told him about the catastrophic voyage from Ephesus, how Abraham had survived the hurricane, and how Naomi had gotten married only a couple of weeks after they arrived. “She married some senator,” he said. “And I don't know how to tell you this . . .”

Kaeso stood up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Naomi's husband has a son, and this son is . . . His name is Damian, and he's the one who killed your mother and sent you—”

Jacob exploded. “She married Damian's father?” Rage spilled out of him in red-faced volcanic fury, and he shouted, “I could
kill
her for that!”

“Abraham said she didn't know the senator was related to Damian before she married him, but she didn't leave him when she found out, either. It nearly broke your father's heart. He never saw Naomi again.”

Of all the things Jacob had thought he might encounter in Rome, this was not one of them. His sister married to Damian's father.

“Anyway,” Kaeso went on, “months later—toward the end of June, I guess—your father finally did get a hearing before the Senate.” He told Jacob about Abraham's testimony at the Curia, and how he had been arrested.

“I never saw your father afterward,” Kaeso said, “although I found out where they were holding him. I tried to see him, but the guards wouldn't let me in. I knew he was there, though, because I heard him singing.”

“Singing?”

“Yes, and he sounded happy, strangely enough. Some song I didn't know—about not being afraid even in the valley of the shadow of death.” Kaeso sat back down on the bale beside Jacob. “Is that one of your Christian songs?” he asked.

Jacob nodded but couldn't speak until he'd swallowed the lump in his throat. “The Twenty-third Psalm.”

“He used to talk about that kind of thing sometimes, but I never was interested in religion, and he didn't shove it down my throat. I just liked working for your father because he was a good man. An honest man. And he had the best boats in the business.” He looked at Jacob and smiled briefly, then became reflective again. “Now I wish I'd listened more to what he had to say.”

Jacob was quiet for a minute, trying to absorb everything Kaeso had told him. Then he finally asked, “How did he die?”

“In the arena,” Kaeso said softly.

“He was condemned
ad bestias
?” The thought of wild beasts tearing his father's body apart made Jacob sick.

Kaeso nodded. “I was there that day. At the Colosseum. I didn't want to see it, and yet I couldn't stay away. I felt I had to be there for him.” Kaeso told Jacob about the lions, how they had stopped and sat down before Abraham. And then he told him about the part Naomi had played in her father's death.

“I had spotted her earlier, from up in the stands. She was sitting right there in Caesar's box like she was some kind of queen. Then when those lions wouldn't touch Abraham, and all the crowd was yelling and screaming, I looked down and she had her arm straight out and her thumb down. I started screaming myself then, and cursing. Her own father! I couldn't imagine what kind of person would do that.”

Jacob's tears fell uncontrollably. His mind was reeling, and he was almost beyond reacting. His sister betraying his father . .
.
It was too much to bear.