Emperor: The Death of Kings E#2 (19 page)

  CHAPTER
16
  

A
lexandria looked around the small room she had been offered. It wasn’t much, but at least it was clean, and it was hardly fair to take up space at Tabbic’s tiny house now that her jewelry was bringing in a wage. She knew the old craftsman would let her stay longer, even accept a small rent if she insisted, but there was barely enough room for his own family in the tiny second-floor home.

She hadn’t told them of her search, intending to surprise them with an invitation to dinner when she found a place. That was before almost a month of searching. They might have thought it strange that a woman who had been born a slave would turn anything down, but for the money she was willing to pay, the rooms offered had been dirty, damp, or infested with scurrying inhabitants she had not waited to examine closely.

She could have paid for more than one room, even a small house of her own. Her brooches were selling as fast as she could make them, and even with most of the profits going into new and finer metals, there was enough to add to her savings each month. Perhaps being a slave had taught her to value money when it came, as she begrudged every bronze coin that went on food or a roof over her head. Paying a high rent seemed like the ultimate idiocy, with nothing owned after years passing over hard-earned coin. Better to spend as little as possible and one day she could buy a house of her own, with a door to shut against the world.

“Do you want the room?” the owner asked.

Alexandria hesitated. She was tempted to try to bargain the price down still further, but the woman looked exhausted after a day working in the markets and it was an honest price. It wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of the family’s obvious poverty. Alexandria saw the woman’s hands were sore and stained with color from the dye vats, leaving a faint blue mark over her eye as she brushed her hair back unconsciously.

“I have two more to see tomorrow. I will let you know then,” Alexandria replied. “Shall I call here in the evening?”

The woman shrugged, her expression resigned. “Ask for Atia. I should be around. You won’t find better for the price you want, you know. This is a clean house and the cat deals with any mice that get in. Up to you.” She turned away to begin the evening’s work preparing the food brought from the markets as part of her wage. Most of it would be near to spoiling, Alexandria knew, yet Atia seemed unbowed by the grind of her life.

It was a strange thing to see a freewoman on the edge of poverty. On the estate where Alexandria had worked, even the slaves were better fed and dressed than this woman’s family. It was a view of life she had never explored before, and she had the oddest feeling of shame as she stood there in good clothes, wearing one of her own silver brooches as a pin for her cloak.

“I will see the others, then return to you,” Alexandria said firmly.

Atia began to chop vegetables without comment, putting them into an iron pot over a clay stove built against the wall. Even the knife she held had a blade as thin as a fingernail, worn down but still used for want of anything better.

Outside in the street, a chorus of high-pitched yelling broke out and a grubby figure skidded through the open doorway, running straight into Alexandria.

“Whoa, lad! You almost had me over, then!” Alexandria said, smiling.

He looked at her with a quizzical expression in his blue eyes. His face was as dusty as the rest of him, but Alexandria could see his nose was dark and swollen, with a trace of blood at the end, smeared over his cheek as he wiped it, sniffing.

The woman threw down the knife and gathered him into her arms. “What have you been up to now?” she demanded, touching his nose.

The boy grinned and squirmed to get away from her embrace.

“Just a fight, Mam. The boys who work at the butcher’s chased me all the way home. I tripped one of them when he went for me, and he landed one on my nose.” The boy beamed at his mother and reached under his tunic, pulling out two bare chops, dripping blood. His mother groaned and snatched them with a quick dart of her hand.

“No, Mam. They’re mine! I didn’t steal them. They were just lying in the street.”

His mother’s face went white with anger, but he still clutched at her as she moved to the door, jumping as high as he could to retrieve his prizes from her grasp.

“I’ve told you not to steal and not to lie. Take your hands off me. These must go back to where they came from.”

Alexandria was between Atia and the door, so she stepped out into the street to let her out. A group of boys stood around with a vaguely threatening air. They laughed to see the little boy jumping around his mother, and one of them held out a hand for the chops, which were slapped into his palm without a word.

“He’s fast, missus. I’ll give him that. Old Tedus told me to say he will summon the guard if your lad steals anything else.”

“There’s no call for that,” Atia snapped in irritation, wiping the blood from her hands on a piece of cloth she pulled out of a sleeve. “Tell Tedus he’s never lost anything he hasn’t had back and I’ll spread the word not to use his shop if he tries it. I will discipline my son, thank you.”

“Fine job you’re doing,” the older boy sneered.

Atia raised her hand swiftly and he backed away, guffawing and pointing at the humiliated figure that still clung to her skirt.

“I’ll give your little Thurinus a belting myself if I see him anywhere near the shop. See if I don’t.”

Atia flushed with anger and took a step forward, giving them the excuse they wanted to run off, calling back insults as they scattered.

Alexandria stood by the pair, wondering if she should just walk away. The scene she had witnessed was none of her business, but she was curious to see what would happen now the mother was alone with her rascal of a son.

The little boy sniveled and rubbed his nose gingerly. “I’m sorry, Mam. I just thought you would be pleased. I didn’t think they would follow me all the way back here.”

“You never think. If your father was alive, he’d be ashamed of you, boy. He would tell you we never steal and we never lie. Then he would warm your backside properly with his strap, which I should do myself.”

The boy struggled to get away, kicking out at her as he found his arm held firmly.

“He was a money changer. You say they’re all thieves, so he must have been too.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” Atia said through whitened lips. Without waiting for a response, she upended the boy on her knee and smacked him hard, six times. He struggled through the first three and lay silently still for the last. When she put him down, he skittered around the two women, pelting down the narrow street and disappearing around the nearest corner.

Atia sighed as she watched him run. Alexandria clasped her hands together nervously, embarrassed to have witnessed such a private moment. Atia seemed to remember her suddenly and flushed as she met her eye.

“I’m sorry. He is always stealing and I can’t seem to make him understand not to do it. He’s always caught, but the next week he tries again.”

“Is his name Thurinus?” Alexandria asked.

The woman shook her head. “No. They call him that because the family moved to the city from Thurin. It’s an insulting nickname they have for him, but he seems to like it. His given name is Octavian, after his father. Little terror. Only nine years old, but more at home on the streets than in his own house. I do worry about him.” She glanced at Alexandria, taking in the clothes and brooch properly.

“I shouldn’t be bothering you with our troubles, miss. I don’t mind admitting we could use the rent for the room. He wouldn’t steal from you, and if he did I’d give it straight back, on my family’s honor. You wouldn’t know it, but there’s good blood in his veins, Octavii and Caesar, if the little bugger would only realize it.”

“Caesar?” Alexandria said sharply. The woman nodded.

“His grandmother was a Caesar, before she married into my family. No doubt she’d weep if she saw him steal meat from a butcher not three streets away. I mean, it’s not as if they don’t know his face! They’ll break his arms if he does it again, and where will I be then?” Tears spilled from her eyes and, without thinking, Alexandria stepped forward to put an arm around her.

“Let’s go inside. I think I will take that room of yours.”

The woman straightened and glared at her. “I don’t want charity. We get by and the boy will learn in time.”

“It’s not charity. Yours is the first clean room I have seen and I used to . . . work for a Caesar a few years ago. Could be the same family. We’re almost relations.”

The woman wiped her eyes with the cloth, producing it again from where it made a lump in her sleeve.

“Are you hungry?” she said, smiling.

Alexandria thought of the small pile of vegetables that waited to be chopped.

“I’ve already eaten. I’ll pay you for the first month and then go back to where I’m staying and collect my things. It’s not far off.”

If she walked quickly and didn’t dawdle at Tabbic’s, Alexandria thought, she could make it back to her new home before dark. Perhaps by then they would have been able to buy a little meat with her rent.

*      *      *

The senators shifted uncomfortably in their seats. It had been a long session and many of them had reached the point where they were ignoring the complications of the arguments and simply voting whichever way they had agreed earlier.

With the evening shadows lengthening, torches were lit using tapers on long poles. The glow of the small flames was reflected in the polished white marble walls, and the air filled with the soft smell of scented oil. A large number of the three hundred senators who had gathered that morning had already left, letting the last few votes pass without their presence.

Crassus smiled to himself, having made sure his own supporters would remain until the torches were snuffed and the long day reached its official conclusion with the prayer for the safety of the city. He listened intently to the list of appointments, waiting for the one he and Pompey had included to be brought to the vote. Almost unwillingly, his eyes strayed to the legion list, cut into the white marble. Where Primigenia had been inscribed, there was now a blank space. It would be pleasing to undo another small piece of Sulla’s legacy, even if he hadn’t been asked to by his old friend.

At this thought, he looked across at Cinna and their eyes met for a moment. Cinna nodded to the legion list and smiled. Crassus returned the smile, noting his friend’s whitening hair. Surely Servilia could not favor such a winter father over himself? Just the thought of her stirred his blood, making him miss the end of a section in reminiscence. He watched the way Cinna voted and then raised his own hand with him.

More of the Senate rose, excusing themselves quietly, heading for homes and mistresses all over the city. Crassus watched Cato heave his bulk out of his seat. The man had been close to Sulla and it would sting him to miss the vote to come. Crassus tried not to let his face show his pleasure as they drew close and passed him, deep in discussion. It would be easier with them gone, but even with every Sullan in the building, he doubted if Cinna, Pompey, and himself could not force it through in their teeth. Restoring Primigenia would infuriate them. He reminded himself to thank Servilia for the idea when they next met. Perhaps a small gift to show his appreciation.

Pompey rose to answer a question concerning the new commander of a legion in Greece. He spoke with an engaging confidence of the new names, recommending them to the Senate. Crassus had heard there was another rebellion, and the losses meant chances for friends and relatives of the men in the Senate hall. He shook his head sadly, remembering the day when Marius had forced a vote that took Sulla away from Rome to put Mithridates down the first time. If Marius were here now, he would make them look up from their feet and do something about it! Instead, these fools argued and discussed the days away, when they should have been diverting a couple of the precious legions to shore up the Greek ones.

Crassus smiled wryly as he realized he was one of the fools he criticized. The last rebellion had led to civil war and a Dictator. Not one of the generals in the room dared put himself forward for fear of the others uniting against him. They did not want another Sulla and nothing was done as a result. Even Pompey waited and he was almost as impetuous as Marius himself. It would be suicidal to volunteer as Marius and Sulla had. There was too much spite and envy to let any one of their number have a victory over Mithridates. Sulla’s fault, for letting him go free the first time. The man couldn’t do anything right.

Pompey sat down and the vote was passed quickly, leaving only the last item of the day’s business, proposed by Crassus and seconded by Pompey. They had kept Cinna’s name out of the records at that point, as there were rumors he had been involved in Sulla’s poisoning. Baseless, of course, but no one could stop the gossipmongers of Rome plying their trade.

For a moment, Crassus wondered if they
were
baseless, but then dismissed the thought. He was a practical man, and Sulla and the past were gone. If Cinna’s daughter had avoided becoming Sulla’s reluctant mistress, as he had heard whispered, that was surely proof that the gods looked with favor on Cinna’s house—or the Caesars, perhaps. Definitely one of them.

He had heard some headway had been made finding the slave who carried the poison, but nothing yet was known about whoever ordered the death in the first place. Crassus looked around the half-empty room. It could have been almost any of them. Sulla had made enemies with a complete absence of caution. And caution should be the first rule of politics, Crassus thought. The second rule of politics should be to avoid attractive women needing favors, but a man didn’t have too many chances for joy in his life and Servilia had provided some memories he cherished.

“Restoration of Primigenia to Legion Rolls,” the Master of Debate announced, making Crassus sit up straight and concentrate.