Empress of the Seven Hills (4 page)

“So, you follow the Reds?” I noted a red pennant in her other hand.

“All my family does. Aunt Diana’s mad for the Reds; she’d disown us if we rooted for anyone else.” Sabina took the seat I offered, tilting her head up. “There isn’t room for you.”

“Yes, there is. Get lost,” I told the man on her other side, and added
a glare. He got lost, I got the seat, and for a bonus I got a smile from the senator’s daughter. Maybe my day was looking up. “Why are you ducking a suitor?” I asked, leaning back on one elbow.

“He thinks he’s leading the pack, so he’s trying to drive off the others.”

“You have a
pack
?”

“Yes,” she said calmly. “I don’t have my mother’s looks, but I do have her money.”

“Don’t know about the looks,” I said, but she brushed my compliments aside.

“The Emperor’s come.” She pointed up at the foremost box, where a flood of royals had just entered. I didn’t have to guess which one was the Emperor—the short soldier’s haircut, the purple cloak, and the beaming face said it all. Emperor Marcus Ulpius Trajan raised his fist, and the crowds exploded.

The aristocrats in their languid poses, the
equites
in their self-conscious clusters, the plebeians in their masses all surged to their feet and cheered. The charioteers and stable boys paused in their darting over the arena sand, the horses waiting for entry seemed to toss their heads in salute, and I found my palms stinging and realized I was shouting and clapping with everyone else.

But Sabina wasn’t. She sat looking over the crowd, thoughtful. “They always do that,” she said as I took my seat again beside her. “Every time Trajan comes out. He goes all over the city without guards, and no one harms him.”

I watched the Emperor fling himself down in his golden chair, raking a hand through his hair and roaring with laughter. A long ways different from the Emperor I last remembered sitting in that box. “Long as Trajan doesn’t give black parties or make people call him Lord and God, I’ll find him an improvement.”

“Sshh, they’re starting.” The roars mounted through the tiered seats as the first of the chariots appeared, a quartet of blacks with green plumes dancing over their heads. Two more teams for the Greens, then
a team for the Blues. Sabina hissed as they went by in a flash of blue wheels, and I laughed.

“The Blues are utterly fucking evil,” she explained, bland. “Or so I’ve been told since a very young age.”

I laughed again, eyeing her in surprise. The Reds came by last, a Gaul flourishing his red-beaded driving whip to make his team of chestnuts prance, and Sabina waved her pennant. I put two fingers to my lips and let out a piercing whistle that had all our neighbors wincing.

“How interesting,” said Sabina. “Show me how to do that!”

I showed her how to double up her tongue behind her teeth. She regarded me with unblinking attention, put two fingers to her own lips, and had it on the third try. “Excellent,” she said, pleased. “Thank you, Vercingetorix.”

“It’s just a whistle.”

“It’s something new. I try to learn something new from everyone.”

“What about bad people?” I couldn’t help wondering.

“Even villains have something worth knowing. Look at my mother.”

“What did you, uh, learn from her?” I blinked away a certain memory of Sabina’s mother, all airy green silks and fragrant black curls, informing me in her low sweet voice that I was a cowardly little brat destined to die in the arena. Yes, I remembered Sabina’s mother quite well. Wondered how much her daughter did, though…

“My mother dressed beautifully,” Sabina said. “Otherwise, I have to say, she was a spoiled spiteful scheming waste of life.”

“That about sums her up,” I agreed. “Say, if you’re so interested in learning new things, I can teach you more than whistling—”

Sabina looked amused but turned back to the arena, doubling her tongue expertly behind her teeth and letting out a shriek of a whistle. “
Reds!
” she shouted, and Trajan dropped the kerchief up in the Imperial box and eight chariots surged off the line.

There was the usual jockeying against the
spina
, a team for the Whites went down promptly in a flurry of hooves and dust and screams, and then the crush thundered away toward the other end of the arena,
blue plumes in front with green and red close behind. They disappeared around the hairpin turn on the far end, shouts and cries rippling to the other side of the stands, and I flopped back in my seat again. “So you’ve got suitors,” I said idly to the senator’s daughter. “Any of them leading the pack?”

“One or two.” Her blue gaze came back from the arena to me, unblinking. “My father said I could choose whom I liked, within reason.”

“What’s within reason?”

“Well, the Emperor has to approve my choice of husband,” said Sabina. “And neither he nor Father would allow me to marry a freedman in a butcher’s shop, or a wastrel with a pile of dicing debts. And my father wouldn’t like it if I chose a man who travels a great deal either.”

“What’s wrong with traveling?” The chariots thundered around the second turn, a storm of cheers going up as the Reds fought up on the outside against the Blues.

“If I marry a general or a provincial governor I’ll be gone from Rome, and Father would rather I stayed close. But he’s going to be disappointed on that score.”

“Why? Got your eye on a general?”

“No.” Her gaze transferred back to the arena. “I’ve got my eye on the world.”

“Tall order.”

“Big world.”

“I’ve seen Britannia,” I offered. “Londinium’s a sinkhole, but Brigantia’s pretty—that’s up north.”

“Tell me about it?”

“Mountains,” I said. “Mountains and sea—and it’s cold, but the mist wraps the tops of the mountains and makes everything funny in your ears—” I talked about Brigantia, and Sabina listened with her whole body, drinking in every word as the horses thundered through two more laps.

“I’d like to see Brigantia,” she commented when I trailed off. “But I’d like to see everything.”

“Where’ll you start?”

“Judaea? Gaul? Egypt, maybe—their gods have animal heads, and I always thought that was interesting. Or Greece—I could visit Sparta and Athens, see which one really is better.”

“Spartans have the better armies.” I remembered the stories my mother had told me. “Or they did, anyway.”

“Yes, but what else have they got?” Sabina looked thoughtful, and the horses whirled past again in a cloud of dust and cheers. “Might be worthwhile, finding out.”

“You know how they get married?” My mother had told me the story. “They take all the girls up into the mountains at night, give ’em a head start, and send all the boys after ’em. Everybody’s naked, and whoever catches who gets married.”

“How fortunate we don’t do that in Rome. I’m a terrible runner.”

“I’m not.” I looked her over. “Run you down in a heartbeat, I could.”

“But would you want to? There’d be some hardy Spartan girl you’d fancy first. Much better for a legionary.”

“I’m not going to be a legionary.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Twenty-five years’ service. Not bloody likely.”

“Hmm.” Her eyes turned back to the arena again as the cheers redoubled—in the fifth lap, the Reds had pulled ahead of the Blues. “Oh, good. They’re winning.” She waved her pennant politely.

“Hey!” I stared slit-eyed at the man sitting behind Sabina, a big bearded man who had edged forward swearing at the Blues. “Keep your knees out of her back!”

“Maybe she liked it,” the man jeered, looking Sabina up and down.

“Take that back!” I reared up, grabbing a handful of his tunic. I was just in the mood for a scrap.

“Are you going to fight?” Sabina said, interested.

“Not much of a fight,” I said, after bloodying the fellow’s nose. He
slunk off swearing, and I shook out my hand. “Maybe he’ll come back with some friends.”

“I rather hope he does. I’ve never seen a fight before.”

“You saw me in the arena, didn’t you? My second bout, when I was thirteen and got my shoulder speared.” I still had the scar.

“Yes, I saw you. You were quite good too. But you weren’t fighting for
me
. I’ve never had anyone fight for me before. I can see why girls get all excited about it.”

“You’re an odd one, Lady,” I couldn’t help saying.

“Do you think so? I think I’m quite ordinary.”

“At least we’ve got room to stretch now.” I leaned back, extending one arm casually along the line of her shoulders. She looked amused but let it stay there.

The Reds came in tops by a length, red plumes tossing in triumph over their chestnut heads, and the red-clad portion of the circus exploded into cheers. Three more heats followed as the sun descended into the heat of afternoon. There was another victory for the Reds and two for the Greens, and I was starting to get restless. “Food?” I suggested. “There’s only so many times you can watch horses run in a circle.”

“It does start to look the same after a while,” Sabina agreed. “Where shall we go?”

I could think of a few places to go, most with convenient flat spots and none having anything to do with food, but this was a senator’s daughter. “There are vendors about.” I bulled a path in the crush, and Sabina followed in my wake.

“Sausages?” she suggested, pointing to a little stand.

“Better not. More likely dog than pork.”

“I wonder why we don’t eat dog,” she mused. “We eat geese and pigs, and they’re just as domesticated. We eat eels and lampreys, and they’re too vile-looking even to contemplate in their natural form. But we don’t eat dog, not unless we’re really desperate.”

“You want to try?”

“No, I confess I don’t. But I wonder why?”

“You wonder a lot of things.”

“Don’t you?”

“I wonder where my next meal’s coming from. Or I wonder what I’ll be doing a year from now.”

“I already know what I’ll be doing a year from now.” She tucked her hand into my elbow. “Perhaps that frees me up to wonder about the odd things.”

“What
will
you be doing a year from now?”

“I’ll be married. What else is there?”

I got her fried bread and strips of some lean roasted meat that at least wasn’t dog. We watched the fifth race from the stands, munching, and when the Blues won I taught the senator’s daughter a few colorful curses to hurl down at them.

“
Die slowly, you Blue whoresons
,” she yelled down at the track where the Blue chariot wheeled in triumph, and I grinned as she added a few more choice phrases. Then, behind us, I heard a cool patrician voice.

“Lady Vibia Sabina, are you lost?”

“Not a bit.” She turned, her hand still tucked into my elbow. “Are you, Tribune?”

I’d have known him for one of the well-born even without the rank Sabina gave him. Only the rich and powerful wore a toga that snowy clean, and wore it without tripping over the heavy folds like us commoners. This tribune was a tall man, perhaps twenty-six; not as tall as me but broader. Dark hair curling closely over a massive handsome head; broad calm features, deep-set eyes. Bearded, which wasn’t usual for Romans. He held the folds of his toga against his chest with one large ringed hand and looked down at Sabina with calm disapproval.

“You should not be here, Lady.”

“Why not?”

“Your father has a box. Far safer for a girl.”

“I’m safe enough with my escort here.”

His eyes shifted to me. Just one quick glance and I knew he could
describe me in detail a year from now, from my worn sandals to my shaggy hair to the amulet about my neck, which, from the twitch of his heavy eyelid, he clearly thought barbaric.

“Vercingetorix,” said Sabina. “Meet Publius Aelius Hadrian,
tribunus plebis
.”

“What’s that?” I asked, not bowing. “A legionary officer?”

“No, that’s a different kind of tribune. Hadrian’s kind is a sort of magistrate. The first step toward becoming a praetor.”

“There are other responsibilities.” Hadrian’s eyes swept me again. “And who is this?” he asked Sabina.

“A client of my father’s.”

“Ah.” Faint surprise. “Senator Norbanus always did have odd clients.”

“He does,” Sabina agreed. “I like them. One learns so much.”

“You have strange tastes, Vibia Sabina.”

“Doesn’t she?” I said. “I think it’s sweet.”

The tribune’s eyes lingered a moment on my arm, where Sabina’s hand was still tucked, then dismissed me. “If you will not be escorted back to your box, Vibia Sabina, I will take my leave. I dislike the races. Too many horses die, and I hate to hear them scream.”

Another bow to Sabina and he moved off in blind confidence, rippling a path in the crowd for himself. “Stiff patrician bastard,” I growled.

That was the first time I met Publius Aelius Hadrian. What a lot of trouble I’d have saved if I’d just killed the bastard on sight.

SABINA

How nice, Sabina reflected, to have someone large and male on hand in a crowd. She followed easily behind Vix as he shouldered through the delirious crush of Reds fans—the Reds had taken the final race and won the day’s majoity. “My aunt Diana will never forgive me if
I don’t come congratulate her,” Sabina shouted over the roar of applause as the Reds completed their last preening victory lap, and let Vix bull a path down into the sea of red now crowding the arena.

“Hell’s gates.” Vix got his first close look at the racing stallions—huge and sweating, champing against the red leather reins. “I’m never getting on a horse in my life if I can help it.”

“Killed your first man in the arena at thirteen,” said Sabina, amused, “and you’re afraid of horses?”

“Petrified,” Vix said frankly. “I haven’t met a one that didn’t want me dead. Why would anybody want to—”

“Sabina!” Aunt Diana came up from behind, flinging her unfashionably brown arms about Sabina’s waist. As usual, her red dress and white-blond hair smelled of hay. “The Reds took five of nine, did you see? I’m having the charioteers back to my villa for a party; you’ll come, of course—”

“I think I’m going home, Aunt Diana.”

“Gods’ wheels, girl, at your age I could drink any charioteer under the table! Have it your way, I’m going to check my horses—”