One With the Darkness (37 page)

Behind her, Livia felt Jergan’s presence. She turned. He stood, pale but still imposing, in the doorway to the inner house. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword in its scabbard. He had donned a white tunic, and his sandals were hastily tied. He glanced from Gratus and the Guard to Julia and Agrippina and his face hardened into a scowl.

Claudius motioned him forward. “You may assist in this matter, Jergan Britannicus Lucellus, if you feel up to it.”

Livia saw Jergan grow wary. “I am well. What do you wish, Caesar?” Of course Jergan wasn’t well yet. His eyes had dark half-circles smudged under them.

“The first duties of a new emperor are judicial. I have pardoned those senators who were involved in the plot against my cousin.”

Livia let out a breath of relief. If only Titus could have lived to be among them.

“However, Cassius Chaerea is another story.” Caesar frowned. “He came before us this afternoon with a wild story of golden wheels and jewels the size of your fist and said my cousin had been thrown forward in time, not killed.” He shook his head and shrugged. “Did he think to gain clemency with such a ridiculous lie?”

The cherub-faced Gratus remained impassive. He could have testified for his former commander. Gratus had seen the machine. But then he would not have retained his new rank.

“What will happen to him?” Livia asked.

“It has already h-happened. His head is d-displayed outside the Temple of Jupiter by now.” Claudius raised his brows. “It would n-not do to let him linger and attract d-dissidents to foment rebellion.”

History had righted itself.

“And what of the imperial funeral?” Jergan came up to stand just behind her. By the gods, how had she not seen it? There was no body to carry through the streets. Surely that would have bolstered Chaerea’s story.

But she had reckoned without Gratus. “The crowd for the funeral procession was disappointed, but the corpse of the emperor was too disfigured to allow anything but a shrouded litter to feed their grief.” And he gave a cherub’s smile.

Livia wondered whose body was inside that litter.

“And n-now, there is another judgment n-necessary.” Claudius glanced to Julia and Agrippina. “We’re afraid where it c-comes to our own family, we might not b-be objective. What does one do with our c-cousins? They were our dead emperor’s m-most loyal supporters. Should they be k-killed before they can intrigue against me? I … I m-mean
we
are afraid we n-need your assistance. I might be tempted to l-leniency. But they have w-wronged you as well. What should become of them?”

Julia burst into tears. Agrippina chewed her lip. “Great Caesar, spare us,” Julia blubbered. “We meant no harm to you. We just poked fun. We thought you liked it.”

Claudius stilled all speech with a frown. “We leave your f-fate to Livia Quintus and Jergan Britannicus. B-beg for mercy from them.”

Julia didn’t hesitate. She threw herself on her knees and actually wrung her hands. “Please, please be merciful with us. You don’t know what it was like to be his sister.”

Agrippina took a breath and sank slowly to the tiles of the courtyard. She did not supplicate but bowed her head.

Livia looked up at Jergan. He was the one who had felt their irons sear his flesh. If he needed revenge to put that incident behind him, then this was his chance. “I cannot judge them, Caesar. I leave that to Jergan Britannicus.”

The courtyard was silent except for Julia’s sobs. Livia could see a muscle working in Jergan’s jaw. The Guard stood impassive. Claudius merely waited.

Jergan blinked slowly. “Their brother made them fear for their lives if they did not obey him. Yet they craved what that obedience brought—power and privilege. They used their position to inflict pain on others.” He took a breath, trying to decide. She saw his face harden. He was going to order them to their death. He was a man, a warrior. Of course he would kill them.

They were banished, Donnatella said.

Livia licked her lips. The important thing was Jergan. The way forward for him was not killing. Yet he needed to put their crimes behind him.

“I can think of punishments worse than death,” she blurted. “At least for these two.”

He turned toward her and his expression softened. “Say them, Livia.”

“Banish them from Rome to a remote place, with no slaves. Their lives should be ordered by a eunuch, who will direct an ascetic life for them, that they may contemplate the spiritual side of man, which they have so neglected.”

Jergan glanced to the sisters. The look of horror on their faces was almost comic. He nodded slowly. “A more devious solution, my lady, worthy of a female.” He looked to Claudius. “I concur with Livia Quintus Lucellus.”

Claudius smiled, relieved. “A fit judgment. We shall see it carried out.” He looked at Gratus, who gestured to the guards.

Two soldiers hauled the women to their feet. Julia began to wail again. “I can’t live like that,” she shrieked. The soldiers hustled them out into the street.

“You two are well m-matched,” Claudius said to Jergan and Livia. He looked almost regal in his snow-white toga, bordered with the imperial purple. “As long as I r-reign, you will be undisturbed.”

“Then we have more than a decade of peace ahead of us,” Livia said.

“That long?” Claudius mused. “I would not have thought it. Time enough to set a n-new tone for Rome.” He looked at her sharply. “Will you be content without meddling in p-politics?”

“My meddling apparently does no good.” Livia sighed. “The world does what it will do.”

Claudius nodded several times, thinking about that. Then he turned and limped out the door. The Guard hustled to surround him. The new emperor might not be impressive to some, but he would rule Rome for more than thirteen years, at times ruthlessly, but always with the intent of making Rome stronger for the common people.

Livia took Jergan’s arm and turned him into the house. “Rest now. The crisis is over.”

But that didn’t change what stood between her and Jergan. She didn’t care about the cardinal Rule. She would make him vampire in a minute in order to avoid the regret that she knew would haunt her all her days if she did not. Let the vampire Elders do what they would. That was Donnatella’s influence.

But it seemed history reverted to its true course, even if the channel it took was different. She had been unwilling this past week to offer to make Jergan vampire for fear he would refuse her. If he did, knowing the years of regret ahead of her would crush her soul.

She let him down onto the soft linens of the bed. His eyes were serious, uncertain.

And if he refused her, there was nothing to say that he would even stay with her. His staying a few years didn’t have any cataclysmic consequences to the world. What if such a small thing could be changed easily, like Lucius dying? Then she had nothing, not even a few years of regret.

She hadn’t even told Jergan she was pregnant. Why not?

Because if he stayed with her only for the sake of his son, then being together would slowly poison them both, and Livia’s life would be less than Donnatella had experienced, not more.

“Sleep,” she whispered, and closed his eyelids with her fingertips, gently. He let her have her way, but she knew he would not sleep.

Gods above, what was her way forward? Her heart was twisted in confusion.

But how could she not try to get what she had come across time to achieve? She had to offer to make him like her.

But not today. She turned from the room and shut the door quietly. She’d wait until he was stronger.

J
ERGAN SAT IN
the back of the wagon, dozing as it rumbled along. How could such a day occur in February? At home the wind was bitter cold this time of year. The sun warmed him through the woolen tunic and the cloak that Livia had carefully tucked around him in the pre-dawn light. He’d told her he could ride today. It had been more than three weeks since the arena. Stubborn woman. Though she had brought a horse for him. Maybe to morrow.

One should make use of this weather. One could probably grow two crops a year if one was careful, if the soil was rich, as it had been in Centii.

He opened one eye, just to make certain the enclosed wagon she used for herself was still behind them. There it was, lumbering behind a team of six horses. Such a vehicle would founder on the narrow tracks of Britannia. But it did well enough on the broad Roman roads. She said sunshine would help heal him, so she insisted he ride in the open wagon during daylight hours. What healed him was her care—the careful stitching, her gentle touch as she tended his wounds. Now if only she would relent on her vow not to drain his strength with making love, he would be a content man.

Would he? He pushed himself up. One thing had scratched at him through all these days.

She had never said she loved him.

He didn’t count that drugged disclosure in the arena when she murmured that Donnatella told her to say she loved him. He didn’t think she even remembered it. Maybe she didn’t love him. Maybe Donnatella wanted her to tell him that just to secure his help or …

He realized he had been watching the verdant hills roll by without really seeing them. She said they would be red with poppies in the summer.

What could love mean to a woman who lived forever? An interlude of passion? If she had lived that long, perhaps she was beyond loving. And he was only human. He didn’t even bring down empires or engineer their rise. No wonder she couldn’t love him. He was just a man.

A man without even an occupation. What need had Livia for a soldier? What need had Livia for anything he was? Oh, she liked making love to him. Abstinence was making her as cranky as he was. But that was not enough. He might as well be her slave, his body to be used as she desired, if he could contribute no more to their relationship.

Even her attraction to him would fade. He would grow old, his body weak, while her needs would continue to be those of a vibrant young woman. Would she press a gray head to her breasts eagerly? Could he stand to see her seek her pleasure in the arms of a younger man as he grew incapable of satisfying her?

He twisted irritably in his cloak. That pulled at his wounds. He had never felt so mortal.

He wanted to be with Livia. How he longed for her touch. He could bid the driver of the cart halt and go back to join her in her wagon.

Yet he did not.

What use? She would soothe him and cosset him. It wasn’t enough.

O
N THE EVENING
of the fourth day, the little caravan consisting of Jergan’s cart, Livia’s enclosed wagon, and the carts stacked with luggage and supplies finally trundled through the gates of the villa in the hills outside the little village of Montalcino. Servants rushed to greet them. Her entire household from Rome was there. Only Lucius was missing. Livia climbed out of her wagon. She had used the pretext of Jergan needing sunlight to separate them during the journey. The dread she felt at asking him to let her make him vampire warred inside with Donnatella’s prodding to at least try. Yet Donnatella seemed to be fading. Livia could not remember the future as clearly as she had in the catacombs, or even as well as when Claudius had come to her a week ago.

She had missed her courses. Not unexpected, given that she was pregnant, but a pressing inevitability that tapped at her mind. If Jergan stayed, he would soon know that she was pregnant. Didn’t she owe it to him to tell him before it became obvious? Not if he was intending to leave as soon as he felt up to the journey.

The runners she had sent ahead had done their work. Light shone from the windows. The floor would be warm, the hypocausts stoked. She could smell the food. So why did she feel so desolate?

Jergan dismounted, looking haggard. He had insisted on riding the last two days. He rode well. She had watched his broad shoulders and his muscled thighs from a sliding panel she cracked open in the evening light. He would be too tired tonight to talk about the future.

Relief washed over her. She couldn’t propose it to night.

The servants had a table laden with food prepared. She glanced to Jergan as he removed his cloak. There was a distance about him she couldn’t fathom.

Or maybe she could. He was probably wondering what he had gotten himself into. Life with a woman who must drink blood? Maybe he was already wondering how soon he could return to Britannia. Maybe even the fifty years she had with Jergan and her son in Donnatella’s experience would be denied her. She would raise Gian alone. And she would, rather than blackmail Jergan into staying with her using her unborn babe.

This way lay madness. And that might be her lot. Everything was so confusing. Could she change what had happened to Donnatella without changing everything? Maybe she couldn’t change anything at all. Or maybe she couldn’t even achieve what Donnatella had experienced.

The worst part was that she had lost the refuge of a conviction that she couldn’t change destiny. She’d once been certain one could not break the cardinal Rule, that there was no way around her fate. That certainty was what made a life with Jergan as he aged and died bearable.

Donnatella had taken that from her. Donnatella told her she could change her lot. It might be a lie. But Donnatella had thought she had to try.

She sat to table, Jergan across from her. They hadn’t said anything to each other for hours.

“Did … Did you get to see much of the countryside?” How inane. She watched him chew a piece of beef from the savory stew the servant had ladled.

Jergan nodded. “It looks like fertile land.”

She nodded. “Yes.” Even the one word seemed to choke her.

“Can you grow two crops a year here?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“If you rotated the fields so that one of four was fallow, resting, and the others planted with different crops spring and fall …” He spoke almost absently as he ate. “I saw a pair of oxen pulling a wooden plow. They’re late in turning the earth. That should be done in October.” He looked up. “But of course, your earth does not freeze here.” He stabbed another piece of meat with his knife. “Still, a metal plowshare would make faster work of it.”