Only five pieces remained on the board out of the original thirty-two. Titurius retained three black counters to his daughter’s two white. But he did not feel confident. His daughter always surprised him with her tactical sense and quick thinking. Maybe he was just old, or distracted by affairs of the state, but the nine-year-old girl won as often as he did.
They were playing a speeded-up version of ludus latrunculorum. After each move, they both tapped the table three times, by the end of which the next person had to have made their move. Not only did it prevent endless internal strategising, but it forced errors, meaning the game could be completed within an hour, rather than take a whole day.
Tituria’s two white pieces were close together, while his were spread further apart. He moved his more distant counter sideways to reinforce the other two. Tituria advanced a piece. He brought his piece closer again. Once it was nearby, he could force a win with superior numbers.
Damn. It was the speed of the game that made him miss the obvious trap. She advanced her other piece, and caught one of his counters between the two, blocking it so it was no longer allowed to move. He turned this piece, called alligatus, upside down and brought his outlying piece to just one square away from the beleaguered two. Tituria used her next move to take the alligatus piece out of play. He moved a counter away from him down the board in a way that he hoped would be able to bring it into play in a move or two, and then realised his error too late. Triumphantly, Tituria leapfrogged his counter, pinning the other.
There was nothing he could do. He let the game play out – resigning at this moment of victory would be robbing her of the glory. He played his only counter that wasn’t alligatus in a pointless move, and she took his alligatus piece off the board with a huge grin on her face. With only one black counter remaining to him, he was defeated.
Titurius leapt to his feet, and upended the board with a roar, sending the last three remaining pieces on it flying across the room.
Tituria giggled at his mock display of anger, and he stepped forward and hugged her tight. Weren’t well-brought-up Roman girls supposed to respect and fear their fathers? He wouldn’t change a thing about her, his precocious, fearless, loving daughter.
Autronia entered, and rolled her eyes. Titurius knew that his wife did not approve of educating girls, or encouraging them in sports of the mind. As far as she was concerned, the only training the daughter of a noble family needed was in running her husband’s household – controlling the finances, managing the house slaves, rearing children, spinning and weaving. The qualities she needed were piety, chastity, strength and an absolute devotion to her family. Not like the loose-living, hard-drinking, hard-partying women who made up most of their social circle. Autronia was a model matron, a rare Cornelia, Lucretia or Verginia for the modern times, and Titurius loved her for it, even while he secretly wondered what it would be like to be married to someone a bit more fun.
Titurius exchanged a knowing look with his daughter that spoke of Autronia’s displeasure, and wordlessly agreed to humour and ignore it.
‘Tituria, it’s time for your wool-working lessons with the slave girls.’
Tituria grumbled but her father gave her a glare, and she reluctantly left.
Titurius noticed now that Autronia was holding a folded parchment letter. It was closed with Dio’s seal. He broke it and read quickly, digesting the news. He looked at Autronia.
‘The Emperor is dead.’
Autronia put her hand to her chest and inhaled sharply.
‘When?’
‘The day before the nones of Februarius.’
‘So long ago. Why are we only just hearing it now?’
Titurius sighed inwardly. The education she despised would have helped her here.
‘Eboracum is over a thousand miles from here as the crow flies. When the Augustus died, they would have dispatched a messenger by ship to inform the Senate as the quickest way to reach Rome. But it would have to sail down the coast of Britannia, round Gaul and round Hispania before travelling along the Mare Nostrum to reach Ostia. That is some journey.’
‘And who is now the Emperor?’
That was the question on everyone’s lips. Severus had reigned for nearly two decades, and it had been fourteen years since he had defeated his last rival for the throne. Rome had got used to uninterrupted and uncontested rule, and now found itself anxiously waiting for what came next.
‘Antoninus and Geta will rule together as co-Emperors.’
‘But don’t they hate each other?’
Titurius looked at the ludus latrunculorum board on the floor, the counters scattered. When he had last spoken to Dio about the succession, a storm had been coming. Surely, this news was a distant crash of thunder.
Not long into his first day at sea, Silus had decided that he hated ships even more than he hated horses. He grudgingly accepted that horses got him from one place to the next in a faster time than he could walk or run, that they were of use in battle, and had even saved his life in the past, such as when he was escaping from imprisonment by Maglorix at Pinnata Castra.
Ships, though, were unnatural. Men were not supposed to ride the waves like dolphins. They had no flippers on their feet, no webbed hands, and they couldn’t breathe underwater like fish. And clearly the gods thought he had no right to be there, either, and had visited on him feelings of nausea and bouts of vomiting such as he had not experienced since his father forced him to eat raw squirrel as a child. He had spent the first day of their voyage hanging over the side rail of the ship, heaving himself dry, while Daya looked on with ill-disguised condescension.
After a few days of misery and sickness, Silus began to find his sea legs, as the sailors put it. Being unable to keep food down, he was sure he had lost pounds of weight, and once his stomach was up to it, he ate hungrily to regain his strength. After the sickness had passed, though, the boredom set in. Every so often, the captain would point out a feature on the coast they were passing, but it interested him little. Only when they passed through the Pillars of Hercules into the Mare Nostrum did he show any real interest. The Mare Nostrum was also notably calmer than the waters of Oceanus that they had just left, which was kinder on his stomach.
Daya spent the voyage exercising and training on deck, running the short distance the space allowed, doing squats and push-ups, practising knife play and archery. Once he started to feel less like a victim of poisoning, he joined her for some of the exercises. Archery was the only thing in which he was her equal, and he was even able to teach her a few tricks. Despite some initial doubts, once she saw his prowess with bow and arrow, she listened carefully to his lessons about breathing, aim and visualisation of the target, and soon she was incorporating his teaching into her shooting. He understood now how she managed to be so good at everything. She practised continually, not just until she got the hang of it, but until she was as good as she could be, and then she practised some more. He wondered if her background as a slave, and the accompanying feelings of worthlessness, pushed her to prove her worth, if only to herself.
In the evenings they slept near each other. A horny sailor had once approached her bed. Silus had only woken at the man’s cry as he retreated with a broken wrist. The captain had been angry about that. Apparently, he was one of their best rowers, and the captain had to find a port, put him ashore and employ another oarsman at increased expense when the new employee realised that the captain’s need of the oarsman was greater than the oarsman’s need for employment. Nevertheless, the rest of the crew left Daya well alone after that.
Silus tried to engage Daya in conversation numerous times, but she tended to give one-word answers to questions when she could get away with it. Used to Atius’ garrulousness, it was disconcerting to sit in silence with the young woman, and so he sought the captain and the crew for company, leaving her to herself. He exchanged war stories with the sailors, told them tales of Caledonia, of battles with barbarians, of capture and torture. They told him stories of pirates and mermaids, and battles against storms that nearly carried them to the bottom of Poseidon’s kingdom.
They asked about Daya, and he told them what he knew. They listened with fascination and frustration at her incomplete history. The crew knew they were being conveyed on a military or diplomatic mission of some sort, but Silus had obviously told them nothing about their assignment, nor even that they were Arcani. Still, they wanted to know more about the slight girl who fascinated and terrified them.
They were around two days out from Lipari when Daya ignited. He had been standing by the rail, watching Sardinia disappear over the horizon behind him, when he felt two hands grab the collar of his tunic and thrust him forward. His feet left the ground, and he balanced precariously, like a lever with the rail a fulcrum pressed painfully into his midriff. He cried aloud and flailed his arms for balance, seeing the dark sea passing by a few feet below, knowing that if he fell, he would likely drown before the ship could turn and rescue him.
A face came near his cheek, and a female voice hissed in his ear, ‘What have you been saying about me?’
‘Daya, Daya,’ he cried out frantically, his fear of drowning crowding out all thought. ‘Let me go. What are you talking about?’
‘I overheard two sailors talking about me,’ she said, and her voice dripped venom. ‘They didn’t know I was there. They said that I fucked Bulla Felix. They said I sucked his dick, that I was his mistress and whore. They said that he liked to give it to me up the arse because I look like a boy. Now, Silus, think carefully before you answer,’ and she tipped him forward a little further to emphasise the point. ‘Who might have told them that?’
‘Daya, I never said that,’ he said desperately.
‘But you were talking about me?’
‘Yes, but I never said—’
‘You told them about me and Bulla?’
‘Well, I said that you were part of his gang—’
‘You sullied his honour and my reputation? For what? A laugh? Some pats on the back and some increase in your standing among these rough men?’
‘Daya, listen to me. Yes, I talked about your time with Bulla Felix. I didn’t know it was a secret. I’m sorry, I should have known better. You are right, I talked about you to become better liked by them, because I was bored, because…’ He was babbling, he knew, but the rail in his guts was getting painful, and making it hard to breathe.
‘But I never said any of those other things about you. They are just gossiping. Making things up for their own amusement. You have to believe me. Daya!’
He teetered over the edge of the ship for a moment. Then she yanked him backwards and he fell to the deck, breathing heavily and holding his bruised abdomen.
‘Daya,’ he said. ‘Forgive me. I was indiscreet. But I never said a bad word about you. I only praised your courage and abilities. I… I respect you. I want you to know that.’
She knelt over him, gripped his tunic and brought her face close to his.
‘What sort of an Arcanus are you? Is this the standard I am supposed to be aspiring to? I am supposed to be learning from you? Someone who runs his mouth off at the first opportunity because he is bored and seeking approval?’
‘Daya…’
‘Fuck you, Silus. Leave me alone.’
She stood abruptly and walked to the prow of the boat where she sat cross-legged on the deck and stared out at the horizon, as if she were the ram of a trireme, her furious stare enough to cut a ship in two.
You’re so fucking stupid, Silus, he thought. Then he felt a lump in his throat as he remembered who had told him that before. Menenius and Geganius, his commanding officers. Velua his wife. All now dead. They were right then, and Daya was right now. What was he thinking?
Daya and Silus avoided each other for the rest of the day. Silus knew he should be reaching out to her, trying to apologise again, but her silence was like armour, and he didn’t have the energy or courage to try to batter it down.
After night fell, they lay in their beds. In the close proximity of the cramped quarters, he could hear her breathing. Steady, even, but not slow and deep enough to indicate sleep.
‘Are you awake?’ asked Silus quietly, tentatively.
‘No,’ replied Daya.
Silus said nothing for a moment. Then, ‘Will you accept my apology?’
‘We have to work together.’
That wasn’t a yes. Should he push?
‘This wasn’t just about our reputation among the sailors, was it?’ It was a guess, but her reaction had seemed quite extreme to a little bit of gossip. ‘Was it about Bulla Felix?’
‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘You know nothing.’ Her voice was quiet, and he detected a little tremor in it.
‘Did you love him?’
No reply.
‘Oh.’
Silence. Silus tried one more time. ‘I didn’t know. I am truly sorry.’
After a moment, Daya said, ‘It’s not like you think. He loved me like a daughter. I loved him… more strongly than that. But it never transformed into anything… physical.’
‘That must have hurt,’ said Silus.
‘No!’ she said vehemently. ‘He was a great man. Being with him was enough. He saved me from a life of slavery. He taught me how to survive. How to be free. Being with him didn’t hurt, even if I loved him in a way that he didn’t love me back. It was losing him that…’
She broke off. Silus reached out a hand to hers but she jerked away from his touch. He folded his arms across his chest.
‘I know what it’s like to watch loved ones die,’ he said.
There was a pause, then a small hand reached out, squeezed his shoulder briefly, and was gone.
‘Oclatinius told me about your family. It’s my turn to be sorry.’
The old spymaster was a gossip too? No, he always had a good reason to do anything. Maybe he wanted to bond Silus and Daya more closely. That might even be the reason that Daya was on this mission instead of Atius.
‘He told you that, huh?’
‘He did. But I haven’t blurted it out to the crew to gain their favour.’
He took the reprimand stoically. Was the conversation, the brief rapprochement, over?
‘I still don’t understand something though, Daya,’ he said tentatively. ‘How did you go from running with the outlaws to trying out for the Arcani, the Emperor’s spies? Don’t you hate the Emperor for what he did to Bulla Felix?’
‘I do,’ she said vehemently. Then, more uncertainly, ‘I did. Now, the Emperor who ordered him hunted down and executed is dead. His sons had nothing to do with his death.’
‘So it was the man himself you hated, not the position, not Rome itself.’
‘Bulla was always kind to the people, and merciful to the soldiers he defeated and captured. That makes his end even more bitter. They gave him a wooden sword and set two lions on him. He didn’t attempt to fight. He was never cruel to animals any more than to people, and I believe he knew these animals held him no personal animosity. Hating them was as useless as hating the executioner’s garotte.
‘Before they attacked, he looked around the crowd. For a moment, our eyes locked. I was so far away, I don’t know if he recognised me. But I must believe that he knew I was with him to the last. After that, he disappeared beneath the beasts, and I couldn’t hear his screams over the cheering of the crowd. After the beast handlers had used their whips and spears to get the animals off him and out of the arena, his body was dragged away, leaving a long trail of blood in the sand. His head was hanging half off, one arm ripped clean away. I looked at the Emperor, and I knew what I had to do.’
‘What?’ asked Silus, spellbound.
‘I had to kill him.’
Plautilla looked out across the narrow sea that separated Lipari from mainland Sicily and sighed. A short distance away was the island of Vulcano. She could probably reach it by swimming, but what was the point? Vulcano was even less interesting than Lipari, as it was primarily used for forestry and mining. Lipari at least had some interesting ruins from when it was owned by the Greeks before the Romans conquered it. Occasionally wealthy Romans still visited to use the baths that were fed by the island’s hot springs. Sometimes she was able to obtain news from the Empire. Her guards were taciturn and grumpy, resenting their posting to this isolated place to act purely as gaolers, and they told her next to nothing. But the visits to the island had become less and less frequent. She didn’t know if people were avoiding her out of fear of incurring disfavour from the Imperial family, or because there were more interesting places in the Empire to visit.
The last time anyone of importance from the mainland had come to see her was before the Saturnalia. A Romano-Gallic nobleman was looking for warmer climes to see out the winter and he had stayed about a week. She had squeezed every bit of information she could out of him. Severus and Antoninus were still in Britannia, campaigning against the Caledonians, she discovered, but the Emperor’s health was failing.
Knowing that the seemingly invincible Severus was ill sent a frisson of excitement and fear through her. When the old man who had executed her father and exiled her was gone, would she be recalled from exile? Would she be reunited with Antoninus, her father’s sins forgiven?
Her brother Plautius threw cold water on that idea. In his years of exile, he had grown fat, drunken and morose. He did little but eat and drink and bathe, for what else was there for a man of his age to do here?
‘When Severus is gone, Antoninus can do what he likes. Geta isn’t strong enough to restrain him. We are an inconvenience from his past. He hated Father, and he never liked you. When the old Emperor dies, our own time will be about to run out.’
She detested her brother on occasion. Even if what he said was true, why say it so cruelly? But he was the only adult Roman company she had, and sometimes she just needed someone to have a mature conversation with. Their elderly Greek house slave, Loukia, was no Socrates, or even a Julia Domna. Catching Plautius in the brief moments between his being too drunk and too hungover was the key to a discussion worth having.
Right now, he was a little too drunk, but at least he was entertaining Hortensia. Plautilla’s daughter was her delight and the only thing that kept her sane. Just one year old at the time of Plautianus’ execution and Plautilla’s expulsion from Rome, she was now nearly eight, and had never known anything except exile, first in Sicily and now on this tiny, broken-down island. Despite this, or maybe because of it, she was a happy child, delighting in her lessons from her mother in Greek grammar and poetry, from Loukia in weaving and sewing, from Plautius in philosophy and history. She explored the island and befriended one of the feral dogs that roamed near the rubbish tip. She played board games and sang and played the lyre beautifully.
Sometimes she asked Plautilla why they couldn’t leave the island, and Plautilla was always evasive, even as her heart was breaking. Her daughter should have been in Rome, her education preparing her for a life married to a Roman nobleman, caring for his household and bearing his children. Was that future to be denied to her?
She turned back to the sea, looking towards Sicily where any news or visitors would come from, and resumed her watch.
‘And how did that work out?’ asked Silus, incredulous.
‘The Emperor is dead, isn’t he?’
Silus gaped. ‘You? But it can’t have been. He was ill. He died of natural causes. How did you…?’
He realised Daya was chuckling quietly, and he shut his mouth abruptly. Bitch.
‘Very funny,’ he said. ‘But were you serious about wanting to kill him?’
‘Deadly,’ she said. ‘He was the man I held responsible for Bulla’s death. Merciless and cruel. I vowed to make him pay.’
‘How?’
‘You may have noticed I have some skills.’
‘One or two,’ admitted Silus.
‘I planned to infiltrate the palace as a serving slave, and stab him to death right in front of his family and the Praetorian Guards.’
‘And your escape plan?’
‘There was no escape plan.’
‘I see. So what happened?’
‘It took years. I allowed myself to be taken slave again, and worked domestically. Sometimes I couldn’t believe I had put myself back into slavery voluntarily, but it was the only way. I manipulated my masters into selling me to people that I wanted to be near. A word in the right ear about how much such-and-such a noble would pay for a particular skill I had, for example. Playing the lyre. Cooking a certain dish. I became a valued commodity, and eventually I was purchased by the Imperial court, much to my current master’s annoyance.’
‘So you got your chance? What went wrong?’
‘Oclatinius, of course.’
Silus nodded. Of course.
‘I had finally been selected to serve at an Imperial banquet. They were all going to be there. Caracalla, Geta, Papinianus, Julia Domna. The Emperor himself. I had a small knife, tipped with belladonna to make extra sure, hidden up the sleeve of my tunic.
‘I was on my way from the kitchens to the triclinium with a tray of sweetmeats and my knife, when Oclatinius intercepted me in the corridor. He had been watching me for some time, apparently. I pulled the knife and tried to stab him, hoping I could make a run past the guards for the Emperor. He grabbed my wrist, made me drop the knife and had me pinned against the wall before I could take a breath. Then before anyone came along to investigate the noise of the dropped tray, he whisked me off to a side room.’
Silus knew the old man had prodigious fighting skills, but Daya was good. To disarm her so easily was impressive. He reminded himself once more never to cross him.
‘And from attempted assassination of the Emperor, to training for the Arcani, the most trusted and feared spies in the Empire, was a short step?’ asked Silus, bewildered.
‘Of course not,’ said Daya. ‘Oclatinius took me into his household and talked to me. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t being arrested and executed, or just cut down on the spot. And he did tell me that if I tried to escape, or showed disobedience, he would have me flayed and left out for the crows. But he also told me he saw something in me. He asked me about why I wanted to kill the Emperor, what had led me there, what skills I had, made me demonstrate them to him. I think that if I hadn’t been sufficiently interesting to him, he would have put a knife in me.
‘But he liked me. And for my part…’ She trailed off, swallowed. ‘For my part he was the first person to treat me like a human being since Bulla.’
‘He is an extraordinary man,’ said Silus.
‘He showed me what use I could be to the Empire. How it would give me a sense of value and purpose. He told me how ill Severus was, and persuaded me that there was no point in continuing my attempt on his life, as he would be dead before long anyway. And he told me that Bulla would have wanted me to be happy and successful.’
‘That must have been hard, given Bulla’s attitude towards the state.’
‘At first. But Oclatinius showed me that Bulla was running his own little empire, and that despite his mercy, he used violence to keep it running smoothly. And he told me that admirable as Bulla’s mini-empire was, how much better it was for the life of the people of Rome to live in a big, stable empire, where laws were upheld, everyone was fed, and everyone was safe from violence.’
Except the slaves, thought Silus. Oclatinius had done a good job of persuasion on the impressionable, idealistic young woman. Converts and turncoats were often the most passionate of believers, he knew.
‘And so he trained me, and judged me, and finally decided that I was good enough for a mission. And that’s when he introduced me to you.’
‘You aren’t a sworn Arcanus yet, are you?’
‘After this mission, he promised.’
‘And how do you feel about this mission? Off to kill an innocent woman and her family.’
‘No one is innocent,’ said Daya with a sneer. ‘Besides, she is a threat to the peace and stability of the Empire. And Oclatinius orders it. That is good enough for me. And it should be for you too.’
‘It is, certainly,’ said Silus. He may have been tasked with assessing Daya, but he was sure that cut both ways, and he had no desire for her to report back to Oclatinius that he had doubts about his mission.
‘Good,’ said Daya. ‘Do you want to know anything else?’ Her tone suggested she was done talking now.
‘No, no. I think that covers everything.’ Silus lay back on his bed and was quiet. Soon, Daya was breathing deeply. But Silus found it hard to drift off, unsure how he felt about the scary young woman asleep by his side.
There were few things Tituria enjoyed in life more than eavesdropping on adults. For a nine-year-old girl, the world of grown-ups was a mysterious place. Her mother and father instructed her on what was to be expected from a young unmarried Roman girl, and then a married Roman woman, and while some aspects seemed nice, such as being in charge of the household, others seemed less so. Why could she never be a senator like her father, for example? What happened when a man married a woman, and how did they make babies? Her parents were silent on these matters, and the explanations that the household slaves attempted seemed implausible.
Hearing the words straight from the horses’ mouths was Tituria’s preferred method of self-education. And since the horses were unwilling to communicate with her directly, listening in on their discussions was the next best thing.
At this particular moment, Tituria was hiding inside a wide, tall vase that sat in her father’s study. It had been one of her preferred hiding places for several years, but now that her limbs were starting to lengthen, she had to pull her knees up to her chest and tuck herself in more tightly than in the past, and she knew that it wouldn’t be long before she had to give up this spot. For now, though, she had an excellent position to listen to her father’s conversation, even if the words came to her through the aperture of the vase in a ghostly echo.
When she had heard Dio Cassius announced at the door, she had taken a gamble on where her father would meet him. Last time he had come she had rushed to hide beneath a couch in the triclinium, and been disappointed when they had retreated to the tablinum. Father had become more secretive when Dio Cassius visited these days, and Tituria was desperate to know why.
It was difficult being silent in the darkness, unable to see what was going on. She was sure the vase amplified the sound of her breathing, that they might even be able to hear her heart thudding with excitement and fear of capture. But she had not yet been discovered, and her luck seemed to be holding out again today.
She heard a slave take orders for drinks, her father and Dio Cassius exchange pleasantries while they were served, and then dismiss the slave. When they thought they were alone, Dio Cassius spoke.
‘Have you given the matter any further thought?’
‘Of course I have,’ said her father, his voice uncharacteristically curt. ‘I have been thinking of little else.’
‘Good. This is no light matter. And where do your loyalties lie?’
‘To the Emperor, of course.’
‘Come now, Titurius. There is still more than one Emperor, even after the passing of Severus. This isn’t the first time we have discussed this matter.’
Her father sighed and she heard him lift his cup and drink. She imagined his face now, brow furrowed as always when he was concentrating or concerned.
‘You know there were two wolves seen at the Capitol this week,’ said Dio. ‘They were chased away. One was hunted down and killed in the Forum. The other was killed later, outside the city walls.’
‘You and your omens, Dio Cassius.’
‘It doesn’t matter if you believe them, Titurius. If the common man, or even the average senator, gives it credence, then it matters.’
‘Do you really think there can only be one?’
‘Do you really think they can rule together?’
‘No, I don’t think they can. They even messed up their joint sacrifice to Concord.’
‘Both Emperors and the superintending consul searching for each other all night. What a farce. So you have two options. Which charioteer will you bet on? Blue or Green?’
‘There is another option. Not to place a bet.’
‘Titurius. Would you really stand on the sidelines when the fate of the Empire is being decided? Besides, do you think that the victor will be any more magnanimous to those who stayed out of the battle than those who opposed him?’
‘So we all have to choose a side, and we all have to pick the winner or else?’
‘And once we have picked a side, we have to do everything in our power to help them win, or we will suffer the consequences.’
Tituria shivered. She didn’t like the sound of that.
‘Who is the more likely to win then?’ said Titurius. ‘Blue is the more powerful. He has the support of the army and the Syrian faction.’
‘Green is more popular with the people. Blue always seems so stern. And the army won’t turn against Green. He is physically very like his father, whom they loved.’
Tituria supposed that Dio Cassius and her father thought they were being clever talking in codes. But she knew that Caracalla liked to race in the arena in the colours of the Blue faction, and Geta consequently had chosen the Green and raced for them.
‘I am inclined to back the more powerful man, regardless. I want to be on the winning side, for my own sake and the sake of my family.’
Again, Tituria felt a chill.
‘I still assert that Green is the more powerful. He may not have as much support among the legions, but true power is decided in Rome by the Senate and the Praetorians. It is the Praetorian leadership and the Senate we must work on. And remember, we must not only back the winner, but ensure that the winner is the best one for Rome and for ourselves. Blue will never take our guidance on matters of state. Green is much more malleable. I believe the key is convincing both Praetorian prefects to our way of thinking.’
‘Laetus is no lover of Blue, that’s for sure,’ said Titurius. ‘But Papinianus seems undecided. His loyalty was to the father. And he is related more closely to Ge… I mean to Green. But he is part of the Syrian faction who support Blue.’
‘Papinianus is the one we need to work on,’ agreed Dio Cassius. ‘Let’s wait for the Imperial party to return to Rome, and then look for an opportunity to spend some time with Papinianus.’
Titurius let out a long breath, then Tituria heard the scraping of two chairs as the men stood. Moments later, they were gone, and Tituria was alone with what she had heard.
She eased herself out of the jar, stretched her cramped limbs, and tiptoed to the door. Once she was sure no one was nearby, she hurried away, heading for the peristylium. There, she watched the birds gathering material for nesting, while thoughts of what she had heard churned through her mind.
Silus and Daya landed on Lipura at night. A small skiff had taken them inland and dropped them near enough to the shore that they had only got wet up to their ankles. They followed a narrow path up a cliff, lit by enough moonlight to avoid twisting an ankle or taking a nasty fall. At the top was the villa where Plautilla lived in exile with her family.
Silus knew that two Praetorians guarded the house, but he doubted that they would be very alert. Silus reckoned that they felt their jobs were fairly superfluous anyway. The imprisoned family had no means of escape from the island, and where would they go if they did manage to flee? And the guards had no reason to worry about attack from the outside. There were no riches here and no one would pay a ransom for these hostages.
Their orders were to kill Plautilla and all her familia. That meant her slaves as well as her family. But they had been ordered to spare the Praetorians if at all possible, and if it wasn’t possible, to ensure that they both died, so neither Praetorian could report back on the murder of the other.
Daya had argued that their orders gave them scope to go in and kill both guards quickly and quietly, before moving on to the rest of the household. But Silus, nominally in charge, although he feared the level of control he had over Daya, had vetoed this, and laid plans to incapacitate them peacefully.
They climbed the wall at the back of the villa, made simple by missing bricks and large cracks to give hand and footholds, and slipped into the peristylium. From there they moved silently into the main house and took stock.
The villa was not huge, and some parts had been abandoned to the elements, roofless or with doors nailed shut. That considerably narrowed the number of rooms to search. As usual, Oclatinius had been short on detail, never one to hand-hold his spies in their mission, expecting them to be competent and independent enough to need nothing from him but the barest of orders.
They split up and scouted the layout efficiently. As they had suspected, no one was awake. Some doors were partially open, and some they had been able to peep through a crack. They located the two Praetorians sharing a bedroom just off the atrium, snoring loudly. They could only find one slave: a plump, elderly woman who lay on her back and moaned intermittently. One man slept in a bedroom alone, tossing and turning and smelling strongly of alcohol. And in the final room was Plautilla. He glimpsed her through the crack made by the partially open door. She was lying in bed under a light blanket, face serene in sleep, breathing lightly. He sighed and returned to Daya.
‘Guards first,’ he whispered. She nodded.
They entered the guards’ bedroom, and at a nod from Silus to coordinate their actions, they both pressed a knife to their victims’ throats while clamping hands over their mouths. Both guards woke up, trying to gasp and struggle, gripping their attackers’ wrists, until the pressure from the knives quickly made them still.
While Daya held her captive motionless, Silus eased his victim upright, and whispered to him to put his hands behind his back. When he complied, Silus quickly bound his wrists tight, then slipped a gag into his mouth and tightened it painfully. He then tied his feet together, tied his hands, then attached the wrist and ankle ropes together behind his back, so the guard was well and truly trussed. Once the first guard was immobilised, he helped Daya do the same to the second.
Daya stood over them while Silus crept to the door and made sure that they hadn’t been overheard.
‘I still think we should kill them both,’ said Daya. ‘It’s safer that way.’
The guards started to struggle, eyes wide. Silus made calming motions, then drew his knife when they continued to wrestle with their bindings.
‘We aren’t going to kill you,’ said Silus. ‘Unless you do anything to give us away before our mission is finished. Do you understand?’
The guards nodded, calming down.
‘Come on,’ said Silus. ‘Let’s get this over with. Quick and silent, right? You take the slave woman and I’ll take the brother. Then we will do Plautilla together.’
Daya nodded and was instantly out of the door. Silus followed quickly, entering the small bedroom where Plautius slept. He was a large man, once fit, although long since gone to fat. Strangulation might not be quick enough, and might alert others to the sound of a struggle.
He stepped forward to the bedside, pressed a hand over the drunkard’s mouth, and slit his throat from side to side. Blood spurted sideways, and Plautius woke, staring in terror at his attacker. The fear lasted only moments though, before all awareness left his eyes. Silus cleaned his hands and blade on the bedcover, and went out into the corridor to find Daya. She had also cleaned her knife and herself, but blood was leaking out from under the door of the room she had just vacated. He nodded to her and she nodded back. Then, taking a deep breath, they approached Plautilla’s room.
When they opened the door, the young woman was standing in the middle of the room, her bedclothes in a lumpen mess behind her. A tiny oil lamp was the only illumination in the windowless room, but Silus’ eyes had adjusted enough to the dark that he could make out all her features. She wore a plain white smock. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, her nose petite, her eyes wide and round and full of tears.
‘Did my husband send you?’ she said, voice tremulous.
‘Yes, Augusta,’ said Silus. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘He did not, Augusta.’
‘Silus,’ hissed Daya. ‘What the fuck are you doing? Get on with it. Or are you too much of a pussy? Shall I do it for you?’
‘Be silent, Daya,’ said Silus. He pulled out his knotted rope where it had hung from his belt. He took two brisk steps forward to stand behind her, then slipped the rope over her neck.
‘If you have any last prayers to say, say them now,’ Silus whispered in her ear. Then he pulled hard to tighten the rope around her neck. Reflexively, she reached up to try to loosen the pressure, opened her mouth to draw breath which would not come through her collapsed windpipe. He leant back, lifting her feet from the ground, increasing the pressure on her neck. His face was by the side of hers. He could see the tears in her eyes. And strangely, in the last moments before she lost consciousness, he saw her eyes dart towards the bed.
Daya had seen it too, and looked curiously at the bedcovers, piled up as they had thought in disarray when Plautilla had arisen in alarm. But when he looked closely, he thought he could see movement.
As he pulled tight one last time, making sure he had squeezed the last of the life out of Caracalla’s wife, Daya stepped forward and pulled the bedcovers away with a sharp tug.
Lying exposed on the bed, trembling violently, was a young girl.
Daya and Silus looked at each other. Silus let Plautilla’s lifeless body fall to the floor, and the girl gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
Daya moved quickly. Silus cried out, ‘Daya, no!’
Daya put a hand on the girl’s chin, another behind her head, and twisted sharply. There was a crack, and when Daya stepped back, the girl collapsed, dead.
‘Daya,’ whispered Silus. ‘What have you done?’
Daya looked puzzled. ‘We had our orders. Kill everyone in the household apart from the guards.’
‘She was just a little girl.’ Not much older than Sergia had been when she…
‘Kill everyone,’ repeated Daya.
‘I didn’t know that Caracalla and his wife had a daughter.’
‘Neither did I. And Oclatinius clearly didn’t think he needed to mention it, as his orders were so clear. Kill. Everyone.’
Silus looked at her in anguish. Daya shrugged and walked out, leaving Silus alone with the bodies of the young mother and the little girl that they had just killed.