It was then he heard a groan. Hoarse gasps. A cry inside the veiled curtains.
For a moment he thought of attackers—burglars through the window. He took a limping step forward, drawing breath to raise the alarm, and saw more.
A soft white body. A hard brown one. Intertwined limbs. A sweep of blue-black hair across the pillow. A Roman-nosed profile arching toward the ceiling, mouth open in a silent rictus of agony, or release. Pale hands clenched around straight young shoulders. The couch vibrating under the rocking bodies.
Paulinus.
Lepida.
As he gazed numbly, the intertwined bodies rolled and it was his wife on top, his wife raking her nails down his son’s chest—his wife who tossed her black hair out of her eyes and looked calmly over her shoulder at the doorway.
Lepida.
Paulinus.
That was when Paulinus opened his eyes. Dark eyes, a Caesar’s eyes, dull and stupid with lust. Then his gaze fell on the door, and his face snapped open with an almost comic shock.
“Father!” Jerking away from Lepida, he tumbled off the edge of the bed to the marble floor, scrabbling too late for a sheet to cover his nakedness. Lepida did not scrabble. She leaned back on her elbows with a little cat’s smile.
“Father, I—”
Quietly Marcus closed the door. There was no fury, no betrayal—only stone crumbling into dust.
Twelve
F
ATHER, please—” Paulinus tumbled through the door of the chamber into the hall, still tying the cord of his tunic. “Let me explain—” His face felt stiff, a marble mask. Slaves were gathering, blurs in his eyes, but his father’s figure was razor-sharp. “If you’ll just let me—”
“It can wait.” He felt his father’s eyes, but couldn’t meet them. “I promised your sister a bedtime story.”
“Father, you have to believe me.” His voice felt too high, but he couldn’t stop it rising. “I never meant—I never planned—”
“Oh, I believe you.” Marcus gave a flick of his fingers, and the slaves scattered. Behind him, still visible through the half-open door, Lepida had retrieved her robe and sat down humming at her dressing table to brush her hair. Marcus ignored her utterly.
“I’m not trying to—” Paulinus wrenched a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “I’m not saying it isn’t my fault, but—”
“Please.”
“Please what—”
“I don’t want details.”
“But I have to—”
“No.”
Paulinus knew that “no.” He’d not heard it since he was fourteen years old and whining to go to Baiae for a festival. It was his father’s Senate voice, the one that cut like an edge of steel. Paulinus’s voice stopped at once, chopped off in his throat.
“Your cousin Lappius is in Agrippinensis by now. In Germania.” Marcus’s voice was low and even. He stood quite still; no different than ever in his tunic and sandals, but something had happened to the corners of his mouth. “A change of scene might do you good. Lappius thinks I am an old fool, but he likes you. He’ll be glad to have you for a month or two.”
“I’ll leave tomorrow.” Paulinus felt a tortured thrust of eagerness. “As soon as I speak to Centurion Densus—”
“I’ll arrange it.”
“Then—then I’ll leave now.”
“I think you should.”
“Oh, gods, Father—” Paulinus’s voice cracked. He tried to force out the words
I’m sorry
, but it was so hopelessly inadequate. He stared at his father, standing so gray and bent in the hall, and tried to keep from weeping.
LEPIDA
I
T was a good hour before I heard my husband’s hesitant footstep outside my door. “Come in, Marcus,” I called out, picking through a dish of candies. “The sooner we get this over with the sooner I can get some sleep.”
He limped in, old and shabby and broken as one of Sabina’s decrepit old dolls. He managed to look me in the eye, but the lines about his mouth had reappeared.
“You’re late,” I greeted him.
“Putting my daughter to bed.”
I smiled sweetly, popping three little candies into my mouth. Let him make the opening gambit.
“Are you in love with my son, Lepida?”
I stared. “What?” Of all the opening gambits I’d expected . . .
“Phaedre loved Hippolytus.” Marcus seated himself wearily on my blue silk couch. “I doubted you had any such feelings, but it’s best to eliminate all possibilities.”
“You’re such a romantic, darling. In love with
Paulinus
? Don’t be absurd. Who’s Phaedre?”
“No one you know.”
“Your Paulinus was terribly amusing, but he’s far too much like you for comfort. Well, in some ways, that is.” I shook my hair back so Marcus could see the marks Paulinus’s mouth had left on my throat.
He closed his eyes. “If you’ll allow me another silly question, Lepida? Not an original one, I’m afraid. Just ‘why?’ ”
“Isn’t it obvious? If you hadn’t been so tiresome about taking me back to Rome—”
“Ah.” He rubbed the high bridge of his nose. “I should have known. I presume you’ll divorce me, then?”
“Why would I want that?”
“Why else would you put on that charming little spectacle upstairs?”
“Just to teach you a lesson, Marcus. You did deserve one, didn’t you? After swooping me out of Rome just when I caught the Emperor’s eye—”
“The Emperor.” He actually laughed. “Catch him with my blessing, Lepida.”
“Oh, I intend to. But I can hardly catch myself a lover unless I’ve got a husband, can I? Men don’t like unattached mistresses.”
“Get another husband. I’ll return your dowry; you could marry anyone you liked.”
“Could I? When I’m just a middle-class rich girl back in my father’s house? The best I could catch the first time around was you, and then I was a virgin.”
“I’m afraid that’s your problem, Lepida.” He looked at me coolly. “I won’t have you in the same house as my daughter.”
“
Your
daughter? How can you be sure, when I was entertaining every worthy Roman citizen in the city behind your back?”
“Oh, Sabina’s mine. You’re a creature of society, Lepida, and society says that the whoring doesn’t start until the children are born.”
His detached tone caught me off-guard. And his expression—as if he were studying an interesting legal concept instead of his own wife. I tossed my head. “Well, you’ll have to put up with me, Marcus. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
“You thought you’d open my eyes, Lepida? They’re opened. And I don’t particularly like what I see—can that possibly surprise you?—so I intend to divorce you. Do you understand Roman divorce, my dear? All I have to do is speak the words and have you gone from my house. But you needn’t worry,” he added. “I’ll let you keep your dowry. You gave a fine performance. Worth a few thousand sesterces, even if you did your best to corrupt my son.”
His eyes were cold and hooded, his voice a slow patrician drumroll. How dare he look at me as if he were an Emperor and I were an insect?
I let the smile drop. “No, Marcus. No divorce. You’ll go back to Rome, and you’ll take me with you, and you’ll pay all my bills, and you won’t ask questions when I come in at dawn smelling like the Emperor. That’s what you’ll do. Or I’ll ruin you.”
“Try,” he said calmly. “You’ll ruin yourself.”
“Do you understand the courts, my dear?” I leaned forward, nailing his eyes with mine. “Courts are made up of men. Susceptible, sympathetic men. I know men, Marcus. I fooled you, didn’t I? And Paulinus, the upright honorable soldier. The men in those courts are no different from any others. I can make them believe me.”
“Believe what?” He dissected me with his eyes. “An unfaithful wife? How many of those do you think they see every week?”
“But do they see this every week?” Straightening, I covered my face with my hands and let my shoulders heave.
“ ‘Paulinus made me—I never wanted to, never; he’s my stepson! But he forced me, and when I went to Marcus afterward he just laughed—he said it was part of a wife’s duty! I knew it wasn’t natural, not the—the things Paulinus made me do—but I was so frightened—’ ”
“Seen enough?” I lifted my head. “Why, Marcus. You’re looking at me as if I had snakes for hair.”
“I wish you did.” The words came with a kind of wonder. “I’d have had better luck with Medusa.”
“If you divorce me, I’ll have Paulinus charged with rape. The courts
will
believe me, Marcus. They’ll believe me when I tell them Paulinus raped me and you agreed to it. They’ll believe me when I say that I turned to other men because I was mistreated. They’ll believe me when I say that Sabina isn’t your child at all, but Paulinus’s. When I’m done, you’ll just be a dirty old man who couldn’t wait to get his hands on a fi fteen-year-old girl and her money. Paulinus will just be a rapist who the Praetorians can’t wait to be rid of, and Sabina will be an incest-born bastard.” I leaned back, smiling. “As for me, I’ll be divorced and free and rich, and my father will breathe fire at you for daring to hurt his little girl, and I’ll be married again in no time. Because I’ll be sure to get all of your money as well as mine, darling. I think the Emperor will allow that—he’s never been fond of you, after all. So you see, it really is to your advantage to keep on my good side.”
He didn’t bother begging me not to do it. He just looked at me, and his eyes were wondering. “What is it you want?”
“Your cooperation. Your compliance. Your silence. That’s all. We don’t even need to live together, or hardly at all. Just enough for appearances’ sake.” I rose, yawning. “Goodness, it’s late. I believe we’ve said everything there is to say, don’t you? If we’re leaving for Rome this week, I’ve got a lot of packing to do.”
He sat as still and silent as a catacomb, staring out in front of him with blind eyes. Yes, this was the way it should be—I was the Empress and he the insect. It was enough to make me feel positively benevolent. I stooped and brushed my lips carelessly across his cheek. “Don’t despair, darling. If you don’t sulk too loudly then perhaps I’ll slip back into your room now and then. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
He caught my wrist as I drew a finger down the side of his face. “Madam,” he said formally, “I’d sooner bed a snake.”
I felt my smile slipping. He limped out.
THERE
was just enough light from the half moon for Marcus to see his son riding through the stable gates. Riding north for Agrippinensis, far away in Germania. His breath showed in faint puffs on the cool night air, and the slump of his shoulders was visible even from the window.
Lappius will welcome him
, Marcus thought.
He’ll fill Paulinus’s days with parties, and his nights with hired courtesans. The matrons of Agrippinensis will throw their daughters in his path, and perhaps he’ll make a hasty marriage in hopes of forgetting. But he won’t forget. He’ll throw his window open on those freezing German nights and sit shivering till dawn, thinking of Lepida and wanting to fall on his sword. Oh, Paulinus—
The moonlit road was empty now, and the night was cold. Marcus closed the window.
“Do you require anything, Dominus?” The household steward hovered.
“The truth.” Marcus turned. “How long?”
“A few months.” The steward hesitated. He had been running the Norbanus household for twenty years, and Marcus knew his every expression. He gestured the man to go on. “I would have written, Dominus, but Lady Lepida threatened . . . the slaves are all afraid of her. She’s—not a kind mistress.”
One more thing he had not known about his wife.
“Good to have the young master in Germania, Dominus. He’ll get over it soon enough.”
Would he?
“Thank you, that will be all.”
On the desk was the rough draft of Marcus’s new treatise, completed a week before he came home. Proposed improvements to the existing inheritance laws. Marcus unrolled the scroll until he reached the words he had proudly penned the night before.
To my wife.
A surprise for Lepida, who didn’t understand his treatises any better than Paulinus, but who had done a fine job pretending how much they meant to her.
Marcus reached stiffly for a pen. He cut the nib down to a fine point and uncorked the ink. He scratched out the dedication in two precise lines. No scribbling. Scholars didn’t scribble. Scholars didn’t scribble and senators didn’t weep, so he set the scroll aside to dry and folded his hands.
LEPIDA
L
EPIDA!” “Lady Lepida!”
“You’re back!”
I flung my arms out: the star guest at one of Lady Lollia Cornelia’s sensational dinner parties. “Darlings, it’s been desolate without you.”
They hastened to assure me that it was Rome that had been desolate without me, and I wafted in on a wave of adulation. Ah, this was what I’d been missing: the parties, the suitors, the jewels, the gossip . . . I made three trysts that night. Kept two, left the third waiting. How much fun it would be to coax him back into good humor next time!
“The Emperor has taken himself back to Dacia,” Marcus told me, not bothering to look up from his scrolls. “He’ll be gone a long time, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll find plenty to do until he comes back.” I swanned out just in time to see Sabina scurry behind a pillar. She avoided me these days. If I said a word to her she just stared back with huge eyes. How had I ever borne such a child?
“She’s an utter idiot,” I shrugged to Aemilius Graccus over bedside wine. “Just like her father, really. What a pair.” I collapsed into laughter as he improvised a wicked little impromptu verse on the subject of my idiot husband and daughter. All Rome was laughing by the end of the week.
“I’m fair game,” Marcus told me pleasantly. “Sabina is not. If I hear another verse about my daughter, I’ll have you in the courts regardless of what pretty stories you threaten to tell. Is that understood?”