Emperor's Knife Read online

  ‘And maybe you will encourage them in that belief?’ he asked bitterly.

  Geta looked offended. ‘Brother, would I? But know this. When Father is gone, you will not rule alone.’

  There were just the two of them. The dinner knives were sharp. Caracalla was far more physically powerful than his brother. While the household was distracted with the Emperor’s collapse, he could take his chance and end this question of succession once and for all. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He thought of all the slights, the insults, the scheming. He thought of how disastrous it was going to be, to rule the Empire with his petty, incompetent younger brother.

  He thought of how when they were children, they used to wrestle in the grass in the palace gardens, the much older Caracalla tickling Geta until he cried for mercy amidst howls of laughter. How they used to bet on quail fights, and Geta had a knack for picking a winner from the weediest-looking specimens. How, as soon as Geta had been old enough to wear his toga virilis for the first time, Caracalla had arranged for a party with just the two of them, a huge amount of wine, and some experienced pleasure slaves. What a night that had been.

  Geta looked at Caracalla curiously, and Caracalla realised he must have been showing a faraway expression. He shook his head and sighed.

  ‘Get out of my sight, little brother.’

  Geta held his gaze for a moment, then his face curled into a sneer, and he turned and left Caracalla alone.

  Chapter Four

  The room was quiet apart from the rattle of dyspnoeic breath and the slow drip, drip of blood from the Emperor’s wrist into a copper bowl on the floor. Galen sat on a stool, holding Severus’ non-lacerated wrist, two fingers on the pulse. Julia Domna was seated by his head, dabbing his cheeks with a damp flannel. Caracalla and Geta stood at the foot of the bed, watching. Hovering near the door were Papinianus and two Praetorian Guards. It had been some hours now since the collapse. Night had fallen. The palace beyond the Imperial chambers was deathly silent. Even those slaves and servants who had business to be up at this time tiptoed around, aware that something momentous and terrible was happening.

  Lucius Septimius Severus Pertinax Augustus Parthicus Britannicus was sixty-five years old and had reigned as Emperor of Rome for nearly nineteen years since the year 966 Ab Urbe Condita. His predecessor was the egregious Didius Julianus, who had tried to purchase the purple as the highest bidder in an auction instigated by the corrupt Praetorian Guard. Severus had been the ultimate victor of the wars stemming from the Year of the Five Emperors, and had gone on to defeat the Parthians, expand and refortify Africa province as well as defeat the barbarians of Caledonia. He had ruled the Empire for longer than any since Marcus Aurelius.

  Now here he lay, surrounded by his family, body ravaged by time, sickness and an intemperate climate, weaker than a newborn kitten. Caracalla was in his prime, strong and fit, and couldn’t imagine ever being in such a physical condition. Maybe he never would be. Severus was something of an exception in recent years in his length of reign, and to die of natural causes while wearing the purple was unusual. No one wanted to die before their time, but Caracalla was realistic – when he took the throne, he would be a target for everyone with an ambition to rule. Not least his younger brother.

  Galen’s prognostication had been grave. The old doctor was not a seer or a haruspex and did not claim to be infallible. Nevertheless, even Caracalla could see that his father was fading fast. His belly fluttered with excitement. Much as he loved his father and admired his achievements, his time had gone. Caracalla had served his apprenticeship. He was ready to be the master now.

  Severus opened his eyes, and raised a hand to Domna. She bent her ear close to his lips, and Severus whispered to her. She nodded and closed her eyes, tears overflowing and rolling down her cheeks. Caracalla felt mixed emotions at this display of affection from the woman he loved towards his father. But soon, Domna would be his alone as well.

  Severus spoke aloud, his voice weak and breathy but audible.

  ‘Julia. Antoninus. Geta. Come close. Everyone else. Out.’

  Papinianus bowed, and nodded to Galen. The physician hesitated, then stiffly stood and was escorted out by the two Praetorians. The door closed. Geta and Caracalla stepped forward and knelt on either side of their father’s bed.

  For a moment Severus just breathed heavily. His lids fluttered, and Caracalla wondered whether there would be any last words. Then he opened his eyes again and looked at Caracalla and Geta in turn.

  ‘You boys have made me proud,’ he said. The words came slowly, punctuated by struggles for breath, but they were clear. ‘You will both be an asset to Rome. You have different qualities, complementary…’ He trailed off and his eyes closed again.

  Caracalla waited. The time was very near now. Severus took a deep breath, and Caracalla wondered if it was that last agonal gasp that he had witnessed so many times on the battlefield. But it was merely a prelude to more words.

  ‘The Empress and I…’ More breaths. ‘We wish you to rule together. Co-Augusti. Like Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus.’

  Caracalla and Geta both bowed their heads. Caracalla sighed inwardly. He had hoped, even at this late hour, that Severus would come to his senses. That he would realise that making them equal could only lead to conflict. Caracalla and Geta were not Aurelius and Verus. They did not have that deep brotherly love. Nor would Geta subordinate himself to his older brother the way Verus had to Aurelius. He could only hope now that Geta would succumb to an untimely natural death like Verus had.

  ‘I know that the two of you have conflicts. But heed these words. Live with each other in harmony. Enrich the soldiers. And damn the rest.’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ said Caracalla, wondering already how he could live up to his father’s dying wishes.

  ‘Yes, Father,’ said Geta sombrely.

  ‘Julia,’ said Severus. ‘My love. For ever.’

  He closed his eyes. This time he did not open them. His breathing became deeper and more erratic. Then it slowed. Slowed. Stopped.

  Domna laid her head on his chest and wept. Caracalla’s thoughts whirled. He was now the most senior Augustus, by age, experience and length of time in the purple. Maybe he could make this work with his brother, if Geta could be persuaded to accept him as the senior partner.

  He looked at his father’s still body, and offered a silent prayer to the gods for his swift passage to the afterlife.

  * * *

  Februarius in Eboracum was a foolhardy time to go swimming in an open-air pool. But Daya didn’t seem to feel the cold, and Silus could not let himself be shown up by this young woman. Atius, Daya and he swam lengths of the thirty-yard pool that was the centrepiece of the Fortress baths. Apart from the three of them, the pool was unsurprisingly empty. The snow had only just melted from Januarius’ biggest fall, and the water could not have been much above the temperature at which it would freeze. He gritted his teeth and swam on, using a steady breaststroke. Daya was half a length ahead of him, Atius just behind, grumbling loudly, then choking as his mouth filled with water.

  He reached the nymphaeum at the south end, where a statue of a group of dolphins played in the water coming from the fountain that supplied the pool. The freezing spray splashed his face as he came near it and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  They had agreed ten lengths, and he had one more to go. His limbs were tired and his breath short, but the cold was absolutely numbing. He put in a burst of speed, but actually lost ground to Daya who reached the far end and hauled herself out. She stood there, water dripping off her slim, naked body, waiting for Silus to arrive, and when he reached her, she offered a hand and helped haul him out of the water.

  It was even colder out than in, he felt, as the cool breeze played across his wet body.

  ‘Gods, that was horrible,’ said Silus.

  ‘To the caldarium,’ said Daya, and set off at a run.

  Atius was at the far end of the pool, and got out without completing the ten
lengths. He stared daggers at Daya’s retreating back, then looked at Silus. Silus shrugged and set off after her.

  They ran briskly through the frigidarium and tepidarium, but it was too fast to acclimatise. The heat of the caldarium hit Silus like a slap, and he suddenly found it hard to breathe, difficult to properly fill his lungs. Daya didn’t hesitate and jumped straight into the hot plunge pool, a big splash making some nearby legionaries who were sitting on stone benches soaking up the heat look up and send curses her way. Silus gritted his teeth and jumped in after her.

  It felt like he had landed in a cauldron of boiling water and he yelped aloud. The hot plunge pool was a high enough temperature to make him wince even when he had already acclimatised in the caldarium room. Going straight from freezing cold to boiling hot instead of the usual, civilised build-up through frigidarium and tepidarium prior to entering the caldarium was excruciating. He jumped out as quickly as he had jumped in.

  ‘Are you trying to kill me?’ he gasped.

  Daya wallowed in the hot water for a moment, then leapt out.

  ‘That felt amazing,’ she said, a huge grin painted across her face. ‘Atius. Your turn?’

  ‘Fuck that,’ said Atius, and sat down heavily on one of the stone benches.

  Daya and Silus joined him. The hot air circulated around them. Silus thought his body didn’t know whether to shiver or sweat. It had certainly got the blood pounding, though, and he felt strangely alive.

  The great bathhouse had become a regular haunt for Atius and himself over the winter, as they exercised, gambled, chatted, and in Atius’ case, found women to entertain him, especially after Menenia had thrown him out. Atius had encouraged Silus to take a woman, and he had actually thought about it, but though it was almost a year since the loss of his family, he still could not bring himself to be near anyone else. He knew that the memories, and the sense of betrayal of his beloved Velua, would be too intense.

  Daya now wore a breast band and thong, and it only now really occurred to Silus that he was sitting next to a barely clothed woman. There had been no time to look when she had stripped and dived into the swimming pool, and he had been too cold and exhausted afterwards to even think about her nudity. Now, when he had time to contemplate her, he found himself strangely uninterested. He realised that women generally had little interest for him after the loss of his family, but he was a man, and not entirely immune to feminine charms. Yet Atius, the womaniser, was showing no interest either. Maybe it was her handsome but androgynous features, her boyish build and face, her short-cropped hair.

  Or maybe it was just that it was so unusual to have a female warrior. Yes, history and legend were littered with examples, such as Boudicca, Cartimandua, Camilla and Antiope. He had even seen gladiatrixes who fought in the arena, although most aficionados considered them an amusing diversion rather than a serious contest. So maybe Silus and Atius were just not viewing this athletic, martial young woman as female at all.

  ‘So is that your idea of fun?’ Silus asked Daya.

  ‘Why not? I live for extremes. Why spend your life in the tepidarium, when there is a frigidarium and caldarium out there?’

  ‘There speaks someone without enough experience of life,’ said Atius. ‘There will be times when you long for tepid.’

  Silus’ body decided the heat was here to stay, and his pores opened and sweat began to pour down his head and back.

  ‘Daya. You are a master of unarmed combat. A fast swimmer. You don’t seem to feel heat or cold. Is there anything you can’t do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Daya. ‘I haven’t found anything yet.’

  ‘I bet she can’t piss standing up without getting her feet wet,’ muttered Atius.

  ‘Maybe you have a challenge for me?’ Daya suggested.

  Atius regarded her steadily. ‘Maybe I do. Come with me.’

  Atius led Daya to the gymnasium. Some dedicated legionaries and auxiliaries were working out, lifting weights, doing squats and press-ups, keeping themselves in shape through the winter inactivity. More of them would be drinking, gambling and whoring, mocking those who did work they didn’t have to. Silus wondered who was more likely to survive a battle. It wouldn’t necessarily be these men striving to be the best. They were often found in the front line, or taking part in a hopeless charge. The shirkers and wastrels had a tendency to survive.

  Two round stone balls, about the size a man could encircle with his arms, sat at one end of the gymnasium. Atius stood behind one, and motioned to Daya to stand behind the other.

  ‘What’s the game?’ asked Daya, still cocky. The young woman was much slighter than Atius in build, both in her natural frame and the lack of muscle that developed as one matured. Yet she seemed to show no doubts.

  ‘Simple,’ said Atius. ‘Pick up this ball, and carry it to the far end. First there wins.’

  ‘What’s the prize?’

  ‘If you lose you have to find the finest whore within a hundred yards of the bathhouse and pay for me to spend half an hour with her.’

  ‘And if I win?’

  ‘Well, it’s not likely, is it? Do you want me to find you a man whore?’

  She gave him a contemptuous look.

  ‘Fine, I’ll buy you some jewellery to the same value.’

  She didn’t look like the sort who was interested in pretty trinkets, but she shrugged and accepted. It was not the sort of wager to bankrupt either of them. The finest whore to frequent the bathhouse was hardly the sort of high-class courtesan that might attract the attention of a senior commander or high-up civilian. But the motivation for the contest was far more about proving prowess than financial gain.

  ‘Silus, you’re the judge,’ said Atius. ‘Count us off.’

  ‘Right,’ said Silus. ‘First to carry the stone between those two pillars over there. Get ready. On three. One, two, three. Go!’

  Both the contestants bent their knees, wrapped their arms around the stones, and heaved them up. In unison, they took their first steps.

  Silus was impressed with how Daya had started. He had doubted whether the young spy could even lift the weight, and it had certainly taken some effort. But once she had it in her arms, she did not hesitate. Slowly, one steady foot after the other, she began to make progress.

  But she did not have Atius’ bulk. Though the larger, older man was not finding the task easy either, breathing hard through gritted teeth, his steps were longer and firmer. Silus watched the muscles stand out in bunches around Atius’ arms, the veins on his neck bulging, his legs rigid as tree trunks.

  The total distance was around twenty yards, and by the halfway point, Atius had opened up a gap between them of three feet. The strain was showing on both. The temperature in the gymnasium was neutral, but sweat poured down both contestants’ bodies.

  When Atius reached the three-quarter mark, Daya was only at the halfway point, and her legs were beginning to tremble. Her breathing came in a ragged hiss, and her back stooped. Suddenly, the ball slipped from her hands and crashed to the gymnasium floor, cracking a tile, and narrowly missing crushing Daya’s foot. Atius looked back, and gave a smile that was more of a grimace. He lowered his own stone to the floor and took some deep breaths.

  ‘Ready to quit?’ asked Atius, unable to keep a mocking tone from his voice.

  In answer, Daya bent down and with immense effort hefted the stone back into her arms. She set off again, a determined look on her face, and Atius suddenly seemed alarmed as the young woman began to close the distance between them. He reached down and hastily grabbed his own stone. The effort of carrying the boulder with already fatigued muscles was even worse now, and he grunted with each step. The finish line was yards away, then feet. Atius glanced back over his shoulder.

  Impossibly, the young woman was gaining on him. Only a few feet separated them now. Silus saw Atius start to tremble. His legs shook, and his face showed concern through his pain. He took another step. Another. Silus thought he would drop the boulder, and doub
ted he would manage to pick it up again if he did.

  And then he was there, crossing the line, letting the boulder crash down to the floor.

  ‘The winner,’ declared Silus. ‘Well done, Daya, good effort. You can stop now.’

  The young woman said nothing. She continued to take one step after another, eyes focused only on the finish line.

  ‘Daya, it’s over, you lost,’ said Atius. ‘You did a lot better than I thought, but you can rest now.’

  It was as if she was deaf. Her face was white, her legs trembling violently. The pulse in her neck was thumping fast. Silus became alarmed.

  ‘Daya, you are going to hurt yourself. Stop.’

  Others in the gymnasium who had initially paid only a passing interest to the wager now stopped their exercise to watch. Some shouted at her to stop. Some laughed. Some yelled encouragement. Inevitably some started to bet on whether she would make it or not, and one even wagered that she would die before reaching the finish.

  Step.

  After.

  Step.

  It was fascinating. Time seemed to slow down. The fantastically stubborn young woman, moving more slowly than a tortoise, approached the finish line.

  Three feet left.

  Two.

  One.

  She staggered over the line, let the ball tumble down, and collapsed onto her back beside it, gasping. An attendant slave rushed over with a damp towel and patted her head and body.

  Atius and Silus stared in amazement.

  ‘Christos,’ said Atius. ‘What were you trying to prove, girl? You had already lost.’

  Her eyes slowly refocused, and she looked up at them.

  ‘There,’ she said between heavy breaths. ‘Still nothing I can’t do.’

  Silus shook his head and laughed.

  ‘You are something, Daya. I don’t know quite what, but you are definitely something.’

  He offered a hand, and when Daya took it he hauled the young woman to her feet. Daya put a hand on Silus’ shoulder for a moment, looking momentarily dizzy. Then she straightened and smiled.