Emperor: The Blood of Gods
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‘By all the gods, Octavian! If the consul had thought it through, he could have had your inheritance in exchange for a single order. His lictors would have cut you down and Agrippa and me as well!’
‘I thought he would help,’ Octavian said stubbornly. ‘So much has changed. I can barely take it all in.’
‘Well, put your head in a fountain or something,’ Maecenas snapped. ‘You need to be sharp now.’
Both Agrippa and Octavian looked at him in surprise. He shook his head slowly.
‘Have you any idea of the importance of that will to you, to those in power?’
Octavian shrugged. ‘I know the sums are great, but until I can lay hands on them, I …’
‘I’m not talking about the gold, Octavian! Though you are now the richest man in the richest city of the world. I’m talking about the clients! Do you understand now?’
‘Honestly, no,’ Octavian said.
Agrippa looked similarly mystified and Maecenas took a deep breath. He had grown up in a world where such things were common knowledge, but he saw that neither of his friends truly appreciated Caesar’s gift.
‘Jupiter save me from common men,’ he said. ‘Noble houses secure their power with clients, families in their pay. You must know that much.’
‘Of course,’ Octavian said. ‘But …’
‘Caesar had thousands of them. He was famous for it. And they are all yours now, Octavian. His adoption of you gave you more than just a house name. You can call on the service of half of Rome, half of the legions of Rome if you want to. For all we know, Tribune Liburnius is now sworn to your service and Gracchus with him.’
Octavian furrowed his brow.
‘I can’t inherit them like a jewel or a house.’
‘The adoption says you can,’ Maecenas insisted. ‘Oh, there will be a few malcontents who fall away – there are always honourless bastards. But you are the son of the divine Julius, Octavian. Have you realised? The oaths of service they swore will pass to you.’
‘But I don’t even know who they are!’ Octavian said. ‘What good does this talk of thousands do me? I have the clothes I am wearing and a horse somewhere back on the road to Brundisium. Until the Senate pass the Lex Curiata, it is all in the breeze anyway.’
Maecenas did not reply immediately. He looked across the forum to where the old senate house lay broken and burned, the worst of many scars they had seen in the city over the previous two days.
‘There will be lists somewhere, but they don’t know you have nothing, Octavian. From now on, you must play the game, for your life – and for the destruction of your enemies. Taking his name was brilliant. You want to see these Liberatores brought down? Then walk as the heir to a god and the richest man in Rome. Walk as one who can call down the wrath of Mars with a snap of his fingers.’ He thought for a moment. ‘It was a mistake asking for help from the consul. You may already have enough loyalty in the Senate to force a vote through without him.’
Octavian stared. ‘I can walk any way I choose, but it will not bring me the gold I need, nor the clients.’
‘You have a meeting at the House of Virgins in a couple of hours,’ Maecenas said. ‘Octavian, your favour is a token any man in Rome would want, from this day onwards. You do not need to seek them out. They will come to you.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Octavian felt refreshed as he approached the House of Virgins. For a few coins, he, Agrippa and Maecenas had found a serviceable bath-house and eaten at a roadside vendor. It was true he wore a second-hand toga loaned to him by one of Maecenas’ friends, but he felt more confident. In the steam, with the bath-house slaves told to wait outside, they had made their plans. As the sun reached its height, he walked to the temple with confidence, striding past Gracchus and the guards outside as if he had every right to ignore them. They did not challenge him and in a few steps the three men were out of the heat and in cool rooms dedicated to worship. Perhaps older men would not have stared quite so openly, but the Vestals were renowned for their beauty as well as their innocence, a combination that interested even so jaded an appetite as that of Maecenas.
Quintina Fabia appeared from a stone doorway to welcome them. She had changed out of the morning’s formal robes into a fine cotton stola that revealed her figure rather than keeping it hidden.
She approached Octavian with light steps, taking his hands in hers and kissing his cheek.
‘I grieve for you and with you,’ she said. ‘I only wish Caesar’s ashes could have been gathered for a tomb, but the riots were terrible. For a time, no one dared to go out. I am so sorry.’
Octavian blinked. He had not been expecting sympathy and it threatened to reach the part of him where sorrow was still raw.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I think you are the first person in the city to say that to me.’
‘You must forgive the men in power, at least for that. They have had their hands full with the unrest. Honestly, you have no idea how bad it was for a time.’
‘What of these “Liberatores”? Where are they hiding?’ Octavian said.
‘A few like Lucius Pella were killed by the mobs. The rest read the wind quickly enough after that and scattered to their estates and provinces. You will not find them here, not this year, though they have their supporters in the Senate still. In time, I do not doubt they will creep back to Rome, hiding their faces.’ She shrugged, gripping his hands tightly. ‘I am glad of it. They tried to remove the shame from what they did, but the citizens would not allow it. In all the chaos, there was at least that.’
‘Shall we go through, Quintina?’ Maecenas said.
She looked over at him.
‘I see you are still around, Maecenas. How long has it been?’
‘A few years, I suppose. You look well.’
‘I am well enough. Shall I take your greetings to your mother, or will you visit her yourself?’
‘You know each other?’ Octavian said.
‘I should do. Quintina Fabia is my aunt,’ Maecenas replied without embarrassment. ‘Not a favourite aunt or anything; just, you know, an aunt.’
‘And he is far from my favourite nephew, lazy as he is,’ she replied, though she smiled as she said it. ‘But who is this fine and silent man?’
‘Agrippa?’ Maecenas said. ‘The smell of fish should have warned you, Quin. He’s a sailor, a rough and simple man, but loyal, like a good dog.’
Agrippa ignored Maecenas as his own hands were gripped in turn and he found himself flushing under the scrutiny.
‘Maecenas thinks he is amusing, Agrippa,’ she said. ‘I have given up apologising for him.’
‘There is no need,’ he said. ‘He is just nervous. It has been … an interesting morning.’
She cocked her head slightly.
‘I am glad to see he has such friends,’ she said. ‘His mother despairs at the low company he usually keeps. Will you be the witnesses to the document of identity?’
Maecenas nodded, with a glare at Agrippa.
‘Good, then come through.’
They followed her into the maze of rooms and halls beyond the main entrance. The House of Virgins was many times larger than the round temple that faced the forum. Young women scurried past in simple white shifts, often carrying sheaves of parchments or bound scrolls.
Quintina saw their interest and smiled.
‘You assumed they would spend their days in prayer? My girls are part of the beating heart of Rome, gentlemen. Believe me when I say they know more about the laws of the city than the most august orators in the courts or the Senate. When their time in the temple is up, they have no difficulty finding good husbands, with households to run.’
‘I never doubted it,’ Maecenas said. He stumbled as he tried to watch one long-legged young woman who had just passed them. Quintina saw the interest.
‘Though, of course, until then they are children of the goddess. If their purity is, shall we say, removed, they are buried alive – and the man is impaled before the crowds.’
‘A harsh punishment,’ Maecenas said wistfully.
‘But necessary. Men can be wolves, nephew.’
‘Shocking, truly shocking.’
They reached a door of polished oak and the priestess led them in. On a large table lay piles of wax tablets and cut parchment pieces, along with ink and reed pens and all the paraphernalia of a business. Quintina seated herself behind the desk, leaving them standing.
‘This is a simple matter. I have prepared the document to be signed in front of your witnesses. I will add my name and then, Octavian, you will be Gaius Julius Caesar.’ She shuddered slightly as she said the name. ‘I had not thought to hear it again so soon. It is a name of honour. I hope you bear it well.’
‘I will,’ Octavian said. He read the single page, then each man signed his name with the reed pen Quintina handed to them.
The priestess touched a lump of wax to the small flame of an oil lamp. She wore no rings, but used an iron stick imprinted with the seal of Vesta. Octavian repeated her action with Caesar’s seal and she looked at the imprinted image with fond sadness.
‘He was loved, you know. If you are half the man he was, you will make his shade proud.’
She picked up a tiny bell and rang it, waiting as the door opened and a woman of delicate beauty came in and took it from her hands. As the woman passed Maecenas, she made a slight sound and stared angrily back at him. He looked innocent.
‘It is done, then. I hope you understand I could not allow the argentarii to enter the house. It is unusual enough to have the three of you in these rooms. They are waiting for you in the garden on the far side. The gate there leads out to the Palatine.’
‘Argentarii?’ Octavian asked.
Quintina looked taken aback.
‘The moneylenders. They have been applying to me all morning to see you. What did you expect?’
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