'Please, Mother. No more killing tonight, once the mangon is done.'
Agrippina gave her daughter a look that was unfocused and lost. I saw the terrible despair in her face, the tormenting grief, and I wished to the gods that I could deliver her from it somehow — without exposing my guilt. For all that I had done, I meant Agrippina no personal ill will. But when she turned to look at the giant again, she was shocked to find pity in his eyes. Angry, she jabbed the sword near his face. 'Don't you dare feel sorry for me, barbarian.'
Flamma didn't flinch or take his eyes from her.
'Mother,' said Nilla gently, 'we would do well to have Flamma as our own slave. He is very strong and brave — but also kind.'
'He kidnapped you, Nilla — there was nothing kind in that. He is a barbarian.'
'My grandfather was a barbarian,' said Flamma, 'but not I, Lady. I am neither a warrior nor a German. I lived my life as a gladiator before this cur purchased me. I kidnapped the children as I was ordered, but it stuck in my heart to do so. It was wrong. It was always obvious to me that the girl was highborn.'
'Shut up!' screamed his pinned master.
Agrippina was again transfixed by Flamma. 'You look too old to be a gladiator,' she said.
'I am thirty years,' he agreed, 'but I was the best gladiator in Antioch in my prime.'
Agrippina faltered at the reminder of the place where her husband had died.
'I fought before the great Germanicus once.'
'Mother,' said Nilla, as Agrippina's eyes began to mist.
'It was the highest honour I have known,' Flamma went on, speaking softly to Agrippina, 'fighting before that great and noble man — and achieving victory before him too. I was the last man standing that day and Germanicus threw me a wreath. My life is worthless now, but if I could dedicate whatever I have left to something, it would be to avenging his memory.'
Agrippina blinked back her tears, raking Flamma's face for the smallest hint of cynicism or flattery, or the stink of claims made in haste by a frightened, cornered man. But Flamma showed none of these things. He was courageous and sincere. She turned to Nilla. 'Will justice still be done if we spare this man? Is that what you want?'
The girl nodded. 'Flamma will be loyal to us if he is made ours, I know it.'
The sword slipped from Agrippina's fingers, clattering to the wooden floor. 'We will take this man then,' she said to the room. 'The mangon can keep his pathetic life — if not his toes. Cut the rest of them off.'
The men began their work on the shrieking slave-seller while Agrippina pulled her palla tightly around her shoulders and led Nilla from the room. Flamma's deep blue eyes watched after her, revealing nothing. Agrippina stopped at the door and turned around to look at him one last time. The men paused in slicing up the mangon 's feet.
'The greatest gladiator in Antioch, are you?'
Flamma bowed slightly. 'I claimed that title in my prime, Lady.'
'Well, you're in Rome now, gladiator. Perhaps your prime will return?' She looked to the leader of her men. 'Put this Flamma out to fight. There will be arena combats for the Ludi Romani next year. Let's have him prepared for them so that we can see whether thirty years is the maximum age a gladiator can attain in Rome — or whether the very best from Antioch can live to see thirty-one.'
She ushered Nilla from the room, refusing to meet the gladiator's gaze again.
The guards announced their presence at the great bronze door, beating on it twice with a sword hilt and then waiting in silence. Seated in her upstairs receiving room, with her four children arranged around her like the statues of household gods, Aemilia heard the noise and closed her eyes. 'They are prompt,' she said. She took a last sip of the Falernian wine she cradled, savouring its fine taste. 'Exquisite,' she said, after a moment.
The children wore their mourning clothes already, their faces streaked with grief. Aemilia's two sons, the young Aemilius and the red-haired mute, Ahenobarbus, just seven and fifteen respectively, wore the unbleached funeral togae of men. Lepida and Domitia, fifteen and thirteen, were mirrors of their mother's great beauty, despite their undressed hair and grey stolae. Three of the four heirs of the Aemilii looked at their mother with a depth of love that went beyond any words. The fourth heir, Ahenobarbus, was unable to look at anything but the flame of the oil lamp.
Aemilia stood, placing the cup on her table and reaching for a goblet of water. She drank deep, carefully wetting her lips with it, before putting it aside. 'I am ready now,' she said.
The children assembled in a line.
Smoothing her simple white gown at her lap, she lifted the edge of the silk shawl she wore at her shoulders so that it rested on her hair.
'You look beautiful, Mama,' said Aemilius.
Aemilia placed her lips to his and then kissed his hands. The boy pressed his palms to his face when she released him, holding them there with his eyes closed. Aemilia moved to the mute Ahenobarbus, kissing him in the same way.
'You are simple, you cannot speak, and these are things that won't be fixed, my son. But still Veiovis has marked you — remember that.' Ahenobarbus kept his pale blue eyes fixed on the lamp flame.
Aemilia embraced her girls.
'Remember everything I have told you,' she whispered to
Lepida. She turned to them all. 'Always look for the path. Veiovis will offer it, but it is up to you to see what he offers and recognise it for what it is. The chance for power will come for each one of you — it is promised. The Aemilii will be great again. The hopes of our ancestors rest in your hands.'
All the children except Ahenobarbus nodded, their eyes shining.
She laid her hands at her belly as if something kicked inside her, and then placed them at her breast.
'Are you ready, Mama?' said Aemilius.
She nodded. 'Very much. Let us descend.'
Aemilia led the small procession of her family from her receiving room into the airy passage outside. She looked past the balustrade and down to the beautiful garden for the last time. Some of the potted trees still held their red and golden leaves from autumn. 'You'll tend my garden for me, won't you?' she asked of no child in particular.
'Yes, Mother,' Domitia whispered.
Aemilia touched her youngest daughter's cheek. 'The pleasures it brings are very simple ones, you'll find, but the escape it can bring you from all of Rome's woes, well…' Her voice trailed away.
'Wait, Mother, let me pick something from the garden for you to carry,' Domitia said.
'We don't have time for it, child — the guards will grow impatient of me.'
'I can do it, please — the flowers will add to your beauty.'
Aemilia smiled, pressing her hands to her belly again.
Domitia ran down the passage towards the stairs. The assembled household slaves in the atrium below looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes as she came towards them, two steps at a time. 'Scissors! Or a sharp knife!'
A kitchen slave had a knife at his belt. 'Here, domina.'
Domitia took it from him and ran through her dead father's study and into the courtyard garden beyond. The first of the winter bulbs were in flower, sweet-smelling narcissi, and Domitia slashed the knife at their stalks. She looked to the floor above and saw her mother's pale face smiling down at her. Aemilius had his hand at her forehead, wiping her brow. 'See, Mother, look,' Domitia called, gathering a small bunch. Aemilia's hands were at her belly again.
Domitia left the knife and ran back through her dead father's study and into the great atrium. The red-eyed slaves parted like the winter flowers she had harvested as Domitia flew towards the stairs. Her mother waited at the top, smiling with love. Domitia held the little yellow bunch before her as she ascended, panting and out of breath. 'Look, they're so lovely, Mother.'
Aemilia leaned forward, almost touching the flowers with her fingertips. 'Thank you,' she whispered, inhaling the rich scent. Then the light of love went out in her eyes.
'Mother?'
Aemilia fell, crashing hard on the stairs. Her body tumbled past as Domitia screamed, still clutching the
