It was early morning, and Vespasian was, to put it mildly, both quite pleased- and very, very perplexed.
The source of his pleasure was simple; the first part of his self-appointed mission had gone quite, quite well, even though he hadn't even got past step one of his plan- namely to somehow get Dracus alone, preferably drunk, and gently question him. He didn't have to; Vespasian did not rise to the position of the head of the Arcani by being unable to read people, and Dracus was an open scroll.
One with an author who couldn't spell. And had terrible penmanship. One who had also made a terrible choice regarding ink. And probably baths, for that matter.
Vespasian shook his head, and stared at his drink in exasperated, yet begrudging admittance. Man has fine taste in wines, he thought.
But apart from the general's taste in wines, the rest didn't add up to what Vespasian knew, which was why Vespasian was sure that, sober or otherwise, he would have been perplexed- Dracus was no mover, no shaker. He could plan, and he could scheme, but you couldn't throw a discus around Rome without hitting someone who was scheming for power (Gods knew Vespasian was tempted), and in that respect, Dracus was no different.
Which begged the question- who was handling his operation? From what Vespasian and his agents had turned up, Dracus was supposed to be the hub of something big, something threatening the stability of the Empire- but judging by the forced smiles of some of the guests, and the late refills for the food, Dracus couldn't even plan a party.
So now Vespasian found himself wondering- who would be competent enough to have handled all of Dracus's affairs for him, and yet remained loyal or afraid enough of Dracus (both unlikely concepts, but at this point, Vespasian was prepared to consider almost anything) to do so without ambition taking over?
There was, of course, a far more disturbing thought; someone was using Dracus, not just as a figurehead, but as a target, a distraction to ward off anyone looking for signs of a conspiracy- exempli gratia, people like the head of the Arcani.
But who?
Now that was the million-sesterce question.
(scene change)
"Where am I, and why am I wearing a chicken?"
With a groan, Shiko plucked the offended bird off her head and threw it upwards, where it promptly bumped its head on the cellar ceiling and thumped onto the ground.
"That... doesn't really help at all, you know," Shiko said, staring at the unconscious bird with bleary eyes (1). She blinked a few times, and pulled an egg off her head, before giving the chicken a speculative look.
"Mmm, mmm, mmm!" Dracus said as he came down the stairs. "What is that delicious smell?"
"My breakfast," Shiko replied flatly. "Roast chicken and a half-boiled egg. Again, let me repeat: my breakfast."
"Well, what about my breakfast?" Dracus asked; he thought it was a reasonable question.
"I dunno- I guess you can make soup or something," Shiko grumbled, pointing to a bucket of chicken entrails and vegetable peelings.
"Soup? I am Dracus Maximus! General of the Roman Empire, and favoured of the Emperor himself! I'll have you know that I will not tolerate this kind of insolence-"
He suddenly found himself seized by the front of his shirt. "Dracus," Shiko said in a gentle tone of voice, "I am, at the moment, hung over, and my body aches all over. My head feels like the Aegean Stables, and my stomach feels like something Curtius would buy a ticket to ride into- so shut up and make your damn soup before I plant my foot so far up your rear you end up picking bits off my sandal out of your nose, okay?" (2)
"You know what?" Dracus said after a few moments. "I think I'll have some soup. Soup sounds good. I'd like soup. Soup is nice. I want soup."
"Good. Besides," she added. "You owe me, owe me big."
"Well, I guess so," Dracus replied begrudgingly.
"Nice to see we understand each other."
As Shiko stomped off to the dining room, a thought occurred to Dracus. "Wait, Shiko- you're hungover? You? Hungover?! How much did you drink?"
(scene change)
"Hey, Kim, you hear that?" Ronnicus asked, glancing up.
"Hear what?" Kiminax asked, wiping the sweat from her brow, droplets spilling from her hand onto the dusty soil of the training ground. It was a hot day, even for Latium; every cell in Kiminax's Britannian body hated it, and she was grateful for any distraction. (3)
"Sounded like a scream," he said. "Wonder what that was all about?"
"I know what it wasn't about- training! I'm not paying you guys to sit around and talk!" Barcus yelled.
"But Master Barcus, you don't pay us," Ronnicus replied.
"Don't try to confuse me with logic, Stoppable!"
"Yes sir."
"And what's the matter with you, Miss Kiminax? A little too much to drink last night? Biscotting with the nobility leaving you too proud to be a gladiator? Shape up or ship out, Kiminax!" Barcus yelled before stomping off. (4)
"Man, what was his problem?" Ronnicus asked, scratching his head.
"Bad hangover," Rufus said sagely from his place in Ronnicus's pocket.
"You sure about that, little buddy?" Ronnicus asked. "I don't think Master Barcus went to the party last night."
"Mmm-hmm," Rufus replied.
"Oh riiight," Ronnicus replied as understanding dawned. "So..." Ronnicus began, picking up his wooden sword, "did you?"
"Did I what?" Kiminax asked.
"You know, have one little sip too many, that kind of thing? I mean, I'm not jealous, or anything-"
"Trust me, you didn't miss anything."
"Really?"
Kiminax looked at Ron; there was something in the tone of his voice, and she was flattered (and not a bit embarrassed) to see that it was concern. "Don't worry, Ron," she lied, though not knowing why (at least not consciously). "The Romans can boast all they want, but their parties suck."
Ronnicus swung his wooden sword at her. "Man, not you too, Kim."
"Wha-?" Kiminax began, blocking his blow.
"I mean, everyone here thinks I'm stupid, you know? Like I don't know what's going on," Ronnicus pouted. "Come on, give the Ronster some credit here!"
"Ron, I don't think you're stupid," Kiminax replied, parrying another one of Ron's attacks.
"Nah, don't worry about it, Kim," Ronnicus replied. "I was just kidding- but I am Roman, Kim. I know how things work here, and that's why I know that when a gladiator's invited to a banquet, it's not because the bronze want the conversation." (5)
"Ronnicus, relax," Kiminax said with feigned ease. "Nothing happened last night; to tell the truth, I was kinda bored, actually."
"Really?" Ronnicus asked, surprised. "Guess there's a first time for everything."
"Yeah…" Kiminax began, unaware of the man watching unseen from the shadows of a nearby building, the real reason for Barcus's anxiety.
"You want anything else to drink, sir?" Moneek asked, bearing a jug of wine.
"No, not thank you," Vespasian answered kindly, his mind still on the previous night's performance, his eyes still on Kiminax, and judging by the way she moved, the way the distracted look came over her face when she thought nobody was watching or paying attention, she was remembering the same thing he was…
(scene change)
The sounds of Dracus's party behind her continuing unabated, Kiminax wondered if she should just pack up and leave; it didn't sound as if she would be missed- hells, she wondered if anybody even paid attention to her arrival in the first place, the Roman Dracus's expectations notwithstanding.
In fact, the more she thought about it, the better it sounded; after Shiko's previous confession
"There she is."
Kiminax turned to the sound of the gruff voices. Two Roman soldiers, clad in gilt armour and purple capes, stood before her, one of them pointing at the Britannian. "Caesar requests your presence at the feast. I suggest you do not disappoint him."
Seeing the look of quiet arrogance the soldier was giving her, Kiminax found herself remembering Shiko's words, and fire ran through her veins. For all she knew, this man was one of the soldiers Nero took with him to ensure that Shiko would carry out Agrippa's assassination, but what really angered the young woman was the thought that she would have to meet the loathsome man himself.
"Well?" the soldier asked again.
Kiminax met his gaze for a moment before standing up, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "Let's go."
The dining hall was as she had remembered- then she took a closer look. A few of the guests, both male and female, were looking at her with anticipation, and those that didn't soon found their attentions drawn to her by those who did.
Nero's seat was turned to Kiminax, but no sooner than one of the soldiers stepped forward, the Caesar raised his hand. "You know where to take her," he said dismissively, waving casually, and the soldiers nodded.
"Come with us," one of them told Kiminax, and took her to the middle of the room, between the dining tables.
"Where is the other slave?" Nero asked, not bothering to stifle his yawn.
"She is being brought up as we speak," the soldier who spoke before said, before turning to Kiminax. "Where are your weapons?"
"Weapons?" Kiminax asked, momentarily befuddled. "I don't have any-"
And then understanding dawned. Oh no, she thought, please, anything but-
"Two swords, or one?" the soldier asked, before Nero interrupted.
"If she performed as well as she did with but one blade," he said, with just enough of a leer to indicate what constituted his idea of 'performance', "who knows the kind of entertainment we might get with two?"
The soldiers nodded, unsheathing and handing Kiminax their blades.
"No."
The whole room fell silent at Kiminax's outburst, except for Dracus, who made various squeaking noises. Apart from Kiminax, only Nero and his bodyguard seemed unfazed. "Praetorian," he said to one of the soldiers, "leave your sword with your friend and come here."
Nero then whispered something in the soldier's ear. The Praetorian nodded, then left the room, while Nero picked up a goblet from the table and looked at Kiminax.
"You do know that that kind of refusal doesn't really carry weight with me?" he asked genially, sipping his wine.
"It should- that is, if you want a fight," Kiminax replied, and a silent gasp seemed to ripple through the room. Even the Praetorian next to her raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, good one!" Nero laughed. "However, the two of us aren't the only ones who have a say in the matter- after all, there is that other lady to consider."
"She won't agree to this," Kiminax replied.
"Yes she will! Yes she will!" Dracus replied hastily, desperately. He pushed back his seat and made to stand up when Nero held up a hand.
"No need to trouble yourself, Dracus," Nero said, smiling a smile that didn't quite seem to reach the eyes that were still fixed on Kiminax. "Has it occurred to you, Britannian- oh, that reminds me, could you tell me your name? It's so rude to simply refer to one by one's nationality instead of name."
"Britannian is fine."
"As you wish- Kiminax," Nero said, grinning slightly at the momentary look of shock that passed over Kiminax's face. "Let me guess- our favourite pale-skinned Dacian told you a few horror stories about good ol' Nero Caesar, is that it? Of course, that's it. Don't worry, I'm not angry, it's a perfectly honourable thing to do, refusing to fight for a tyrant."
He leaned back in his seat. "The thing is, a person's honour means nothing when you know their price. And rest assured, sooner or later I'm going to find yours, as I know Shiko's."
"Really?"
Everyone in the room shot Dracus annoyed looks, and the pale blue Roman sank back into his seat. "Er, never mind me," he blubbered, and all eyes turned back to the face-off between Nero and Kiminax.
"He's got a point," Kiminax said. "Shiko doesn't have a price; she doesn't have anything to lose, not even her life."
Her eyes narrowed in barely-controlled fury. "You made sure of that."
"Oh, you're right- mostly," Nero said. "I have taken a great deal away from Shiko, but not everything- and who knows? Given enough time, she might find something else that matters, something she cares about losing."
He leaned to one side, looking past Kiminax. "And speak of Thanatos!" he grinned.
"Sorry I took so long- girl can't afford to be underdressed, you know," Shiko said from the doorway, fully clad in the leather armour and wielding her twin torches. "Yo, these torches ain't gonna light themselves, you know!" she said to the Praetorian who had gone to fetch her. He nodded, and used one of the torches lined along the wall to light Shiko's.
"Shiko?" Kiminax asked incredulously. "What are you doing?"
"Duh, what's it look like I'm doing?" Shiko snorted. "I'm getting ready to kick your butt all that way back to the sticks, Kimmie," she snorted, to general applause. "Nothing personal," she added on a tone of cocky malice."
"I would suggest you take up your blades now," Nero said calmly, and Kiminax only just narrowly blocked Shiko's twin torches, and it was those same split-second reflexes that made her jump backwards just in time to avoid the kick Shiko had aimed towards her midsection.
And in the green glow of Shiko's torches, as the musicians started playing a fast-paced, almost jaunty tune, Kiminax felt her mind automatically focus itself on the fight, pushing aside the barrage of questions that threatened to overwhelm it. She braced herself for another attack, but to her surprise Shiko didn't press the advantage she had, instead using the lull caused by Kiminax's uncertainty to grandstand, twirling her torches to the cheers of the Roman crowd.
And by the way she looked back at them appreciatively, the feeling was mutual.
Kiminax felt her lip turn up in a small snarl, not just of anger, but also of betrayal, and it was only later, much, much later, that she managed to figure out why; just a few moments before, when Shiko had been telling her about what had happened to her, Kiminax felt not just sympathy, but kinship as well- though Ronnicus had suffered, at least his parents were still alive, at least he still had something to lose- or rather, something worth losing, unlike Shiko or Kiminax.
But for one moment in the torchlight of the dining room, Kiminax didn't see Shiko smiling back at the Romans, she saw a Britannian girl, braids of copper-red hair falling on her shoulders, emerald-green eyes mocking her.
In that one moment, Kiminax saw something that there were worse fates than defeat- better by far to lose all hope, to have all thoughts of resistance shattered, than for what she saw had happened to Shiko.
Acceptance.
Kiminax didn't remember what happened next, but Shiko never would forget. "What was that you said, Kimmie?" she mocked, hearing Kiminax whisper something.
Then Kiminax met the Dacian's gaze, and for the first time that night, Shiko wondered if she had pushed Kiminax too far. The next moment, she knew she had.
"Not me," Kiminax whispered in her native Britannian. "Not me!" she yelled, launching herself at Shiko, holding the heavy Roman blades in her hands like daggers. Later, Shiko would wonder if she was the only one in the room to notice the tears running down Kiminax's cheeks. But for now, it was all she could do to avoid the flurry of blows Kiminax was raining down upon her.
With another angry roar, Kiminax lunged herself forward again, blades held high, only to realize too late that considering Shiko's speed and reflexes, all she did was open her midsection to attack, and Kiminax braced herself for the burning pain she would feel all too briefly-
-and which never came. Instead of pressing the attack, Shiko instead leapt backward and jumped off a table to land behind a bewildered Kiminax, and the Britannian saw she wasn't the only one who had noticed; several guests were shouting sarcastic remarks at the Dacian, mocking her for not taking her chance.
Shiko didn't seem to hear them however; she looked as calmly mocking as she did when the fight began, and once more took the initiative. This time, however, Kiminax held the anger in check, and noticed something else- though Shiko would seem just as bloodthirsty as ever to the casual observer, her attacks were just slow enough, and clumsily executed, with a noticeable tensing muscle here, a whispered snarl there, that Kiminax could easily anticipate them. Sure, they then came as hard and as fast as Kiminax would expect from Shiko, but forewarned, Kiminax found it no great difficulty to defend herself.
A small smile passed over Kiminax's face. She bent backward a bit and tensed up, hoping that Shiko would notice, before kicking toward Shiko. Much to her relief, Shiko jumped away just in time, and when she next met Kiminax's gaze, the Dacian's grin was wider, but no longer mocking.
And now it was Kiminax's turn to grandstand, flipping the blades in her hands as she leapt and bounded across the dining room to meet Shiko. In response, Shiko twirled her own torches in her hands, and only attacked with a two broad strokes of her troches when Kiminax landed in front of her. For one moment, Shiko's blood ran cold, and her eyes opened wide when she noticed that Kiminax wasn't going to jump away as she had expected.
Her eyes opened even wider when she noticed Kiminax no longer standing in front of her. Instead, the Britannian had splayed her legs out flat on the floor, her back bent almost backwards to avoid the swinging green flame, and Shiko marveled that the petite redhead had not split herself in two with the motion.
In one more fluid motion Kiminax leapt upwards, bringing her fists upwards so that even if anything went wrong, the only thing making contact with Shiko would be the butts of her Roman blades.
She needn't have worried. Shiko was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, Kiminax found herself being seized from behind, one arm around her throat, another around her waist.
"Well," Shiko said in a husky voice, her smile naughty, her eyes wicked. "Are you not entertained?"
And as one, the room erupted in a cheer. Nero was clapping, and even the dour Praetorian who gave Kiminax his swords and who was now holding the twin torches Shiko had handed him was grinning widely.
Sitting at his corner of the table, Vespasian was the only man whose outward appearance did not match his inner self. Nero was happy, and Vespasian knew that when Nero smiled, others would soon cry.
Historical Notes:
(1) I seem to recall reading somewhere that chickens were used as fortune-telling animals by the Romans, but as to the how of it I can't remember, sorry. Maybe something to do with entrails? 90 of the time it's something to do with the entrails. Also, 67.35 of statistics are made up on the spot.
(2) Sometime around 363 BC, a massive hole was said to have opened up in the middle of Rome, threatening to swallow up the city. Augurs said that it was because the Romans had failed to honour their dead properly, and that only a noble sacrifice would save them. A nobleman named Curtius, famed for being one of the few people worthy of being called 'noble', then rode into the pit, which closed up behind him.
(3) Latium: Ye Olde Romanne name for the place where they (the Latin people) came from, now modern-day Lazio.
(4) For those of you who didn't know, a hobnob is a British biscuit (biscotti in Italian), and to go 'hobnobbing' is to ingratiate oneself with a higher social class. Get it? It's a kind of pun!
Well, I thought it was funny.
(5) Brass was known to the ancient Romans, but bronze had more obvious military applications.
