Fiction: "Daughter of the Empire: A Novella of Lucilla--Part 1"
As Emperor Commodus' increasingly unstable behavior threatens the Roman Empire itself, his sister Lucilla is forced to choose between loyalty to her brother and loyalty to her father's dream.
Hello, readers! Welcome to the first installment of my historical fiction novella, Daughter of the Empire. I’ll be releasing a new installment over the next few weeks, as Lucilla—daughter of Marcus Aurelius and brother of Commodus—has to decide whether she is willing to make the terrible choice of leading a coup against her brother or whether she can tolerate standing by while he burns their father’s dream to the ground. If you enjoy the historical works of authors like Margaret George, Kate Quinn, Stephanie Dray, and Michelle Moran and films like Gladiator (in which Lucilla is a major character) then I think you’ll enjoy Daughter of the Empire.
*Note: A historical note, explaining some of my narrative choices, will come with the final installment.
Lucilla frowns as she ascends to the imperial box of the Colosseum. The air is filled with the heavy, cloying stench of blood and the airier, drier smell of sand, with the raucous cries and screams of the crowd. They’ve already had an exciting day: ten gladiators have met their death below, as well as an elephant and a rhinoceros. Even so, they’re hungry for more, and Commodus will give it to them.
She turns her lip up at the thought of her brother, in all of his arrogance. To think that such a man has been tasked with running the Empire that her father gave his own health to protect. Even now he wastes his time pandering to the masses and playing as a gladiator, when he should be tending to their borders, making sure that the people are fed, and keeping the restive Senate in check.
Fool, she thinks hotly.
Still, she is powerless to do anything about it at the moment and, besides, she must make herself seen and known to the people if she is to have any hope of influencing her brother and his actions. She knows all too well that in the people there is power, for better or worse.
Looking out at the sea of humanity spread around her.
Juvenal was right, she thinks. Give them bread and circuses, and they are happy.
At the sight of her the crowds turn as one and lift up their voices in praise. Though she feels some shame about doing it, Lucilla raises her hands in recognition of the acclamation.
You are the daughter of Marcus Aurelius, after all, she reminds herself. It’s only your due.
The cheers continue, and a warm feeling crawls along her skin and through her veins. This is what power feels like, she thinks. Despite herself, she likes it, and she finds herself wanting more.
“Ah, there you are, my dear.” The voice interrupts her reverie and, with a sigh, she turns and faces Claudius, her husband.
He is yet another man that’s been foisted on her and, as if that weren’t bad enough, he’s also steadfastly loyal to her brother. No matter what Commodus does or how badly he misbehaves, Claudius is always there at his sides–at his feasts, at his embarrassing exploits in the arena and, in the rare moments when he actually attends to the business of running an empire, at his desk–always happy to give a cozening word of encouragement to the lord and master of the world.
He’s handsome enough, she supposes, with a strong face, a nose that isn’t too prominent or too snubbed, and a slightly prominent chin. He still has all of its hair, too, and on a day like today he might even be mistaken for someone of stature.
If only he had the strength of our ancestors, she thinks with a sneer.
Lucilla is wise enough not to let her disgust and contempt for her husband show, though, at least not where everyone can see. After all, the imperial box is filled with those who would love nothing more than to share gossip with anyone who will listen, including her brother. She turns and shares a barbed smile with Crispina, her brother’s wife, and the woman shares one that is just as chilly.
At least we’re honest about our feelings, she thinks.
“It’s good to see you, husband,” she says, leaning in close and giving him a slight kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. It has been a busy day at the palace, and there were some important matters that I couldn’t avoid.”
It’s an implied criticism of her brother, of course, and from the corner of her eye she can see Crispina’s already thin lips tighten even more.
As if she doesn’t know what a fool her husband is, she thinks.
She doesn’t have either the time or the interest to continue with her sister-in-law, however. The tenor of the crowd’s roar has reached a fever pitch, which suggests that her brother’s arrival is imminent.
Lucilla takes her seat, spreading her stola out so she can sit at least somewhat comfortably. She gestures toward one of the slaves to bring her a glass of wine–it’s abominably hot–and the young man does so, handing her a goblet. She takes a ginger sip, but the wine has already grown warm, so she sits on the small ebony stand beside her and quickly forgets about it.
She turns her attention instead to the sands below her, where already Commodus has ridden out on a gold-plated chariot, saluting the gathered crowds. He pointedly waits to gesture toward those in the imperial box until last, as if he wants to remind them of just how little they actually mean, of how much they all rely on the whims of the crowd–and of himself–to stay where they are.
I should be sitting on the throne, she thinks, gazing at her brother’s seat, standing empty while he makes a fool of himself.
The thought startles her with its intensity. It’s one thing to bask in the adoration of the masses; it’s quite another to imagine herself taking her brother’s place.
Once the thought is in her mind, however, it refuses to leave. It stays there, like a stone in her sandal, rubbing and chafing. Even though she knows it’s dangerous she finds her mind racing down various pathways, thinking about what it would be like to sit at the pinnacle of Roman power, and how she might go about doing it.
I’d need Claudius, she thinks. The people would never accept a woman on the throne. He’s a fool, but he might be a useful one, if I cozen him in just the right way…
A roar from the crowd draws her attention back to the spectacle unfolding below her.
A small flock of ostriches–those flightless, gangly birds from Africa–have been unleashed into the arena. Commodus, of course, has set off after them in his chariot, the poor creatures squawking and flapping desperately as they lope away from him, desperate to escape their certain death.
Just accept the fate that’s been decreed for you, you silly creatures, she thinks.
“Behold!” the games crier announces, voice ringing out over the stands, “our mighty emperor, in his guise as Hercules, chasing down the Stymphalian Birds!”
It’s all Lucilla can do to keep from scoffing at such hubris.
The truly frightening thing is that Commodus actually believes that he is Hercules reborn, she thinks.
Commodus’ chariot rattles along the sands as he chases the poor creatures. There’s something both gruesome and hilarious about the spectacle, and Lucilla puts a hand in front of her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. The crowds, however, love every minute.
I’m sure that Nero’s shade is smiling to himself even now, Lucilla thinks.
One by one the poor ostriches are cut down, their bodies left twitching and flopping in the bloodied sand. The roar of the crowd grows even greater except for, of course, the members of the Senate, who are sitting in their appointed box with frowns on their faces. Though some of them are her brother’s creatures, just as many are from old families, families with long memories. They feel a visceral disgust at the idea, let alone the reality, of the ruler of the empire debasing himself with such behavior.
Lucilla’s eyes catch on one of the youngest of their number, Cassius Dio. She narrows her eyes at him, for while he is well-known for his efforts to curry favor with Commodus, even he isn’t entirely capable of keeping his disgust and shock from his blandly handsome face.
We’ll see if he keeps those principles once he’s actually faced with my brother’s inquisitorial gaze.
Finally there is just one ostrich left, and the poor creature is desperate to escape the death that, in its tiny brain, it must know that it cannot really evade. So great is the desire to live, though, and so unquenchable is the thirst for life, that it struggles on, until it comes to rest below the place where the Senate is seated.
There’s something potent about that symbolism, for those inclined to see such things. There’s something even more potent about the specter of Commodus riding up to it, sword raised and ready to bring down the killing blow.
The sword comes down in a blazing arc of death, and the ostrich’s head goes flying, blood trailing after it.
The spectacle isn’t done yet, however, for without missing a beat Commodus leaps from his chariot and, striding across the sands, picks up the head. Looking up at the senators gathered above him he shakes it in their direction, a look of feverish glee in his eyes.
Oh for the love of Jupiter, Lucilla thinks, leaning back in her seat. Is this really what it’s come to?
“Behold!” Commodus says, raising his voice so that everyone can hear him. “I, Hercules, son of Almighty Jupiter, have struck down the Stymphalian Birds! Thus to all who stand in my way!”
Father would never have had to resort to such foolish and desperate threats, she thinks. Doesn’t he see how all of this posturing just makes him look weak?
That’s a lesson that her brother seems determined not to learn.
At last, however, the spectacle seems to be winding down. Commodus has taken his chariot back to the vast warren of tunnels and holding areas beneath the Colosseum itself, leaving the rest of the imperial company to make their way back to the Palatine on their own.
Lucilla ignores her husband–something she’s very used to doing–and makes her way to her waiting sedan chair. Before she reaches it, however, Crispina stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She can feel the prick of her sister-in-law’s fingernails, however, a mute reminder of the threat she poses.
“Sister,” Crispina says in her honey-sweet voice, “please be careful. Popularity can be a double-edged sword.”
Lucilla tries to think of something tart and cutting to say, something that will remind the other woman who has the real power here. She might be the Augusta, but that was a position that Lucilla herself once occupied. However, since she can’t say any of that, she merely plasters the usual smile on her face.
“I will take that very good advice,” she says. “I know that you, like all of us, merely want what is best for both the family and for the empire at large.”
Crispina always seems to be off-balance whenever Lucilla doesn’t fall into one of her all-too-transparent rhetorical traps. It’s almost as if she thinks that she invented words. She is, in many ways, like a child who has stumbled into an adult’s world, with very little knowledge of how things work. It’s almost enough to make Lucilla feel sorry for her, for how can any woman like this hope to endure in a place as dangerous as the Palatine?
Let her find out the hard way, she thinks. It will make it that much easier for the rest of us.
She leaves her sister-in-law to go to her own sedan chair and ascends her own, twitching the curtains closed so that she can gain some respite from the scorching heat of the day and the press of the crowds. The last thing she needs right now is to have to deal with any of that.
Unfortunately, whatever little bit of respite she might have had is disrupted when the curtains twitch again and her daughter, Plautia, steps into the sedan chair with her.
Her daughter has her grandfather’s stately face, more handsome than traditionally beautiful. Her deep blue gown, however, sets off her eyes to good effect. They’ve never been particularly close, but she can tell Plautia once to talk to her about something important.
“Daughter,” she says cooly, “what are you doing here?”
Plautia gives her that insouciant smile that she has perfected, the one that she knows quite well drives her mother mad.
“Why mother, aren’t you glad to see me?” she asks, even as she gives the bearers the order to begin their journey. “I’m just glad that I found you before you got back to the Palatine. There’s much that we need to discuss, and I’d rather we did so where others can’t overhear us.”
The sedan shakes slightly as the bearers lift it to their shoulders, but they are noted for their skill and so Lucilla hardly feels anything as they begin their progress.
She sighs, knowing that there’s no way she’s going to be able to get away from her daughter and whatever it is that she feels so desperately eager to say.
“Very well, then,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Say what you have to say.”
“There’s a coup being formed against Uncle Commodus,” she says. Plautia has never had any interest in mincing words or obeying the laws of civility. It’s one of the things that Lucilla has always found simultaneously endearing and infuriating about her.
“Is that so?” she says, quirking an eyebrow. “Tell me more.”
Plautia narrows her eyes. “You don’t seem very excited to learn about this, mother,” she says. “I’d think you’d find it all very interesting.”
“No doubt I would, if a coup wasn’t the last thing that the empire needs right now,” she says. “And if I thought that it had any chance of succeeding, which I don’t. Commodus has his weaknesses, no one could deny that, but he still has an army of little whisperers who would be only too happy to report any sedition.”
Plautia snorts. “I think that you give your brother far too much credit for what he’s willing or able to accomplish. As long as he’s kept busy in the Colosseum, he won’t see the blade that’s coming for him until it’s too late.”
Lucilla thinks of the acclamation of the crowd, and of how she could make use of that to ascend to the power that should have been hers in the first place. She thinks about how it would feel to once again be at the center of the Palatine and its halls.
“We’ll speak of this more later,” she says, hoping that this brings an end to the discussion. For another moment Plautia gives her that stubborn look that she knows too well, and then she seems to subside. It’s clear that this isn’t over.
Impudent girl, Lucilla thinks, but there’s more fondness than frustration in her thoughts.
The rest of the trip to the Palatine passes relatively quickly. Strangely enough, Lucilla actually feels calmer than she has since her father died. It’s almost as if just the thought of Commodus being swept from the throne has given her reason to have faith in the world again. Perhaps, after all, the state can be put back on the path of fortitude and good governance. Perhaps, after all, there is room and reason to hope for the future.
The moment they arrive at the palace she is caught up once again in the various comings and goings that are always a part of the royal household, and it’s not until much later that evening that she has a chance to sit and think about everything that has happened that day.Unfortunately, she’s not going to get even this small sliver of time for herself, for no sooner has she begun to let the muscles in her shoulders–tight as always–then a messenger comes to her with an urgent summons from Commodus.
Her heart leaps into her throat. She likes to think that there’s no way he could have heard about the conversation she’d had with Plautia, that there’s surely no way he could have learned what they were planning, but she knows his freedmen are always listening, always waiting to take him news of plots, always ready to set someone up for destruction.
It occurs to Lucilla that she could deny this request, that she could simply stay here in her chambers and dare him to come get her himself, but she knows that this would be a grave mistake. Commodus doesn’t like being challenged, and he particularly hates it when it’s from someone within the family.
No, she thinks, I’m just going to have to go and see what he wants and just hope that I manage to make it back here alive.
Given how dangerous her brother is, there’s absolutely no guarantee that’s going to happen.
The slave is still hovering there, clearly waiting for her to accompany him. She should have known that Commodus would have given instructions that she was to come back with him.
The poor lad is probably under orders to drag me there if I won’t come of my own volition, she thinks.
She gathers herself and stands, trying to drape herself in the royal majesty that she knows is her birthright. Usually it comes easily to her, but tonight it feels like an effort. She feels much older than her thirty-odd years.
“All right,” she says. “I’m coming. Lead the way.”
“Yes, Domina,” the slave says, bobbing his head and darting away.
She moves behind him at a more stately pace. She can at least do this little bit to show Commodus that she is still her own person with her own volition.
The halls of the palace are mostly dark this time of night, but they are never entirely quiet, for the business of the empire doesn’t really take a break, not even for the fall of darkness. It’s a night for plots and schemes and, faced with the fear of her brother, Lucilla begins to think about what it would really mean to move against him.
She runs through the possibilities in her mind, deciding who can and can’t be drawn into this. She immediately discounts her sisters. While some of them hold Commodus in the same contempt as she does, they’re all dangerously willing to bend to his whims.
The members of the extended family now…that’s a different story. There are many cousins who would eagerly throw their lot in with a rebellion against Commodus if it meant that they would gain the power they thought they deserved. Lucilla thinks that she can find some of them who she can use. Dissatisfaction is always a potent weapon.
However, she doesn’t have as much time to think about this as she would like, for sooner than she would like they’ve arrived at her brother’s throne room.
Oh dear, she thinks. If he’s having this meeting in such a public place, I can well imagine what kind of dressing-down I am going to get. I should have known that he wasn’t going to be content with expressing his dissatisfaction with me in private.
The slave walks forward and pushes open the doors, and she has no choice but to follow.
Commodus is seated, of course, on a magnificent throne, though he’s eschewed the usual court finery for a more subdued appearance. He’s dressed simply in a flowing tunic, though his hair still glints with bits of gold dust from earlier in the day.
“Brother,” she says, stepping forward. “It’s good to see you.” She hesitates, not sure whether she can actually go through the flattery that she knows he wants and needs to hear. At his dangerously raised eyebrow, however, she decides that it would be better to do so. “I appreciated the spectacle that you were able to put on for the people of Rome today. They are very fortunate indeed to have someone like you.”
He takes a few moments to respond, and as he considers her words Lucilla allows herself to finally turn her attention to who else has been called to witness what she is sure is going to be a bit of ritual humiliation. Cassius Dio still looks a bit discomfited by what he’s seen today, his eyes a little wider than they usually are, his foot tapping nervously. For a split second she shares a look with the man, and she thinks that perhaps they are of a like mind where her brother is concerned. Neither of them are innocents when it comes to what Commodus is capable of, what he might do if provoked.
“So,” her brother says, bringing her attention back to him, “you liked what happened today, did you? Then tell me, sister, why didn’t you clap as earnestly as some of the others? Why, when I looked up at you, did you not seem at all impressed by what I’d accomplished?”
Ah, so that was his reason for complaint, was it?
“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, Dominus,” she responds. “There has been much on my mind lately, and it has distracted me from what I should be thinking and doing. Of course you were a marvelous spectacle today. I truly felt that I was watching Hercules perform one of his legendary feats.”
A satisfied smile creeps over Commodus’ face.
“That’s good,” he says. “Very good. I just needed to make sure. I don’t know who to trust these days.”
The air in the room feels increasingly stifling, and Lucilla resists the urge to wipe a drop of sweat from her temple.
“Might I ask a question?” she asks.
She thinks that she sees Cassius give her a slight shake of his head, as if warning her against whatever it is that she’s going to say. She’s come too far to stop now, however. She has to see this through to the end, whatever that might end up being.
“You may ask,” he says, with a flip of his hand. “I can’t guarantee I’ll answer. There are some things it’s not fitting for mortals to know.”
Go along with whatever he says, she reminds herself.
“Of course, brother.”
“Go on then,” he says, a trifle impatiently. “Ask me your question.”
“I would never want to cast any doubt on your wisdom, Dominus, but surely it would be better not to offer yourself up to the masses? Isn’t it a bit…beneath your position?”
She knows it isn’t wise to ask a question like this, but she has to know.
The Emperor, however, doesn’t move or say anything at first. He just sits there, leaning forward, chin resting on one fist, looking as if he could see into her soul. It’s a most discomforting feeling, and Lucilla imagines this is what it must be like to be some tiny prey animal–a bird or a mouse, perhaps–when faced with the sharp gaze of a hawk on the hunt.
I shouldn’t have come here, she thinks. I should have found some way of staying as far away as possible.
“Is that so?” he asks. “You think that your emperor makes a fool of himself in front of the people of Rome?”
It’s a trap, and not a particularly subtle one at that.
“I would never go so far as to say that you were a fool, Dominus,” she says.
“I thought not,” he says. “But it’s always wise to make sure. I’ve heard disturbing rumors of plans to remove me from my throne”
His eyes glitter, and Lucilla forces herself to remain still, to make sure that she gives no sign, not even the slightest flicker of an eyelid or twitching of a finger, that would show him that she is part of any such effort. She can’t help but be conscious of the Praetorians stationed at every corner of the room, their hands itching to use their weapons. She doubts that even the blood of Marcus Aurelius running through her veins would be enough to protect her if he gave the order to kill her.
“You know something, sister? I believe that you know nothing about this. You’d never be that stupid, would you?”
She hates when he talks like this, as if he’s some old orator from Athens declaiming for an audience. Who is he trying to impress? Who does he think will care whether his vowels are polished or whether his cadences match those of Cicero?
When it comes to her brother, though, it’s clear that his most important audience will always be himself.
“It would indeed, brother,” she says, with an obsequious bow of her head. “I recognize that you are the lord and master of all, and that there is nothing that you cannot do. You are worthy of the admiration of all of the people of Rome, as well as those beyond our borders.”
She’s laying it on a bit thick, she knows. But she can also tell just how dangerous of a mood Commodus is in, and she knows that this is the surest way to get him off his guard, to make him see what she wants him to see rather than the danger lurking right in front of his eyes.
“You may go,” he says abruptly, shocking her with the suddenness of his change of mind.
“I’m sorry?” she says, before she can think better of it and despite yet another shake of Cassius’ head.
“I said,” Commodus repeats, speaking exaggeratedly slowly for her benefit, “that you may go. You’ve proven that you’re loyal to me, and for now that’s all that matters. Just make sure that doesn’t change. I would hate to destroy you.”
The threat in those words is very real, and a chill races down her spine at the thought of just what he might decide to do if he’s given the excuse to do so.
No, keep it together, she thinks. Remember your father. Do what would make him proud. Retreat and gather your forces for another day.
And so it is that she simply nods her head and bows out of her brother’s presence, even though every part of her is screaming at her to stand up to him, to tell him that he has no right to speak to her this way, that she is as much a part of the royal family as he is.
It’s only when she’s out of her brother’s sight that she allows herself to breathe, almost running in her haste to get back to her own chambers.
He’s growing more unstable each and every day, she thinks. How much longer can this go on before it all comes crashing down around him, bringing the edifice of Rome down with him?
She doesn’t even have a chance to relax at all before Plautia is once again before her, a knowing smile on her beautiful young face.
Was I ever so young? Lucilla thinks. Was I ever fired with the belief that I could change the way that things were done, rather than bowing and accepting the inevitable?
She tries to focus on what her daughter has started to say, but the words seem to wash over her, an indecipherable mass.
“Mother, are you listening?” Plautia demands.
“I’m sorry, dear. What did you say?” she asks.
Plautia rolls her eyes.
“Honestly, mother, I don’t know where your mind goes sometimes.”
Her gaze softens, however, when she sees the genuine concern in her eyes.
“It was that bad, was it?” She sighs. “As soon as I heard that uncle had summoned you I rushed here, hoping to give you some words of comfort. I’m sorry that I came too late. What did he have to say?”
“Forget what we spoke about this afternoon,” she says. “He’s too dangerous and too powerful. If we go after him we’ll all die.”
Plautia, however, is her mother’s daughter. Her eyes tighten, her lips thin.
“Mother, you’re being a coward, and I’ve never known you to be a coward. This is our chance to do something meaningful for the empire, to see grandfather’s dream come true.” She gestures at the world outside the palace, at the city of Rome, at the Empire itself. “Don’t you understand? If we don’t do this, no one else will. It’s up to us. If you won’t help me with this, then I’ll do it by myself.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Lucilla says at once, her words snapping like a whip. “I forbid it.”
“I am a grown woman,” Plautia lashes back. “In case you’ve forgotten. Which, given how little you’ve ever been involved in my life, I can well believe.”
Lucilla reels back at these harsh words. She has only ever done what she thought was right for her daughter, has only ever worked to make her happy and to give her all of the blessings that their station affords them. To hear her daughter speak to her like this, as if it was all for nothing…it’s infuriating. Her hand itches to slap Plautia, but she holds back.
“Daughter,” she tries instead. “I have only ever done my duty. That is what I’m doing now. It is up to me to protect you and the other members of this family. You might not see it that way, and you might disagree with the methods that I choose to do so, and that is your right, but you will respect me. Do I make myself clear?”
Plautia looks like she wants to challenge her again, to tell her what she can do with her caution. However, she finally just sniffs.
“Very well, then,” she says. “If that’s the position that you’re going to take, then so be it. Don’t blame me when your brother brings his wrath crashing down on you anyway.”
Without another word she sweeps away, leaving Lucilla staring after her, wondering if she’s really done the right thing.
Lucilla tries to relax after that, but it proves impossible. She can’t get the madness in Commodus’ eyes out of her mind, either. There’s something evil in his blood, something consuming him from the inside out. The only question is: how far will things go before there is no turning back? How much of the world will he be willing to burn down before he is satisfied?
She tries everything that she normally does to coax her mind into peace, but nothing works. She’s thus even more on edge than usual when her husband shows his face.
He always did have a knack for showing up at the exact wrong time, she thinks uncharitably.
Despite these unpleasant thoughts she still tries to be kind to Claudius. After all, it’s not his fault that he’s so utterly uninteresting and incapable of being anything other than dull.
“Hello, husband,” she says. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
He looks hurt by the cool distance in her voice.
“I came to see how your meeting with your brother went.,” he says. “I can’t imagine that it was pleasant.”
Lucilla tries not to sigh. Did everyone in the palace know that she was meeting with Commodus tonight?
“Yes,” she says slowly. “It went as well as could be expected. You know how things are with him. You never quite know where you stand.”
Her husband gives her a level look.
“Lucilla,” he says. “I know that you don’t really respect my intelligence, but give me some credit. We both know that your brother wasn’t inviting you to the throne room in the middle of the night just for the pleasure of your company. What kind of threats did he make?”
“Very well,” she says, unable to hide her sigh. And she told him about everything that had happened. Truth be told it was actually a bit of a relief, to confide in him as if they were actually husband and wife.
She hadn’t meant to speak so much of what was in her mind, but now that it’s out in the open she finds that she actually feels a bit more relaxed. At least if Commodus is going to destroy the Rome that her father built, she can at least take some comfort in the fact that there are others who will go down with her.
“Please, my love,” Claudius says after a pause, “I want you to promise me that you won’t do anything further to anger or antagonize your brother. We’ve both come so far, and we’re both so comfortable where they are. It would be a shame to destroy it.”
Whatever good feeling Lucilla had for Claudius vanishes in an instant. Her old ire for this tiresome old man comes flooding back. It almost makes her sad, to think that he is so desperate to hold onto his little crumbs of power that he would abase himself in this way.
I should have known I couldn’t really trust him.
Paradoxically, his efforts to control her only make her more determined to follow this path. The people love her. She has allies. Commodus is strong, but he must have a weakness, perhaps more than any of them realize. Why shouldn’t she reach out and take the power that she deserves? Lucilla has no idea whether it will work or whether she will end up being just another one of those whose lives have been forfeited on the altar of ambition, but she knows that she has to try. She can’t bear to live in a world where uncertainty haunts her, where the whims of a madman determine the lives and fates of too many.
She spares one last compassionate thought for the brother that she once loved, for the boy that Commodus had once been before he began his descent.
Or so she tells herself.
In her heart of hearts, though, she wants power because it is in her nature to do so. She is the daughter and sister and widow of emperors. She has the blood of Rome flowing through her veins, and she is going to make sure that no one forgets that ever again, that she is not relegated to the sidelines. Under her guidance Rome might yet be saved from its slide into decadence and darkness.
There is power in the world, if she has the wherewithal to reach out and take it. If she has the willpower to break free of the limited visions of cowards like Claudius. If she has the determination to truly be her father’s daughter.
That’s exactly what she plans to do.