Fiction: "Daughter of the Empire: A Novella of Lucilla--Part 2"
Having finally decided that she must overthrow Commodus, Lucilla begins to set her plot in motion, even as other members of the imperial family pose their own challenges to her plans.
Hello, readers! Welcome to the second 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—decides to lead a coup against her brother to keep him from burning 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.
The first thing that must be done is to find out who will be willing to join them in this effort. This is no small thing, because to even whisper the possibility of a coup into the ears of an informant is to sign a death warrant. Lucilla is many things, but she’s not a fool: she hasn’t come this far only to find herself strangled in her bed or forced to take poison.
She begins by sending a number of secret letters to her cousins, members of the extended imperial family. There’s a secret code that some of the more ambitious of them have used for quite some time now, to send warnings whenever it becomes necessary to make sure that everyone is alerted to Commodus’ changes of mood, his terrible whims.
It is dangerous to be of imperial blood when his dark moods take him.
It isn’t long before she begins to get the letters back. They are far more interested in what she has to say than she would have thought and, once she gets a sense of just how many of them there are, she finally summons her daughter. Of all of the people in her circle, Plautia is one of the few that she thinks is actually intelligent enough to be able to help her in what she has set out to do.
Plautia settles herself on a couch and plucks a grape, which she pops ostentatiously into her mouth.
“You know, I have just as much to gain from this revolt as you do,” she says. “After all, I’m of the blood of two different emperors. It’s only right and fair that I should get to enjoy the fruits of my descent.”
Lucilla has to admire her daughter, if for no other reason that there is an ambition in her that burns almost as brightly as her own. She’s raised her to be aware and proud of her heritage, and one day she might even sit on the throne.
“I do know that,” she says at last, stirring herself out of her thoughts. “It’s part of the reason that I’m doing this. I want you to be safe, daughter.”
Plautia actually laughs at this, as if Lucilla has said something funny. “Oh, mother, please don’t feed me those lies. I know very well that you want to be the first woman in Rome, just as you’ve always been. You’ve never liked uncle’s wife, and truthfully neither have I. She’s not the brightest woman, and she has a viciousness to her that is dangerous.”
She lowers her voice. “And I have it on good authority that she might even be pregnant.”
This is something that Lucilla has not considered, and it sends a spike of ice into her heart. Commodus might not care much about the succession, but that didn’t mean that he would be able or willing to turn a blind eye to the baby growing in Crispina’s womb. A child would solidify his hold on the throne.
That can’t be allowed to happen.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” she demands.
I should have known this already. My informants are failing me.
“I only just found out myself a short time ago,” Plautia responds. “Don’t you think I would have told you sooner had I known? My survival is as much at stake as yours.”
That much is true.
Even though she knows she should be focusing on the present and the threats it poses, Lucilla still finds herself thinking about all of the women who have walked through these halls before her, all of whom were powerful but who had to exist within the confines of a world that saw little utility in giving women any kind of power: Livia, who always lurked in the shadows of her husband, Augustus; Agrippina, who had to poison her own foolish husband so that she could elevate her son, only to find herself executed by that same poisoned offspring; Domitia, who had to cope with the madness and cruelty of her husband, who she eventually brought down. Time and again, the women of the imperial family had had to contend with the men in their family. Why should she be any different?
“I want you to do something for me,” she says to her daughter. “We must gather together the few that we can absolutely trust and begin to put this plan in motion. We don’t have much time to waste. If Bruttia gives birth to this child while Commodus is still alive he won’t waste any time in getting rid of us.”
She lays out the number of family members that she is fairly certain that they can rely upon, and while Plautia shows some skepticism about a few of them, she still agrees for the most part, for which Lucilla is grateful. There’s no time for disagreement now.
That done, she dispatches Plautia to see to this, while she settles back to begin putting the other pieces into place. She has no idea whether this is going to work, or whether it’s all going to end in death and destruction for her and for everyone she loves, but she also knows that she has no other choice but to try. If she’s going to die one way or another, she’d rather it be on her own terms rather than on Commodus’.
It’s in the hands of the gods, now, she thinks. But it’s also in our own.
The planning for the assassination goes far more smoothly than Lucilla dares to hope, and this makes her wary. She has no way of knowing whether one of her brother’s spies has already begun to pour poison into his ears, whether he knows what she is doing and is just waiting to slam shut the trap, or whether they are indeed in the clear and having nothing to fear.
This is what living in Commodus’ world is like, and it brings home to her again the need for what they are doing.
Then Commodus once again surprises her, and not in a good way.
He has decided to hold a banquet for all of the other members of their large family, the many daughters that their father Marcus Aurelius sired with their mother, Faustina. There are a surprising number of them still alive and living either in Rome or close enough that they can be invited to a dinner and actually be expected to attend. Lucilla, of course, will be there, but she has to admit that she is not really looking forward to seeing her siblings; in fact, she’s dreading it.
Her sisters and their husbands are a liability, since she has no way of knowing just which of them might be loyal to her and which will always remain stubbornly in Commodus’ camp. Most of them owe their positions and their power, and so they are unlikely to turn against him. It’s why she looked further afield when finding those to join the conspiracy.
Damn him, she thinks. Why did he have to decide on a family reunion at the worst possible moment?
Even so, she can’t refuse him, because the plan is still too delicate. She sends a messenger to him telling the emperor that she will gladly join him for this impromptu gathering, that she would in fact be quite happy to spend some time with her siblings.
Every word of it is a lie, but she’s learned how to be convincing.
When the evening arrives for the dinner, she garbs herself in a long gown of pale blue, choosing a pair of aquamarine earrings and a silver necklace to go with it. She wants to strike a regal pose this evening, but not so much of one that she will arouse any suspicions in either Commodus or her siblings, to pretend as if she is just like everyone else, instead of the special figure that she has come to believe herself to be.
Don’t be overconfident, she reminds herself. The gods love to destroy those who reach too high too soon.
Claudius is away from the palace this night, which is a blessing. She wants to be able to navigate the fraught waters of her family without a distraction and, even at his better moments, he’s not particularly helpful in these situations. Even so, when she finally arrives at the grand banqueting hall she finds herself wishing that he was there beside, if for no other reason than that she hates being alone.
You can do this, she reminds herself. You must do this. Show them the face of the sister they expect to see, nothing more and nothing less.
Already several of her sisters are already there with their husbands, all of them reclining on couches, all of them keeping a sharp eye on the door to see who is the next to arrive. Some of them narrow their eyes when Lucilla arrives, and she’s reminded again of how jealous they have always been of her, how they resent the fact that she was the one who was chosen to marry an emperor, while they were just tiny pieces in their father’s various ambitions.
Of them all, it’s Fadilla that she knows that she has the most to fear, and that impression only grows stronger when the woman gets off of her couch and strides toward her. She braces herself for what she is sure is going to be an attack, since Fadilla has never forgiven her for any of the transgressions that she committed when they were children, and of all of them she has always been the closest to Commodus, the one most willing to defend him no matter what he does.
Lucilla tries to plaster a smile onto her face, but she can tell from the way that Fadilla stiffens as she approaches that she’s not been particularly successful.
Fadilla is almost a decade younger than Lucilla, but years of disappointment at her lot in life have added wrinkles to her face, and there are streaks of gray in her dark brown hair. Her eyes are even harder than the marble floor on which they stand, and she looks Lucilla up and down, as if she’s desperate to find something wrong with her, something that she can call out and mock in front of the rest of them. When that fails, she finally nods her head.
“I’m glad that you could be bothered to show your face here,” she says, not even bothering to hide her hostility. “I was beginning to wonder whether you would be too good to arrive. We all know how much esteem you hold for yourself.”
Lucilla takes a deep breath to try to put her temper back into the box. Fadilla is just acting this way because she thinks she can get away with it and because she enjoys getting a rise out of her. She needs to not give in to that impulse. She needs to hold herself to a higher standard, and not just because doing so is valuable for keeping the conspiracy secret. She wants to show her sister that she is not someone to be so easily manipulated by childish insults.
“Fadilla,” she says coolly, “it’s good to see you, too. I was wondering whether you would be here for whatever it is that Commodus has planned for us.”
Fadilla tilts her head to the side. “Ah, so you don’t know any more than the rest of us? I must admit that I’m a little surprised at that. You are so close to our brother, here at court, that I’m surprised that he doesn’t confide his doings and intentions with you.”
She tries to keep her temper under control. Fadilla knows quite well that there is a distance between Lucilla and Commodus, one inflamed by Bruttia Crispina and the others who want to see the two royal siblings at war with each other.
“The emperor is far too busy tending to affairs of state to spend time telling me everything that he intends to do,” she says, finally deciding on an excuse that she thinks will at least go some way toward convincing her sister that all is well.
Fadilla, however, is no fool. She was raised in the same court, and she understands how power works, and how easy it is for the various factions at court to begin turning against one another. Lucilla thinks that she sees a tiny little smile quirk at the corner of her mouth, but it’s there and gone too quickly to be sure.
You’re not being particularly generous to your sister, she reminds herself. Just don’t give her anything that she might try to use against you.
“Come,” she says, holding out a hand, “let us not dwell on the past. Let’s instead focus on the present and what we can achieve together.”
For a brief moment it seems as if Fadilla is going to turn her nose up at this gesture, as she has so often before. Then she takes Livia’s hand and together they make their way toward Fadilla’s couch, Lucilla giving a greeting to her other siblings and their husbands as they. Even though she tries to be warm and to give each of them some sort of greeting that at least feels personal, she can’t help but feel as if they are all strangers to one another, as if their years apart have stripped away that which bound them together.
That’s the price I have always paid for being so close to power.
It’s not a particularly comforting thought.
They recline and begin to speak of inconsequential things, of things past and present, while servants begin to bring in the various courses.
It soon becomes clear that this is to be a party of remarkable proportions. Commodus has spared no expense when it comes to the dishes that he has had his cooks prepare, and it seems to Lucilla that all of the wealth of the empire has been poured into this evening. There are stuffed dormice and flamingo tongues, as well as a horde of other things that no wealthy Roman’s banquet would ever be without,all washed down with generous helpings of Falernian wine.
Still, as the gathered siblings make their way through the various foods presented to them by obsequious slaves, they can’t help but be aware that the person who called this dinner together has not shown himself. With each passing moment, they become more nervous about what Commodus might have planned for them.
For her part finds herself thinking about the Julio-Claudians of a century earlier. She knows that it must have been terrifying for all of them to constantly have to be on guard for whatever might befall them, whichever of them might be sacrificed on the altar of another’s ambition.
Am I more like Agrippina the Elder or Agrippina the Younger? She wonders, contemplating two of the most powerful women of that tragic dynasty. Am I doing what I’m doing for the benefit of Rome itself and my house, or am I just doing it because I yearn for power?
It’s at this moment that she actually begins to think seriously about what it would be like to ascend to the throne, even if it were her husband who was the true emperor. What would she be able to do with the power and influence that would come with being someone at the pinnacle of power? It’s almost enough to make her dizzy.
“Sister, are you quite all right? You almost look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
It’s with an effort that Livilla brings herself back into the world of the present. She mustn’t let herself get so distracted, not when Fadilla is watching, and she certainly can’t begin to count on a power that is nowhere near being hers yet. She must be careful and sly. Unlike those women of the past she must make sure that she can’t be accused of moving against Commodus until it’s too late for anything to be done about it.
Just as those thoughts flicker through her mind the doors to the dining room are thrown open and Commodus himself comes striding in.
It’s clear at once that he has gone to extra lengths to make sure that he is resplendent this evening. His hair has been covered with so much gold dust that it shines in the light of the lamps like a beacon. His purple tunic flows out behind him, and he strides as if he is some warrior out of an old story, taking the world for his own. He looks neither to the right nor the left as he makes his way to his couch, and it’s only once he’s safely ensconced there that he actually fixes his gathered family in his gaze.
Lucilla can see the light of madness gleaming in his eyes, and a fist of fear clutches at her heart. Whatever it is that he is about to do, it’s not going to be something that any of them like, least of all her.
Just calm yourself, she says to herself. Just let this play out as it will, and we’ll see what happens.
“I’m so glad to see all of you,” he says, his voice ringing through the vast hall. “Families shouldn’t let themselves be torn apart by past grievances and petty rivalries.”
Lucilla has the distinct impression that he’s talking about her, but she schools her face to stillness.
“Henceforth, I am going to insist that we all spend more time together,” Commodus goes on. “My wife, Crispina, is going to help me in these efforts. She’s the one who has been pushing me into this effort, and it’s time that I heeded her advice. She is very wise.”
Then why isn’t she here? Lucilla can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else going on, that her brother is doing something that none of them can see or sense. It makes her skin crawl.
“Now then,” he says, “I can see that all of you have been enjoying the meal that I had prepared for you. That’s good. There should always be trust between us.”
Several more courses are brought in, but the sense of unease and discomfort never fully leaves. Lucilla repeatedly fights the urge to look at Fadilla, to see what she is making of all of this, whether she had some sort of role to play in it.
Commodus spends a few brief moments eating his own meal–a rather sparse one, which is strange–and then he begins to make a circuit of the dining room. He stops at each couch to speak to his various sisters and their husbands. Looking at him, Lucilla would almost think that he has indeed turned over a new leaf, that perhaps there is some brighter future in store for all of them, if they all join in this effort with good faith.
“He really is an extraordinary creature, isn’t he?” Fadilla asks from beside her. “There’s always so much going on with him that none of us can see. You can’t help but admire him.”
Lucilla knows that these words are intended for her, but she doesn’t rise to the bait. Things are pleasant enough at the moment. She isn’t going to make things difficult for all of them by being nasty in return.
“He certainly is an extraordinary specimen,” she says. “He fits into the model that father set for him.” It’s a lie, of course, and a remarkably transparent and unconvincing one at that, but it’s what Fadilla wants to hear.
“Do you honestly believe that, Lucilla?” she asks. “Or is that simply something you’re saying because you believe that it’s the wise and political thing to say?”
She’s caught in the lie, but she’s not going to give up. She’s going to continue on with it as she has been so far. It’s the only other thing to do. Things are too dangerous right now for her to risk alienating her sister or raising her suspicions.
“I wouldn’t lie about something this important,” she says. “I know that our brother, for all that I sometimes disagree with him, does have the betterment of the empire and this family as his primary concerns. I would never do anything to stand in his way or to suggest otherwise.”
The honeyed lies pour out of her mouth almost of their own accord. It’s almost as if she’s finding the words to find her way through this morass even as she speaks them. She feels a bit of shame at this, that she should be reduced to lying through her teeth in order to save her own life, but that’s what must be done in these treacherous times, so that is what she will do.
Fadilla seems to believe her, though with her it’s always hard to tell. Her hard, hooded eyes give nothing away.
How is it possible that we came from the same parents? Lucilla wonders. No matter how hard I look I can’t seem to find anything in her that reflects anything in me.
“Very well,” her sister says at last. “I suppose I have no reason to think anything other than that. You are a good sister to Commodus, at least when you want to be. Just be sure that I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
Grand, Lucilla thinks sourly. Just what I needed. Someone else breathing down my neck.
There’s no time to really focus on this, however, because Commodus is now approaching them. Crispina has still not put in an appearance, and that makes Lucilla ever more nervous. However, she vows not to show any of this, preferring instead to pretend as if everything is fine, as if she doesn’t have reason to fear Commodus, as if she isn’t involved in action that could see him dead within the month.
When he comes to their couch he pauses, as if he’s not quite sure what to make of two of his sisters sitting together, when neither of them have given any indication that they have any feeling other than hatred for one another.
“It’s so good to see the two of you getting along at last,” he says arms wide. “As I said earlier, it’s time that we all start to join together. We will never survive what’s coming if we don’t present a united front.”
Lucilla desperately wants to ask just what it is that he fears is coming, but something stops the words from coming out of her mouth. She’s actually not sure that she wants to know.
“There are many who would see our family brought to ruin,” he says, clearly intending to talk about whatever it is that he sees threatening them. “The Senate hates us,” he goes on. “All of them. They won’t stop until they’ve destroyed me and you as well. However, with you all behind me, I will be your shield and your sword.”
Lucilla has her doubts about that. Commodus has never done anything except when it was to his benefit. However, she plasters a smile on her face, hoping that it will be enough to convince him that she is going along with this newest madness.
“That is very kind and generous of you, brother,” Fadilla says. “We are blessed to have such a brother.”
Lucilla fights very hard to keep from rolling her eyes at such naked sycophancy, while Commodus’ eyes glow in appreciation of this flattery.
He’s a fool.
“Now then,” Commodus says, “you both will join me tomorrow, so that we may figure out who it is that is the gravest threat to our position. Once we’ve done that, we’ll set up the proscriptions.”
That word is deadly and dangerous, as anyone who has studied the history of the Palatine knows.
She takes several calming breaths, and then she takes the plunge. If she’s going to do this, she’s going to make sure that she has all of the information that she needs at her command. She isn’t going to be lulled into a false sense of security.
“Brother,” she says, infusing her voice with as much warmth as she can, “I’m honored that you would include me in such an effort, but I must admit I am somewhat surprised. Your wife has made no secret of her loathing of me and, as your meeting with me just a short time ago demonstrated, I fear that you also fear and suspect me. Can I have some sort of guarantee that this isn’t some kind of trap?”
Fadilla looks at her as if she has sprouted another head.
Commodus, however, just puts his head to the side and considers her, as if she is some rare and exotic bird that he is trying to understand. There’s a certain low animal cunning in his eyes that has always terrified her, and she suddenly feels like one of those foolish ostriches flailing about on the sands of the Colosseum.
Why did I ever agree to come to this banquet? I should have just stayed in my chambers and pretended to be ill. Or, better yet, I should have just left Rome altogether.
But power is its own lure, and she is honest enough with herself to know that this is a key part of the reason why she is still here. Commodus is dangerous, and the imperial throne is a perilous place to sit, but she yearns for it, the more so as she comes to see how much of a danger her brother poses to the well-being of the empire.
“Tell me,” Commodus says suddenly, “where is your husband?”
“I’m afraid my husband wasn’t feeling up to an evening like this one,” she says. “Besides, I thought it best that I share the evening with my siblings without interference.”
It’s a weak excuse, and she knows it. After all, it isn’t as if the rest of her sisters haven’t brought their husbands and, in a few cases, even their children, to this little get-together. It makes her look strange and out-of-place.
Commodus, fortunately, doesn’t see fit to push her or question her about this. She’s conscious, though, of the skeptical look that Fadilla is giving her. She has to give her sister credit: she’s never been one to be easily lied to or deceived.
It’s precisely what makes her so dangerous.
Am I going to have to dispense with her, too? Lucilla thinks. I would hate to have to kill her, but I won’t let anyone stand in the way.
As soon as she asks that question of herself, Lucilla feels a little part of her die, a part of her she didn’t even really know was there until it was gone. Perhaps she would call it her humanity, or perhaps just the compassion and empathy that she once possessed. Looking briefly into the future, she wonders dimly whether she will ever be able to regain that part of her, or whether she’ll just…never be the same again.
Then she hardens her heart. She has finally learned to accept the ugly truth about being a member of this dynasty. Being this close to power means that she will never be able to be certain of anyone else’s loyalty.
So be it, she thinks. If this is what being a member of the imperial family means, then I shall behave accordingly.
A certain strength comes from this realization, even as she is also haunted by what it will mean for her future.
“Sister, you look as if you’re a thousand miles away.”
Commodus' voice breaks into her thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “What were you saying?”
“I was saying, sister, that you don’t need to worry about Crispina. I have explained to her in no uncertain terms that you are my sister and that, whatever the differences there are between the two of you, you deserve her loyalty and respect. And I intend to make sure that that is exactly what you receive.”
Lucilla blinks at this.
“I see,” she says. “Well, I greatly appreciate that. It has only ever been my desire to keep the imperial house safe. As you say, it doesn’t serve us for all of us to constantly be at one another’s throats.”
That much, at least, is true.
“You are right, as you so often are.”
Her brother’s words bring this terribly uncomfortable conversation to a close, and the rest of the dinner passes in something of a haze. Lucilla is sure that she has some kind of conversation with Fadilla, but all she can remember is a muddle of inconsequential phrases and observations.
When it’s all over and they all begin to depart, Fadilla puts a hand on her arm, holding her back so they can have one last conversation.
“I’m going to say this because I think you need to hear it, and because if I don’t I fear what will become of you,” Fadilla says without preamble. “You may have cast the wool over our brother’s eyes, but I can see that you’re up to something. I have no idea what it is, and I have no idea whether it will succeed, but you should be very careful. You might not have any loyalty to Commodus. You might even see him as a threat. I do not. And I will use every resource at my disposal to make sure that is kept safe.”
“Sister,” she says. “I appreciate what you are saying, but I am not ‘up to something’ as you put it. Why would I put myself at risk by plotting against Commodus? He has already made it clear that he will do everything in his considerable power to make sure that our family is kept safe. Do you think I value my own life so cheaply?”
The lies fall off her tongue, but Fadilla isn’t phased or convinced. If anything, she looks even more skeptical.
“Don’t be a fool, Lucilla,” is all she says. “Just let our brother do what he thinks is necessary, and let the rest tend to itself. Otherwise, there is nothing I’ll be able to do to protect you.”
And with that, she’s gone, leaving Lucilla standing there, wondering what she is going to do.
In the privacy of her own chambers Lucilla paces back and forth, poring over each and every detail of the night. The pieces haven’t yet organized themselves into a coherent whole just yet, but it is nevertheless clear that she is running out of time to move this plot forward. If she waits too much longer, if she doesn’t actually do something concrete, it might well be the case that she will end up dead.
She takes a few breaths to calm herself. There’s no point in letting her mind and fears run away with her. Yes, Commodus is growing more daring and ambitious and yes, there’s no question that Fadilla is now also a danger, but that doesn’t mean that she needs to rush into anything just yet. Far better to sow the seeds, let them sprout, and then seize the power when it presents itself.
With that thought giving her some comfort, she at last allows herself to relax.
Trust in the gods, she thinks. You are the daughter of Marcus Aurelius. You will do what is necessary, and no one, not a mad brother or a sister who has decided to throw in her lot with him, will be able to stop you.
Only time will tell whether this is true or just another comforting fiction.
“Mother, I have someone important that I want you to meet.”
It’s now a few days after the fateful banquet with her sisters, and there hasn’t been a great deal of movement when it comes to the coup. Hearing her daughter say this makes Lucilla’s spine tingle, but she thinks that it might be a good thing.
“Is that so?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “And just who would that be?”
“Well,” Plautia says, “among others, I’ve managed to secure an audience with the Praetorian Prefect.”
Her voice practically drips with smug satisfaction, but Lucilla can only see the risk that her daughter has run with this particular alliance. Paternus has never given any indication that he would be willing to betray his emperor, so what does Plautia know about him that Lucilla does not?
“That is…a development,” Lucilla says, not willing to commit just yet.
“It is,” Plautia says. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing, mother, but I for one am not just going to sit around and wait for Commodus to do something even more foolish and dangerous.”
Lucilla prickles at the accusation that she isn’t doing more for the conspiracy. True, she’s been more cautious than her daughter, but she has the age and experience to know how quickly these things can fall apart. By taking this leap, her daughter might well have exposed them to the type of danger from which there is no escape.
She takes a deep breath to calm herself. There’s no reason yet for panic. They might yet be able to pull this off, if they proceed carefully. Lucilla must also be careful not to alienate Plautia. For all of her headstrong attitude, she’s still a valuable ally.
“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” she says. “I’ll meet with the Prefect, but I want you to let me do all of the talking. It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she rushes to say, holding up a hand when Plautia looks like she is going to object, “but there are dangerous currents at court, and we all know that there is nothing reliable about the Praetorians. They have shown time and again that they can’t be trusted. They will sell themselves to the highest bidder. And besides, I’m more used to such negotiations than you are.”
She can see from the tight set of Plautia’s features that she wants to disagree, that she doesn’t appreciate being treated like a child. However, she also knows that there’s no choice when it comes to things like this. The person with the most experience must be the one to lead things in the right direction and, in this instance at least, that is Lucilla.
“Very well, mother,” she says at last. “I’ll do as you say. But please, don’t waste this opportunity. I can’t say why, but I feel as if things are moving fast now. If we don’t strike soon, it will be too late.”
Lucilla thinks back to that fateful banquet, remembering what it was like to have Commodus standing there, a certain feral menace in his eyes. She thinks that there’s probably some truth to Plautia’s claims, much as she hates to admit it.
“I know very well what my brother is capable of,” she says calmly. “Still, we can’t move too quickly. Just trust me on this.”
Plautia looks like she wants to argue again, but she finally just shakes her head.
“Very well. There is such a thing as too much strategizing, you know.”
Lucilla doesn’t even bother answering that.
The hours pass by quickly, and soon enough Paternus is being shown into her chambers.
Paternus looks like exactly one would expect the leader of the Praetorians to look. He’s a tall man–taller even than Commodus, who is known for his height–and he is like one giant slab of muscle. Despite herself, Lucilla finds her mind mulling over what it would be like to see him naked.
Control yourself, she thinks. It was bad enough that mother got herself into all kinds of trouble by flirting with gladiators. Don’t you think that you’re better than that?
She gestures for him to take a seat, and he does, though he’s clearly uncomfortable. The smell of leather and sweat combine to create something that is both disturbing and intoxicating, a reminder, as if she needed one, that this is a man whose life is committed to violence.
“So,” she says, “my daughter tells me that you have something you wish to say to me.”
“I do,” he says, voice gruff, “Domina.” The addition of the honorific feels forced.
“And what exactly do you want to say to me?”
She’s conscious of Plautia in the background, pacing with frustration, a pained look on her face. Lucilla knows what she’s doing, however. If this man is to be a part of their plan, then she needs to determine what his motivations are, why he is deciding to throw his lot in with them. If he’s just doing this for the money, then she can spare them all a great deal of trouble.
He’ll have to be killed, of course, she thinks, her mind already running to the various poisoners that call the city of Rome their home.
“It’s become clear to me, and to some of the other Praetorians, that the emperor is a threat,” he says. “I don’t mean to the empire, neither. We’re not paid enough to give two shits about the empire. What we do care about is money, and we don’t think he’s going to have enough to keep the money flowing into our hands the way that he promised. There’s grumblings, Domina, and they’re only going to grow louder the more he throws money to the masses.”
Ah, so there it is. She should have known that it would be about money when it came right down to it. Still, she can use this. The Praetorians love their wealth, and if she can make a convincing promise that she’ll see their pockets full, then they’ll be hers to control.
“And you think that I will do better?”
Paternus gives her a level look, as if to remind her that neither of them are fools.
“Domina, don’t insult my intelligence or yours. Everyone knows that your father would have given you the throne if you’d been born a man.”
That’s a reminder she could have done without.
“That might be true, but it’s also true that you’re a canny strategist yourself, for all that you Praetorians usually put more faith in your muscles than your minds.” She knows that she’s goading him, but she has to get to the truth of things, has to see just how strong he is when faced with a challenge to his authority.
The face he gives her, however, could have been carved out of stone for all the more emotion it shows. That, at least, is a good sign.
Good, she thinks. Let’s see just how much he can endure.
“As I see it,” she goes on, “this could all be a trap from my brother, some effort of his to destroy me by luring me into a conspiracy. What guarantee can you offer me that that’s not the case?”
There’s no mistaking the huff of frustration Plautia gives in the background, but she ignores her. Instead, she fixes Paternus in her gaze, her silence demanding an answer.
At last, he gives her just the barest bit of a smile, as if she’s shown himself something of herself that he was looking for, as if she was the one being tested.
“I’ll give you this, Domina. You’re not lacking in courage. There’s really nothing I can give you that would put your mind totally at ease. However, I will tell you that if you decide to go forward with this, if you decide to bring about the end of your brother’s reign and put someone else in his place, that you’ll have my support and that of a good number of my men. We’ll make sure that anyone who doesn’t stand with are taken care of.”
There’s a power in his words and, though she doesn’t know why, Lucilla finds herself believing him. This belief might come back to haunt her in the future, but for now it’s enough to know that she believes he is on their side.
“Very well then,” she nods. “I believe you. If, however, you decide to betray me, or even if I have any indication that you are going to do so, I won’t hesitate to destroy you and anyone that you care about. You wouldn’t be the first Praetorian Prefect to be brought to a nasty end because they dared to overstep their boundaries. I’m sure that you’re familiar with the story of your predecessor Sejanus?”
Lucilla knows that she’s playing a dangerous game. Given that Paternus has already given his word, and given that she has already made clear that this is good enough for her, she isn’t sure what she’s going to get out of this. Perhaps it’s simply that she wants him to keep in mind what will happen if they fail: death for all of them, no doubt, but also for their families. When you go for an emperor and fail, doom is the result.
“I understand the stakes better than most,” he says, a bit of stiffness creeping into his voice. “The failures of my predecessors are kept alive in the barracks, Domina. There isn’t a Praetorian who isn’t raised on the knowledge of what happened to the likes of Sejanus. There’s not one of us that doesn’t walk by the Gemonian Stairs and shudder.”
“Very good,” then she says, suddenly deciding that this conversation has gone on long enough.. “Consider yourself part of this conspiracy. Whatever comes in the days ahead, we are bound together by our own words.”
She hadn’t meant for the words to come out with such solemnity, but now that they are out in the open, she realizes that that’s just what needed to be said. Paternus even looks at her with a touch more respect than he had just a moment earlier.
Good, she thinks. That’s just what’s needed.
Paternus being the type of man he is, he’s not going to stand around and wait for something else to happen.
“I’ll be in touch again soon,” he says. “Don’t make a move until you’ve heard from me.”
Then he’s gone from the room, his boots thudding heavily on the marble floor.
Lucilla frowns, not sure how she feels about that last order.
“Well, that was certainly revealing wasn’t it?” she asks as soon as he’s gone.
“You know, mother,” Plautia says, coming toward her, “there are others who would also be happy to join with this scheme.”
Lucilal rubs her temples to calm the headache that she can feel taking shape. “Daughter, I would remind you that I am the one who is supposed to be leading this? Why, in that case, do you insist on doing things without asking me first?”
Plautia huffs. “For your information, it’s your own cousins who’ve reached out to me, not the other way around. Clearly, the walls are even more permeable than you thought.”
Those idiots, she thinks. I’m the one who wrote to them. Why are they reaching out to Plautia instead of to me?
This leads to an even more important question: how much can they be trusted?
Suddenly, however, the pieces begin to fall into place, and she starts to think that this might actually be the best way to go about this. Marcus is skilled with a blade–she remembers that from their youth spent together–and he would be the perfect one to deal the killing blow. If the whole thing fails, it’s likely that he’ll take the fall for what’s happened, rather than Lucilla or Plautia.
“This is how we are going to approach this,” she says. “My cousin is, in his own way, as unreliable and unstable as Commodus. He might resent my brother for never being willing to give him the blessings that he thinks that he’s due, but the truth is that your uncle was right to deny him. The same is true of his sister.”
She snorts at that. Not that she would be given any responsibility even if she were smarter.
“Yes,” she says, getting to her feet and starting to stride around the room, the vision of the future coming clear. “If we can get him to deal the blow to Commodus, and if he succeeds, then we can pawn him off with a province or some other position of money but no power, something to keep him sweet.’
She pauses, tapping her chin in thought. Her mind is racing far ahead of her mouth, and she has to make sure that she means what she says before she keeps this going.
“I love seeing you like this, mother,” Plautia says.
There’s such passion in her daughter’s eyes that for a moment Lucilla actually allows herself a moment to think about what it will be like when all of this is done, when Commodus is dead and there is no more reason to fear him. What would it be like to live in a Rome more like the one that her father ruled? Will the people love them for this, or will they hate them for taking away the man who has given them so much largesse?
Then another thought occurs to her, and the whole vision seems to turn to damp ashes.
“I know you’re thinking about him. I know you feel guilty about excluding your husband, but we both know he’ll only ever be a figurehead.”
“I don't feel guilty,” Lucilla says. “He has no idea how power works. The only reason that your grandfather made me marry him in the first place was because he was steady and dependable. He probably hoped that I would simply settle down and be a good Roman matron.” She snorts. “Though I suspect he knew that would never happen. He was no fool.”
Talking about her father brings up the old familiar ache. Marcus had been old when he died, but it had still felt like he’d been taken too soon.
“Oh well,” she says. “Claudius knows enough to stay out of the way, at least. And, when the time comes, he’ll be the one that the people acclaim as their emperor.”
She knows that this doesn’t sit well with Plautia.
“It has to be this way, daughter,” she says. “There’s no room for a woman to sit on the throne of Rome. It’s a harsh truth, but one that must be accepted. It’s the same thing that has haunted the others who have walked these halls. No matter what we do, whether or not we succeed, a man will be the one to lead the Roman Empire.”
Plautia wants to fight back against this, to argue with her that it isn’t fair. She can see it in every line of her body. Her daughter has never been the kind of person to accept the world as it is. She’s always fought against every stricture put up in front of her. From the moment that she emerged from the womb she’s shown time and again that she is a force to be reckoned with. It’s made her a terror to raise as a daughter, but it means that she is a woman that Lucilla can truly admire
Oh daughter, she thinks, you would have made a great emperor.
It’s the exact thing that her father used to say to her.
At last Plautia nods her head. It might be a gesture of submission, but Lucilla knows better. The flame of rebellion will always burn in her daughter’s breast, and there’s nothing that she or anyone else is going to be able to quench it.
I’m not sure I would even if I could, she thinks. That would just destroy her, anyway. And I would never do that.
“Very well,” she says, clapping her hands. “There is no point in debating this further. Your stepfather will be kept as far out of this as possible. When the day comes, when we receive word from Paternus that everything is in readiness, then we shall order my cousin to strike. We can just hope that his sword is true and that he hasn’t lost any of his prowess with the blade.”
The stage is thus set for the death of Commodus and, Lucilla hopes, the beginning of a new era, for her family and for all of Rome.