Daughters of Rome

Table of Contents

 

 

 

 

 

“What a great book!”

—Diana Gabaldon

 

“Equal parts intrigue and drama, action and good old-fashioned storytelling . . . Destined to please.”

—John Shors, bestselling author of
Beneath a Marble Sky

“An intensely emotional spectacle . . . An exhilarating read.”

—Kate Furnivall,
national bestselling author of
The Russian Concubine

“For sheer entertainment, drama, and page-turning storytelling, this tumultuous debut novel is well worth reading.”

“Fans of Philippa Gregory’s books who have had enough of Elizabethan times will be entranced by this Rome-set debut. . . . Awash with historical detail, this is a violent, passionate, compelling read.”

—
Elle
(UK)

“A riveting tale . . . [A] cinematic-style, epic love story . . . Quinn’s evocation of Rome is glamorous and brutal, a heady mix of intrigue and combat . . . An exhilarating read.”

—Marie Claire
(UK)

“A wildly entertaining read, this vivid tale of scandal and romance will have you holding your breath with excitement.”

—
Now Magazine
(UK),
Book of the Week Selection

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Copyright © 2011 by Kate Quinn

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

BERKLEY
^®
is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley trade paperback edition / April 2011

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Quinn, Kate.

p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-47895-0

PS3617.U578D38 2011

813’.6—dc22

2010032736

 

 

 

A
hand.

Just a little girl’s hand like any other, plump-fingered and a little sticky, but for a moment he saw blood all over it.

“Interesting,” Nessus gulped. The girl stared up at him, expectant, and he looked at her palm again, hoping it had been a trick of the light. Maybe a shadow. But no, there it was: not a shadow but blood.

You’re seeing things
, he told himself.
You’re seeing things.

“What?” the child said, curious.

He swallowed a sudden burst of nervous laughter. Wasn’t an astrologer supposed to see things when he looked at the stars, or into a palm?

But he never had before, not once since he’d gotten started in this business. Astrology wasn’t about truth, after all—it was about pleasing the clients. Telling pregnant women that their stars foretold healthy sons; telling legionaries their futures held medals and glory. What successful astrologer told anybody there was enough blood in their hand to soak all Rome?

I could have run a wine shop.
The sun was hot overhead, but Nessus felt chill sweat start to creep down his neck.
I could have become a trader. But no, I had to become an astrologer. Reading stars, reading palms when business gets slow, oh, why didn’t I just open a wine shop?
The only blood anybody saw in a wine shop came from drunks giving each other a swollen nose.

And the morning had started with such promise. Nessus had come early to the Forum Romanum, staking himself a place on the shady side where the afternoon sun wouldn’t beat down on his head like Vulcan’s hammer, and laid out his little display of star charts on threadbare silk. By noon he’d been commissioned for three horoscopes (payment on delivery), read the palm of a grain merchant and spoke mysteriously of fat profits coming on the next harvest; squinted at the hand of a giddy young woman and whispered of a rich husband. Nessus had just been mopping his already balding forehead on his sleeve and contemplating a jug of wine at the nearest tavern when four little girls arrayed themselves expectantly before him.

“We want you to read our futures,” the tallest had announced, and the rest promptly collapsed into giggles.

“There’s no time,” their nursemaid scolded, but Nessus looked them over with a practiced eye. Patrician girls, or he’d eat his straw sun hat: silk dresses, tooled leather sandals, veils over their hair to shield their skin. And patrician girls, even little ones like these, had coins to spend.

“Such futures ahead of you!” he intoned mysteriously. “Your stars sing to me of fame and fortune, beauty and love . . . two sesterces apiece, and cheap at the price. Which of you first?”

“Me, me!” Four hands presented themselves, variously grubby.

“No, me first, I’m the oldest! I’m Cornelia Prima, and that’s my sister, she’s Cornelia Secunda, and that’s Cornelia Tertia and Cornelia Quarta, they’re our cousins—”

Definitely patricians—only patricians had such a complete lack of imagination when it came to naming their daughters. Four girls born to one clan—undoubtedly the Cornelii!—and as was traditional, they’d all just been named Cornelia and then numbered in order. Nessus listened to their chatter with half an ear, not bothering to figure out which girl was which. They ranged in age from perhaps thirteen to five or six: a girl with dark hair wound in a crown around her head, a taller girl with the beginnings of a bust, a scabby-kneed towhead and a plump little giggler.

“Yes, what a future!” He put on his most oracular voice, and the first of the girls leaned in with round eyes even as the nursemaid sighed impatiently behind. “A golden-haired man who loves you, and a long journey over water . . . now, for
you
, let’s see that hand. A dark stranger who adores you from the shadows, who turns out to be a prince in disguise . . . And for you a rich husband, yes, you’ll have six children and dress in silk all your days . . .”

He’d been congratulating himself on a nice fat fee when he got the last palm. His breath stopped in his throat then, and for a moment the whole busy Forum—the housewives bustling past with their baskets, the hoarse-voiced hawkers crying their wares, the stray dogs and noisy children and clouds of white summer dust—seemed to freeze in place.

“What is it?” the girl said again, looking at him quizzically. Nessus felt icy fingers dancing up and down his spine; he had to force himself not to drop her hand like a hot coal and go running around the Forum for a while shrieking. But threadbare young astrologers just getting started in the business of telling the future didn’t last long if they went around shrieking in front of the customers, so he forced a bright smile.

“Little mistress, you have a very grand future ahead of you. All little girls dream of wearing a crown, but you’re going to be Empress of Rome someday! Wife of the Emperor, with more jewels and slaves and palaces than you can count. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“
I
want to be an empress,” one of the other little Cornelias objected.

“No, me!”

“Horsie,” crowed the youngest, waving chubby fingers at a cart horse plodding by.

Nessus dropped the hand of Cornelia Number Three or Two or whichever one she was.
I didn’t lie
, he thought queasily.
I just didn’t tell . . . all of it.

He looked at the other girls, the ones to whom he’d promised rich husbands and dark lovers and many children, just as he promised all girls, and now he could feel the sweat pouring down his body. Because he didn’t need to look at their hands anymore; he could see futures for all of them.

You’re ill
, he told himself.
That fish you ate last night. A piece of bad fish, and now you’re hallucinating.

But he wasn’t. Clear as day he saw widowhood for three of the four girls; a fair amount of misery for one and fame for another; a total of eleven husbands and eight children between them—and of course, that one little hand spilling over with blood.

The four girls went skipping off into the Forum after some new diversion, veils fluttering behind them. The nursemaid counted a few coins into Nessus’s hand, gave a censorious sniff at his threadbare tunic for good measure, and swished off after her charges. Nessus quickly packed up his star charts and headed to the nearest tavern.

He had had his first vision of the future, and he needed a drink.

—
TACITUS

June A.D. 68–January A.D. 69

—TACITUS