Authors: Bertrice Small
“My father is a proud man,” Kyna said. “Perhaps over-proud. The Dobunni were once members of the powerful Catuvellauni Celts. A son of their great ruler Commius, one Tincommius by name, brought a group of followers to this
region many years ago. They became the Dobunni. Your grandfather descends from Tincommius. He is proud of his line, and prouder yet of the fact that none of his family until me ever married into the Roman race. He has always hated the Romans, although for no real reason that he ever shared with any of us.
“When I saw your father, and fell in love with him, Berikos was quite displeased with me. He had already chosen a husband for me, a man named Carvilius. But I would not have Carvilius. I would only have your father, and so Berikos disowned me. I had shamed him. I had shamed the Dobunni.”
“He is a fool, and ever was,” Brenna muttered. “When word was brought to him of the twins’ births, a smile split his face for the briefest moment, and then he grew somber, saying, ‘I have no daughter.’ His other wives, Ceara, Bryna, and that little fool Maeve, were all preening and bragging over their grandchildren, but with my one child exiled, I was forbidden to say a word. Indeed, what could I have said? I hadn’t ever even seen the boys.”
“But,” Cailin questioned Brenna, “if Berikos had three other wives, and other children, why was he so angry at Mother for having followed her heart? Didn’t he want her to be happy?”
“Berikos has sired ten sons on his other wives, but my child was his only daughter. Kyna was her father’s favorite, which is why he let her go,
and
why he could never forgive her for turning her back on her heritage,” Brenna sadly explained.
“When you were born, however, I told Berikos that if he could not forgive your mother for marrying a Romano-Briton, I must leave the tribe to be with my daughter. He had other grandchildren, but I had only your mother’s children. It was not fair that he rob me of a place by my daughter’s fire, or the right to dandle my grandchildren upon my knee. That was fourteen years ago. I have never regretted my decision. I am far happier with my daughter and her family than I ever was with Berikos, and his killing pride.”
Kyna took her mother’s hand in hers and squeezed it hard
as the two women smiled at each other. Then Brenna reached out with her other hand and patted Cailin’s cheek lovingly.
Quintus’s marriage had been celebrated on the Kalends of June. To everyone’s surprise, including his own, he was a most proficient manager of his estates, including his wife’s vast portion. The river villa he deemed in too poor repair, and had it demolished. The fields belonging to the estate now bloomed with ripening grain. The orchards thrived. Quintus, comfortable in his wife’s lavish villa, put on weight. His devotion to Antonia was astounding. Though it was his right to take any slave who caught his fancy to his bed, he did not do so. His stepsons feared and respected him, as should the children of any respectable man. His slaves found nothing to gossip about their master. And as for Antonia, by early autumn she was pregnant.
“It is astounding,” Gaius said to his wife. “Poor Honoria Porcius in all her years of marriage could get but one child; but her daughter ripens like a melon each time a husband comes through the door. Well, I must admit that Cailin’s matchmaking was a good thing. My cousin Manius should be most grateful to me for his son’s luck.”
Quintus Drusus, however, was not quite the man he seemed. His good fortune had but given him an appetite for more. The civil government was crumbling with the towns themselves. He could see that soon there would be no central government left. When that happened, it would be the rich and the powerful who controlled Britain. Quintus Drusus had decided that he would be the richest and most powerful man in Corinium and the surrounding countryside when that time came. He looked covetously at the estates of his cousin, Gaius Drusus Corinium.
Antonia had been recently chattering to him about possible matches to be made for his cousins, Titus and Flavius. They were already disporting themselves among the slave girls in their father’s house. The rumor was that one of them—and no one was certain which, for they were identical in features—had gotten a young slave girl with child. Their
marriages could quickly mean children; another generation of heirs to the estate of Gaius Drusus Corinium.
And then there was Cailin. Her parents would soon be seeking a husband for her. She would also celebrate a birthday in the spring. At fifteen she was certainly more than old enough to marry. A powerful husband allied with his cousin Gaius—the thought did not please Quintus Drusus. He wanted the lands belonging to his benefactor, and the quicker he got them, the fewer complications he would have to deal with. The only question remaining in his mind was how to attain his goal without being caught.
Gaius and his family would have to be disposed of, but how was he to do it? He must not be suspected himself.
No
. He would be the greatest mourner at the funerals of Gaius Drusus Corinium and his family—
and the only one left to inherit his cousin’s estates
. Quintus smiled to himself. In the end he would have far more wealth than any of his brothers in Rome. He thought of how he had resisted the idea of coming to Britain, yet had he not come, he would have lost the greatest opportunity of his life.
“You look so happy, my love,” Antonia said, smiling at him as they lay abed.
“How could I not be happy, my dear,” Quintus Drusus answered his wife. “I have you, and so much else.” He reached out and touched her swelling belly. “He is the first of a great house, Antonia.”
“Oh, yes!” she agreed, catching his hand and kissing it.
Antonia’s sons
, he thought, as he tenderly caressed his adoring wife. They were young, and so fragile. The merest whisper of disease could take them. It really seemed a shame that the sons of Sextus Scipio should one day have anything of his. But of course, Antonia would not allow them to be disinherited. Though she was not the best of mothers, she did dote on her children. Still, anything might happen, Quintus Drusus considered.
Anything
.
Quintus Drusus’s son was born on the Kalends of March, exactly nine months to the day his mother had married his father.
The infant was a large, healthy child. Antonia’s joy at the birth of her child was short-lived, however, for the next morning, the two little boys born of her marriage to Sexus Scipio were discovered drowned in the atrium fish pond. The two slave women assigned to watch over the children were found together in most compromising circumstances; naked, entwined in a lascivious embrace, and drunk. There was no defense for their crime. Both were strangled and buried before the fateful day was over. Antonia was hysterical with grief.
“I shall call him Posthumous in honor of his brothers,” Antonia declared dramatically, large tears running down her cheeks as she gazed upon her day-old son. “How tragic that he shall never know them.”
“He shall be called Quintus Drusus, the younger,” her husband told her, slipping two heavy gold bracelets on her arm as he gave her a quick kiss. “You must not distress yourself further, my dear. Your milk will not come in if you do. I will not have my son suckling on the teats of some slave woman. They are not as healthy as a child’s own mater. My own mother, Livia, always believed that. She nursed my brother, my sister, and myself most faithfully until we were past four.” He reached out, and slipping a hand beneath one of her breasts, said with soft menace, “Do not cheat my son, Antonia, of what is his right. The sons of Sextus Scipio were innocents, and as such are now with the gods. You can do nothing for them, my dear. Let it go, and tend to the living child the gods have so graciously given us.” Leaning over, he kissed her lips again.
The nursemaid took the infant from Antonia. She lay the child at her master’s feet. Quintus Drusus took up the swaddled bundle in his arms, thereby acknowledging the boy as his own true offspring. This formal symbolic recognition meant the newborn was admitted to his Roman family with all its rights and privileges. Nine days after his birth, Quintus Drusus, the younger, would be officially named amid much familial celebration.
“You will remember what I have said, my dear, won’t you?” Quintus Drusus asked his wife as he handed his son to
the waiting nursemaid and arose from her bedside. “Our child must be your first consideration.”
Antonia nodded, her blue eyes wide with surprise. This was a side of her husband she had never seen, and she was suddenly afraid. Quintus had always been so indulgent of her. Now, it would seem, he was putting their son ahead of her.
He smiled down at her. “I am pleased with you, Antonia. It has been a terrible time for you, but you have been brave. You are a fit mother for my children.”
He left her bedchamber and made his way to his library. The house was quiet now, without his stepsons running about. In a way, it was sad, but in a few years’ time the villa would ring again with the laughter and shouts of children.
His children
. A single lamp burned upon the table as he entered his private sanctuary, shutting the door firmly behind him. Only the gravest emergency would cause anyone to disturb him once that door was closed. He had quickly trained the servants after his marriage to Antonia that this room was his sanctum sanctorum. No one came in but at his invitation.
“You did very well,” he told the two men who now stepped from the shadows within the room.
“It was easy, master,” the taller of the two answered him. “Those two nursemaids was easy pickin’s. A little drugged wine, a little fucking, a little more wine, a little more—”
“Yes, yes!” Quintus Drusus said impatiently. “The picture you paint is quite clear. Tell me of the boys. They gave you no trouble? They did not cry out? I want no witnesses coming forward later on.”
“We throttled them in their beds as they slept, master. Then we placed their bodies in the atrium pond. No one saw us, I guarantee you. It was the middle of the night, and all slept. We made that pretty tableau for everyone to find before we done the children. Quite a wicked pair, those girls looked,” the tall man continued. He sniggered lewdly.
“You promised us our freedom,” the other man said to Quintus Drusus. “When will you give us our freedom? We have done as you bid us.”
“I told you that there were two tasks you must perform for me,” Quintus Drusus answered him. “This was but the first.”
“What is the second?
We want our freedom!”
the tall man declared.
“You are impatient, Cato,” Quintus Drusus said, noting his look of distaste. It amused Quintus Drusus to give his slaves dignified, elegant-sounding identities. “In nine days’ time,” he continued, “my son will be formally named, and a ceremony of purification will be performed. It is a family event to be celebrated within the home. My father-in-law will come from Corinium; my cousin Gaius and his family from their nearby villa. It is my cousin and his family that I want you to study well.
“There is a Celtic festival in May. I remember it from last year. Gaius Drusus allows his slaves their freedom that night from sunset until the following dawn. I intend to pursue the same custom. On that night you will eliminate my cousin and his family. As an extra incentive, you may steal my cousin’s gold from a certain hiding place I shall reveal to you when the time comes. In the ensuing uproar it will take several days for me to discover that those two new slaves from Gaul that I recently purchased are gone. Do you understand me?” He stared coldly at the pair, wondering if there was a way he could eliminate them as well and save himself the possibility of ever being discovered. No. He would have to rely on these two. If he was any judge of men, they would flee as fast as they could back across the sea to Gaul.
“Beltane,” Cato said.
“Beltane?”
Quintus Drusus looked puzzled.
“The Celtic festival you mentioned. It is celebrated the first day of May, master. There is no other spring festival of note.”
“How appropriate,” Quintus Drusus said with a brief smile. “I married my wife on the Kalends of June. Our son was born on the Kalends of March. Now on the Kalends of May I shall achieve the beginnings of my destiny. I do believe that the number one is a lucky one for me.” He looked at the
two Gauls. “I will dim the lamp a moment. Go out by the garden exit, and behave yourselves.
Both of you!
You must have easy access to the house when my cousin and his family are here. If you have been causing difficulties, the majordomo will send you to the fields. You are of no use to me in the fields.”
In the morning, Quintus Drusus sent messengers to his father-in-law in Corinium, bidding him come, and to his cousin Gaius, inviting him and his family to the new Drusus’s name day and purification. It was not until they arrived for the celebration that Gaius Drusus Corinium and his family learned of the deaths of Antonia’s two older sons.
“Ohh, my dear,” Kyna said, kissing the young woman on both cheeks, “I am so terribly sorry. Why did you not send for me? My mother and I would have come. Cailin too. It is not good for a woman to be by herself in a time of such great sorrow.”
“There was no need,” Antonia said softly. “My little ones are safe with the gods. Quintus has assured me of it. There is nothing I can do for them. I must think of the baby. Quintus will not have a slave woman nursing him. I cannot distress myself lest my milk cease. That would displease Quintus very much, and he is so good to me.”
“She is mesmerized by him,” Cailin said in disgust.
“She is in love with him,” Kyna answered.
“I think it very convenient that Sextus Scipio’s two sons are now gone,” Cailin noted quietly.
Kyna was truly shocked.
“Cailin!
What are you saying? Surely you are not accusing Quintus Drusus of some unnatural act? He loved those two little boys and was a good stepfather to them both.”
“I accuse no one of anything, Mother,” Cailin said. “I have merely observed the convenient departure of Antonia’s little boys. You must admit that it can but suit Quintus that only his own child is left alive to inherit one day all he has gained.”