One of the guards wrapped a chain around the man’s neck and twisted it. Eberwig turned a dark shade of crimson. His eyes bulged and his tongue protruded. Domitian sat back in his chair, smiling. He appeared to take great pleasure from watching the man die.
The guards dragged the corpse from the room. Parthenius followed them. Lucius stayed where he was, on the balcony. By a great application of will, he had managed to remain calm for the last hour. Now his body began to exhibit signs of panic. His heart raced. His palms turned clammy. Sweat erupted on his forehead.
Did Domitian intend to kill him, as he had killed the German soothsayer? For the moment, the emperor was distracted. He told Catullus to bring him the bowl of apples from the bedroom. As the blind courtier walked by the balcony, Lucius held his breath, fearful of drawing the man’s attention. Catullus returned with the apples and Domitian began to eat ravenously, consuming one after another.
Parthenius reappeared. “The steward Stephanus wishes to see you, Dominus.”
“I’ll see no one,” said Domitian. “As soon as I finish these apples, I’ll retire to my private bath.”
“Stephanus is most insistent. He says it’s very important, Dominus. He says he has urgent information about a plot against you.”
“A failed plot, you mean! I’m still alive!” Domitian laughed. “But show him in. Perhaps he has names for me. Wait! Has he been searched for weapons?”
“Of course, Dominus. No one comes before you without being thoroughly searched.”
“Go ahead then, show him in.”
Lucius’s heart sank. The hour predicted for Domitian’s death had come and gone, and now he knew why: Stephanus had betrayed them. Poor Flavia; this would be the end of her. Would Domitian allow her children to live? Probably not. Lucius gazed over the parapet of the balcony, wondering if death by falling would be preferable to strangulation. He felt a sudden urge to flee, but the balcony was much too high. If only he could disappear, like Apollonius, in a puff of smoke!
The clouds had begun to break. A warm shaft of sunlight touched his face. The sky itself seemed to be smiling on the emperor’s deliverance.
Stephanus entered the room. Before he could speak, Domitian waved him aside. He called to Catullus and pulled him close.
“I’d almost forgotten about Pinarius,” Lucius heard the emperor say in a low voice. “What shall I do with him?”
“Whatever pleases you, Dominus,” Catullus said.
While waiting to be called on, Stephanus joined Lucius on the balcony. In his right hand he clutched a rolled document. Was this the incriminating list, and was Lucius’s name on it? Lucius noticed that the man’s left forearm was wrapped in bandages.
“A boar’s tusk can inflict a very nasty wound,” Stephanus explained, keeping his voice low. “It happened when I was out hunting a few days ago. Would you believe the guards made me unwrap the whole thing the first day I came here wearing it? Once they saw the blood and the oozing gash, they were satisfied. I think it made them a bit queasy. Since then, whenever I come, they search me like everyone else – but they never make me take off the bandages.”
Domitian finished his conversation with Catullus and called to Stephanus. The steward hurried to the dais, while Catullus backed away.
“Dominus,” said Stephanus, “the moment this document entered my hands, I headed directly here.”
“What is it?”
“A list of names, Dominus. When you see them, I think you’ll be shocked.”
Catullus stepped towards the balcony. Lucius moved as far from the man as he could. Again he gazed over the parapet. A shaft of sunlight stuck the sundial far below. Something was not right. Lucius squinted and peered more closely at the sundial. The shadow cast by the dial indicated not the sixth hour of the day – shadowless noon – but the fifth hour.
Lucius looked at the water clock. Without a doubt, the clock indicated the sixth hour. The water clock was in error. Someone had changed its settings.
Stephanus extended the document to Domitian, who unrolled it and stared at it. He scowled. “What is this? All I see is a list of provincial magistrates. What has this to do-”
Quickly, deftly, Stephanus loosened the bandages around his left forearm and reached inside. He pulled out a dagger and lunged for the emperor. Because of Domitian’s elevated position on the dais, Stephanus fell short of stabbing the man’s heart. His blade struck Domitian’s groin.
Domitian bellowed in pain. He struck Stephanus across the face. The steward staggered back, clutching the bloody dagger. Domitian bolted forward. The throne tumbled backwards. The small-headed creature shrieked and scrambled out of the way. Domitian grappled with Stephanus.
“My knife!” Domitian cried. “The one I keep beneath my pillow – bring it to me!”
The creature scurried past Catullus, striking him with his elbow and knocking him farther onto the balcony, where he almost collided with Lucius before grabbing the parapet to steady himself. The creature ran into the bed chamber and a moment later emerged with a stricken look on his face. He held a scabbard in one hand and in the other a hilt that had no blade. Someone had substituted a false dagger for the one Domitian kept under his pillow.
Other courtiers entered the room. They swarmed over Domitian, who roared and put up a tremendous struggle, like a lion attacked by dogs.
“What’s happening?” cried Catullus. “Dominus, how can I help you?”
Suddenly, the blind man realized that Lucius was next to him. He snarled like an animal and lunged for him. The accuracy of the man’s aim and the ferocity of his attack took Lucius by surprise. While Domitian struggled with the courtiers, Lucius and Catullus wrestled on the balcony.
Catullus used his sharp fingernails to gouge at Lucius’s eyes and nose, and sank his teeth into Lucius’s arm. Lucius seized the man’s wrists and tried to immobilize him, but Catullus was too strong. The best Lucius could manage was to push the man to one side, towards the parapet. Almost before Lucius knew what was happening, Catullus went tumbling over. With a bloodcurdling scream, Catullus plummeted to the garden below.
Lucius heard a sickening sound of impact and looked over the parapet. Face-up, with his limbs outstretched, Catullus was impaled on the metal blade of the sundial. His body was broken nearly in two. His mouth gaped open and his eyes glittered. His limbs flailed horribly for a moment, then fell limp.
Lucius realized that the room behind him had fallen silent, except for the sound of men gasping for breath. The struggle was over. Stephanus stepped beside him, throwing back his head to exult in the sunshine on his face. His hair was dishevelled and his torn clothes were covered with blood.
The tattered remains of the bandage hung from his left forearm. The gash looked very real. Stephanus saw Lucius looking at it and grinned. “I inflicted the wound myself, using a boar’s tusk. There’s no substitute for authenticity.”
What had Flavia said about Stephanus? He’s a brave man, and not squeamish.
Blinking and bleary-eyed, Lucius looked over his shoulder. A bloody heap draped in imperial purple lay in the centre of the room. Courtiers with knives stood in a circle, gasping for breath and gazing numbly at their handiwork. Blood and gore were smeared all over the floor.
“Is he really…?”
“The tyrant is dead,” said Stephanus. He proudly held up the dagger in his right hand. Sunlight glinted on the blood. Then he showed Lucius his left hand, in which he clutched a chain with an amulet. “I think this belongs to you, Lucius Pinarius.”
Lucius took back the fascinum, covered with blood.
AD 99
The philosophers had returned to Roma.
Three years had passed since the death of Domitian. On a morning in early September – no longer called Germanicus – Lucius played host in his garden to two guests who had long been absent from Roma.